#tell your order in a disaffected and sure tone
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space-blue · 1 year ago
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I'm a born and bred Parisian. I left the country 10 years ago and never stopped the slander.
When I'm asked why I dislike France so much I just shrug and say "it's full of french people".
It's shorter.
The Least Intimidating bakery in the village has closed for good so now I’ve got to go to the Intimidating Bakery, it’s awful. If you don’t have a PhD in being French I don’t recommend going to that bakery, here’s the humiliating account of the 3 times I’ve visited it so far:
the first time I went in there I pointed at one of those extra-skinny baguettes and said “a flute, please” feeling pretty sure of myself, and the baker said “… that’s a ficelle” (you idiot) (was implied) “a flute is twice as large as a baguette.”
That’s insane, first of all, a flute is a skinny instrument. Call your fat baguette a bassoon, lady—I made some timid remark about how it would make more sense for a flute to be a skinny bread and the baker said, “In Paris it is. I thought you were from the South?”
oh, that hurt
I guess I’m from the part of the South that’s so close to Italy the bread’s waist size matters less than whether it’s got olives in it, but I left the bakery having an existential crisis over whether living in Paris had made me forget my roots
the Least Intimidating Bakery just had normal baguettes vs. seedy baguettes vs. horny baguettes (easy mode, some have seeds, some have horns), while the new bakery has breads that are only different on a molecular level—there’s a good old loaf and then another, identical loaf called a bastard? google told me a bastard is “halfway between a baguette and a bread” but denouncing them like “those are not regulation-sized bastards” would get me banned from the bakery for life
on my 2nd visit (while I stood in line discreetly googling baguette terminology) there was an English tourist who asked for a baguette while pointing at what was either a rustique or a sesame and I felt a bit worried for them, but the baker just clarified “this one?” to waive any responsibility if they found out later it wasn’t a classic baguette, then handed them the bread without educating them in a judgmental tone and I felt envious
I know it’s because she thinks the English are beyond saving but still it made me want to come back with a fake moustache and an English accent so I wouldn’t be expected to play bakery on expert mode just because I’m French. I asked for a pastry this time and the baker asked “no bread with that?” which felt cruel, like she wanted me to sprinkle myself with ashes and admit out loud that my level of bread proficiency isn’t as advanced as I once believed it was
The third time I went, I had lost all self-confidence and I hesitantly pointed at a bread and said “I’d like this, uh—what is it called?” and the baker looked at me in disbelief and said “That’s a baguette.”
God.
for the record, if that stupid bread had been flanked by a skinny bread (ficelle) and a fat one (flute) then yeah of course I would have known to call it a baguette, but in the absence of reference points I now felt lost and scared of being called a Parisian again
it’s hard to express the depth of my suffering so I’ll just let the facts speak for themselves: this morning a French person (me) stood in a French bakery in France surrounded by French people and pointed at a baguette and said “what is this called”
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sineala · 5 years ago
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hi! do you have any advice you're up to sharing about writing early canon steve? I feel like later canon steve has more of a weariness/idealism duality going on, plus a lot more anger. what do you think motivates early canon steve? what, after he's initially adjusted to being out of the ice, are his struggles? how do you write him differently from, like, volume 3 steve or civil war steve or hickmanvengers steve or current canon steve? thanks for any thoughts you might have.
Thanks so much for asking! This was really interesting to think about!
First off, I think that honestly a lot of his struggles are him adjusting to being out of the ice, and they persist a lot longer than you’d probably think they might. His thing is that he’s the Man Out Of Time, after all, and I think you can see signs of him grappling with this up to at least the 80s.
One of the big issues for him – and this is still often one of his problems – is “who is Steve Rogers?” Who is he when he isn’t being Captain America? Unlike, say, how someone like Tony will happily dump everything good about himself into Iron Man and call it a day, Steve still does want to be Steve. He’s just not sure how to be Steve. He keeps looking for structure, for order, for things to do. He joins the Avengers basically the day after he meets them. He writes Fury a letter asking to join SHIELD because he “wants to be back in harness.” (He is already an Avenger!) He also decides he wants to try holding civilian jobs. He’s a cop for a bit in the 70s, and in the 70s and 80s he’s a working commercial artist. So he keeps trying all these things on… and yet he keeps coming back to being Captain America, because there’s clearly something there he isn’t getting elsewhere. This one’s his calling.
