#reversal of nine's circumstances my beloved

[eorzeashan]

Thinks about Keeper and Eight's first meeting. Eight, who hadn't even cleaned the blood of the previous Intelligence administration off him. Who still had bolts in his shoulder and was dripping onto Keeper's floor (there's a blooming stain with a dagger-shaped tear on the back of the chair he's sitting in. best not to surmise who sat in it previously. his unfortunate predecessor, late). Eight, who didn't bother to look forward with the hollow eyes of a dead man. Head hung heavy. Dead on arrival. Keeper knew what he'd done. What he could do.

All he asked was that he sign on the dotted line.

Swear yourself to the new Intelligence. To me. It's the only way I can save you.

I, ___, do hereby swear.

[foxofthedesert]

A brief RedQueen take on Hades/Persephone

For @loudestdork in response to this incredible post.  It’s your fault I’m still up at 6 am.  

Also, I haven’t even proofread this, so please blame any errors or general crappiness in quality on either mental fatigue or sleepless mania.  :)  

Slowly Regina rises from her chilly onyx throne.  The flickering embers stirring back to life within her breast had compelled her to rise, and as they burst once more into flame, the line of silver candelabras begin to glow with an intensity that hurts her eyes. Darkness recedes as light suffuses the chamber, bathing her in warmth that steals her breath away.

Equal measures of excitement and dread war within soul, for within the hour she will leave this place for the surface.  

Eyes slipping shut, she conjures up an image to quell her fears – it is one she often draws upon whenever the tenacious, insidious claws of despair dig into her psyche during the interminable, desolate months of spring and summer.  Rich chestnut hair cascades in waves and curls over shapely shoulders and down a finely arched back.  Pale skin lacking scar or blemish, smooth to the touch like the silk produced by Minerva's loom and sweet as honey to the taste, bared to her greedy hands and eyes.  Sea green irises merry with youth and vitality and unbridled curiosity that will burn a brilliant amber when angered or aroused and fade into sickly blue while in the throes of anguish.  A frame to rival Diana; a visage more comely than Venus; and a smile and laugh even brighter than those of Apollo and Laetitia that alone is capable of banishing the perpetual gloom that drapes the realm of the dead in a curtain of despair; all belonging to the only person in all of existence that truly matters to Regina anymore.  

Soon, so very soon, a voice more beautiful than any of the nine Muses will caress her longing ears.  She recalls in vivid detail how it sounded upon the first such reunion.

“Oh!  How dreary you have allowed our home to become in my absence,” Ruby (for that is the chosen name of Regina’s beloved) had trilled, an effective chastisement delivered in tones so affectionate and gentle that even the Goddess of the Dead cannot summon a word to speak in her own defense.  “I shall spend a week at the very least removing cobwebs and dust, no to mention relocating all of the industrious little creatures that have taken up residence in the shadows. Really, love, why must you continually refuse to utilize the resources at your disposal?  Sydney is a splendid caretaker, if not an incorrigible gossip, and Maleficent a wise and capable counselor.  How many times must I come back home to an unfit abode before you take my suggestions to heart?  Honestly, your continued stubbornness on this issue is most disappointing!”

“Bah!  Due caution would appear as stubbornness to your disgustingly naive notion that redemption is possible for those whose misdeeds are as numerous and grievous as mine,” Regina had replied, nose curling in rebellious distaste at any suggestion she be so lazy – or efficient depending upon perspectives not her own clearly superior one – delegate the tasks laid upon her by laws more ancient than her fellow deities or the beastly titans who birthed them.  

Oh how Ruby had bristled at that well-aimed dart. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.  Nor is your conclusion.  I do not believe it is naive to hope for those who have made mistakes so long as they are capable of remorse.  I would not be here otherwise.”

“Perhaps that is your great error.  You have blinded yourself with optimism to the truth that I am indeed beyond hope and have doomed yourself to an eternity of sorrow by consequence.”

Regina knows how best to hurt with her words.  The skill is, according to her peers, the one most responsible for her being an outcast.  Her sister had offered an olive branch after their cataclysmic war, but she had refused it in a caustic speech that is recited in worshipful devotion by her Terran acolytes to this day.  

