#path to us citizenship
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#biden administration#federal judiciary#immigration#immigrant spouses#deportation#path to us citizenship#united states#undocumented immigrants
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sorry but itâs very funny to see maga idiots splitting with trump and feeling betrayed because he ran on such a huge anti-immigration platform, but now some of his closest high-profile business allies like elon musk are singing the praises of the H-1B skilled worker visa program and talking about how they should remove the cap on certain non-immigrant visa types that they depend on to run their businesses.
like. whoâs going to tell them that trump is widely known to staff all his resorts and properties with foreign workers that are here on H-2B seasonal work visas? and that the justification heâs given is that theyâre seasonal low wage jobs that donât appeal to american workers? you know, because heâs not willing to pay a living wage or offer any benefits to make those jobs more appealing and would rather exploit cheap foreign labor for maximum profits.
itâs almost likeâŚ.the issue isnât immigration or immigrants âstealingâ american jobs, itâs the wealthy owning class being unwilling to sacrifice even a minuscule little sliver of profit to offer fair wages and decent benefits for the work required to keep their businesses operational. but idk. just a thought.
#like yes heâs terrible for path to citizenship visas and his past administration was horrible for H-1B seekers#but if theyâre here temporarily and theyâll work cheaper for fewer benefits you KNOW the billionaires are all over it#they LOVE non immigrant visas. non immigrant visas get their dicks rock hard#they are hypocrites to the core always have been always will be. whatâs not clicking???#WHYYYY are you surprised#naomi campbell you are all so stupid dot jpeg#very long political posts arenât my usual content but i am justâŚ..big sigh#anyway can you tell i started working in the immigration industry lol#us politics
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Looking into how I can move to europe and its the only thing giving me hope and sanity rn other than my new lexapro prescription.
Being able to move is a huge privilege but also I'm so giddy looking at this master's program I'm interested in. It's amazing how in other countries all you have to do to be able to get advanced degrees is meet the basic requirements because good education is for everyone. And it's so much cheaper than US grad school.
#i could also get a residence permit through lineage for Finland and education would be completely free but i'm trying to angle this as a#path to new citizenship and I don't want to live in finland sorry to my finnish family its too isolated and theres not enough weed#i want to live somewhere where I can use and abuse extensive cross continent trains
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Legitimately might leave the country, so there's that at least
#Not that fucking anywhere will ever be free from antisemitism but whatever#It's Israel or Canada. I don't really know what my parents will pick. We have an easy citizenship path for both.#Given my situation right now staying in the US isn't much of an option nor do I frankly want to#I'll miss Florida if we leave. I won't miss the people but I'll miss the trees.#And please use your fucking brain when reading this to recognize that I am not stoked about either country#Before anybody leaves me an idiotic comment
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With US military recruiting goals falling drastically in recent years, there are some in the defense department and Congress that want to allow more illegal immigrants to join our military. Many concerned critics say that with so many non-vented illegals crossing our southern border the last two years, just such an enlistment policy would be foolish at best.  Proponents, however, believe this would bolster our military ranks, and encourage non-citizens to want to pursue legal status after a period of years. My new video program, the "U.S. Considering Allowing Illegal Immigrants To Join Our Military."
#US military#recruiting goals dropping#illegal immigrants may be able to join military#enlistments#a path to citizenship#more veteran military personnel retiring#more experienced military personnel not being allowed to re-enlist#legal status#green card#DACA children#US southern border pouring in with non-citizens#illegal immigrants would help ease recruiting shortfalls#Chicago police may allow illegal immigrants to join police
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portugal in top 20 of the most powerful passports in the world TRUST ill be applying for citizenship through the âmy grandpa was born under your colonial ruleâ pathway
#everyone else in india got colonised by the brits and got NOTHING#goa on top forever though our colonisers give us citizenship paths#the european union is NOT ready for me đ¤Ş
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Keith Edwards at No Lies Detected:
Donald Trump has been in office for one week, but it feels like a yearâs worth of events have been crammed into those seven days. That of course is by design. Trump thrives on overwhelming our capacity to react, flooding the zone with chaos until we are too exhausted to resist. He wants you to feel powerless. He wants you to surrender. But this is not about resistance; it is about reclamation. Resisting implies he is in control, and we are simply pushing back. Reclaiming puts us in the driverâs seat, taking back what was always ours to begin with. Today, Iâm going to write about how not to give up, how to take back your voice in your own future, so that when a year actually has passed, youâll be able to look back not with exhaustion and despair, but with the satisfaction of knowing you fought back.Â
Give Yourself a Break â But Do Not Break
You do not have to be a political warrior every waking moment. If following every outrage sends you spiraling, turn it off. If breaking news alerts drain your energy, silence them. Stop following doomer influencers or left-wing media outlets that profit from outrage-mongering. To borrow an exhausted but accurate phrase: this is a marathon, not a sprint. Take the time to process your anger, to feel the betrayal, to curse the failures that got us here. Be furious at the Democratic Partyâs fecklessness. Be enraged at the indifference of Republican enablers. Allow yourself to mourn the election loss. But do not wallow. Do not linger in the abyss. Feel your anger, harness it, and then use it. Because we never truly processed the trauma of the first Trump presidency â like with COVID, we let it taper off without closure. Whatever you need to do to process the fact that Trump is in power again, do it, because...
Accept That This Is All Going to Suck
There will be worse weeks than this one in the next four years. Many will seek refuge in denial, pretending that the worst-case scenario is mere hyperbole. Do not indulge them. Reality, however grim, is better faced than avoided. When I lost my sister, I found that I actually felt better when I accepted that she was not coming back. I found that the alternative â resisting reality and trapping myself in an endless cycle of grief â actually caused more suffering. Once we embrace the truth, however, we can begin the path toward something new. This applies here, too: America will not be the same, nor is it lost. If we accept the darkness ahead, we can begin carving out the light. The only way through this is forward. This is going to be bad. And the sooner you accept that, the better you are prepared to fight.
Get Involved
Fighting doesnât have to feel big. Start small. Do something that reminds you that you have agency, that you are not a passive observer of history but an active participant.Â
ââWhen Trump was first elected, I refused to wallow in misery. I joined my local Democratic club, handed out ballot proposals, and took an active role in shaping my community. That decision put me on the path to becoming a Democratic strategist and creating a successful YouTube channel. Starting locally is the most satisfying way to get involved, because politics are most responsive when they are local. Federal politics are sluggish and hard to break into without experience, but local activism can be swift and potent. Attend a city council meeting. Get involved in your local Democratic Party. Knock on doors for a local candidate or ballot initiative. Donât just vent your frustration into the digital void â channel it into tangible change.Â
[...] Do not let Donald Trump eat your hope. He is not a king. The courts have already blocked his blatantly unconstitutional rollback of birthright citizenship. State governors are taking advantage of our federal system to prevent the rollback of rights and protections. Federal employees are pushing back against sweeping policy changes. We are only in week one, but this gives me hope. Â
Keith Edwards wrote in No Lies Detected on how to survive Tyrant Trumpâs 2nd reign: donât give up.
