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brucewaynehater101 · 4 months ago

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Absolutely. It doesn't help that Tim looks really similar to a younger Jason (especially since Tim hasn't had any more "growth spurts" since he was thirteen).

Tim was also a spitfire at their confrontation. He was biting back witty responses and not giving Jason a verbal inch.

This begs the question, though. Does Jason think Tim is capable of feelings, or does he see him (post-TT) as an object the Bats place their grief-filled affections on?

To add to Jason's angst, does he think that Tim was made to be an "invulnerable" machine because Bruce realized, after Jason died, that the previous Robin was too weak/imperfect? Does he try harder (or actually try) to kill Tim since he's just a machine?

Then we get to Damian who knows, by the time that he arrives, that Drake is just an android. This would be a metaphorical bomb to Damian's inferiority and superiority complexes. Drake is an "object" but he's also "designed" to be the perfect Robin. Drake, who is supposedly incapable of feelings, is trusted with human lives/well-being more than Damian (ex-assassin) is.

Also, I'd like to imagine the subtle bias coming to play. Bruce loves and cares about Tim, but his mind slightly shifts after he finds out Tim is a machine. He is still his son, but Tim doesn't stay injured like the rest of them. He doesn't need food or as much rest. Tim could theoretically work longer hours or sustain more damage than them. Bruce, in this, loves Tim. Yet, his analytical mind shifts his bias so that he ends up using/relying on Tim more (which strains Bruce's relationships with Tim and his other children [some of the kids seeing this shift incorrectly as Bruce trusting Tim more]).

Perhaps a legitimate worry for Bruce arises that Tim could be "hacked" and compromised that way. Tim, fortunately, works almost entirely on a self-sustained inaccessible network (I'm not tech savvy. Leave my lingo alone). While he can access the internet, it's not a direct access to Tim. It'd be similar to Tim utilizing a device like a laptop to do so (just without the physical middle man).

Another aspect that Tim can't control is that he sometimes gives off the uncanny valley vibes. It's faint enough to be ignorable and usually only affects his first impressions. Some folks instantly dislike or hate Tim due to this effect, though they wouldn't be able to tell you why. Tim can increase or decrease this feeling at will and utilizes it in costume (it also makes him terrifying and fucks with human instincts if he cranks it up high enough).

With Tim being an android, I wonder how this affects the BruceQuest. The Drakes have previously tried to create another Tim, but none of the initial programs showed anywhere near the same amount of potential that Tim did. They were about average human skilled, which Janet was supremely unhappy about. Due to their lack of potential, she was waiting to actually fashion them into androids (so no. There are no other D.I. androids).

Would Ra's acknowledge Tim as an adversary? See him as merely a machine? Even offer Tim aid in the first place? Try to steal Tim's code (which would kind of be like cloning Tim)?

Android Tim Drake AU:

Drake Industries announced they had successfully created realistic-looking androids that passed the Turing Test (and harder versions of it). They were planning to release commercial models to the public within twenty years.

To go a step farther, the Drakes wanted to ensure no one was skeptical of the androids' abilities to pass as human. Thus, Janet and Jack Drake had a healthy "human" baby by the name of Timothy Jackson Drake. The only individuals aware of this are Tim, Janet, Jack, and a small handful of engineers bound with a fuck ton of NDAs. They planned to tell the public when Tim was eighteen.

While Janet and Jack Drake are aware of Tim's ability to mimic emotions, they do not believe him to be capable of actually feeling them. This leads to Tim's childhood being lonely and neglectful. He is a robot.

At first, Tim is incapable of consuming human foods or using his touch sense. They fix his touch sense by the time he is four (and thus Dick is his first hug), and the food by the time he is six. He is constantly undergoing repairs to allow him to mimic the growth pattern of a child. It's when he is nine that he finally gets pain sensors to discourage and alert him to damage.

Tim is, for all intents and purposes, legally a human. When Janet dies and Jack gets into a coma, Tim stops receiving "growth spurts." He remains the same size even after Jack wakes up from his coma.

When Tim becomes Robin, he does not disclose his status with Bruce, Dick, or anyone else. Given that his parents treat him like an object, a machine, and incapable of feelings, Tim doesn't want to be subjected to that by his heroes either.

Instead, he gaslights the hell out of the Bats, villains, and other heroes whenever he gets hit.

["Tim! You got flung into a building. You are getting a medical exam."

Tim narrows his eyes as his eyebrows raise in surprise. "Bruce.... what are you talking about?"

"I saw you get thrown into a building. You're not getting out of this."

Tim glances to the side and then back to his mentor. He carefully places a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "B... Maybe we should have Alfred check you over."

Bruce blinks in shock as his brows furrow. "What?"

Tim purses his lips and shakes his head in pity. "It's okay, B. We'll figure it out. Whatever is going on, we'll fix it."

Bruce is so confused and concerned he doesn't ask Tim to get a medical check and agrees to be checked over instead.]

Tim becomes an expert at repairing himself because he can't explain to the engineers (most of who were let go after Janet died) how he got damaged. He spends a lot of nights alone in his room turning off his pain sensors (which isn't an automatic process and is difficult to reach)in order to fix the mangled hand, the gaping gash, the crooked foot, etc.

Kon, and conversely YJ, are the first to find out about his status (darn x-ray vision and super hearing). This encourages Tim to create artificial sounds within himself to fool Superman when they first meet. This also forces Tim to wear a long-sleeved uniform and a hood to hide from x-ray vision.

Tim finds comradery with Red Tornado.

When Jack wakes up from his coma, he originally treats Tim as he did before: an object. Dana, though, changes this. Jack can't explain why he treats his "son" that way and slowly morphs into becoming a good father.

It starts as only occurring when Dana is in the room and ends with a very bitter and antagonistic Jack when she leaves. He is initially disturbed by how much Tim is "faking" emotions, particularly because Tim learned to conceal his emotions from his parents as a coping mechanism (not that Jack knows this).

As they start spending more and more time together, Jack begins accepting the idea that Tim is capable of emotions. He starts caring and loving the kid as his own.

Because of this, Jack becomes fearful for Tim. When he learns that Tim is Robin, he is both jealous of Bruce's relationship with Tim and absolutely terrified for his son (what happens if people find out that Tim is an android? How would they treat him? Tim told Jack the Waynes don't know about his status. What if Tim gets injured too badly during a mission and they find out?)

This is why Jack initially forbids Tim from being Robin. There is way too much at stake for Tim if he continues (even though, theoretically, Tim can't die. Jack can keep saves of Tim and import him into a new body if necessary. They both don't want to do this, however, because Tim's body is his. It would feel weird and wrong to put him in another one).

While Tim is prohibited from being Robin, Jack bankrupts his company in the process of getting Tim rights. He bribes the hell out of judges, law makers, etc. to subtly put I'm rights for androids. He wants Tim to have full access to his inheritance, to freedom, and to everything humans can do. He doesn't want Tim to be without it.

Tim doesn't understand why Drake Industries is going under and is pissed at Jack for preventing him from being Robin. Robin is everything to Tim. It allows him to be treated as human. It connects him to so many people.

It's only afterwards, when Tim is finally allowed to be Robin again (and Jack has ensured he did everything he could for now for Tim's rights), that Tim fully understands how much Jack loves and cares for him.

Then Jack dies.

Tim is able to hide the fact that he's an android up until a Red Helmet asshole breaks into the Tower. While YJ whisk him away before the Bats can find out, Jason knows. Jason found out.

#tim drake #android au #dc au

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iturbide · 6 years ago

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Is it weird that I kinda wanna know more about Validar or rather seem more stories with him since there are no doubt so many f-ed up things he could do to poor Robin. I somehow see him as someone who just touched Robin like overly so. Soft strokes, but there's something off about it. It's possessive and "slimey". I wonder how he even got to the point of siring robin in the first place. Was it consensual? Would he ever drop down to that level of abuse if he had Robin from the start?

Oh hey it’s one of my favorite thought experiments 8D

So I have put an inordinate amount of thought into understanding Validar and how he ended up the way he did. History is important: if even one thing had changed in Validar’s life before a certain point, it’s very likely that he could have ended up an entirely different person, someone with more capacity for kindness, someone even capable of truly loving another person.

But that’s not what happened.

I have a lot of thoughts about how the Plegian system of government works – namely the fact that the king and the hierophant of the Grimleal are not necessarily the same person. It’s a bit weird and complicated owing entirely to the fact that Grima’s not involved directly anymore, since as a theocracy, Plegia looks to their divine dragon as the one true ruler. In Grima’s absence, and lacking any proven proxy, they have instead turned to a system based on divination of their fallen divine’s will. Whenever a king dies, the six most powerful diviners in Plegia (one for each of Grima’s eyes) are called forth to select the next ruler by interpreting Grima’s will through their chosen medium; in order to keep things relatively simple and ensure the nation can keep running, the diviners limit their selections among the heads of the Grimleal faith and the members of the former king’s council, since those two groups have existing experience.

Now, while there should logically be an equal chance of a Grimleal priest being selected as a former council member, for the past several centuries, the diviners’ selections have almost always been members of the king’s council; this heavy bias has coincided with the increasing corruption within the upper echelons of the church and the worrisome zealotry that’s gone with it. In particular, Validar’s family has very long-standing ties with the church, and have held the rank of hierophant for countless decades, and they have been some of the foremost perpetrators behind this horrific spiral. Which brings us to Validar’s father.

Validar’s father was not a kind man. He was not a caring man. He had no time and patience for things like family: his sole interest was in restoring Grima to the world. Initially, his goal had been to secure power over the nation in order to hasten that very goal; however, when the Plegian king died and the diviners were called, he was passed over for a member of the king’s council. Irritated but not deterred, he proceeded to make arrangements and married a woman who boasted a very prominent bloodline, hoping that the child created from such a union would at last herald the fell dragon’s return; unfortunately, Validar did not bear the Brand, and his father never forgave him for that. In his eyes, that absent mark proved his son a failure, and no matter how hard Validar tried, no matter how great his accomplishments or how prodigious his talents and genius, he was still worthless by his father’s single-minded estimation.

As a child, Validar attempted to win his father’s favor with scholastic accomplishments. When this failed, he began searching for other ways to change his father’s view, becoming an adept strategist and politician. When this, too, did not bear the desired results, he turned to increasingly dangerous means of proving himself, researching dangerous, ancient magics and becoming one of the foremost sorcerers in the nation at a very young age. And none of it had any effect. Bitter, jaded, and hell-bent on proving his worth regardless of the cost, Validar shed any trace of ethics or morality he might have harbored up to that point, and turned his eyes on a new goal: bringing Grima back into the world – not just the one marked as the fell dragon’s proxy by the Brand, but the fell dragon himself, a feat that he knew would be possible thanks to a formidable ritual he’d uncovered in his research that, with suitable modifications, he was certain would call Grima’s own soul into the Branded vessel that bore the fell dragon’s blood.