There’s another theme that early-canon Cap comics often touches on, which is his frustration about the fact that he’s out of touch with the Youth of Today. This is a big theme especially in the 60s and 70s, when you have Steve dealing with, say, student protesters and their politics. He’s the same age as a lot of these kids – or, at least, he looks like he is – but he doesn’t really understand where they’re coming from at all, he doesn’t understand their culture, and he’s a generation apart from them, which is just enough to get him really frustrated. Even in the 80s, he moves out into an apartment building and makes a bunch of friends, but there’s still a profound disconnect between them because of his age. He saved his landlady from a concentration camp and he can’t tell her. When he wants to talk to his friends about the past, he pretends it’s something that happened in his father’s day. He meets Bernie and starts dating her, and he’s bewildered by the fact that she likes professional wrestling and she’s bewildered by the fact that he has Bing Crosby records and doesn’t like modern movies (they see Indiana Jones together). And yet, they’re supposed to be the same age! He’s happy but he’s always set apart from these people who he’s supposed to be able to relate to.
This problem fades as time moves on. By the time you get to about the end of Avengers v1 and the beginning of Avengers v3, I think what helps is that all the founders and the Kooky Quartet are old enough now to basically be the old guard, and they’re taking on teammates who are actual teenagers. So by the time Steve is in his subjective mid-thirties he’s got as much of a handle on culture and technology as all the rest of the founding Avengers, and maybe he doesn’t understand everything the kids these days are into, but he’s not expected to and neither are the other founders. They’re all on an equal footing. And it’s not like he can’t use a smartphone. (We do in fact have canonical proof that he can.) The technology never seems to have held him back, anyway; it’s all culture.
If you’re accepting Captain America: Man Out of Time as 616 canon, I feel like that’s when Steve gives the Avengers a real chance – he could stay in the 40s, but chooses not to, because he knows the Avengers need him, even if he doesn’t quite fit there yet. By the end of v1 (when he comes back to life in Waid’s Cap run), Steve has pretty much settled in and knows he belongs there. And, say, then again in Waid’s recent run, when Steve gets flung into a dystopian future, it’s the present he’s eventually trying to get back to. He’s figured out when he’s from now. (Yeah, I think Waid is good at this aspect of Steve.)
Early-canon Steve is definitely more innocent than later Steve. I mean, sure, he fought in World War II and everything, but, like, you know how “I’m loyal to nothing except the dream” is the iconic Steve line? I think he started out being loyal to more than that. He met FDR, who personally gave him his shield! Steve trusted the government! Then he had to watch Richard Nixon tell him he’d been the head of the Secret Empire, working to undermine the US, before shooting himself in the head before Steve’s eyes so he didn’t have to face justice. And, like, I know we all have a thing for the Nomad costume, but it’s important to remember why Steve did it – because he felt like he couldn’t call himself Captain America when the government he thought he could trust had gone and done something like that. So early-canon Steve is a lot more naive in some ways.
Similarly, I don’t think early-canon Steve is quite as angry as he ends up later. He’s disaffected, sure, but that comes out of him more as sadness than anger. I think as he gets more invested in his own place in the future he finds a lot more to be angry at, and certainly by the time of Civil War we see that he’s capable of being very angry at very good friends. (During Operation Galactic Storm I feel like he was more sad than angry.) I don’t know if he’s just repressing a bunch of anger early on, or taking it out on all the bad guys, or what. But he is definitely much less angry then.
Hickmanvengers Steve is his own special case, really, of extreme anger and betrayal. Just… everything exaggerated to the worst possible extreme, under unimaginable amounts of stress. Even in Civil War he stops before he kills Tony, whereas I’m pretty sure that here he’s still hitting Tony right up until the end of the world.
I think current-canon Steve in the Avengers book is actually very reminiscent of his role in something like v3 – solid, stable, adjusted, okay with the fact that he was born a while ago, generally happy. As for Steve in his solo book, it’s a little hard to say, because the current arc has treated him so differently from the other arcs that I thought there was no way the narration could be him. (He says some things I found really out of character for him.) It’s reminiscent of Brubaker’s run, for me, in tone – a little bit darker. So I kind of want to wait and see where that one goes.