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How do Canadian schools teach about indigenous Canadian history and culture? -a curious USAmerican
In my experience we learned about colonization at the same time as we learned about the formation of Canada. At first it was "European settlers came and pushed out the indigenous population", then in the higher grades we learned more about the how and the why.
For example, how carts full of men with rifles would ride around shooting Buffalo, then leaving the meat on the ground to rot, because "a dead Buffalo is a dead indian", which was so fanatical it almost wiped out wild Buffalo entirely
Also how Canadian settlers were lured in with beautiful hand-painted advertisements for cheap, beautiful, fertile land that was unpopulated and perfect, if only you'd sail over with your entire family and a pocket full of seeds- only to be met with scared, confused, and angry lawful inhabitants already run out of ten other places, and frigid winters, and rocky, forested, undeveloped dirt.
also, smallpox blankets, where "gifts" of blankets infected with smallpox were intentionally given out
And treaty violations- Either ignoring written agreements entirely, or buying them out at insanely low prices and lying about the value, or trading for farming equipment that they couldn't use because they weren't farmers.
Then in the first world war, where they told indigenous peoples here that they'd be granted Canadian citizenship if they enlisted
To Residential schools, which was straight up stealing kids for slavery, indoctrination, and medical experiments
But we also covered the building of the Canadian Railway in which Chinese immigrants were lowered into ravines with dynamite to blow out paths through the mountain for pennies on the dollar
And the Alberta Sterilization Act, where it was lawful and routine procedure to sterilize women of colour and neurodivergent people without their awareness or consent after giving birth or undergoing unrelated surgeries
But I'm rambling.
We kind of learned Aboriginal history at the same time as everything else? Like. This is when Canada was made, and this is how it was done. Now we'll read a book about someone who lived through it, and we'll write a book report. And now a documentary, and now a paper about the documentary. Onto the next unit.
And starting I think in grade 10 our English track was split between English and Aboriginals English, where you could choose to do the standard curriculum or do the same basic knowledge stuff with a focus on Aboriginal perspectives and literature. (I did that one, we read Three Day's Road and Diary Of A Part-Time Indian, and a few other titles I don't remember.)
There was also a lunch room for the Aboriginal Culture Studies where Aboriginal kids could hang out at lunch time if they wanted, full of art and projects and stuff. They'd play music or videos sometimes, that was cool
And one elective I took (not mandatory cirriculum) was a Kwakiutl course for basic KwakwakaĘźwakw language. Greetings, counting to a hundred, learning the modified alphabet, animals, etc. Still comes in handy sometimes at large gatherings cause they usually start with a land recognition thanking whoever's land we're on, with a few thanks and welcomes in their language.
And like- when I was in the US it was so weird, cause here we have Totem poles and longhouses and murals all over and yall... don't? Like there is a very distinct lack of Aboriginal art in your public spaces, at least in the areas I've been
My ex-stepfather, who was American, brought his son out once, and he was so excited to "see real indians" and was legitimately shocked to learn that there weren't many teepees to be found on the northwest coast, and was even *more* shocked when we told him that you have Aboriginal people back home too, bud. Your Aboriginal people are also named "Mike" snd "Vicky" and work as assistant manager at best buy.
If you'd ask me, I'd say that the primary difference is that USAmerica (from what I've seen, and ALSO in entirely too much of Canada) treats our European and Aboriginal conflicts as history, something that's tragic but over, like the extinction of the mammoths, instead of like. An ongoing thing involving people who are alive and numerous and right fucking here
But at the end of the day, I'm white, and there are plenty of actual Aboriginal people who are speaking out and saying much more meaningful things than I can
So I'm just gonna pass on a quote from my Stepmum, who's Cree, that's stuck with me since she said it:
"You see how they treat Mexicans in America? That's how they treat us here. Indians are the Mexicans of Canada."
#Canadian history#Canadian education#Medical tw#Medical malpractice#Human rights#Genocide tw#Residential school tw#Child abuse tw#Slavery tw#Current events#Canadian Education#Aboriginal history
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Do you have any plans for what happens with Urahara's shop once Aizen is dealt with? I mostly ask cus the other day I binged the AIEWAM tag, then had a dream about the Shinigami using it as a base of operations in Karakura. I don't know if that is likely, or plausible, but it was fun to picture random shinigami doing customer service.
No that's more or less what happens to it!
After Aizen is dealt with, Urahara is facing some pretty significant personal problems: his rejection by the 12th division, being pregnant with his first child (and Yoruichi's nervous breakdown of impending parenthood) and Nihofornia's National Tax Agency finally catching up to him. As a shinigami, Urahara is aware of the many ways to shimmy around death, but there is no certainty like Taxes.
It's Don Kanonji, the most reasonable and level-headed adult in the whole damn fic, who proposes the solution: between his careers of swimsuit model, UN Translator, exorcist and fashion designer, Don is also a Certified Accountant. After going over she shoebox full of miscellaneous receipts and assorted Papers That Might Be Important, Don negotiates a deal with the tax agency around Kisuke's dubious status as a citizen and even more dubious bookkeeping: kisuke will sell the business to someone with a real social security number and pay up a large percentage of the staggering amount of money he owes in exchange for being allowed to rent the building from the new owners and continue his path to legitimate citizenship and no further financial chicanery.
"Okay, but who's going to pony up the cash? I don't have that kind of money!" Kisuke wails, fully in the grip of second-trimester hormone swings.
"Urahara-san. Kisuke. Sandalhat. Buddy. Pal." Ichigo's classmate Keigo sighs, fondly patting the man on the shoulders as he sat down on the couch beside Urahara. "We're friends, right?"
"We're people who know each other's home addresses." Kisuke sniffles.
"Close enough!" Mizuiro waves, sitting down on Urahara's other side. "-and you're former second division, real cloak-and-dagger stuff. So you know that sometimes it's best to not ask so many questions, right?"
Kisuke frowned with growing suspicion. "I might have been..."
"Great! All you need to do is make Tessai clean out the garage, turn the paperwork over to me and Mizuiro, keep an ear on the line to soul society, and focus on getting this place ready for your little bundle of joy-" Keigo smiled, gesturing around the decidedly bachelor padded living room.
"-and don't worry about where this came from!" Mizuiro chirped happily, hefting a large briefcase onto the table with a loud thud that popped open the lid, revealing a frankly alarming amount of cash inside.