Shortly thereafter, the reigning Exalt in Ylisse launched his crusade against the ‘heathen’ Plegians, striking out across the border and laying waste to any settlement he came across. Many of the villages in the eastern desert evacuated, and the refugees flocked to the capital for protection; among them was a young woman who, despite being a refugee herself, put all her time and effort toward helping others in whatever way she could. She came to Validar’s attention less from her altruism, more for the raw, volatile magic she demonstrated in her attempts at administering first aid through magic: knowing that powerful arcane talents often implied a strong connection to Grima’s blood, Validar reached out to her, using his impressive speechcraft and manipulative nature to try and gain her favor before proposing to her.

This woman, however, was well aware of who Validar was – as the son of the present hierophant, it was impossible not to know – and knew equally that he had no real interest in her. But she accepted regardless, because she had no real interest in him, either: she knew that marrying into a family with such strong connections to the Grimleal hierarchy would give her immeasurably more opportunities to reach out and help the people of Plegia, from the refugees fleeing the warfront to the individuals fallen on hard times in need of aid and kindness. In spite of the ongoing war, she still spent her days in the capital rather than cloistered safely away (much to the consternation of her guard), providing food and medicine to the masses huddled in the capital and awaiting the conflict’s end.

Though they led separate lives that only led to their occasional meeting, Validar’s primary interest was in siring a child that might act as a suitable vessel, and they shared a bed regularly for this purpose. In time, his wife became pregnant, and for months Validar bided his time, waiting for the birth, outwardly confident even as he prayed for success in his endeavor. And, much to his delight (and relief), when the child was born, he did in fact bear Grima’s Mark.

For the first time in Validar’s life, his father looked on him with approval. And so he sought to push forward with his goal, believing fully that he was on the right track.

AUs are great things, and depending on the situation, this can go a lot of different ways. For a canon-type situation, where his wife escapes his control, Validar’s intention was actually to remove her from the picture entirely so that he could have full control over the child’s upbringing. Though he is capable of extreme violence, Validar much prefers not to bloody his hands, instead preferring methods that cannot be tied back to him: he fully intended to murder his wife through use of a virulent poison, a plot which she uncovered along with the knowledge of what he intended to do with their child. Desperate to protect her baby, she took Robin and fled Plegia – and with the loss of the Branded child, Validar’s father once more looked on him with contempt, berating him that he did one thing right in all his life, and then he ruined that, as well. This cold dismissal is the last straw for Validar, whose yearning for the man’s approval twists fully into hateful loathing: he bides his time for several more years, kidnapping Aversa and training her to act as his right hand in the interim…and when the time is right, Validar sends her to murder his father in cold blood, staging it as a political assassination rather than a calculated crime of passion.

In other situations, where Robin does remain closer for whatever reason (either with his wife still present or with her gone), Validar’s methods remain ultimately non-violent. He prefers manipulation and mental or emotional abuse to physical methods in most cases, saving touch as a form of praise – but the way he uses it feels like an abuse of its own: often his preferred form of such praise is stroking his son’s hair, which seems more like a man petting a dog than a father engaging with his child. And that’s very much because Validar doesn’t see Robin as his child, or even a child at all: he’s nothing more than the vessel Validar intends to draw Grima into, and he has no interest in anything beyond preparing that vessel to the fullest so that when Grima enters it, the might and magic at the fell dragon’s disposal will be unmatched.

tl;dr hi yes i think about validar too much and it generally ends with me hating him more

#answered #jayswing96 #fire emblem: awakening #headcanon #validar #i have put way too much thought into validar #honestly he could be a much better person if things had been different #maybe not a great person #kind of like gangrel is never going to be a phenomenal person no matter what #but certainly better than how he ended up in awakening #also i say that most of the time validar prefers non-violent methods #the exception is when he gets frustrated to his breaking point #he won't hesitate to turn violence against anyone when he's in his foulest moods #and this includes robin #which is actually a core component of the speaker for the dead au #which remains probably one of my darkest awakening aus

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looye29 · 2 years ago

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It provides in-depth knowledge of the subject as well as numerous valuable tips and tactics to help you learn faster and make the learning process less scary for beginners. What's in it that fascinated over 300,000 students worldwide? Piano For All, the most popular online piano course on the internet, has been chosen by over 300,000 students around the world. As a result, it maintains an alpha position in its market. Also, the quality that Piano For All has to offer is uncompromised. When I purchased the course, I thought it might include a few video lessons containing tips and tricks and an ebook or something similar to read. But, the actual content was quite surprising for me. Here's a bird's-eye view of the content: detailed books on every subtopic Blues Rock 'N' Roll, Advanced Blues & Fake Strides, Ballad style, Jazz, you name it! There's a book on every major topic. 500 Embedded Audios Don't just read, listen to an audio version of it as well. So that you don't miss anything. 200 Video Lectures Because it's an online course, it obviously has video lessons. But commenting on the value of it, I must say that those video lessons might be the best, and most thorough I've ever seen in a low-priced online info product like this. Lifetime access As I said earlier, this product doesn't charge every month like some of the other programs in its market do. So, to be able to access it, you don't need to refill your subscription each month. You just have to pay a one time fee and you will get unlimited access to it. Access across all devices You don't have to sit in front of your computer or open your laptop every time you want to use it. To save time, you can simply use your phone to access it. The Good This program was created by someone who is already a successful pianist. On a daily learning basis, the program is highly flexible and requires minimal time. You can easily fit it into your jam-packed calendar. The videos are thorough and really dig into the deepest areas of insight without making you feel overwhelmed. The books are packed with wisdom along with excellent explanations. The audio recordings are of high quality and serve as an excellent supplement to the texts. Even if you're a complete rookie, you shouldn't have too much trouble getting some positive results. The Bad If you don't like pre-recorded classes, prefer live coaching, and don't care about the price, this might not be for you. Even while the program is designed to help beginners understand better, you will still need some dedication and be able to practice on a regular basis. Does this program work? So, in terms of the program's quality, I couldn't find anything further to critique. It is unquestionably ideal for people of all ages, regardless of prior experience with playing piano. If you put in the effort, this program will work miracles for you. But, if you lack dedication and discipline, no program will ever help you. I know some individuals who buy programs like this and complain that those things don't work out for them, but when I realise how less serious they were to learning what they wanted to learn, their failure doesn't surprise me. Long story short, even if this program is wonderful for beginners, you will still need to put in some effort and discipline for it to work for you. Final Thoughts One thing I loved about it is that even if the product is cheap and has a lot of value, you're still protected by a money-back guarantee. If you don't enjoy it and think it's one of the best online programmes to learn a new skill, you can get your money back within 60 days of purchase. Personally, I don't believe any typical piano student would ever dislike or reject a decent program like this. But that's only my opinion. At the end of the day, you are the one who will purchase it, so you must think and decide whether or not a product like this is suitable for you.

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sussex-nature-lover · 4 years ago

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Sunday 16th August 2020

Blog Hosted Elsewhere - Copied over to here

Italian Arum aka Lords and Ladies - a splash of colour on a dull day

The following has been drafted and added to over several hours. Tumblr is still playing up for me today.

Ugh it's such strange weather. It's cooler, so more comfortable from that point of view, but hazy and damp in the atmosphere, not humid, just damp. I feel kind of damp, everything I'm touching feels kind of damp and if I go out I know my hair will be a frizz ball within minutes. It's not very pleasant. I wish we could have a big storm and be done with it. Here's the forecast for the week ahead.

There's rain on its way and the cricket is looking doubtful again, which isn't necessarily a bad thing given the start we made (0-1) Aaah as I write play has been suspended after only an hour.

Update we had heavy rain and then around half four it faired up and was lovely, it’s still reasonably bright now at half seven

Yesterday could you feel my excitement at spotting the juvenile Goldfinch? I want to say baby because it looked very young and was so darn cute. It was similar to how I felt spotting the male Greenfinch and seeing a youngster too. That was a brief encounter both times, but it proves they're out there. The Goldfinches have been more visible in the garden of late, much more visible than in past years and the Chaffinches, as I've mentioned before, have really increased in number this season. So far, so good. If I spot a Bullfinch I'll have a full house here. I do realise that sometimes I seem a bit negative, wanting what I haven't got and moaning that my photos don't come up to scratch. I suppose I'm always quite self critical, but I think that's only because of the pleasure it gives me (us) to provide a good environment for such a terrific variety of bird and wild life in our garden. It’s pleasure but it’s also a feeling of privilege as well and pride I suppose, which is supposed to be a sin, but I mean more in taking pride in the world around us and being grateful for it.

At the beginning of this breeding Season I was having conversations where I had a strongly held opinion that gardens are either dominated by Finches or Tits. People on Twitter seemed to have a strong bias one way or the other and ours is definitely very well populated by various members of the Tit family.

Very long Long Tailed Tits

I'm spending lots of time today trying to work out whether the hungry visitors are either Marsh or Coal Tits. I think on balance I'm seeing both and certainly some of them seem to be collecting and taking food away, which usually means they have young, but I'd have thought it was rather late for their second broods now. Reading the info about them, I suppose they like it here due to all the Conifers and Beech plus the broad leaved woodland - they must be spoilt for choice.

Right now (edit - that was earlier) I'm shouting at squabbling Starlings while Great, Blue and Marsh Tits calmly go about their business. There are three Nuthatch, some House Sparrows, a Chaffinch and a solitary Rock Dove here as well and as I formed that sentence a juvenile Blackbird popped in.

There are still a good number of Juvenile birds coming to feed. Here's a few seen here this week.

Blackbird

Starling

Great Spotted Woodpecker

Fluffy Blue Tit and a fluffy Robin below

Goldfinch

I’ll leave it there as this is proving a bit of a challenge and when Tumblr is backup I’ll be wanting to transfer it over - unless I wimp out and just post a link. Anyway, it’s supper time - braised beef in red wine with plenty of veg and some horseradish seeing as you ask...you didn’t but I like to think friends are here with me and I know some of you are <waves a special hello> Take care until tomorrow

♦These are amateur photos all taken with a simple point and shoot camera from the kitchen table and through the window, sorry they’re not professional quality, but they are real life and I hope they entertain and inspire you

♦Links (in bold) are not necessarily endorsed by me and I have no affiliation with any commercial companies or outside sites

*All typos my own too

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heartsnatchertranslation · 4 years ago

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Goodbye, Christopher Robin

This story comes from Genichiro Takahashi’s (高橋源一郎) 2012 short story collection also titled Goodbye, Christopher Robin /さよならクリストファー・ロビン ( Sayonara kurisutofaa robin) , a collection of stories centered around the theme of losing one’s childhood imagination and innocence. This story, while initially filled with apparent non sequiturs, eventually focuses on that as well.