I hope that helps answers some of your question, at least!
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segadores-y-soldados · 6 years ago
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An Eye for An Eye
A write up and analysis of Moira’s new interactions with Soldier: 76, McCree, Reaper, and a few others.  Includes a discussion on Moira after the events of “Retribution”, and how Soldier: 76 does believe she was responsible for it.  Also discusses the different ways we can interpret Soldier’s line, and the different ways we can interpret Moira’s reply.
TL;DR: Soldier: 76 blames Moira for the events of “Retribution,” and likely for aiding in the fall of Overwatch. While he mentions “Reyes,” he never actually says what he thinks “Reyes had been planning,” leaving the line open to a discussion on if Jack is presently aware of Gabriel’s plan to infiltrate Talon.  Compared to the emotionality and intensity of Soldier’s line, Moira’s reply is oddly and almost eerily disaffected, especially compared to her interactions with Winston, Mercy, Pharah, and McCree.  Contains a small part on the increasing likelihood of a romantic angle between Gabriel and Jack.
(Italics represent actual speaking inflections and changes in tone present in the actual audio)
Moira’s research:
Winston: Overwatch had good reason to shut down your research! Moira: I shouldn’t be surprised at such a narrow opinion coming from a jumped-up ape.
---
Mercy: Describing your work as “unethical” would be a kindness. Moira: But the true question is whether or not you can deny my discoveries...(pause) ...No, I didn’t think so.
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Sarcasm:
Moira: Well, I must never worry about my safety when the brave agents of Helix are with us. Pharah: Don’t be so sure about that.
---
The effects of “Retribution”:
Moira: Our courageous cowboy... The years haven’t changed you much, have they, Jesse? McCree: Well, they certainly haven’t changed my feelings about working with you.
---
Soldier: 76: You were a disgrace to Overwatch.  If I had known what Reyes had been planning, I would never have allowed it. Moira: It seems to me that it was convenient for you not to look too closely into Gabriel’s business... (Audio link)
---
The “I don’t get paid enough for this” category:
Moira: Your condition seems relatively stable. Reaper: No one’s accused me of that in a long time. (Audio link)
Other things to read before this: “Long Reasons Not to Trust Moira in Retribution” and “Retribution and Reapercussions.”  Warning: true to the first one’s name, they are both very long, and they are both constructed around the idea that Moira was a double-agent working for Talon during the events of “Retribution,” and that she sold out the mission to Talon before the mission started.
Let’s clear one thing here, immediately, before any of this begins:
Both Soldier: 76 and McCree believe Moira betrayed Blackwatch during “Retribution.”  
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Soldier: 76 does 100%, McCree’s opinion is very strongly implied, based on his interaction above, and on his older one with Moira:
McCree: Always thought hiring you was a mistake. Moira: The best mistake one could ever make.
This is very important for two main reasons:
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The first is that whatever happened during Gabriel’s debriefing was enough to: 1) convince McCree to stay in Blackwatch for another year or two, 2) convince McCree to remain loyal to his BW commander for another year or two, 3) convince Jack Morrison to allow Gabriel Reyes to stay in Overwatch for another two years, 4) convince Jack Morrison that Gabriel Reyes, Jesse McCree, and Genji Shimada could be allowed to operate even when their division was suspended.
(More under the cut)
I am very pleased to see the new Soldier: 76 interaction, for a variety of reasons, but absolutely the most immediate one is that his words, his tone, the whole thing shows he truly believes Moira betrayed Blackwatch and eventually undermined the rest of Overwatch.
The other thing is that Soldier: 76 uses pretty strong language to describe Moira and her role in the fall of Overwatch (well, as strong as a T-rated game can get you in a 15 second conversation, lol).  This is in direct contrast with his interactions with Reaper, which are much drier, more sarcastic or deadpan in tone, and significantly calmer.
Which leads to another question:
Does Jack Morrison actually blame Gabriel Reyes for the fall of Overwatch?  Or for any of his actions before, during, or since?