"I'm worrying." Kisuke grimaced.
"We very specifically requested the opposite of that." Keigo pouted.
"That's at least thirty grand in there." Don remarked with a casual glance at the carefully packed but decidedly used bills inside.
"There is Thirty-one thousand, two hundred seventy-eight point oh-six Troyen, which is exactly two and a half times this shop's discretionary income last year, and a very generous price for the business!" Mizuiro beamed.
"Why can't you guys use a normal currency like Kan?" Kisuke pouted, trying to do conversion rates in his head.
"Well for one thing, fiat currency is a hell of a lot better than anything based on the value of rice." Keigo nodded. "Though it is kinda stupid that we didn't update the name after we went off the gold standard during world war three."
"There was a third world war?" Kisuke yelped.
"A cold one, back in the eighties. You didn't notice were busy making sure Isshin and Masaki Kurosaki didn't implode." Tessai called from the kitchen.
"Oh." Urahra mumbled.
"Look, it's really quite simple- you'll go on basically as you have been with the candy shop-" Mizuiro smiled with the soothing demeanor of an unexpected adder. "-only I'll be your landlord and Keigo will be your manager!"
Urahra stared blankly at the boys, then looked up at Don Kanonji, who was reading over the contents of the file folder Mizuiro had handed him when the boys came in. "...That can't possibly be legal, right?"
"Hm?" Don hummed, looking up over his glasses. "Oh, yes. The government would really prefer a check but cash is perfectly legal tender to settle all debts with."
"But they're kids!" Kisuke gestured hysterically between them.
"Okay, Mizuiro might be babyfaced but he turned eighteen last spring and I'll be an adult by the time we turn in all this paperwork in April." Keigo groaned.
"And- and this is clearly Mob Money!" Urahara continued, waving at the briefcase of cash.
"Mister Urahara! I would NEVER-!" Mizuiro gasped with great offense. "I'll have you know all this money came from Perfectly Legitimate Enterprises!" He sniffed, arms crossed and lip pouting.
"That's the name of the Mobile Tech Support business Mizu and I have been running since freshman year!" Keigo beamed. "Makes a good packet, you wouldn't believe the kind of tips the old biddies will give a Nice Young Man in a Smart Uniform who scrapes malware off her online mahjong machine!"
Urahara stared at them blankly, gaze slowly tipping down to the briefcase full of money. "I should learn how to use living world computers."
"NO." Every single person in the building, including the shop kids and Ichigo, who had been passed out under the table after training, but was stirred to consciousness by an impending sense of danger before passing out again.
"Killjoys." Urahra muttered, sulking under his hat.
"Regardless, its a perfectly legal and honestly very generous offer for this heap, and as your financial advisor, I urge you to take it." Don Kanonji glared over his glasses at Urahara.
"So what, you boys get a cut of the candy money and rent? Cause that ain't much of a savvy deal on your end. This place runs at a debt."
"Oh no, you can keep the candy revenue and I'll only ask for enough rent to cover utilities." Mizuiro smiled. "What we want is a cut of your commission as a licensed Gotei-13 outlet contractor!"
"...But I'm not a contractor?" Urahara blinked.
"...Do you just. Not read things before you sign them?" Keigo glared.
"Yeah, you're not just in hock to the NTA, the Soul Revenue Service is after you too for running a fake Gotei-13 service center, and bailing on a century's worth of filings by faking your death." Mizuiro frowned at him with concern. "So e of those papers you signed when you resumed your identity and job as captain- however briefly were the result of Captain Kyoraku cutting you one HELL of a parole deal with the SRS, but the agreement was that Urahara Shoten would be the base of operations for ALL the shinigami operating in Karakura, under the direct supervision and control of the Gotei-13 and he sure wasn't stingy with the budget he gave you! Well. The budget he gave me and Keigo to spend since I'd be the property owner and Keigo would be the business owner."
"Aaaand since you also signed the soul society official secrets agreement, it's not like you can ask someone else to buy you out from the NTA, so not only are we your best offer, we're your ONLY offer!" Keigo grinned.
Urahra stared at them blankly. "You've set me up." He mumbled.
"You sent yourself up for this when you failed to do your due diligence when signing contracts." Don Kanonji corrected him, pulling some documents out of the folder and signing them, before pushing them across the table. "Please actually read these before you si- you've already signed them." Don Kanonji groaned as Urahara slapped the pen back down on the table with spite.
"Fine, fine- I guess I'm back to following orders instead of giving them. What do you want, Boss?" He glared at Keigo.
"Put your feet up and finish putting together that gift list for the baby shower." Keigo nodded. "We weren't kidding that your first priority is getting this place ready for baby... Does it have a name yet?"
"...No." Kisuke wilted despondently. "Yoruichi still isn't answering my texts!"
"Hm." Keigo nodded. "Okay, put your feet up, finish that baby shower list and think of a name for the little rugrat. Just leave the rest to us for now!"
"You guys are good kids." Kisuke smiled weakly.
"Would you be willing to make a sworn statement to that effect, so we can have it on file for any future HR disputes?" Mizuiro smiled.
"Absolutely goddamn not." Kisuke glared.
#aeiwam#an elephant is warm and mushy#bleach#bleach fanfic#kisuke urahara#mizuiro kojima#keigo asano#Don Kanonji#yoruichi shihouin#Kisuke and Yoruichi are T4T in this fic and the prospect of parenthood is hitting her pretty hard#but she comes around sooner than later#she just needs to shake the generational trauma of growing up in a household of Ninjas and Ghosts
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I could swear someone else has already come up with this concept, but what if Cody and Obi-Wan DON'T fall in love during the war? They care about each other, for sure, and they'd consider each other good friends, definitely, but they're not in love with each other at all. The thought simply doesn't cross their mind and they have other priorities that are taking up a lot of time and energy.
But then the dynamic changes.
In a happy fix-it AU, the war ends and the clones are eventually given rights and citizenship and Cody has the time and space to figure out who he is without the war and Obi-Wan can move away from being Cody's superior officer and go back to being just a Jedi. They remain friends, they keep in contact, but maybe for a few years they don't see as much of each other. Certainly not as much as they used to during the war. It's not intentional, but Cody's out traveling and seeing the world on his own and exploring his options now that he HAS options to explore, and Obi-Wan is going on missions still, the galaxy doesn't just go back to what it used to be overnight after a three year galactic civil war after all, so they just don't manage to be able to meet up in person with each other often and play a lot of phone tag.