Takahashi is one of my favorite Japanese authors, and his only novel that has received an English translation, Sayonara, Gangsters/さようなら、ギャングたち (Sayonara, gyangutachi), stands as one of my favorite works of Japanese literature. He reminds me quite a bit of Richard Brautigan, deftly mixing black comedy, satire, and a sense of whimsy into his writing. It baffles me that his work has yet to see further translation into English. Consider this my attempt to help remedy that, even if only a little. There’s another story in the collection that I also adore and might take a stab at translating eventually, but it’s over 60 pages, so posting it on here seems like it might be a hassle...

Anyway, here’s “Goodbye, Christopher Robin.”

---

Long ago, it was rumored that we lived in the pages of a story someone had written. We didn’t really exist, or so the story went. Such rumors spread quickly.

“Well, what’s that to me!” said the old fisherman when he heard of this from some sea turtles he had saved from the children who were beating them with sticks. He was famous for being invited by the sea turtles to their castle under the sea, where they told him about the rumor. “Let’s suppose the rumor is true. I’m a man who takes pride in the things he’s done, so whether or not we live in a story, I can tell you, if I ever see some turtles getting beaten with sticks on the shore, I’ll help them. Same as I did before.”

And so that weathered old fisherman, cane in hand, walked the wet, sandy shore every morning, on the lookout for sea turtles. However, the only things that ever washed up on the beach were plastic refuse and bottles with random labels printed on them. To say nothing of sea turtles, no trace of anyone could be seen, not even a single youngster, looking for turtles to torture.

He turned towards the sky, and cried out, “When the smoke met the sky and turned into nothing, so too did my youth and home along with it, but I don’t have a single regret. I’ve only done exactly what I was supposed to do.” Not a soul was there to respond.

He paused for a while, muttering to himself, the hems of his greasy clothing fluttering in the wind as he walked to and fro along the shore.

Then one morning he suddenly disappeared. All that remained of him were two sets of prints in the sand, those of his long, messy stride and his walking stick, headed towards the sea.

Some said that the old fisherman was fortunate enough to return to the castle below the sea that he held so dearly and reunite with the sea turtles. Others said that to be sure, the old fisherman had seen the sea turtles, and as it called to mind memories of that wonderful encounter when he was younger, so did he return to the sea. Others said that he was indeed a character living in a story that someone else had written after all, and he had vanished after playing his role. The people who spoke of this did so in hushed tones, reflecting the fact that they themselves were no exception to this rumor. Deep in their chests they felt something cold, and soon fell silent.

Around the same time, deep in the forest not too far from the shore on which the fisherman had disappeared, a wolf was in the throes of anguish. Until that point, this wolf had never known suffering of any kind. Knocking on the door of the little goats while they were house-sitting and hearing their funny voices as they regarded him with suspicion, going around and blowing down the straw houses that the Three Little Pigs had built, it had all been great fun. Even that time he sought refuge on the night of a terrible storm and ended up befriending a goat with whom he subsequently went on travels with was great fun. He would frolic in a field without a care until he grew tired, then curl up into a ball under the shade of a small tree. But now, unfortunately, that rumor had reached the wolf’s ears.

The one who told him was another wolf, one who loathed him. This wasn’t always the case. She had once held this wolf in high regard, but possibly due to her feelings not being returned, she came to resent him. In any event, she was successful in planting the seed of this rumor in his mind.

“That fool,” the wolf thought to himself. “Saying I’m living stories someone else wrote…!”

The wolf hunkered down and began sniffing around with all his might.

“I, the one standing here, am me, and I’m the one controlling my actions, you hear me!”

However, the sense of doubt gnawing at him did not disappear. The wolf felt like no matter what he ate, none of it had any flavor. It was beginning to seem as if he truly did not exist after all.

One day, the wolf tricked a little girl. He arrived at her grandmother’s house before she did. It was supposed to be a bit of fun, but the cloud of doubt had not lifted from his heart, not even a little. In an instant, that black cloud began to rise within his heart, and he devoured the grandmother. He tore into her body with his razor-sharp fangs, and a terrible screaming could be heard. The stench of blood hung in the air as it spilled from his muzzle. Having lost his mind, the wolf devoured her flesh as she writhed in agony. He choked on her innards, which caught in his throat.

I’ll never forget this stench, and this awful texture, not for as long as I live, the wolf thought. But why have I done such a thing? Because I want to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I exist? Nonsense!

The girl arrived shortly thereafter. The wolf, lying in the grandmother’s bed, made conversation with her. Being quite foolish, she was easily deceived. He then ate her too. The first time was truly terrible, but this time, he felt no emotion whatsoever. He only felt something like a scream from deep in his throat, and delicate fingers and their nails clawing at him from the inside. A thought came to him, unbidden, as he was on the verge of vomiting: to be consumed like this was simply the fate of all living things.

The hunter who opened the gate and was confronted by this ghastly scene felt his breath catch in his throat. The wolf stared at him, wearing a vacant expression, viscera scattered at his feet. Flies hung around him like a black cloud. The wolf tottered to his feet with no apparent regard for his blood-soaked visage.

“What am I, I wonder? I don’t know. But one thing’s for sure. I’m becoming a monster. And I find this terrible. Why didn’t you leave me alone? I wish I had said how much I disliked eating honey and carrots back when I was eating such things, but that just isn’t in my nature. It was all an act. Now I’m playing the role of a wolf, and wolves need to eat. So I ate. This is the result!”

The wolf took a wider stance and drew closer to the hunter.

“Go ahead and kill me. My heart is right here. Even if you split my belly open, the girl and her grandmother won’t be coming back. I’ve already digested them. So what are you waiting for? If you don’t kill me, this will just become the story of how I ate you too.”

So the hunter struck the wolf down. He stood over his corpse, looking at the filthy fur, stained with blood. He leaned in and lifted the wolf’s head.

“What were you saying! What’s all this about! My hands…are stained with blood…”

It was all the hunter could do just to speak these words.

An astronomer once noticed that the number of stars was decreasing. Owing to the vast amount of stars in the sky, an accurate count had never been taken, as there had never been any such commendable fellow to enumerate them. That is, until this astronomer, with his incredible zeal, dedicated his whole life to this cause.

Stars are a thing that are born, grow, and go on to die. As it is so, sometimes, their number increases, and at other times, their number decreases. The phenomenon the astronomer discovered, however, defied explanation. The number of stars was continuing to decrease at a fixed rate from a certain point. No matter how many calculations he tried, after counting the number of stars captured in the photos many times over, the number remained the same. The astronomer once more used every observational machine to reexamine it, then returned to his foundation in astrophysics, starting again from step one. He even went as far as to reconsider the hypothesis, and in earnest attributed the phenomenon to a lunar eclipse. He then once again, with an eye free from bias, made use of the finest, most thorough scientific observational devices in the world, and fixed his gaze upon the edges of the sky.

The result did not change.

“The sky is continuing to disappear from its very reaches! The universe was an absolute thing, yet its existence is now tenuous, being consumed by the void.”

The astronomer figured he ought to tell the world of this astonishing truth, but even other astronomers disregarded the theory.

“That’s impossible. The universe has always been a mixture of existence and the absence thereof. To say that existence is being consumed by this void is a nonsensical fallacy.”

Even so, the astronomer continued. “If you make the observations, you’ll see. Just look into it. You’ll see just what’s going on.”

Another astronomer soon bent his ear.

“Let’s suppose your theory is true. What of it? What will become of us? You’ll merely plunge the world into a state of unprecedented chaos, and to what end? There’s nothing to worry about. Before this void consumes the universe, well, we’ll be swallowed up ourselves.”

The astronomer, despondent, destroyed all of his equipment, and fled his lab. A while after, a rumor had spread that this astronomer was now frequenting a cemetery, and immersing himself in the research of disembodied souls.

Apparently, after seeing nothing around save for beggars, the man said “The secret to producing something from nothing lies here, if my calculations are correct,” while brandishing a butterfly net, with which he made futile efforts to capture these “disembodied souls.” His disciples lent him a hand, splitting into groups and searching high and low through every nook and cranny of the cemetery. However, there were too many graves, and they were unable to find their master.

Around the same time as the graveyard debacle, an elderly physicist found something strange during his pursuit of the fundamental truth governing matter: somewhere along the line, one particle of the group of which matter is comprised had disappeared. The physicist continued his research, employing various methods. That is to say, this group of particles, owing to their small size, were impossible to observe, but by dint of logical thinking and measurements, their existence had at long last been proven. Using every method at his disposal, the sole limit being human ingenuity, the physicist reached the same conclusion. It was the only conclusion that could be reached. One particle had indeed vanished. The physicist consulted the only friend he could count on, a biologist, for his opinion on the matter.

“It’s vanished?”

“Yes. That is to say, that which should be there, isn’t.”

“Supposing that is the case, why aren’t people losing their minds?”

“Because no one can feel it.”

“What exactly would happen if one of the particles forming all matter in the known universe were to disappear?”

“Hmm…I dare say that everything would shrink down just a tad, to compensate for the particle’s absence.”

“Would everything shrink at the same rate?”

“Precisely. And that’s not all. If I’m right, space should also shrink down at this same rate.”

“Why?”

“Because what we call ‘space’ isn’t exactly empty, but rather composed of the elementary particles and their corresponding antiparticles. These antiparticles are also vanishing at the exact same rate.”

“If everything around us were to be vanishing at this rate, could we observe it?”

“That would be impossible.”

“So without so much as being able to observe it, you’re making this declaration.”

“Yes. The proof is right here.”

So saying, the physicist showed him a torn piece of notebook paper. There were three formulas scribbled on it.

“These are numbers and symbols, aren’t they?”

“They sure are.”

“And they’re expressing how one of the building blocks of matter is suddenly disappearing, huh?”

“You got it.”

“So, if this building block, or particle, rather, were to expand, and instead of just one, two or three or more were to suddenly disappear, what would happen?”

“It would be the same. After all, all matter and space are indeed going to shrink at the same rate.”

“And no one is any the wiser, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then…”

The biologist hesitated for a moment, then said, “What does it mean? Rather, what has this got to do with us?”

The stunned physicist narrowed his eyes as if a brilliant light was shining, then said “I see...I hadn’t considered anything like that. What this may mean, how it relates to us…”

The physicist sat heavily in his seat, and the biologist followed suit. He weakly fell onto his chair, then spoke.

“Every day, living organisms go extinct.”

“Even I know that much.”

“That’s not it.”

“What might you mean?”

“What you’re referring to is, due to the destruction of their environment, species will continue to die out, until we cross a threshold from which there is no return.”

“There’s more to it than that?”

“There are species whose whole populations abruptly die out without any reason.”