Words are a weapon to be used with precision, their mother had taught them as youths just blooming into their cosmic powers, for they are every bit as devastating as fire or lightning.

When she was banished from Olympos and cast into Dīs upon a searing bolt a lightning, Regina was robbed of her fire.  But they could not take her words, and she has used them ever since in both condemnation and reward to pass judgment upon those who arrive upon her shores.  That Ruby is too commonly a target for her verbal pila is a stain upon her conscience that irritates her far more than it should considering who she is and what she has done.  

Life would be much simpler the six months per annum they are together if she could learn to hold her barbed tongue in check, but Regina has never been one for simple.  And so they are often at odds over the banal.  They will quarrel over contentious adjudications. They will spend hours in mutually stubborn silence while offended or emotionally injured. They will disagree on meals, spar over Olympian philosophy and art and politics, and speak to one another in outbursts of raw angry passion wielding razor sharp phrases which leave wounds so deep as to be nearly visible.  

But there is also love between them.  Immeasurable love.  Love that time and distance cannot erase when they are forced apart for half the year.  Love that is blind to faults and annoyances, that weathers storms of rage and frustration and misunderstanding, and that forgives trespasses and inspires self-improvement however glacially incremental.  A love that twines their immortal essences together so tightly that they share a dreamscape while sleeping, and that they have no use for repose is of no consequence when the aching of loneliness or separation becomes unbearable. 

It is that boundless, magical, incomprehensible love which revived Regina’s moribund heart and made her start to care again.  For that reason she is grateful beyond description on most days and on her worst regretful she ever laid eyes upon the gorgeous creature who single-handedly turned her entire world upside down.

“If I am blind to love you, then may I never see again,” Ruby had said, those enchanting eyes glimmering so brightly in the faint light that the individual strands of her irises were visible. “And if this is to be my doom as you say, then I accept it with open arms, for it shall be one of bountiful joy. The only sorrow for me will come when we are again forced to part.  I spent the past six months yearning for you just as I shall the next six when our bell proclaims the arrival of spring.”

“Well, if not blind then you are certainly foolish,” Regina said, throat choked with so much feeling that she felt as though she might suffocate.

Ruby had merely smiled in that way only she could, playful and loving and sincere all at once.  “I am guilty as charged of being a fool, my Queen.  Your fool.”

Unable to help herself, Regina felt her lips curl up at the edges.  “Well, we cannot all be perfect.  Not even the celebrated daughter of Ceres Eugenia, it appears.” So as to change the reverse of their conversation back toward less emotionally distressful directions, she had cleared her throat and then returned to the original topic. “As for your so-called suggestion: it is, quite frankly, absurd. One of the two miserable wretches you mentioned earlier is a driveling sycophant while the other is a maudlin dragoness whose fits of fire-breathing mania lead me question my decision to retain her.  No doubt they both would abuse such positions to undermine my authority.  Prudence would dictate that I should cast them both into Tartarus and be done with their annoyances!”  

Ruby’s gasp of affront was so dramatic that it echoed through the cavernous chamber and caused the nearest candle flames to flicker.  

“Morta Plutonia Regina!  One of these days I will finally teach you how to be nice to those in your charge, especially those who would call you their friend.”

Regina winced as she always does at her given name and returned the favor in kind with as much snark as she possibly could.

“I need no friends, Proserpina Libera,” she said.  “I have the dead to keep me company.”

The story of their first meeting, and incidentally how Proserpina Libera became Ruby, then begins to play through Regina’s mind.  Before long, she becomes so lost in the memory that time ceases to have any meaning whatsoever.

Her musings last until a ghostly bell rings in the distance.  She emerges from wistful recollection to mournful chiming accompanied by plaintive voices singing an announcement that summer has ended and autumn has begun.  

Once, there was no bell to quarterly drone and chant in languid harmony with the turning of seasons.  Once, she was painfully alone amongst a swelling sea of souls thrust cruelly into her charge.  Once, she was content to nurse her hatred of her elder sibling and ruler of Olympos whose envious betrayal resulted in Regina’s current circumstance, and she had bent that hatred and bitterness toward piling ever-more layers of jagged ice upon the impenetrable fortress that was her irreparably damaged heart.  Once, there had been no evidence of life at all in this place that she called home save the frost of her breath and tortured moaning of the damned that plagued her every waking hour. Once, she had believed herself incapable of love and took great comfort in that belief.