And so maybe it takes a few years to finally meet up again in person, and it's... different. Not in a bad way, at all, it's not off-putting, but they can both tell something's a little... different. They happen to get lucky enough to both be spending a little time on Coruscant without needing to leave soon and so they keep agreeing to meet up again, for lunch or just to go out and see something together maybe. And something's changed. Neither of them says anything about it or even really DOES anything about it, they just let it grow and see what happens. Obi-Wan probably recognizes what it is, even if Cody might not, not as quickly anyway. Something's just clicked now that hadn't clicked before.
After that, their interactions take on a different tone, even after they separate again. It takes months before they choose to do something about it, but the shift in their dynamic after the war allowed them to see each other in a new light that simply wasn't there before. It's not better than it used to be, just... new. A different kind of intimacy perhaps, some new options introduced into the way they interacted with each other. It's fun, it's nice, and both of them enjoy getting to explore the new path their relationship is on.
In a desert husbands AU, it's not that same slow sweet exploration of themselves individually before they can see each other in a new light. But when Cody joins Obi-Wan in his isolation on Tatooine, the dynamic has obviously been forcefully shifted. Obi-Wan is still a Jedi, but that means something very different now than it used to. Cody is still a fighter, but he's not a SOLDIER anymore and refuses to answer to anybody but himself these days anyway. Both of them have lost their usual support system and have to rely on each other for what healing is available to them. Intimacy is something that has to be rebuilt, now, after what was done to them.
And in building up their trust in each other again, something else seems to come along with it that hadn't been there before. Again, Obi-Wan probably recognizes it for what it is long before Cody does. But this time, Cody's never had the opportunity to go out and figure out who he is on his own. Instead of a soft slide into that new dynamic, it's a rockier path as the two of them figure out how to navigate the way they're beginning to feel with the obstacle that is their shared history and their current less than ideal situation. Obi-Wan doesn't want to take anything more away from Cody than has already been taken, Cody doesn't want to lose what he's just managed to regain by making Obi-Wan uncomfortable.
It takes a while, and it might be a little painful sometimes, but when they finally figure things out, it's a little oasis in the middle of the desert that is their lives, a light in the darkness that lets them feel safe, even if it's just for a moment or two. Again, it isn't necessarily BETTER than what they had before (in this scenario, they might actually have preferred what they had before since at least then they still had most of their friends and family still around them and the possibility of a home to go back to and hope for a better future, and they'd both take those things back over this new relationship in a heartbeat), it's just new, and different. It feels good to explore it, and to just let themselves feel good sometimes. It feels good to take comfort in each other when there's so little else to take comfort in anymore.
Just... Cody and Obi-Wan only finding romance AFTER the war is over and they have the time and space for those feelings to grow at all.
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iâm glad that syria is free, that prisoners are being freed, that families are being reunited, and that refugees finally have the opportunity to return home. and at the same time, iâm also thinking about the fact that the syrian jews who were forced to flee syria will not be among those refugees. iâm thinking about the fact that assad demanded that syrian jews fleeing to the us be called tourists and buy round trip tickets, which meant they could not be considered refugees and therefore did not have that path to citizenship, only temporary permits and political asylum which were extremely restrictive. syrian jews in the us fought hard for their rights and it was only in 2000 that a bill was passed granting them citizenship. iâm thinking about the two elderly jewish women, two of the last three jews in syria, who live in qamishli, the same town where 57 jews were murdered in a pogrom after the 6 day war. iâm thinking about the four syrian jewish girls who were raped, murdered, and mutilated for trying to flee to israel. iâm thinking about the fact that while i am glad that syria is finally free from assad, syrian jews will likely never be able to experience that freedom for themselves.
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Hey there Neil, I'm not one to usually send asks particularly if they are actually trying to promote something, but I know that you support refugees and are an UNHCR goodwill ambassador so I figured I'd give it a shot. I'm part of a local group in upstate NY who has been bringing refugees in from Haiti and Ukraine through humanitarian parole, but because of the rules as they are now they will be sent back unless lawmakers extend the program or create a path to citizenship for it. We have families who would have to be sent back into war zones and intense gang violence as soon as this December unless the US government makes a change to the program very soon. That said, we started a petition to send to several government officials in the hopes of getting their attention and I was wondering if you would share it. The link is pinned to my profile and I will include it here as well. Thanks for the good work you do!
https://chng.it/BS8nmsGc7P
Absolutely.
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I wasn't gonna post this here, but the Twitter version got flagged because I used the words that Nazis find Big and Scary

Laterano is an openly racist and exclusionary ethno-state; it makes perfect sense that they'd hate Exusiai for being even the slightest bit different. Hell, Sarkaz get attacked in the streets (if they're even let in), which also informs how Mostima gets treated. After her fall, she's assigned a non-Sankta overseer and is placed under surveillance. It's literally a dehumanization!
It emphasizes that being "Sankta" is not only about having wings and a halo, but more importantly about what you don't have. In the eyes of Laterano and the Law by which it operates, a Sankta is:
1) Connected to the Sankta empathy
2) Not Sarkaz
3) In possession of wings/halo
Lemuel is not fallen despite her failing criteria 1, which explains why so many people alienated her. She's less Sankta in their eyes than they themselves are.
I do wonder if we'll see Laterano attitudes toward Mostima change now that Cecelia was able to ring the bell at the top of the Tower of Revelations. But I doubt it, since the pope is perfectly willing to blame the Law for Laterano's policies without actually acknowledging that the Law doesn't create policyâit merely suggests it by preventing the birth of interracial children and dehumanizing Sankta that fire upon other Sankta regardless of reason.
(Don't forget, Cecelia was forced to flee at the end of Guide Ahead, despite the pope personally giving her citizenship.)
The Law isn't blind to its own attitude either: in Guide Ahead, the Law doesn't make Andoain fall when he fires on the pope. "Yeah we racist, but Sankta first!" says the Law.
"Sankta first" is the modus operandi of Lateranoâeveryone, up to and including the Law, know it and live it. The Law paves the path for Laterano's racism, but it's the Lateran people that enforce it.
(I haven't read Hortus yet, so this post isn't informed by anything that may or may not have been presented there)
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dark side of the moonââşââ âžââşââ [chapter 1]

Pairing: yakuza!Levi x f!reader
Word count: 4.6k
Summary:
Neo Tokyo, 2235. Youâve escaped the festering wasteland that is Earth for Mars, to a city where only the strong survive, and everybody has secrets. Taking on a job as a hostess, you woo the cityâs elite, your smile hiding your own dark past. When your path crosses with Levi Ackerman, said to be the strongest member of the Ackerman yakuza clan, youâre not sure whether to consider him a friend or a foe. Because in this city, nothing is what it seems. And the past never stays buried.
Author's note: I will be using Japanese words and phrases periodically and will have a glossary of terms at the end of the chapter.