“Surely there’s a reason, it’s just that no one has noticed it yet.”

“I thought the same thing, so I considered every possibility.”

“And?”

“No matter the approach, it simply defies explanation.”

The two scholars sat there without uttering a word, lost in thought.

“Hey,” the physicist said in a voice tinged with loneliness. “We’ve spent our lives believing that we were doing what needed to be done, have we not?”

“Indeed.”

“Not just us, but our predecessors probably thought so as well.”

“Most likely.”

“Thus, ultimately, what we have learned merely serves as a barrier. No one else would understand. Am I wrong?”

But they did not yet know. The lonesome truth of the universe was already being discovered.

For years, a music enthusiast who collected music from all over the world had found that there were no new melodies being produced. A certain neuroscientist suddenly noticed that an anomaly was beginning to form in the weak electronic current that gives rise to our consciousness. One day, in the same country as the one the neuroscientist inhabited, the head nurse of a large hospital noticed that of all the dozens of newborns born on a certain day, not a one uttered so much as a single noise. Not even their first sound, that primal scream from deep in their throat that so signifies life, rang forth. Free of any abnormalities, these silent infants laughed among themselves. In fact, they seemed to be enjoying themselves more than the other infants.

Just in this manner, quietly but sure as anything, time passed. There should have been those people who feel the ominous presentiment of something, and should have been able to do something about it. However, they did nothing but cross their arms and wait for it to happen.

It’s said that it happened in the span of an instant. There are those who said there was an incredibly loud sound, and a terrible light could be seen during this instant; these stories all smack of being created after the fact. Some said said that it sounded like the striking of a match, which is impressive, as it had been years since anyone had seen something that so much as resembled a match.

There were also those who said it sounded like the creaking of opening an old wooden door. The building, of course, had no wooden doors. It must have been the sound of one of the doors of the houses that were destroyed over 50 years ago to make room for the building being opened, only to reach us all this time later. Someone else said it sounded something like the thud of a child accidentally dropping the cup from which they drink milk. This was apparently accompanied by the quiet murmur of a child apologizing. It had been centuries since a child had been present in that house, however.

The person who could have sworn that someone was setting off small fireworks in the garden reflected on how strange it was, what with it being winter and all, and besides, it was unthinkable that someone would be in the garden in the first place. Still, they had the definite impression that someone had been there until very recently. Of course, there was no proof whatsoever of there being anyone in the garden.

An abandoned kitten, put in a bag and tossed into a garbage bin, abruptly fixed its unseeing eyes on one spot in the sky—this happens all the time—mewed to itself, and the sweet sound of its purring could still be heard, or so someone else said of it.

A girl who had for years now been comatose in a hospital bed, dead to the world, suddenly opened her eyes. She looked at the doctors, nurses, and family gathered around her, confusion on her face. It was as if her pupils reflected nothing at all of her surroundings. She cried out “Welcome home!” in a delighted tone, and then ceased breathing. There are those who say that this girl opened her eyes at all is due to it happening.

Perhaps these incidents did occur in the moment that it happened. However, it’s more likely that these are little more than stories thought up by people trying to reconcile happenings that fly in the face of reality in an attempt to understand them.

A girl, napping in a field, opens her eyes. She stifles a small yawn, and stretches her arms. She can’t find the wet nurse who had, until now, been reading her fairy tales. She sees a rabbit walking—and he’s wearing clothes! The girl wonders if such a thing really happens, or if she’s dreaming. She’s boldly pursuing the rabbit when she finds herself falling down a large, deep, and dark hole that seems to go on forever…

She’s completely lost now. No, that’s not quite right. She’s somewhere she should not have come. The girl doesn’t meet anyone, though she can’t shake the feeling that she could at any moment. There’s a massive table, with all the makings of a tea party arranged on it. The water in the pot is on a rolling boil, and sweets have been placed on every plate. The girl continues to wait for someone who will play with her to appear. Eventually she grows tired of waiting and excuses herself.

No matter where she goes it’s the same: a small hut by the sea, filled with fragments of oyster shells and the stench of fish. No one’s home. In the next place, there’s a pipe, and it seems that until moments ago someone had been there smoking but there’s no one to be seen here either. Only the smell of tobacco remains.

The girl gets uneasy. Maybe there’s no one anywhere. But that’s not what has her worried. No, it’s the fear that something’s wrong. That something unthinkable has happened. That she doesn’t know what to do.

Finally, she arrives at a magnificent but empty palace. She notices playing cards lying on the ground. Each one guides her into a direction that leads into the palace. She follows them, heading deeper and deeper inside.

She finds herself standing in front of a gate, located deep in the palace’s basement. All that’s left to do is open it, she thinks. She feels it’s the only way she’ll find out what’s going on. Truth is, she feels that if she opens the gate something even stranger might happen. She’ll definitely meet someone—that’s what she’s anticipating, her chest pounding. But there’s no one here other than her, and nothing save for the gate in front of which she’s loitering. Maybe I ought to turn back. Find the spot where I fell down here. But even if I were to go back, no way could I climb back up that hole…

She feels a cold wind blowing through the gaps in the fence. She has no choice. She places her hand on the knob and, mustering all of her courage, turns it…

I’m gazing out my window. It’s dark outside, and I can’t see a thing. To be sure, that isn’t because it’s nighttime. What to call what I see there…? It’s like a monster, pitch black, quiet, and it’s staring fixedly at us. Who was it that told me the monster was nothingness, and that the world was slowly being consumed by it? More important than who it was is that they aren’t around anymore.

Right, Christopher Robin?

Even so, we did our best, didn’t we? We didn’t despair even as we knew the world was ceasing to exist. That’s because we found a way to fight back. We were able to turn that rumor around and put it to use.

“If it’s true that we’re nothing more than characters in a story that someone wrote, well, all we have to do is write our own stories!” someone said.

So we wrote a story, and decided to go to bed. The next day went exactly according to what we had written. Wow! We were so full of hope and vigor then, even in the face of the encroaching darkness.

As soon as it got dark, everyone returned to their homes immediately, and wrote a story. The following morning was just terrible. The stories everyone had written spread to the roads, forest, lake, mountain, and caves. The problem was everyone wrote their own story, so there was no consistency. Plot holes piled up halfway through the forest road, and everyone got lost. It reached the point that before writing any stories, a meeting had to be held the night before where everyone discussed what they would write.

Still, writing stories was fun, as was living in stories we had written. When was it that we started getting tired of it?

That night, Piglet wore a defeated look.

“I’ve had enough, Pooh.”

“Why?”

“I can’t think of anything anymore. I want to go to bed without writing anything tonight.”

“Piglet, you mustn’t. If you don’t write anything, your tomorrow will never come.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“We do at least know what happens if you go home and sleep without writing anything.”

“Oh, hush! Leave me alone!”

Piglet went home and was never seen again.

Do you remember, Christopher Robin? No, you’ve already forgotten, haven’t you. After you had a chat in front of the fireplace, Eeyore whispered this into my ear.

“Pooh, thanks for everything.”

“What are you saying, Eeyore?”

“I’m a no-good depressed fool, aren’t I? And I’m not hard-working at all. Writing even this much has been no fun whatsoever. That’s why I’ve decided to not write anything more.”

“Eeyore! You can’t go!”

“Go? Where am I going? Everyone is talking about this “nothingness”, right?” Listen, Pooh. I’m already being consumed by this nothingness. Maybe all I want is to be embraced by it and go to sleep.”

And so Eeyore went.

Tigger was a bit different. He left me a letter.

“Pooh, you’ve been a good friend to me. Thank you. I’ve decided I’m not going home. Going back, sitting at my desk, writing yet another story, that’s just not me! I still have a little bit of forest left. The Hundred Acre Wood is already gone, but I’ve got this patch that I wrote about in advance. I’m going to head as far into my forest as I can. That’s the only place I want to be. Sorry for leaving ahead of you, Pooh. Ah, that’s right, I almost forgot. There’s one thing I need to apologize for that’s been bugging me: I don’t like honey.”

In the end, the only ones left are you and I, Christopher Robin. That’s why I continued writing stories for just the two of us. Nearly everyone I had loved was gone but we took each other by the hand, barricaded ourselves in this small room, and fought against the nothingness that was at the door. But the day where even you, Christopher Robin, were defeated and disappeared came. We had a talk, and it was when we were about to go back to our rooms. You said this to me, Christopher Robin.

“Hey, Pooh.”

“What is it, Christopher Robin?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Christopher Robin.”

“I’m awfully tired, Pooh.”

“I bet. You’ve worked really hard.”

“Pooh, I think I’ll go to bed without writing anything. Is that bad?”

“If that’s what you want to do, Christopher Robin, then it’s better that you do it. Isn’t that how we’ve lived our lives?”

“Thanks. I’m sorry we won’t be together forever.”

“It’s okay, because until now, we’ve always been together.”

“Goodbye, Pooh.”

“Goodbye, Christopher Robin.”

And so you returned to your room. Will you forgive the actions I took after that? I sat at my desk, and wrote about tomorrow. In it, you stopped writing, and I wrote about you instead. I couldn’t predict what would come of me. I could only write about you.

The following day, Christopher Robin, I felt a happiness down to the bottom of my heart when you showed up. But the strange thing was, you seemed to have completely changed. You didn’t remember a thing, nor would you speak a word, and you had turned into an adorable young girl.

Ah, I must have drifted off. I feel like I do that all the time these days. I’ve gotten old, Christopher Robin. Most of my fur has fallen out, and my whole body aches. I’ve done my best to write about you, but I might have forgotten about myself. It’s okay. Hey, Christopher Robin. It’s okay to say “I’m tired”, right? I’m very tired. In your world, there were those who said they didn’t know what kind of world it was because something unthinkable had happened. That’s why I think we have to write our own stories. If that’s the way it is, it’s fine with me.

Are you looking outside, Christopher Robin, even though only the nothingness is there? Perhaps you’re seeing something else. I’m writing the final story tonight. Then I’ll have it all end; I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. Still, I would be most grateful if you would think of me as a silly old bear who did his best.

The last story is a story about the Hundred Acre Wood that we always went to. Chances are, everyone we’ve lost won’t come back, and we can’t go to the Wood. If that’s the case, I’m sorry, Christopher Robin. But I’ll do what I can.

If just once we could go to the Hundred Acre Wood, if we could go to the bottom of that big tree on the edge of the Wood, if we could enjoy watching a beautiful sunset together, I would be so delighted.

We might be the only ones left in this world. That’s a terribly lonely thing, isn’t it, Christopher Robin. But, if we think of it as fate, then we have no choice but to accept it.

It’s already time. I’m going back to my room. You’ll go back to your room. Perhaps we’ll never be able to meet again. Even so, I intend to write about you and me one last time.