But that was before her beloved rosa rubra strolled through the forest she was traversing in secret, and left upon every inch of earth those bare feet trod over a carpet of lush red roses.

The surface back then felt much further away, too far for Regina’s overtaxed attention to be concerned with happenings above yet too near to ever escape hope of being freed from her endless confinement.  The only reason she kept up with current events was to better evaluate the lives of those she was constrained by unbreakable law to judge.  One day she learned of a scandal detailing how her sister had become impregnated by a mortal man through spurious means and birthed a daughter who was a gifted huntress that won the heart of a princess. Knowing that her unforgivably wicked sibling Zelena would be unable to resist interfering, she arranged a brief excursion to terra firma. It had taken countless hours of planning and work, but she had managed to slip through an isolated section of the great Gates of Dīs while Cerberus was distracted (the brutish if not mildly adorable mongrel had still been hopelessly under the thrall of her sister, an enchantment that Ruby was blessedly able to break) and emerge in the land of the living for the first time in millennia.

At first Regina had been unable to do much more than marvel at the scenery.  For thousands of years she had been trapped in a world of darkness that smelled and sounded and felt like death.  But the world above was teeming with life, even the air smelled as though it were animate, and the overload of so much sensory input had nearly paralyzed her. Once she recovered, she began picking her way through the forest by foot as using her powers to travel would have alerted the Olympians that she was no longer present at her station.

About halfway through the journey, she was stopped cold by the sound of singing. That angelic verse was carried upon the wings of a gentle breeze straight through the mountainous walls of ice surrounding her heart. In moments so swift she was helpless to react, she physically felt her defenses shatter and her resolve to remain aloof from all emotion crumble.  A single verse of that song had accomplished what the assembled armies of Olympos could not upon the bloody plains of Thessaly, a verse that she would eventually decree be recited each year by siren spirits upon the autumnal equinox.  She was so mesmerized by the soft melodic quality of the singer’s voice that she would not know the rest of the song until Ruby performed it much later.

Recklessly, like a starving lion desperately trailing its only hope for survival, Regina followed the song to the edge of a tiny clearing.  And then Regina saw her.  In the midst, haloed by Apollo’s rays, she danced and sang as birds joined in with the melody and branches swayed hypnotically to the rhythm.  Clad in a flowing crimson-trimmed dress, draped by a lavish red cloak, crowned by a wreath of fresh flowers with roses crawling up her bare arms; her expression open in untold wonderment, cheeks ruddy with the exhilaration of living; she was – and still is – the very epitome of beauty, and grace, and charm, and hope, and joy.  Save for the wedding night, no sight before or since has ever rivaled that first glimpse of embodied perfection.

A deafening rumble shakes the cavernous hall as the earth above lazily yawns as if arising from a seasonal slumber, snatching Regina’s focus away from that first fateful meeting.  From above, rubble rains down as mote and stone, and the prevailing sunlight filtering through the haze casts a diluted shadow across the hall.

She turns her eyes up, squinting to mitigate the intense pain of photo-sensitivity, and watches impassively as the detritus begins to mold itself into a great spiral staircase.  One by one the steps arrange themselves, each uniform in shape and perfectly spaced out as she had commanded centuries ago via laborious incantation, until they have spanned from polished obsidian floors to vaulted granite ceiling.  

With measured steps she ascends the newly formed stairway, her raven-down cloak billowing behind her.  She holds her head high, proud and regale, as she ascends.  Eager anticipation has caused her heart to thunder and her limbs to buzz with energy, but she is still a Queen.  Always a Queen.

The afternoon sun hangs low on the horizon, her cousin having turned his attentions elsewhere in the world, and the air is crisp and clean.  Death has yet to arrive in earnest, the foliage of the forest remains mostly verdant, but Regina can feel it approaching from every angle, a stooping, skulking specter whose insatiable hunger is gnawing to the point of agony.  For a split second she falters, inundated by the cloying scent of nascent decay which beckons her to turn heel and descend into the realm where such monsters as herself belong.

And then she hears it, the introductory lines of a new song written solely for her:

My love, my love, to thee I call;

My love, the fairest of them all

With raven’s hair and silken skin.