Series Content/Warnings: mafia/yakuza AU, flashbacks, slow burn, mystery, cyberpunk, sci fi, non-binary Hange Zoe, eventual smut, dark content, graphic violence and sexual content, minors do not interact!
Chapter Content/Warning: mentions of blood, physical assault
next chapter/masterlist/AO3
Blood is thicker than you thought it would be.Â
A sea of dark red surrounds you, soaking your clothes and the floor around you.Â
Someoneâs saying your name, but all you can hear is the thunder of your own heart beat.Â
âHey. Look at me. Do you remember what I promised? That I was never going to let anything bad happen to us again. We swore that we would always be there for each other.
No matter what happens, I promise that I will protect you.
Iâll fix this.â
.
.
.
âOi you alive? Can you hear me?â A voice said.
You snapped back to reality. Get it together. Donât fuck this up.
âSorryâŚcould you repeat that?â
The person in front of you takes off their glasses and cleans them with the edge of their shirt. âI said, youâre obviously not from around here. Where are you from?â
You shift in your chair. You knew that you were going to stand out from the other inhabitants of Neo Tokyo the moment you arrived here.
âI um..Iâm from Earth.â
Their eyes go wide. âEarth? That shithole? I didnât know there were still settlements there. How did you even earn a ticket to get to Mars?â You open your mouth to reply, but they put their hand out. âDonât answer that - itâs none of my business.â
Obviously your planet of birth has made you intriguing; hopefully intriguing enough that theyâll give you a job. They look you up and down like you were a science experiment. âAnd why would an Earthling such as yourself want to work here, at Club Azure?â
âIâm a hard worker and a quick learner. And I need to make money fast.â
âMmmhmmm⌠you can definitely do that here, if the guests like you,â they smile, âand you certainly would be a unique curiosity.â Brown eyes gleam behind their glasses, âBut why do you really want to work here?â
Thereâs a silence as you think about what to say, but decide you might as well tell the truth. âThis line of work doesnât require me to have Mars citizenship papers.â
âAnd there it is,â they nod, seeming satisfied with your honesty. âItâs true, we donât really care about those things here. In return, we expect our employees to beâŚdiscreet about our clientelleâs information and other business that goes on here.â
âI can be discreet.â
âIs that so?â The brunette leans back in their chair and gives you another once-over, their finger tapping their chin. âYouâre unique, and thereâs a certain something about you⌠Iâm certain the boss is really gonna love you,â they say out loud, more to themself than to you.Â
If they arenât the boss, you wonder who is.Â
âOk, youâre hired.â They reach their hand across the desk and towards you.
A heavy sigh escapes your lips; you hadnât realized that youâd been holding your breath slightly. Your hand meets theirs and they shake it vigorously. âThe nameâs Hange Zoe. I run this fine establishment,â they say with pride. âAnd what should I call you?â
âMy name is ââ
Hange immediately puts their finger to your lips. âNuh uh uh, you werenât about to give me your real name, were you?â They click their tongue. âItâs best that you don't do that. If the authorities come skulking around asking questions, the less I know about you, the better.âÂ
âOhâŚI see.âÂ
Seems that thereâs a lot about this world that you donât know.
âWe need to give you a stage name. Letâs see..â Theyâre tapping their chin again. ââŚflower names are always a good choice. Whatâs your favorite flower?â
âFlower? Iâve never seen one of those before.â
âOh right..youâre from Earth. Itâs been a ruined wasteland for a long time..I guess you wouldnât have ever seen them. Not that we have them here, either..â Hange stands up from their desk and begins to pace the floor of the small, cramped office. âWhat are your interests? Any hobbies?â
âI donât have any hobbies but..â a smile comes to your face, â..on Earth, I loved to look up at the moon.â
âThe moon? Hah! That orb is just an exclusive country club for the rich and famous. If your goal is to get there then you have another thing coming.â
You shake your head. âNo, nothing like that. But when I was small, me and my siââ you stop. Youâre getting too personal. Hange notices, but says nothing. âI mean, I would sit out and look at the moon for hours. I just wanted to escape.â
âAnd it looks like youâve done that.â Suddenly Hangeâs face brightens. âLuna! Thatâs what weâll call you.â
They put their hand on top of your head. âOur little EarthlingâŚletâs get you introduced to the rest of the group and get you dressed for tonight.â
Your eyes go wide. âWaitâŚIâm starting tonight?â
âDo you have something better to do?â They wait for a reply, to which you give none. âThen follow me.â
You follow Hange through the winding, narrow hall as they open a non-descript door.Â
âThis is where the girls get changed.âÂ
They open the door, gesturing for you to enter. Steel lockers are built around the perimeter of the room, with dressing tables and mirrors on the other side. Around you are women in various stages of undress: some have just arrived and are in their street clothes, others are walking around in their underwear, and all of them stop at some point to look you up and down. You knew you were going to stand out when you arrived in Neo Tokyo, but in the cruel, fluorescent lighting, itâs blazingly obvious. Most of the women around you have adorned their bodies with tattoos, the ink under their skin glowing brightly, making some of the images seem to move. Others have augmented their body: shining metallic arms and legs, hair and skin in every color of the rainbowâŚ
All of it is nothing less than extraordinary.
Thereâs nothing extraordinary about your appearance. Your body doesnât have a single tattoo or piercing. Your skin, eye, and hair color are ones that you were born with; your âhuman-nessâ is clearly on display for all to see.
âPresenting the hostesses of Club Azure!â The women go about their business as Hange walks you around the room. âYouâll find Iâve curated a diverse group of females who cater to every kind of tasteâŚ.alien, android, and humanoid. Iâm sure youâll fit right in.â
One woman, putting on makeup, scoffs at the statement. âAnd just who have you wrangled to work here now, Hange?â She turns around to look at you, her nose scrunching up and her lips turning downward in a judgmental frown. âOr should I say, what..â
âNow, now, Ymir, be nice. Everyone!â Hange claps their hands, âLunaâs just arrived from Earth and I need you all to play nice and show her the ropes. Historia! Find her a dress thatâll fit and let her shadow you tonight.â
A petite woman with golden, glittering hair and bright, shining blue eyes turns around. White tattoo ink glows under her skin, glittering like diamonds. âOf course.â She takes your hand. âCome with me, Luna.â
She leads you to a locker on the far end of the room and presses in a code. It opens with a clink. âThis was Nanabaâs locker. I figure you and she are about the same size.â She pulls out a few items and holds them against your body.
âWas? Did she leave without taking her stuff?â
Historia looks away, biting her bottom lip. Apparently your question hit a nerve. âWeâre not really sure, actually. She justâŚdisappeared after work one morning, two weeks ago. We never saw her again.â
âYouâre leaving out key information, Historia,â Ymir butts in, âshe should have never started fucking that guy in the Ackerman clan. That got her killed, I have no doubt.â
âAckerman clan?â
âYmirâŚhush!â Historia nudges Ymir and attempts to push her away, to no success.