Goodbye, Christopher Robin. Even now, I would love nothing more than to meet you under that tree…

#genichiro takahashi #fiction in translation #translation #goodbye christopher robin #japanese literature

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cicadacreativemag · 4 years ago

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The commodification of Black pain: Why "White Fragility" falls short

Jay Serrano, Editorial Director

In the midst of yet another reckoning with the antiblackness that permeates every corner of the U.S., many people have scrambled for ways to make sense of it all. For some, it is a familiar topic of conversation, one that has shaped their entire life. For others, it is an abstract knowledge they may only be exploring for the first time.

For these individuals, self-education has become a common prescription. Social media users who are more well versed in the topic of antiblack racism have curated various reading lists with recommended reading for nonblack people. One title has popped up in several of these posts, often floating to the top of the list. I recognized it from when it hit the New York Times Best Seller List in 2018 and stayed there for over a year. It stirred some controversy then, but it has since reemerged in the wake of the George Floyd protests, once again becoming a best seller, highly recommended and rated on Amazon and endlessly passed around on my Facebook feed.

The book is called “White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism,” written by a White academic named Robin DiAngelo. You’ve likely heard of this book before—or, at the very least, have heard of its central thesis. Her primary assertion is that White people are inherently complicit in racism and that they must do work to dismantle this, defining resistance to this concept “white fragility” or “white defensiveness.”

I am not the target audience for this book and withheld critique because I did not have a strong opinion of it. I’m mixed AfroLatine and thought there was no reason for me to read a simplified version of racism for reluctant White people, but as it became more and more famous, I noticed insidious things about it. Reading it validated some of my more cynical analyses of the narcissism of neoliberal elite establishments, but it also deeply confused me. It appears I was not alone.

The critiques of the book vary. One common critique is some variation of “racism is not that bad, and I’m upset at being implicated.” I view this critique as fundamentally absurd, ahistorical, and demonstrably false. Another critique, primarily presented on the Left, is that DiAngelo uses corporate framing to offer a prescriptive non-solution to a problem that could be more effectively solved by addressing workers’ rights and establishing socialized policy. The idea is that class solidarity supersedes racial solidarity and that to proclaim otherwise is playing into corporate division tactics and identity politics. The Left has very scant media representation and, perhaps predictably, the voices that have succeeded have been almost exclusively White. It is not shocking to me, then, that their critique correctly analyzes DiAngelo’s poor framing and conflict of interest but fails to diagnose the real pervasiveness and seriousness of antiblackness.

I think the real problem with “White Fragility” is that is reads as a self-congratulatory Racism 101 course that centers the White experience above all and sanitizes the experience of people of color, especially Black people—ironically, likely to be more palatable for a White audience. The book is incredibly repetitive and condescending, entirely satisfied in its commodification of racism in the U.S. and once you realize how much money she’s made from this book and how much it has brought her fame, it feels openly exploitative.

Centering the White Experience

DiAngelo is a White woman. A White author being the primary spokesman for people of color would seem to undermine the ethos of the book, which often emphasizes listening to us. There is a strong narcissistic streak to the entire narrative; it is all about White people, even as we are being finger wagged at about how we leave people of color out of conversations about their own oppression.

We hear plenty about white privilege, white fragility, white tears, white guilt, etc. But we hear very little from or about people of color’s experiences outside of being oppression boards. She offers few positive stories about people of color—instead, every interaction regarding racism is combative and confrontational. There’s also a creepiness to the way in which nonwhite people are reduced to props in the backdrop of White people’s journey towards enlightenment.

There is an incredible irony in watching groups of rich White elites argue amongst themselves about racism. There is even more irony is watching the critique of these people come from other White people and watching their arguments still miss the point. It’s a bizarre reminder that we aren’t allowed to be the protagonist even in stories ostensibly about us. DiAngelo didn’t write about us. She wrote about White people’s feelings about us.

The Corporate Angle

This is part of the Left critique of DiAngelo’s work that is actually quite prudent. DiAngelo fills her books with anecdotes of defensive workers she met during her stint as a corporate diversity trainer. She, bizarrely, appears to offer her advice as a corporate consultant without acknowledging this approach would be inappropriate with family and friends. She doesn’t appear to acknowledge this because she doesn’t realize it, which makes it even more concerning.

Prescribed lines come across as insincere and almost cartoonishly silly, furthering the impression that this is about optics and sounding woke rather than about effecting meaningful change. She also often paints coworkers as being the harbingers of inequality but fails to ever acknowledge the way corporations are plagued by systemic racism. To eliminate racism from the workplace would require a reckoning with the capitalist structures that have historically disenfranchised people of color, particularly Black and brown people.

She even often frames racism as…microaggressions in the workplace. Sure, this happens and yes, it is inappropriate and negatively affects people of color. However, it betrays a bias in which it is clear she believes the more overt types of racism—lynching, hate crimes, wrongful termination, being denied housing, poor access to medical care, higher mortality rates, etc.—are either less important or less common than corporate microaggressions. We don’t need to protect ourselves from a lawsuit. We need to foster more empathy for people of color. Now, more than ever, what we need is for White people to see the humanity of Black people. This book does not give us the tools to make that happen.

The Political Divide

Part of what makes this book stand out and, I believe, part of why this book was so instinctively rejected by the Left is because there is a huge ideological rift between the Democratic Party and progressives. DiAngelo incorrectly defines “progressives,” couching it into the term “White progressives,” which feels as though it is intentionally avoiding Martin Luther King Jr.’s naming of “the White moderate.”

Through subtleties like that, it becomes apparent that DiAngelo has a political ideology that is notoriously infantilizing and condescending towards people of color and is diametrically opposed to the politics of racial justice groups, which are typically Leftist in nature. The New York Times is a moderate outlet with a clear ideological bend, and it feels like no coincidence that this book was widely covered by the publication and then began increasing in sales. To be entirely fair, the New York Times and other more moderate outlets have praised Black literature and showcased it, helping to garner attention, but they can be problematic vessels.

One of the largest critiques of White moderates is that they are often incredibly complicit in systems of racism and inequality, but instead of addressing these issues head-on, they offer strong rhetoric that they do not practice nor seem to truly believe. This political divide is, despite popular belief, not a new one. Again, Martin Luther King Jr. criticized White moderates, and although DiAngelo often says the “correct” answer, her rhetoric is insidious in its insincerity.

Letting White Academics Set the Conversation

The fetishization of academia and intelligence that pervades a substantial wing of the Left and Liberals is often our own undoing—we are so impressed by the intellectual novelty of a topic we presume the argument is more substantive than it truly is. We view intelligence as authority, granting them implicit trust. While this instinct is a reasonable one, it is ultimately part of the problem.

When we offer academics a disproportionately large amount of credibility, we allow them to set the tone of the conversation. Perhaps this would be appropriate in the case of something like neurobiology or electrical engineering, but when discussing race issues, particularly the systemic kind, academia is hardly the authority. Colleges uphold and perpetuate systemic racism in complicated, nuanced ways, which is not the primary topic of this piece, but remains incredibly relevant. When considering how this book became so famous, one must consider the systems of power that allowed a White academic to set the narrative.

This critique is substantially reduced with Black academics and other nonwhite academics, but even then, the discourse can be divorced from material realities or become corroded by stewing in a context that is implicitly hostile towards antiracism.

Offering No Solutions—What was the Goal?

DiAngelo very conspicuously offers no solutions as to how to actually improve the material conditions of Black people. She only appears to encourage self-flagellation to absolve oneself of any accidental racism while engaging in said racism. Feeling guilty is centering your fragile white feelings, she insists, as she continues intentionally provoking guilt and centering the White experience. She paints the reader into a corner by taking the possibility of criticism off the table and gives them nothing but the recommendation they attend her pricey racial sensitivity seminars.

It comes across as being provocative for the sake of being provocative and really, the idea is a self-defeating one. The theory of White fragility is fundamentally unprovable because any critique of it is an apparent confirmation of itself. It does not encourage dialogue or move the needle—it simply alienates for the sake of establishing one’s own moral superiority.

At the end of the day, this is a book that reviews the same concepts over and over without offering any suggestions on how to help advance the liberation of nonwhite people. It doesn’t seem interested in endearing itself to the reader and is, in fact, openly hostile towards the reader, who is ostensibly trying to unlearn their racism. It is difficult to believe her goal is to convert the layman. She simply presents her narrow realm of corporate moderate ideology that abstracts our experiences with racism to make White people feel guilty and buy her books so she can profit off our pain while talking about us like cardboard cutouts.

If we are to assume the goal is self-education, there are far better books written by authors of color which we can and should be reading instead.

----------------------------------------------------

Recommended Reading

As Black Lives Matter is the focal point of this newsletter and the framing I had in mind when critiquing “White Fragility,” I am recommending specifically Black pieces. Many Black liberation writers are Leftists, which comes across in their writings, and I strongly believe we need to reclaim that space on the Left. We must be able to discuss our lived experiences without it being erased as being mere identity politics. A great first step is getting truly educated and building genuine empathy for Black people. Here are some of cornerstone pieces that are actually written by Black people, many of whom were/are Black academics and/or activists:

“Are Prisons Obsolete?” – Angela Davis

“The Fire Next Time” – James Baldwin

“Ain't I a Woman? Black Women and Feminism” – bell hooks

“The Autobiography of Malcolm X” – Malcolm X with Alex Haley

“Report from the Bahamas” – June Jordan

“When They Call You a Terrorist: A Black Lives Matter Memoir” – Patrisse Khan-Cullors

“Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex: A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and Antiracist Politics” – Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw

“How to Be an Antiracist” – Ibram X. Kendi

“Between the World and Me” – Ta-Nehisi Coates

This doesn’t begin to scratch the surface and there are many pieces specifically on intersectionality, exploring queer Black identity, Black feminism, Black disability activism, capitalism’s effects on Black people, etc. At some point, we will hopefully explore some of these concepts in depth here.

#jay #essay #BLM #july 2020

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random-notes-and-jottings · 4 years ago

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How Capitalism Drives Cancel Culture

Beware splashy corporate gestures when they leave existing power structures intact.

The delete button over a tumbrel

Story by Helen Lewis

JULY 14, 2020

GLOBAL

Tumbrels are rattling through the streets of the internet. Over the past few years, online-led social movements have deposed gropers, exposed bullies—and, sometimes, ruined the lives of the innocent. Commentators warn of “mob justice,” while activists exult in their newfound power to change the world.

Both groups are right, and wrong. Because the best way to see the firings, outings, and online denunciations grouped together as “cancel culture,” is not through a social lens, but an economic one.