I come at last to thee again!

As if an insect brushed away from one’s collar, death recedes into the back of her consciousness so that life can inhabit the space it has abandoned.  Life that reverently whispers her name into the crook of her neck and the flesh of her shoulder, that holds her hand and brushes away the tears that began to fall again after infusing her with vitality she had never before experienced, and that loves her beyond any logical explanation and refuses to ever give up on her. Life that has a name, Ruby, and is currently waiting for her in meadow they both hold so dear.

Squaring her shoulders, Regina strides forward with renewed strength.  She has a reunion to attend that she has been awaiting for six very long months.  Until Ruby points it out, she will not even realize she is smiling.  

[ninetailednaru]

Obito & Kakashi Have Some of The Saddest Backstories in Naruto: My Thoughts.

Look, I know I am a WRITING BLOG, but I couldn’t resist talking about this.

Kakashi

Kakashi Hatake— the Copy Ninja of Konoha, Sensei and Leader of the legendary Team 7, and one of the fanbases most beloved and cherished characters.

On the surface, he seems like the laid-back, yet strict academy teacher who’s kind of pervy and goofy. But in Shippuden when we get a better look into his past, you can’t help but think “what if?”

I saw somebody one say that Kakashi is the “Sasuke that didn’t turn to darkness.” Honestly, they have a point.

Kakashi was a child prodigy that lost everyone and everything at a very young age. His father committed suicide and was left to find his own father’s dead body, he was under the impression that his best friend and rival was killed trying to save him, and he unintentionally killed his friend and squad mate when she threw herself in front of his attack.

Then, with Sasuke, he was another prodigy who lost everything as a child. His own brother was killed his entire clan by force (which he was unaware of at the time), and then was made to watch the entire night unfold in front of him again, and again, and again for 24 hours and then once more a few years later when he ran into Akatsuki!Itachi. However, unlike Kakashi (and Naruto who went through a lot as a child as well, but that isn’t important yet), Sasuke gave into the darkness. The Uchiha “Curse of Hatred” as it’s called.

Sasuke handled his trauma differently because it manifested differently. Sure, events like Orochimaru giving him his curse mark influenced him taking this path and all, but we saw him resist it. We saw him try to become better and forget about all of that. What really sent him over edge was seeing Itachi again and basically getting bodied by him.

Kakashi didn’t turn, amazingly enough. I can say that I wouldn’t be surprised if he became an antagonist given his terrible childhood. But, once again, he handled the trauma differently. We know Kakashi suffers/suffered from PTSD from killing Rin, and survivor’s guilt. The poor guy had nightmares for ages after killing Rin, and was labeled a “friend killer” by his classmates who didn’t even know the half of what really happened. Then, a few years later, his Sensei is killed in the Nine-Tails attack by his believed-to-be-dead friend posing as Madara Uchiha. Ironically enough, he witnesses said friend (Obito) die AGAIN during the Fourth Shinobi War.

Kakashi eventually learned how to cope heathily and is doing much better as we’ve seen. But, we know he still hurts in part. He visited Obito’s grave everyday for YEARS (which was why he was so late all the time— a habit Obito had in their youth), and felt so terribly guilty. This is the kind of shit that ruins people for LIFE, and I have so much respect for Kakashi for handling it the way he did.

Obito

Obito Uchiha— an orphan Uchiha who enjoyed helping the elderly and had a wild dream, wanting to become Hokage some day.

Going back to Kakashi being the “Sasuke that didn’t turn to darkness,” the same person said Obito was the “Naruto that turned evil.”

Kakashi and Obito’s story in my eyes is the equivalent or Naruto and Sasuke’s, but with the roles reversed. Obito grew up without his parents, being raised and taken care of by his grandmother. He was often late to training due to helping the elderly he’d pass on the street and his generally poor time-management skills. Obito was a late bloomer with nothing special in particular about him or going for him— a master of none. He did enough to get by, and when he met child-prodigy Kakashi Hatake, it sparked a fire in him that made him want to do better.