âYou mean, Hange didnât tell you? We are employees of Club Azure, but this club is âprotectedâ by the Ackerman Clan, one of the most powerful yakuza clans in Neo Tokyo. Hange might own the place, but they pull the strings. Getting involved with them is bad news.â She gives you a foreboding look. âIf you see them, keep your distance.â
âAre they in here often?â
âOf course they are. Theyâre always skulking around, checking in on their products.â
Historia clicks her tongue, a warning to Ymir. âTheyâre not that bad. Just smile, be polite, and pour their drinks and you wonât have any problems with them.â Ignoring Ymir's eye roll, she pulls out a dress and hands it to you. âHere, try this on.â
You start taking your clothes off, and the women around you stop and stare. Ymir laughs, and you notice that each of her teeth have been shaped to a sharp point.
âYouâre just as normal as normal can be, arenât you? Not a single augmentation.â She walks around you as you stand there, naked and bare as their eyes judge you. âAll yourâŚparts areâŚreal?â she asks, lifting up your arm.
You pull away and grip the dress closer to you. âAugmentations are rare and expensive on earth.â
Ymir smirks and her carnivorous teeth flash. âWellâŚeverybody has a kink. Iâm sure someone will be interested in you.â
âYmir, thatâs enough!â Historia huffs, pushing the tall, freckled woman away. By then, youâve shimmied into the garment Historia chose for you. The tight, red dress fits your form perfectly, falling off the shoulders and highlighting your collarbone and breasts. Itâs long, but a slit cuts all the way up the top of your thigh. Youâve never worn anything so elegant.
Historia looks you up and down. âA little tight, but all the better.â She pulls you over to a dressing table. âNow for the finishing touches.â She takes out some makeup and starts applying powders and creams to your face. âHange probably wants to keep you as human as possible, so weâll keep it simple.â
Her version of simple was very different from what you were imagining, as she adorns your cheeks with pink blush and your lips with a dark red lipstick. Your hair cascades in waves across your shoulders.
When you look in the mirror you barely recognize yourself.Â
âIs that me?â you ask, touching your radiant skin.
âI just enhanced what you already have. Hopefully, itâll be good enough.â She stands and gives you another once-over, crossing her arms. âYouâre still gonna stand out, but surely someone will be interested in you.â
Ymir walks by and chuckles. âThis is gonna be interesting.â You scowl at her while she smiles smugly. âSee you two out there,â she says, before sauntering away.
Historia takes you by the hand and leads you down a dark hall. Music is already reverberating through the walls and you can hear voices and laughter amidst the clink of glasses, which amplifies as she opens the door.
The bar is dimly lit, illuminated by a ceiling with an array of twinkling lights meant to look like the night sky. There are tables and booths with plush upholstery, some meant for larger groups while others are more private and intimate. A small stage is set up in the corner with a holographic band playing, and on the opposite end of the room, a long drink bar manned by Hange and another bartender.Â
And dispersed throughout are men, some young, some old, but all well-dressed, sitting and drinking with a hostess or two.
âAt a hostess bar, itâs not our bodies that are for sale, but our time and attention,â Historia says, leading you through the room. âThey can request a certain girl, but otherwise, we are partnered with them as they come in.â
The two of you end up at the bar, where Historia gestures for you to sit. âFor the time that theyâre here, itâs our job to make the guest feel like they are wanted and important - we laugh at all their stupid jokes, listen to their problems at work or at home, or just help them to get their mind off things with conversation.â
Your eyes dart from table to table, taking note of the hostesses pouring drinks, laughing and leaning into their guests, playing drinking games, or having lively talks. One girl gets up and walks over to the stage, singing as the band plays a popular song that everyone at the table seems to know.
âAnd thatâs it?â you ask. âThereâs notâŚmoreâŚthat goes on between the guest and the hostess?â
âYou mean sex?â Historia leans her chin on her hand. âHange forbids us having sexual relationships with our guests.â Her eyes dart over to Hange as they put some drinks on a tray. âIsnât that right?â
âAbsolutely correct, my beautiful turtle dove,â they reply. âProstitution can be procured at other clubs, but not at my fine establishment. You can flirt, make eyes, touchâŚâ their bright eyes suddenly become serious, âbut no sex.â
A wave of relief washes over you when you hear this. Itâs overwhelming enough to know that youâll have men ogling you, expecting entertainment and companionship. At least thatâs all itâs expected to be.Â
While Hange busies themself with making another cocktail, Historia leans toward you and whispers, âIt doesnât mean that it doesnât happen, though.âÂ
That doesnât surprise you; if a hostessâ whole job is to flirt all night long, at some point the lines must get blurred with certain customers. And you can probably make a substantial bit of extra money in taking a relationship beyond the confines of this club.Â
But thatâs not why youâre here.
Hange pushes a tray of glasses and a bottle of alcohol across the bar to the two of you. âOk, ladies, itâs showtime. Take these drinks over to table 12.â
Historia glances over to the table before taking the tray. âUgh, itâs Lovof. Havenât seen him here for a while.â
âWhoâs Lovof?â
âA city councilman. We get a lot of politicians here.âÂ
The two of you make your way to the table where Lobov is sitting with two other men. You wipe your sweaty palms on your dress, feeling more nervous the closer you get.
âJust smile and pour drinks. Iâll take care of the rest,â Historia whispers, just before making it to the table. âLobov! Itâs been so long, I thought youâd forgotten about us!â
She slides into the booth next to Lobov, a true thing of beauty as she smiles and bats her big, blue eyes. Her skin sparkles even more under the dimmed lighting, making her look like a true angel.
You slide in on the opposite side, sitting next to Lovofâs colleagues, but neither of them pay any attention to you as Historia takes the bottle from its chilled container and pours the golden liquid into a sparkling glass. Itâs only until Historia gestures to you that they look your way, a curious look on each of their faces.
âAnd this is Luna.â Historiaâs voice is sweet and soft, matching her angelic persona. âItâs her first night, so Iâm showing her how to be a good hostess.â
âWell then, sheâs learning from the very best,â Lobov says, his snake-like eyes slinking from Historia to look you over.Â
One of the men squints, then takes off his glasses to clean them with his shirt. âThis plain-looking thing? Where in the galaxy did you find her?â he comments with a crude chuckle before turning away.
Theyâre bored with you already.
Get it together.
Donât fuck this up.
You swallow hard, then take the bottle from Historia and pour a drink for the two unimpressed men.
Smile. Put on the mask.