Take the fall of the film producer Harvey Weinstein, which seems inevitable in hindsight—everyone knew he was a sex pest! There were even jokes about it on 30 Rock! But it took The New York Times months of reporting to ready its first story for publishing; the newspaper was taking on someone with deep pockets and a history of intimidating critics into silence. Then the story went off like a hand grenade. Suddenly, the mood—and the economic incentives—shifted. People who had been afraid of Weinstein were instead afraid of being taken down alongside him.

The removal of Weinstein from his company, and his subsequent conviction for rape, is a good outcome. But the mechanism it revealed is more morally ambiguous: The court of public opinion was the only forum left after workplace protections and the judicial system had failed. The writer Jon Schwarz once described the “iron law of institutions,” under which people with seniority inside an institution care more about preserving their power within the institution than they do about the power of the institution as a whole. That self-preservation instinct also operates when private companies—institutions built on maximizing shareholder value, or other capitalist principles—struggle to acclimatize to life in a world where many consumers vocally support social-justice causes. Progressive values are now a powerful branding tool.

But that is, by and large, all they are. And that leads to what I call the “iron law of woke capitalism”: Brands will gravitate toward low-cost, high-noise signals as a substitute for genuine reform, to ensure their survival. (I’m not using the word woke here in a sneering, pejorative sense, but to highlight that the original definition of wokeness is incompatible with capitalism. Also, I’m not taking credit for the coinage: The writer Ross Douthat got there first.) In fact, let’s go further: Those with power inside institutions love splashy progressive gestures—solemn, monochrome social media posts deploring racism; appointing their first woman to the board; firing low-level employees who attract online fury—because they help preserve their power. Those at the top—who are disproportionately white, male, wealthy and highly educated—are not being asked to give up anything themselves.

Perhaps the most egregious example of this is the random firings of individuals, some of whose infractions are minor, and some of whom are entirely innocent of any bad behavior. In the first group goes the graphic designer Sue Schafer, outed by The Washington Post for attending a party in ironic blackface—a tone-deaf attempt to mock Megyn Kelly for not seeing what was wrong with blackface. Schafer, a private individual, was confronted at the party over the costume, went home in tears, and apologized to the hosts the next day. When the Post ran a story naming her, she was fired. New York magazine found numerous Post reporters unwilling to defend the decision to run the story—and plenty of unease that the article seemed more interested in exonerating the Post than fighting racism. Even less understandable is the case of Niel Golightly, communications chief at the aircraft company Boeing, who stepped down over a 33-year-old article arguing that women should not serve in the military. When Barack Obama, a notably progressive president, only changed his mind on gay marriage in the 2010s, how many Americans’ views from 1987 would hold up to scrutiny by today’s standards? This mechanism is not, as it is sometimes presented, a long-overdue settling of scores by underrepresented voices. It is a reflexive jerk of the knee by the powerful; a demonstration of institutions’ unwillingness to tolerate any controversy, whether those complaining are liberal or conservative. Another case where the punishment does not fit the offense is that of the police detective Florissa Fuentes, who reposted a picture from her niece taken at a Black Lives Matter protest. One of those pictured held a sign reading who do we call when the murderer wear the badge. Another sign, according to the Times, “implied that people should shoot back at the police.” Fuentes, a 30-year-old single mother to three children, deleted the post and apologized, but was fired nonetheless.

In the second group, the blameless, lies Emmanuel Cafferty, a truck driver who appears to have been tricked into making an “okay” symbol by a driver he cut off at a traffic light. The inevitable viral video claimed that this was a deliberate use of the symbol as a white-power gesture, and he was promptly fired. Cafferty is a working-class man in his 40s from San Diego. The loss of his job hit him hard enough that he saw a counselor. “A man can learn from making a mistake,” he told my colleague Yascha Mounk. “But what am I supposed to learn from this? It’s like I was struck by lightning.”

The phrase is haunting—not being racist is not going to save you if the lightning strikes. Nor is the fact that your comments lie decades in the past, or that they have been misinterpreted by bad-faith actors, or that you didn’t make them. The ground—your life—is scorched just the same.

It is strange that “cancel culture” has become a project of the left, which spent the 20th century fighting against capricious firings of “troublesome” employees. A lack of due process does not become a moral good just because you sometimes agree with its targets. We all, I hope, want to see sexism, racism, and other forms of discrimination decrease. But we should be aware of the economic incentives here, particularly given the speed of social media, which can send a video viral, and see onlookers demand a response, before the basic facts have been established. Afraid of the reputational damage that can be incurred in minutes, companies are behaving in ways that range from thoughtless and uncaring to sadistic. For Cafferty’s employer, what’s one random truck driver versus the PR bump of being able to cut off a bad news cycle by saying you’ve fired your “white-supremacist employee”?

Let’s look at another example of how woke capitalism operates. In the aftermath of George Floyd’s death, and the protests that followed, White Fragility, a 2018 book by Robin DiAngelo, returned to the top of The New York Times’s paperback-nonfiction chart. The author is white, and her book is for white people, encouraging them to think about what it’s like to be white. So the American book-buying public’s single biggest response to the Black Lives Matter movement was … to buy a book about whiteness written by a white person.

This is worse than mere navel-gazing; it’s synthetic activism. It risks making readers feel full of piety and righteousness without having actually done anything. Buying a book on white fragility improves the lives of the most marginalized far less than, say, donating to a voting-rights charity or volunteering at a food bank. It’s pure hobbyism.

Why is DiAngelo’s book so popular? Again, look at economics. White Fragility is a staple of formal diversity training, in universities from London to Iowa, and at publications including Britain’s right-wing Telegraph newspaper, as well as The Atlantic. The client list on DiAngelo’s website includes giant corporations such as Amazon and Unilever; nonprofits such as the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, the Hollywood Writers Guild, and the YMCA; as well as institutions and governmental bodies such as Seattle Public Schools, the City of Oakland, and the Metropolitan Council of Minneapolis.

In the United States, diversity training is worth $8 billion a year, according to Iris Bohnet, a public-policy professor at Harvard’s Kennedy School. And yet, after studying programs in both the U.S. and post-conflict countries such as Rwanda, she concluded, “sadly enough, I did not find a single study that found that diversity training in fact leads to more diversity.” Part of the problem is that although those delivering them are undoubtedly well-meaning, the training programs are typically no more scientifically grounded than previous management-course favorites, such as Myers-Briggs personality classifications. “Implicit-bias tests” are controversial, and the claim that they can predict real-world behavior, never mind reduce bias, is shaky. A large-scale analysis of research in the sector found that “changes in implicit measures are possible, but those changes do not necessarily translate into changes in explicit measures or behavior.” Yet metrics-obsessed companies love these forms of training. When the British Labour leader, Keir Starmer, caused offense by referring to Black Lives Matter as a “moment” rather than a movement, he announced that he would undergo implicit-bias training. It is an approach that sees bias as a moral flaw among individuals, rather than a product of systems. It encourages personal repentance, rather than institutional reform. Bohnet suggested other methods to increase diversity, such as removing ages and photographs from job applications, and reviewing the language used for advertisements. (Men are more likely to see themselves as “assertive,” she argued.) Here is another option for big companies: Put your money into paying all junior staff enough for them to live in the big city where the company is based, without needing help from their parents. That would increase the company’s diversity. Hell, get your staff to read White Fragility on their own time and give your office cleaners a pay raise.

This, however, would break the iron law of woke capitalism—better to have something you can point to and say “Aren’t we progressive?” than to think about the real problem. Diversity training offers the minimum possible disruption to your power structures: Don’t change the board; just get your existing employees to sit through a seminar.

If this is a moment for power structures to be challenged, and old orthodoxies to be overturned, then understanding the difference between economic radicalism and social radicalism is vital. These could also be described as the difference between identity and class. That is not to dismiss the former: Many groups face discrimination on both measures. Women might not be hired because “Math isn’t for girls” or because an employer doesn’t want to pay for maternity leave. An employer may not see the worth of a minority applicant, because they don’t speak the way the interviewer expects, or that applicant might be a second-generation immigrant whose parents can’t subsidize them through several years of earning less than a living wage.

All this I’ve learned from feminism, where the contrast between economic and social radicalism is very apparent. Equal pay is economically radical. Hiring a female or minority CEO for the first time is socially radical. Diversity training is socially radical, at best. Providing social-housing tenants with homes not covered in flammable cladding is economically radical. Changing the name of a building at a university is socially radical; improving on its 5 percent enrollment rate for Black students—perhaps by smashing up the crazy system of legacy admissions—would be economically radical.

In my book Difficult Women, I wrote that the only question I want to ask big companies who claim to be “empowering the female leaders of the future” is this one: Do you have on-site child care? You can have all the summits and power breakfasts that you want, but unless you address the real problems holding working parents back, then it’s all window dressing.

Along with anti-racism and anti-sexism efforts, LGBTQ politics suffers a similar confusion between economic and social radicalism. The arrival of Pride month brings the annual argument about how it should be a “protest, not a parade.” The violence and victimization of the Stonewall-riot era risk being forgotten in today’s “branded holiday,” where big banks and clothing manufacturers fly the rainbow flag to boost their corporate image. In Britain and the U.S., these corporate sponsors want a depoliticized party—a generic celebration of love and acceptance—without tough questions about their views on particular domestic laws and policies, or their involvement in countries with poor records on LGBTQ rights. Some activists in Britain have tried to get Pride marches to stop allowing the arms company BAE to be a sponsor, given its arms sales to Saudi Arabia, an explicitly homophobic and sexist state. When Amazon sponsored last year’s PinkNews Awards, the former Doctor Who screenwriter Russell T. Davies used his lifetime-achievement-award acceptance speech to tell the retailer to “pay your fucking taxes.” That’s economic radicalism.

Activists regularly challenge criticisms of “cancel culture” by saying: “Come on, we’re just some people with Twitter accounts, up against governments and corporate behemoths.” But when you look at the economic incentives, almost always, the capitalist imperative is to yield to activist pressure. Just a bit. Enough to get them off your back. Companies caught in the scorching light of a social-media outcry are ike politicians caught lying or cheating, who promise a “judge-led inquiry”: They want to do something, anything, to appear as if they are taking the problem seriously—until the spotlight moves on.

Some defenestrations are brilliant, and long overdue. Weinstein’s removal from a position of power was undoubtedly a good thing. But the firing of Emmanuel Cafferty was not. For activists, the danger lies in the cheap sugar rush of tokenistic cancellations. Real institutional change is hard; like politics, it is the “slow boring of hard boards.” Persuading a company to toss someone overboard for PR points risks a victory that is no victory at all. The pitchforks go down, but the corporate culture remains the same. The survivors sigh in relief. The institution goes on.

If you care about progressive causes, then woke capitalism is not your friend. It is actively impeding the cause, siphoning off energy, and deluding us into thinking that change is happening faster and deeper than it really is. When people talk about the “excesses of the left”—a phenomenon that blights the electoral prospects of progressive parties by alienating swing voters—in many cases they’re talking about the jumpy overreactions of corporations that aren’t left-wing at all.