Now, let’s look at Naruto. An orphan who’s parents were killed by the Nine-Tails attack on the Leaf, who became the very same tailed-beast’s jinchuurki essentially at birth. In doing so, he was shunned by his own village and instead of being seen as a hero like Lord Fourth wanted him to be seen as, he was seen as a pest. A burden. A no-good, fruitless individual who just caused trouble. He was attention starved, which explains his flamboyant and obnoxious attitude, along with all the trouble he went around causing. He wanted to be seen. He wanted people to remember the name “Naruto Uzumaki” at any cost— good or bad.

Naruto channeled his loneliness and saddness through laughter. He hid it all behind smiles and giggles. Naruto had nobody and no one, so he set his sights on becoming someone everybody saw and recognized.

The Hokage.

Obito was just like this. We know that when Obito saw Naruto, he saw himself. It really opens your eyes to what could’ve been— to what could’ve happened to Naruto if he turned to darkness. Obito was manipulated. His pain and suffering, along with his big heart and love for his friends— for Rin— was exploited. It was all building up, and like how Sasuke’s run in with Itachi did him in, Madara’s and the White Zetsu’s manipulation and timing to get Obito to the scene of Rin’s death to witness it in full (out of context to say the least), was the straw that broke the camel’s back. In Obito’s supposedly “dying moments,” Kakashi promised him he’d protect Rin at all costs. What a way to break a promise by killing the very person you swore to protect in front of the person that you swore it too.

Obito felt betrayed. His emotions flooded through him like electricity and he lost it. We saw how he massacred the mutalated the Mist Shinobi and how the water from the rain was dyed red. He tore through them in a fit of rage and resigned himself to darkness. He awoke his Mangekyo, which often happened when one witnessed the death of somebody close to the user and was associated with the Curse of Hatred, and became the brand new Madara Uchiha. 

Yes, I get many people don’t like Obito. But, honestly, I do. I think what he did isn’t all that crazy considereding what he was put through. He was being puppeteered and manipulated the entire time and had no idea until the stage was set and ready to go. Just like how what Sasuke did was honestly justifiable because of his fucked up circumstances.

Conclusion

As previously stated, in my eyes Obito and Kakashi are the Sasuke and Naruto of their time with the roles reversed. They both went through so much, as children none the less, and the both dealt with their trauma differently. Trauma manifests differently in each person, and Obito happened to be in the perfect situation to be played like a son of a bitch by a rebellious mass murderer and become one as well. Their pasts are tragic and fucked up, and honestly, the way that things played out don’t surprise me in the slightest.

And that is why I believe Kakashi and Obito have some of the saddest backstories in Naruto.

[mrmichaelchadler]

Thumbnails 1/25/19

Thumbnails is a roundup of brief excerpts to introduce you to articles from other websites that we found interesting and exciting. We provide links to the original sources for you to read in their entirety.—Chaz Ebert

1. 

"Still grieving, Anton Yelchin's parents try to move forward with new documentary": Amy Kaufman of The LA Times reports on "Love Antosha," scheduled to premiere at Sundance.

“Perhaps the biggest revelation in the film is just how much Anton struggled with cystic fibrosis — a diagnosis he hid from the public and the entertainment business. As a precocious kid, he was pink-cheeked and enthusiastic, shooting short films with childhood friends and constantly performing impressions for his parents. He never seemed sick and barely demonstrated any signs of someone with the progressive disease, which causes mucus to form in the lungs. In fact, he appeared so healthy that his parents decided not to tell him the full details of his diagnosis — CF patients have a life expectancy of around 37 — until he was 17. ‘I didn’t want to introduce him exactly to what it was, because he was so artistic and so sensitive,’ said Irina. ‘I was just afraid that he would go into it and he would get panicked or get affected by it too much. He didn’t even know what it was for real, how difficult and dangerous that illness was. Only after 17, 18, that’s when we talked, because I said: ‘You can’t go to this club. They are smoking there.’ You feel good, but it doesn’t mean you cannot get worse.’’ Upon learning about his illness, Anton worked hard to stay healthy, constantly running up and down the stairs and researching herbal remedies to try on top of his prescribed medications. Before long days on set, he’d wake up two hours early to put on an inflatable vest that helped him to clear his airways.”

2. 

"John Fricke on the 80th Anniversary of 'The Wizard of Oz'": The Emmy-winning Oz historian/author chats with me at Indie Outlook, in anticipation of the film's return to the big screen January 27th, 29th & 30th, courtesy of Fathom Events.