âThe story of why Iâm not augmented is quite a tale,â your voice drips with flirtatious intrigue, âbut perhaps itâs a tale better left for our second bottle, when Iâm a little less nervous.â
The man next to you raises an eyebrow as you raise your glass. âIn the meantime, I want to know everything there is to know about you fine gentlemen.â You smile, eyes sparkling in such a way that they almost rival Historiaâs. âKanpai.â
Lovofâs looks of confusion change to amusement as he joins you in raising his glass, the rest reflecting his actions.
âKanpai!â the table responds.
By the third bottle, everyone is buzzed and relaxed. The alcohol coursing through you is helping you to feel less nervous, and has given you a confidence youâd only pretended to have before. The man next to you, Gelgar, has completely forgotten his other colleagues and is focused solely on you, while the other two are enraptured by Historia.
The attention makes you uncomfortable, everything within you wanting to escape this manâs gaze. But this is your job, you remind yourself.Â
Youâre not the same person you were on Earth.Â
So you mirror your fellow hostess, pouring their drinks and leaning forward as they tell you about an upcoming election. Most of the time you have no idea what they're talking about, but you smile and nod, feigning to be enraptured by their words.
Youâre good at pretending. Youâve been doing it your whole life.
Thereâs a glazed look in the menâs eyes and Historia shoots you a glance that tells you itâs time for them to call it a night. As the two of you escort them out of the bar, Lovof suddenly stops, turning to you.
âMy darling, you never told us - why are you not augmented?â
Ah. You forgot youâd mentioned that.Â
âWellâŚâ you begin as youâre walking with them out of the club, â...my father was the leader of a cult and my mother was one of his many wives. It was commanded that his children never be augmented, as doing so would be an affront to God, who made the body. No needle or knife must ever blemish my skin.âÂ
A smile crawls across his face. âIntriguing. Absolutely intriguingâŚâ You feel his eyes rove over your body in a way that feels violating. âIâd like to drink with you again, Luna.â
âShe would be honored.,â Historia says, placing her hand on your back and guiding you to bow with her. âPlease come visit us again soon.â
You both deeply bow then wave as the trio drunkenly walk to the black vehicle that pulled up for them. Only until they are out of view do you both turn away.
Historia takes your arm. âThat storyâŚis it really true?â
âDoes it matter?â
Historia lets out an angelic laugh. âI think youâre going to do just fine here.â She walks arm-in-arm with you back into the bar. âYou did well for your first time, Iâm proud of you.â
âThanks. I was nervous the entire time.â You allow yourself to smile - the first real smile youâve had all night.
Historiaâs words of praise flow through you as freely as the copious amounts of alcohol youâve already consumed, both of them giving you courage as you stroll back into your new workplace.Â
This isnât too bad, you think to yourself.
You can do this.
You carry a newfound boldness as you and Historia walk up to Hange, who is waiting at the door. Thereâs a concerned, serious look in their eyes, much different from the happy, go-lucky persona youâd initially met.Â
Hange pulls you both aside. âTheyâre back, Historia, and causing a ruckus. Iâm sorry to do this to you and Luna, but will you two help with damage control for a few minutes while I call for some backup?â They press a small silver button on the back of their ear and walk away, not even waiting for a response. As if either of you had a choice in the matter.Â
You must have been too focused on your tableâs patrons to realize the growing noisiness of the table in the center of the club. Now, itâs hard to notice anything else. Â
Even from across the room, you can sense the chaotic energy of the group, a stark difference from the customers youâd just said goodbye to. The men are much younger than Lovof and his associates, their tacky suits and bright hair colors a stark contrast to the politicians youâd just entertained. They slap the table and yell curse words at each other, earning sideway glances from the others surrounding them. Empty bottles of alcohol litter their table; one of the men tries to milk the last few drops from one, but when thereâs nothing left, he frowns.
âOi! Another bottle! Make that two!â he curls his lip in disgust as he looks at his comrades slumped around the table. âThis place has the shittiest service.â
Your newfound boldness shrinks with each step to their table.
âWe just need to get them to settle down and then get them to leave,â Historia whispers, handing you a bottle. âBe polite, but donât let them manhandle you.â
You put the mask back on, smiling as you and Historia both sit on either side of the booth.
âGood evening, gentlemen,â Historia says, her voice still ringing calm and clear.
An arm immediately wraps around your shoulders the second you sit down, pulling you forcefully into him.
âLook at this - two more! We must be getting the V.I.P. treatment today, boys,â a man with long brown hair and green eyes shouts over the rest of the crowd.
Ever the essence of politeness, Historia pours the alcohol, a superficial smile never leaving her face.
âItâs our honor to serve you here at Club Azure,â is her meek reply.Â
The two other hostesses copy Historia, just as you had done earlier, but behind their smiles are eyes that want to escape the situation as soon as possible. Although this is your first night and you still have much to learn, something feels different about this group of men; they are loud and arrogant, and their way of speaking is crude. Itâs as if their entire goal is to make everyone uncomfortable. They continue to demand more alcohol and paw at the hostesses, downing bottle after bottle, their appetites insatiable.
All the while, the brunette man continues to clutch at you, his grip tight on your shoulder, keeping you from moving one inch. His suit reeks of alcohol and tobacco, and his breath is even worse when he finally decides to turn and speak to you.Â
âIâve never seen you here before.âÂ
Heâs young, and thereâs a wildness in his eyes, warning you to stay on his good side.
You attempt to shift away from him, but his arm is stronger than it looks. So you put on the mask and smile faintly. âIâm new. The nameâs Luna.â
Seeming to be the ringleader of the group, you hope that light conversation will keep him preoccupied enough for help to arrive.
Whatever help that may be.
âLunaaaaaâŚâ he repeats, his tone heavy and foreboding. âYouâre a non-aug.â He shifts his attention back to the other men at the table. âLook at this - we got ourselves a non-aug.â
You assume that means youâre not augmented. Will it be an intriguing curiosity, as it was in Lovofâs case?Â
Or something far worse?
The men hoot and holler words that you arenât familiar with, but you donât need to be fluent in the Martian dialect to know the meanings of their slurs.
The other women look at you, brows knit, bodies frozen, each hesitant to intercede.
âTell me, Luna,â his green eyes darken, moving down your body and stopping at the bare leg peeking out of the high slit of your dress, âis every part of you real?â
His grip on your shoulder grows even tighter as his free hand moves up your thigh. âLetâs find out, hm?â
Every fiber of your being is screaming to escape this manâs clutches. Your eyes flash to Historia, who attempts to stand up and walk to you, but is forced back down by one of the men. She sends you a helpless expression that even she is powerless to help you.
But you refuse to be powerless. Not ever again.