Remember the iron law of woke institutions: For those looking to preserve their power, it makes sense to do the minimum amount of social radicalism necessary to survive … and no economic radicalism at all. The latter is where activists need to apply their pressure.

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thefinishedarticle · 7 years ago

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The Cult of Youth

“You can’t win anything with kids” was Alan Hansen’s Michael Fish moment, a failure to predict the hurricane that was Manchester United’s Class of ‘92: not only did Beckham, Butt, Scholes, Neville, Neville and co. win the double that year with an average age of 24, but they proved they were no fluke by retaining their league title in the next season.

Hansen was not alone in his scepticism, however. The statistics show that winning teams, whether in the Premier League or the World Cup, have an average age of 27-28, and it is commonly agreed that footballers tend to reach their peak upwards of 27. Goalkeepers and defenders seem to play until retirement age, but even strikers are seen as enjoying their best years between 27 and 31, particularly if they favour a poacher’s style of play.

Managers would also seem to prefer more experienced players: rounded to the nearest whole year, last season’s 20 Premier League squads included two with an average age of 30, two with an average age of 29, eight on an average of 28, six on 27, and two on 26, for a total average age of 28 years old for a top-flight footballer. Like a fine wine, players would seem to increase in quality with age.

The only area in which this isn’t reflected is in transfer fees. Older players, just like those with short contracts, are more cheaply parted from their clubs, despite this supposed increased ability; the reasoning is that the clubs may expect to see another two years out of a 30 year old, whereas a 20 year old signing may offer a dozen seasons for their one-off price, meaning that the youngster can be several times the price of their superior.

There is also an idea that younger players have potential to improve. Much is made of a player who succeeds when only 22, as if that should normally hinder his ability; if he’s this good already, it’s then imagined how incredible he will be when fully grown. It is never considered that the player might have already reached his peak: he must have room to improve, because football players peak after the age of 27.

United did not spend £70 million on Romelu Lukaku this summer because he’s the best striker in the world, but because he’s a perfectly competent one at the tender age of 23. They knew that they would get at least 7 years of performances out of him, which made him decent value at just £10 million a year: they would have paid much less for a 30-year-old with the same form, even though they boasted more experience.

They also expected him to develop in that time, potentially becoming a world-beater whilst in their possession: young players don’t have flaws, only opportunities to improve, and they are bought for their potential as much as their current ability. Paul Pogba, United’s world-record signing last year, was also 23.

Gareth Bale and Cristiano Ronaldo, the previous record holders, were both 24. Neither were the finished article at the time, but it was expected that they would earn their fee in time. The record may soon be broken again, with a fee in excess of £140 million proposed for Kylian Mbappé, an 18-year-old with one good season under his belt. His suitors believe that he will only get better, or that he will at least give them about 14 years at the same level, working out at a similar cost per season as Lukaku or a £20 million 30-year-old.

A similar effect is seen down the food chain: younger players demand higher fees, even if they might not yet be as good as older players which can be bought for the same money, because it is believed that they will one day become better, or at least remain this good for longer. I am reminded of the Football Manager series of games, where a canny manager with limited resources can scout for potential ability in preference to current ability, and buy lesser-known players which will become stars in time.

Unfortunately, life is nowhere near as linear. There are no set-in-stone rules that a young player must improve, no intrinsic ‘potential’ figure for them to progress towards. Mbappé may become the best player in the world, or he might follow the path of Anthony Martial, who also had one good season at Monaco at an early age, was also hyped for his ability and compared to past greats like Thierry Henry, and was also sold for a record figure for a teenager, but now struggles to start for United after two mediocre years.

Young strikers can develop their game, improve their positioning, their team-work, their decision-making, and improve, but I believe that they can also stagnate or even wane after an exceptional start. Many young forwards hinge their game upon their speed and stamina, and these can be expected to decline with age. Others may only start so brightly because they are an unknown quantity, and then have opponents learn their tricks and preferences, as Dele Alli found during the slow start to his second season, or begin to be man-marked.

There may be a psychological element: young players lack experience, but they may play with less pressure and expectation, or they may have more hunger than an older forward who has scored the same goal one hundred times. Finally, outside circumstances can easily curtail their development: young stars are often poached, and many new signings fail to replicate their form in a new city or country, with a new manager, team-mates and system to acclimatise to. Moving from a small pond to a big one, they also have to adjust to no longer being the focus of attack, and perhaps not even making the first team.

Now at United, Lukaku may build on his tally of 25 goals from last season, but it is also possible that he’ll never reach those heights again; in fact, it’s entirely possible that he’ll score fewer than 20. To illustrate this point, and to demonstrate that our expectations for young strikers are misplaced, I have compiled a database of the 34 strikers to score over 15 Premier League goals in a single season since 2010.

Of these, I have excluded 12 “one season wonders”, who dazzled for one glorius year but have since failed to come close to those standards, as these will be anomalies on any map of progression with age. Some of these players are still active, and so I am only writing them off for now: for all that I know, they may come back with a vengeance and earn themselves a place on the list proper.

For the remaining 22 players, I have recorded all of their league goals per season, and sorted the season by the age that the player was at its beginning. I have only included league records for consistency, as that gives each player an equal number of potential games to play (barring injury and deselection, which may both be age-related and are therefore worth including).

It also prevents a bias within an individual player’s timeline, as they may have played more games at a certain age than later, or in different competitions: there is a trend for managers to play more young players in easier domestic cup ties, for example, but only sending the first team out for the bigger games. Players would therefore find it easier to score when they were younger, biasing the figures in favour of my conclusion, and so I have removed this aspect of the comparison.

I have, however, included all of the top three European leagues (Premier League, La Liga, Bundesliga) to enable me to continue the comparison where Premier League stars are poached by bigger teams abroad. If I only looked at domestic figures, I would conclude that Luis Suarez had his best goalscoring year aged 26 (31 goals for Liverpool, compared to the 40 he notched for Barcelona two years later), or that Ronaldo peaked age 22 (31 goals for United, a total he has beaten five times for Real Madrid).

As above, this prevents a bias towards my conclusion, allowing young players to grow too big for the Premier League and reach their peak abroad instead. Finally, I have limited my study to goals as the most easily comparable metric of a forward’s success; although I am aware that there are many other aspects of their ability levels, these vary between styles of forward and would prove impossible to compare in one table.

The players in my sample are as follows, in no particular order: Wayne Rooney, Sergio Aguero, Harry Kane, Lukaku, Darren Bent, Daniel Sturridge, Edin Dzeko, Diego Costa, Alexis Sanchez, Christian Benteke, Olivier Giroud, Dimitar Berbatov, Carlos Tevez, Robin van Persie, Yakubu, Emmanuel Adebayor, Gareth Bale, Suarez, Hazard, Llorente, Jamie Vardy, and Jermain Defoe. They represent a variety of clubs and time-periods, and vary in their own ability and preferred position across the forward line.

As it stands, the average player had their best goalscoring season between the ages of 24 and 25. This stands in contrast to the above idea that forwards tend to peak a few years later on: just 6 of my 22 forwards enjoyed their best year past the age of 27, and none reached new heights after 28. Rather than entering their prime past this age, it seems that these players only went downhill from there.

For fairness, I must concede that many of these players are still playing at this level, and so this average is likely to increase slightly, but even those who have moved on seem to confirm the trend. Bent registered his best tally at the age of 23 (with his second-best at 19), Dzeko’s best came at 22 (second-best at 23), Berbatov’s came at 23 (second-best at 22/28), Tevez’s came at 25 (26), and Adebayor’s came at 23 (27).

The exceptions are van Persie, who seems to be a genuine case of a player who peaked at 27 (28), and Yakubu, who confuses things slightly: his best season came at 28, but his next best (by just one goal) came at 20, and he seems to have declined since then before going out with one last hurrah. Even van Persie’s story is caveated with the fact that he had previously been played out wide, and reached another level immediately once moved into the centre; if he had been played there from the start, he might easily have peaked earlier on.

Of those still playing in these leagues, it seems unlikely that Rooney (25), Llorente (25), and Defoe (26) are yet to reach their prime. Without a transfer or a perfect year, Sturridge (23), Costa (24), Benteke (21), Giroud (27), Bale (23) and Vardy (28) would be hard-pressed to beat their previous records, even though they still have some years in them: all seem to have declined from their high-points, instead of improving with age as we might expect.

The problem players are Kane (23), Lukaku (23), Sanchez (27), and Hazard (25), all of whom starred during the most recent season. Unlike those above, the momentum is behind them, and there is every chance that they will only continue to improve. The same applies for Suarez (28), although his 40 goals the season before will be extremely difficult to surpass, especially given that he fell short with ‘only’ 29 last term.

However, excluding these players actually decreases the average, and even only removing Kane and Lukaku doesn’t change it (the decimal point wavers, but the year remains between 24 and 25). I would include them for completion, and each of them are unlikely to better their already impressive totals (29, 25, 24, and 16 from the wing respectively), especially considering that a majority of the other players peaked around or below their ages.

It is worth addressing that some of these players had special circumstances. It could be argued that Benteke’s development was disrupted by his move to Liverpool, but a transfer to a bigger club can also be an opportunity to reach new heights, and he has since had a full season at Crystal Palace to regain his form.

Suarez provides a counter-point: his move to Barcelona, playing as part of a dominant attack with Lionel Messi and Neymar, has allowed to him to reach a peak he might have never found at Liverpool, and it seems likely that he would have reached it earlier if his transfer had been a year or two before.

It could be noted that Sturridge’s playing time has been limited since his breakthrough season, due to injuries and the appointment of a manager who prefers a different style, but these might also suggest that he is not the player that the heights of 2013/14, with attacking tactics and Suarez by his side, made him appear.

This also goes both ways, and there are more cases like van Persie’s where a player has been stifled early on his career: it is unusual for a top striker to be dropped or shunted to the wing if they have proved themselves in the centre, but common for a young player to have to put in time and wait for their chance to shine.

Sanchez is another example of a player only just moved into the middle, and his recent goal-tally might have come earlier if he’d made this switch earlier in his career. I therefore feel these considerations balance out, and that I can be confident in my average across the large sample and variety of players. This net potential error is certainly unlikely to raise the average of 24/25 by the three years required to meet the earlier expectation of 27/28, and this difference does seem significant.

Finally, a look at the one-season-wonders. Wilfried Bony and Jay Rodriguez had their solitary peak aged 23, whilst Demba Ba, Michu and Charlie Austin enjoyed theirs aged 25. Danny Ings and Saido Berahino, the other English strikers who broke through in the same season as Austin, attracted more interest from bigger clubs due to their youth, even though they were shy of my 15-goal threshold. It is therefore worth noting (as an aside) that they have not improved on that season, when they were aged just 22 and 20 respectively, in the two years that have elapsed since.