“For the last half century, you could start talking about ‘The Wizard of Oz; to just about anybody over the age of three, and there would be an immediate, shared reference point. People levitate from their chairs when they start discussing the movie. About six or seven years ago, The Weather Channel did a special on the 100 Most Pivotal Moments in Weather History, and at number 53, they listed the tornado in ‘The Wizard of Oz.’ That sequence actually inspired people to become meteorologists. There’s no question that the film has impacted all ages on a multitude of levels. If you grew up watching it on TV, every time you revisit the film, you think, ‘That was the one night we were able to stay up late, put on our pajamas and have popcorn and orange soda with our family, and we all watched it together.’ I remember one poignant story about a man who grew up in a very troubled house. He said that the ‘Oz’ broadcast was the one very peaceful night of the year, because both of his parents loved that movie. As you say, Margaret Hamilton nailed it, as did Ray Bolger when he was a guest on ‘The Judy Garland Show.’ He spoke of growing up with the Oz books, and the great philosophy that they expressed. His mother had pointed out to him the message of these books: ‘Everybody has a brain, everybody has a heart, and everybody has courage. These are the gifts that God gives people on earth, and if you use them properly, they lead you home. And home isn’t a place. It’s the people you love and the people who love you. That’s a home.’”

3.

"Stephen Reinhardt (1931-2018): The Liberal Judge With a Fighting Spirit": Politico's Lara Bazelon eulogizes the late judge, who passed away in December, while honoring his extraordinary legacy.

“Judge Stephen Reinhardt, 87, reigned for 38 years as the liberal lion of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 9th Circuit, the nation’s largest appellate court with jurisdiction over nine states. Nothing, it seemed, could kill him. Not triple bypass surgery in 1982, not quadruple bypass surgery in 2001. Not the execution—over his fierce objection—of individuals he believed had been wrongfully convicted, nor the Supreme Court’s numerous other reversals of his most famous decisions—decisions upholding the right to die, striking down the requirement that students recite the Pledge of Allegiance, declaring unconstitutional a law prohibiting late-term abortions. Not the slow loss of his beloved wife, Ramona Ripston, to dementia, and the stress, sadness and loneliness that came with it. Not even the election of President Donald Trump, whose rhetoric and policies targeted the very people—immigrants, the criminally accused, the powerless—whose rights the judge had done everything he could to protect. But in March, after he had gotten a clean bill of health from his cardiologist, Reinhardt’s heart stopped suddenly. His death left the hundreds who knew and loved him—his family, his law clerks, his colleagues and large circle of friends—grief stricken and in shock.”

4. 

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, but there's nothin' aplenty": Martha P. Nochimson reviews Adam McKay's Oscar-nominated satirical drama, "Vice," for Eye on Media.

“‘Vice,’ Adam McKay’s interpretation of Dick Cheney’s reign of terror, comes to a false ending in the middle of his film. The music rises to a mock triumphant crescendo, and credits roll over a montage of happy family scenes in which the actors we have seen portray the infamous Dick (Christian Bale) and his wife Lynne (Amy Adams) luxuriate in the lap of domestic affluence as they cavort with children and dogs. The credits are the actual credits of Vice, but prematurely displayed. The faux closure falsely celebrates the Cheneys’ permanent exit from politics when, after Carter’s win as president and the loss of Gerald Ford, Cheney’s prospects for running for and winning high political office began to seem impossible. What? It’s a tease. The movie isn’t ending; rather it winks at us about how stories work, and continues on to document the most destructive period of Cheney’s political life. It’s a mysterious rhetorical move by McKay. But it isn’t the only one, and it isn’t the first one. ‘Vice’ is a film about Dick Cheney and his partner in crime Lynne, to be sure, but it’s also about the way we talk about history, how we know what we know, how we fill in the gaps in our partial knowledge with our own fictions, and who has a voice in creating historical narratives.”

5. 

"Aaron Sorkin remembers William Goldman: 'He was the dean of American screenwriters and still is": An exclusive essay from the Oscar-winning screenwriter, published at The LA Times. 