So you meet the manâs lustful gaze, and slap him hard across the face.
A look of shock sweeps over him, his pride hurt more than the sting in his cheek.
âDonât you touch me,â comes your warning, willing your body and voice not to shake.
Time freezes for a moment, not a single person moving a muscle, until -Â
â the back of his hand cracks against your cheekbone.Â
It takes you a few seconds to realize what just happened, but before you can react, he grabs your face with his hand and forces you to look into his eyes.
âBitch.â He squeezes tighter. âDo you know who I am?â
âShould I?â you manage to reply, despite the forceful grip on your cheeks.
His eyes fill with rage, getting even greener. âNobody fucks with the Jaeger clan.â
âOi.â
You hear a voice behind the two of you, cold as steel.
âDid you hear the lady? Hands off.â
You canât move your head to see whoâs talking, but your assailant does. âAnd who the fuck are you?â
âSomeone whoâs about to fuck with the Jaeger clan.â
Suddenly a hand grabs the back of the manâs collar and yanks him up, his body flying over the back of the booth and into another table. There are a few screams but then the club goes silent as all eyes watch whatâs transpiring.Â
Finally free, you look behind you to see a man in a navy blue suit. He walks closer to the other man, whoâs scrambling up from the floor. Thereâs an incredible size difference between the two; this man in the blue suit is much shorter than the men that are now surrounding him, but it doesnât seem to faze him in the least.Â
Green eyes flash and the three other henchmen barrel towards the shorter man. It only takes a few seconds for two of them to be sprawled on the ground, barely conscious. The third grabs the lapels of his dark blue suit, but a hard knee to his groin has him joining his compatriots on the floor.Â
âBastard..âÂ
Now the only one standing, the brunette moves his hand toward the inner pocket of his jacket.
Something flashes into the hand of the smaller man. It seems to be a knife of some kind.
How did it appear so quickly?
âYou pull out that piece and itâll be the last thing your hand ever does,â the shorter man warns, his eyes laser-focused.
The other three men scurry off the floor and towards the clubâs exit, but not before one of them grabs his friend by the shoulder. âCome on Eren, letâs get out of here. Your brotherâs gonna kill us if this gets worse.â
The tall brunette man smirks then backs away with his hands up, keeping his eyes on the man in front of him.
âThis isnât over.â His eyes then flit to you as he straightens his suit jacket. âFucking bitch,â he spits, before turning to leave.
Itâs as if the whole club takes a collective sigh once the four men are finally gone. Historia is immediately at your side.
âOh my god, Luna, are you alright? Iâm so sorry..â
You can hear her words and feel her gentle hands touching your face, but all your attention is on the man standing before you. He buttons his suit jacket and runs his fingers through his hair, pushing back the few strands that came loose during the scuffle.
âThank you so much, umâŚâ your words hang in the air, waiting for a name.
His steel blue eyes look into yours - not at your body, not at the bruise youâre sure is growing by the second - but deep into your eyes, before looking away.Â
Itâs the first time youâve felt someone look at you like youâre a person, not some oddity.
âLevi,â he finally answers in a low, cool voice. âAnd donât thank me for doing my job.â
Before you can say more, heâs turned his back, disappearing into the darkness of the club.Â
ââşââ âžââşââ
Glossary of terms:
Yakuza - Japanese mafia
Kanpai - cheers!
Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more
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"My lawyer summed up the case beautifully by telling the board that this was not a case involving any violation of the Articles of War, or even of military tradition, but simply a situation in which a few individuals sought to vent their bigotry on a Negro they considered 'uppity' because he had the audacity to exercise rights that belonged to him as an American and a soldier."
While his legendary contribution to baseball is of course widely known and (rightly) celebrated, the military service of Jackie Robinson is perhaps less familiar. The future barrier-breaking athlete was born in 1919 in Cairo, Georgia, but his father left the family when Jackie was still a baby --his mother moved the family to Pasadena, California in search of better prospects but the family was never able to truly rise up out of poverty. Robinson's early athletic abilities earned him varsity letters in no less than four sports (football, basketball, track, and baseball). In 1939 Robinson graduated from Pasadena Junior College and was accepted at UCLA, where he again lettered in the same four sports. His athletic path ostensibly fixed in the heavens, his life nevertheless took something of a detour in 1942, and he found himself drafted into a segregated all-Black U.S. Army unit based out of Fort Riley, Kansas.
Robinson earned his commission as a second lieutenant a year later (making him one of a very small minority of Black officers at the time, as Black soldiers were generally not accepted at Officers' Candidate School), and was assigned to Fort Hood, Texas as part of the 761st Black Panthers tank battalion. Significantly during Robinson's time in the service, he was part of the "Double V" (double victory) movement, an assertion that Black soldiers use their wartime service to not only fight rising fascism abroad, but also institutionalized racism at home. This campaign was borne out of an editorial in The Pittsburgh Courier that (not-so-rhetorically) asked, "Would it be demanding too much to demand full citizenship rights in exchange for the sacrificing of my life?" The hypocrisy that the article called out, was then further amplified in a speech by no less than W.E.B. Du Bois (see Lesson #1 in this series). Robinson, mindful of his public status (he was already something of an athletic role model, at this point), stuck to his convictions and wore the "double V" button.
On the pivotal date of July 6, 1944, Robinson happened to be aboard a civilian bus bound for Fort Hood, but when additional white passengers boarded, he refused the driver's order to move to the back. Despite Executive Order 8802 having been in effect since June 1941 (a directive that banned discriminatory practices throughout all Federal agencies including the War Department), MPs and Fort Riley's provost marshal were nevertheless called and Robison was arrested and court-martialed. Six charges initially arose from his seat refusal: disturbing the peace, drunkenness, conduct unbecoming an officer, insulting a civilian woman, insubordination, and refusing to obey the lawful orders of a superior officer. These obviously-inflated extra charges were eventually dismissed but that was very much not the norm for Black officers serving at that time, and the court-martial became not so much a question of internal discipline, but of unwillingness to bend to bigoted Southern customs and traditions. A court of nine combat officers ultimately acquitted Robinson and his Army career could continue, despite a deeply contentious process that could very easily have gone the other way.
He was then transferred to Camp Breckenridge (Kentucky), and served as a coach for the Army athletics until his honorable discharge in 1944. His army career thus over, Robinson would return to athletics and play for various Negro League teams, the first steps along the path that would eventually bring him to his history-making 1947 signing with the Brooklyn Dodgers.
(And... I guess this means I have again --technically-- drawn another baseball card for this series.)
#black lives matter#black history#major league baseball#jackie robinson#number 42#department of defense#smithsonian#double v#wwii#segregation#censorship#do not comply in advance#teachtruth#dothework#showup
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