It seems unfair to mark down Riyad Mahrez and Joshua King as one-season-wonders, as they have barely had a chance to prove they aren’t, but with only one year to go on I am forced to include them in this category until they remove themselves, as otherwise their peaks would be artificially low: both were aged 24 during their breakthrough seasons, which are their peaks so far but may or may not remain so.

All of these players have been removed to keep my comparison fair, but all would seem to fit the trend. The few older one-offs were Odion Ighalo, aged 26, Peter Odemwingie, aged 29, and Rickie Lambert and Grant Holt, both aged 30. At first glance, these four would seem to balance out the seven above, but it is crucial to note that these players all had their ‘one season’ in their first ever season in the Premier League, before declining as they grew older. It is therefore highly likely that, had they arrived earlier, they would have peaked earlier as well.

The conclusions from the main set are therefore supported by these one-offs, but I would prefer to focus my argument on the average above. Rather than supporting the idea that a player’s career rises to a peak just before the end, this average paints a picture of a more normal distribution: if an average top flight career runs from around 20 to around 30, this mean falls around the middle, with none below 22 and none above 28. The mode of 23 suggests that more players actually peak near the beginning.

I can now move on to a more interesting question. Having looked at the set of all strikers, and answered the question of when they tend to reach their peak, I can get more specific: looking only at those strikers which performed well at an early age, how many of them continued at that level? How many of them improve? That will suggest more about the futures of young prospects than the general average does.

From my sample, I can see that those players who start well don’t tend to last the pace. Most notably, those players who perform later in their lives generally started later. The only forwards who did have their best year age 27 or later were Giroud, van Persie, Yakubu, Suarez and Vardy, and all but Yakubu failed to make an impact on these top leagues until later in their career: none even managed a modest 12 goals in a season until ages 26, 26, 20, 25 and 28 respectively, and most only arrived in the leagues a season or two before.

As above, Yakubu is an anomaly: his best period came between ages 20 and 24, with one exceptional final season following three with single-figure hauls and only exceeding his first by one goal. Across the whole sample, the average age of the first 12-goal season was 22, or 21 without these late bloomers, clearly showing that the only players to reach their peak later on were those who hadn’t neared it earlier.

Supplementary data supports this pattern. Much has been made of the fact that Lukaku is only the fifth player to score 50 Premier League goals before the age of 23, suggesting that he will now follow in the footsteps of those greats: Ronaldo, Rooney, Robbie Fowler and Michael Owen. However, this does not suggest as much potential as it might at first appear. Ronaldo’s most prolific season to date came aged 29, after he had moved to the dominant Madrid, but Rooney’s came at 25, Fowler’s at 20 and Owen had two equal seasons at age 21 and 22.

Two of these four players had therefore already reached their peak before they reached the age of 23: being an excellent striker at a young age doesn’t promise anything for the future, and might even suggest an early decline. Owen last managed a 12-goal season aged 24 before his output markedly deteriorated, and even Rooney last scored (exactly) 12 at age 28, although a return to Everton may revive him after single-figures in the two years since.

Whilst looking at iconic Liverpool strikers, I also remembered Fernando Torres starting young, and indeed he easily managed 50 before 23 for Atlético Madrid, and recorded eight successive 12-goal hauls in the seasons he started ages 18 through to 25.

He did not manage to reach that mark in the following seven years from 26 onwards, however, famously declining after moving to Chelsea. At the time the move was blamed for the sharp downturn in his career, but in the context of these other examples it seems that he was just part of a wider trend: he performed well at a very young age, and had just burnt out by the time he grew older.

The conclusion I can see is that highly promising younger players are actually less likely to become successful older players than their mediocre peers, in direct contrast to everything I’ve heard about potential. These players are much in demand and draw colossal fees, with the likes of Rooney and Torres also setting records of their own, but they don’t seem to deliver many more years of high performance than those who peak later, and they certainly don’t seem to improve.

It seems that some players bloom early and some bloom late, but there is little difference between the two, with lateness compensated with longevity. The only exceptions are for the truly world-class players, like Ronaldo and Messi (current peak 24), who can continue at the highest level from their youth until their retirement. The likes of Lukaku and Kane may well come to join them on that tier, but if not the future looks less bright than their valuations would suggest: the figures propose that they may already have their best days behind them, and perhaps only four or five seasons ahead.

#football #rooney #lukaku #premier league #ronaldo

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brentrogers · 4 years ago

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Racism Awareness Is Not Enough

The recent turmoil following yet another murder by police of a Black man has made it clear that systemic racism is embedded in our history and our culture. Yes, there have been real efforts to effect change over the last 50 years:

Diversity trainings have been annual events for corporations and educational institutions for decades.

Since the early 1960s, many companies, organizations, and educational institutions have designated affirmative-action or diversity officers whose job it is to make sure that qualified BIPOC (Black, Indigenous and people of color) are recruited and retained.

Black studies departments have been part of colleges and universities since the late 1960s.

Professional mental health organizations have established committees and published policies to make their members aware of the impact of racism and to establish best practices.

Martin Luther King Jr Day was established as a federal holiday to honor the Civil Rights leader in 1983.

Juneteenth has been increasingly recognized as a state holiday. Since Texas recognized it in 1980, 45 other states and the District of Columbia have recognized the day. There is now a push to make it a federal holiday.

Despite such efforts, racism continues in America. Why? I suggest that many Americans have let “awareness” — or at least the illusion of awareness be a substitute for action. The efforts to increase awareness allow white America to blindly continue the practice of systemic racism that is embedded in our culture. Performance of anti-racism isn’t the same as enacting it. It is an excuse.

How many of us have observed people attending staff “diversity trainings” rolling their eyes at the presenter? How many of us have ignored the eye-rolls? How many of us have been outraged by voter suppression in Black precincts and done nothing about it? How many of us have been happy to have a day off on MLK Jr Day but not participated meaningfully in carrying on his work? Oh, we’re aware of racism all right, but what have we done about it?

In her book White Fragility, Robin DiAngelo strips away the illusion. The fragility she describes is the difficulty white people have in talking about race and the defensiveness that results when asked to recognize white privilege and to do something about it.

The solution? For me, it’s to not let awareness be a substitute for action. It’s not letting statements of concern and sympathy, speeches and demonstrations of solidarity, and the trappings of policies passed but not implemented, drown out the very real negative consequences of racism experienced daily by BIPOC. It’s not letting myself become desensitized to overt police brutality and institutional microaggressions that shadow their lives every day. It’s making the commitment to daily, actively identify my own racism and to call out the racism in others.

I am a white psychologist writing to white readers: Racism is not a Black problem. Racism is a threat to the physical safety and mental and emotional health of everyone. It is not up to the Black community to educate us and to take the lead in changing white behavior. This is a call to action, to putting our energy and time and money into actively combatting racism — to not let awareness suffice.

How We Can Put Awareness into Action

Refuse be satisfied with awareness: We cannot allow ourselves the delusion that having taken a diversity training or gone on a march or read a few books makes us not racist. Yes, our awareness is a start. But it is only that.

Do our own internal work. We must recognize and own our privilege: Being white, we have had more opportunities. Being white, we haven’t had to live with constant anxiety about how we are being perceived. We haven’t had to live with fear for our own and our children’s lives.

Confront our own white fragility: If we remain defensive, if we insist that we are “different” from those racist other people, we cannot see our part in maintaining racial bias. We can’t solve a problem we won’t see and won’t talk about.

Learn: Philosopher George Santayana is often quoted: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” We must educate ourselves about the history of racism. Education sensitizes us to how systemic racism is maintained. Education gives us direction for what we need to do to make change.

Become an ally: We must take whatever steps we can to dismantle racism at our workplaces, in our schools, in our government, and in our communities. That means standing up. It means taking risks. It means putting our moral values above expediency or comfort.

Use our privilege: Instead of ignoring it, it’s important that we use our privilege and relative safety to vote, to petition government, to march and demonstrate, and to work ourselves into positions where we have influence so that we can insist on and enact change.

Teach our children: We must make a conscious, systematic effort to teach our children about racism and how it harms everyone. We must teach them to become the allies of the future. It’s our job to make sure our kids get to know people whose skin color and/or ethnic background is different from their own. Positive relationships are the key to mutual understanding.

Stick with it (even if you make mistakes along the way): I’ll speak for myself here. Having been active in the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, I allowed myself to be lulled into the idea that the battle for equality was, if not won, then certainly not needful of such active involvement on my part. I let myself put the constancy of racial issues on a back burner, while I turned my attention to daily stresses and crises that come with balancing work and family life. I let my awareness suffice. In that very real way, I’ve been complicit in maintaining racism.

The demonstrations of the past week have shaken me out of my stupor. I acknowledge that whatever I’ve done in the past, however much I’ve let myself believe I’m living out moral principles of equality personally and professionally, I’m not doing enough. My challenge, and maybe yours, is to refuse to let my awareness be a substitute for further action.

Racism Awareness Is Not Enough syndicated from

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whorchataaa · 4 years ago

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Racism Awareness Is Not Enough

Diversity trainings have been annual events for corporations and educational institutions for decades.

Black studies departments have been part of colleges and universities since the late 1960s.

Professional mental health organizations have established committees and published policies to make their members aware of the impact of racism and to establish best practices.

Martin Luther King Jr Day was established as a federal holiday to honor the Civil Rights leader in 1983.

How We Can Put Awareness into Action

from https://ift.tt/3dDf1lg Check out https://peterlegyel.wordpress.com/

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looye29 · 2 years ago

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ashley-unicorn · 4 years ago

Text

Racism Awareness Is Not Enough

Diversity trainings have been annual events for corporations and educational institutions for decades.

Black studies departments have been part of colleges and universities since the late 1960s.

Professional mental health organizations have established committees and published policies to make their members aware of the impact of racism and to establish best practices.

Martin Luther King Jr Day was established as a federal holiday to honor the Civil Rights leader in 1983.

How We Can Put Awareness into Action

from https://ift.tt/3dDf1lg Check out https://daniejadkins.wordpress.com/

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erraticfairy · 4 years ago

Text

Racism Awareness Is Not Enough

Diversity trainings have been annual events for corporations and educational institutions for decades.

Black studies departments have been part of colleges and universities since the late 1960s.

Professional mental health organizations have established committees and published policies to make their members aware of the impact of racism and to establish best practices.

Martin Luther King Jr Day was established as a federal holiday to honor the Civil Rights leader in 1983.

How We Can Put Awareness into Action

from World of Psychology https://ift.tt/3dDf1lg via theshiningmind.com

#World of Psychology #child psychology

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