“When I was starting out in my 20s, Bill Goldman saw something in me and took me under his wing, where I’ve remained and where I’ll continue to remain despite his death. I’m not the only writer he mentored — Scott Frank, Tony Gilroy, Ben Affleck and Matt Damon are just a few he tutored personally, and countless others have been and will continue to be taught by his examples. ‘Kid, the next time I say, ‘Let’s go someplace like Bolivia,’ let’s go someplace like Bolivia.’ ‘They could always surrender.’ ‘For a second there I thought we were in trouble.’ Those three quotable lines aren’t just from the same movie (‘Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid’), they’re from the same scene. ‘You keep thinkin’, Butch, that’s what you’re good at.’ ‘Who are those guys?’ ‘Well we tried goin’ straight, what should we try now?’ ‘The fall’ll probably kill you!’ A movie about two outlaws coming to grips with a world that’s changing around them won Bill his first Academy Award. Deep Throat never said, ‘Follow the money.’ It was a line Bill wrote for the character of Deep Throat in his screenplay ‘All the President’s Men,’ for which he won his second Academy Award.”

Image of the Day

At Vanity Fair, Donald Liebenson hails Thelma Todd and Zasu Pitts as the greatest female comedy team of classic Hollywood, and explains "why they still pack a punch."

Video of the Day

The invaluable YouTube channel, Be Kind Rewind, has a wonderful series of videos dissecting that circumstances that resulted in various Best Actress triumphs at the Oscars. The video embedded above focusing on Joan Crawford's 1946 victory, where she finally won the accolade for "Mildred Pierce," also serves as an exceptional introduction to the icon's career bereft of camp. 

from All Content http://bit.ly/2WiyAYB

[friend-clarity]

In the battle between equality and religion, must religion always lose?

In the battle between equality and religion, must religion always lose?

6 April 2018

Last month, Ofsted descended on the Yesodey Hatorah girls’ school in Stamford Hill, north London. The school has always been rated “good” by the inspectorate. Its results put it in the top 2 per cent of the country for maths and the top 10 per cent for English. There is no disciplinary problem either. The Haredic Jewish community from which the pupils come is almost completely free from gang violence, drugs and teenage pregnancy. If all schools maintained Yesodey Hatorah’s standards of conduct, there would be virtually no teenage crime in the country.

The inspectors do not seem interested in this, however. What they want to know about is sex. They worry that the pupils are not taught about sex. It is alleged – though also denied – that they stopped girls in the corridors and asked them intrusive questions about things like internet dating sites. They raided the library, and discovered that some of the books have passages about sex blacked out. They are angry that the girls are not taught about homosexuality.

At any one time, we are supposed to live by certain public doctrines. In our secular age, you might expect these to fade away, but actually the opposite is happening. We live in a swirl of public doctrine, expressed in words such as “inclusion”, “diversity” and “tolerance”. These are commingled into something called “British values”.

To the untutored eye – by which I mean the eye of almost anyone – the meaning of these words is obscure. Where is the “diversity”, for example, in banning a male-voice choir in the police? Where is the “tolerance” in classifying a speech against homosexual acts as a “hate-crime”?

Talk of “British values” is an attempt to synthesise all this stuff, and to enforce it. In a way, it is an admirable endeavour to fill a public vacuum. For too long, groups who hate our country, its history and culture, have been allowed to grab the microphone. The aim of “British values” is to wrest it back from the maniacs and start talking about what binds us together. Unfortunately, confusion can result.

It has at last rightly been recognised that you cannot prevent violent extremism without tackling the non-violent extremism that legitimates it

Take schools. After long dispute, it has at last rightly been recognised that you cannot prevent violent extremism without tackling the non-violent extremism that legitimates it. This means scrutinising what the young are taught. In the modern West, it overwhelmingly, but not exclusively, means what young Muslims are taught.

Some of this is what used to be called “civics” – the basics of democracy, the rule of law, freedom of speech – with particular applications such as knowing the National Anthem. On top of this get piled the doctrines that are expressed in the nine “Protected Characteristics” of the Equality Act 2010. These prevent discrimination on grounds of race, religion, sexual orientation and so on.

Once this medicine has been mixed in the laboratories of power, it is then administered. The job falls to Ofsted, the schools inspectorate.

Last month, Ofsted descended on the Yesodey Hatorah girls’ school in Stamford Hill, north London. The school has always been rated “good” by the inspectorate. Its results put it in the top 2 per cent of the country for maths and the top 10 per cent for English. There is no disciplinary problem either. The Haredic Jewish community from which the pupils come is almost completely free from gang violence, drugs and teenage pregnancy. If all schools maintained Yesodey Hatorah’s standards of conduct, there would be virtually no teenage crime in the country.

The inspectors do not seem interested in this, however. What they want to know about is sex. They worry that the pupils are not taught about sex. It is alleged – though also denied – that they stopped girls in the corridors and asked them intrusive questions about things like internet dating sites. They raided the library, and discovered that some of the books have passages about sex blacked out. They are angry that the girls are not taught about homosexuality.

Ofsted’s final verdict has not yet been pronounced, but the school has received signals that it will be punished solely because of the above.

If so, the case will matter in several ways. First, it will damage the beloved concepts of “diversity” and “inclusion”. It was a great breakthrough when Yesodey Hatorah became voluntary-aided (ie, mainly state-funded) in 2005, because it represented a move, controversial among orthodox Jews, away from the very separate life they had until then lived. If they could co-operate with the state to produce what most would recognise as a good education, this meant that both sides were opening up. For a refugee people like the Jews, this sent out a cheering message that they were accepted in British public culture. If this message is reversed, fear replaces trust.

What does it imply, come to that, for our thousands of state-supported church schools if there comes a moment when their interpretation of their religion conflicts with the dogma of the state?

Second, it will damage freedom of religion. Ofsted cannot now allege that the Government did not know what it was taking on. The clue lies in the school’s name. Yesodey Hatorah means “the Laws which are the Foundations of the Torah” (the Torah is the first five books of the Jewish Bible that Christians call the Old Testament). There was never the faintest chance that a school with that name would not live by its interpretations of those laws. These include conservative views of sexual behaviour, and of what and when children should be taught about it.

A further clue can be found on the school’s website. It says “Our core values and ethos … discourage the use of online communication and internet use wherever possible. This site therefore holds only statutory and other basic information about the school.” It was never likely that many girls at such a school would have to navigate the problems of Facebook, Tinder or of internet pornography. School, synagogue and parents combine against this.

If it is being said that such a school is not worthy of state support, what does that imply for the other 38 Jewish Orthodox schools currently in that situation? What does it imply, come to that, for our thousands of state-supported church schools if there comes a moment when their interpretation of their religion conflicts with the dogma of the state? Unlike, say, France, this country has for centuries supported the idea that education is one of the prime tasks of religion, and that for the state to stamp on this would endanger liberty and educational quality.

So there is a battle between the Equality Act’s “Protected Characteristic” of religion and that of sexuality. Must religion always lose? If secularists are allowed to sit in judgment in a kangaroo court, as appears to be happening in this case, the answer will always be yes.

Of course it is true – history shows it repeatedly – that religious fanaticism can produce violence and bigotry. But to understand religion’s evils correctly, it is necessary to understand religion itself. I wonder how many modern bureaucrats do. They show little evidence of it. I can imagine them hearing of Christians eating “the body and blood of Christ” and panicking, in their ignorance, that they are dealing with a bunch of cannibals.

Religion is, among other things, a belief-centred way of life. As such, it will – and sometimes ought to – come into conflict with the current notions of the powerful. Throughout their history, all mainstream religions have exalted heterosexual married sex over all other forms. The modern state is entitled to disagree, but it is most unwise – not to say intolerant – to turn disagreement into a showdown in the name of upholding “British values”. All it is upholding is the right-on orthodoxy of about 30 years’ standing.

Besides, such rows are a huge diversion. The real purpose of teaching “British values” is to squeeze out the tendencies that drive the young to want to destroy the country in which they live. Age-old force of circumstance has ensured that Jews have developed the most careful ways of living peacefully in host countries that do not share their faith. If pupils emerge from Yesodey Hatorah and start trying to bomb London, I will eat my kippah (or would, if I had one). Why make enemies of worthy fellow-citizens? Ofsted is spoiling for a fight the Government does not want.

There is a massive – almost absolute – distinction between conservatism and extremism in religion. Within modern Islam, the difference is literally a matter of life and death. That is the battle that needs to be fought and won, not least in schools.