In fact, it is extremely interesting that we now have an audio example of what Jack Morrison sounds like when he is actually angry.  As I said, his words, his tone, his anger - all of these things are exponentially higher than how he talks to Reaper, or Winston, or Mei, or Ana.  If you could have argued he was “upset” with Reaper or “frustrated” with Winston, that’s borderline impossible to defend now.  In retrospect, pretty much everything else Soldier: 76 says to other characters in the game is calm (“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”), or cautionary (“You need to slow down, think about your actions.” or “The frontlines are no place for a scientist” or “War isn’t a game.”) , or even possibly just sarcastic (“Think you can do my job, do you?”).
Or...perish the thought - maybe even genuine, like “Your mother would’ve been proud of you” or “I thought I was, until I met you.”
Which makes it really fascinating that Soldier: 76 tells Moira that she was the disgrace to Overwatch, not Gabriel...and that he never actually says this to Reaper.  
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In fact, at no point - in the game, in the comics, in the shorts or animations - does Soldier: 76/Jack ever directly blame Gabriel or his persona of “Reaper” for what happened to Overwatch...or what happened to him.
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At best, Soldier: 76 alludes to “what Reyes had been planning”, before suggesting that he himself wouldn’t have “allowed it.”
...Allowed what?  
He never states what Gabriel “had been planning.”  On the surface level, it seems to imply that Gabriel had been planning “the fall of Overwatch” - which is the story other people (including Moira and maybe Doomfist) seem to believe.
But again, Soldier: 76 never says that he believes this.
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And why does Jack seem to think his opinion or approval (or denial of it) could have swayed Gabriel’s decision?
It’s because we now know that he absolutely could have, that Jack Morrison was probably the only person who could have convinced Gabriel to stop doing whatever “he had been planning.”
Using the “Retribution” comic, we know that it was Jack Gabriel would consult with when he needed advice or wanted a discussion on Overwatch and Blackwatch’s joint goals:
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A matter which both men apparently did very privately, on a very personal level.
So personal, that individuals like McCree, Genji, and Moira were not informed of them (during the Retribution era):
McCree: How are you going to explain this to the Strike-Commander? Gabriel: You let me worry about what Jack needs to know. McCree: You know you can’t shoot him. Gabriel: No, but I could shoot you.
As I said in “Retribution and Reapercussions,” it seems unlikely to me that Gabriel would completely, 180-degree flip his motivations and objectives after the “Retribution” mission ended.
His motivations?
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Protect Jack (to put it in very plain terms).
His objective?
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The original one: get more information in order to bring down Talon before they hurt Jack or anyone else in Overwatch.
The one that actually occured during Retribution:
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Survive a compromised mission with all of his agents alive, get extracted, and get back to base -
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To develop a new plan of attack against the enemy steadily “infiltrating” them.
In “Retribution and Reapercussions,” I argued that part of that plan involved getting Moira to stay cooperative with Gabriel and Blackwatch, in order to 1) preserve Overwatch secrets, 2) preserve Gabriel’s secrets (e.g. his “condition”), and 3) attempt to get more information from Moira.
Personally, I also think Gabriel - with or without Jack’s personal approval - probably began making his own plans to infiltrate Talon under the persona of “Reaper.”  Reaper as a “persona” is dry, sarcastic, snarky, angry, bitter, irreverant, and hellbent on “revenge”.  I argued in both “Long Reasons” and “Reapercussions” that this “masquerade” works on Moira - at the very least, she takes advantage of it, egging Gabriel on during the mission or asking him questions about his condition.
I also think that, after Gérard’s assassination, Gabriel was completely committed to his plan to infiltrate and enact retribution - equal punishment, equal justice - on Talon for their work against Overwatch.
Now -
Did Jack Morrison know about this plan?
I don’t know.  I really don’t.  I’m currently split on it about fifty-fifty.  I think that it is actually in-character for Gabriel to have told Jack about his plan in some way - after all, he talked with Jack about “bringing Antonio in” (which Jack personally approved of), so I think it’s totally possible Jack was aware of whatever...methods Gabriel was using to get into Talon.
The other part of this is the “approval” bit: Jack’s awareness of Gabriel’s plan (or lack thereof) does not equal his approval of it.  Jack could have known about it and not approved of it, leading to a genuine falling out over “the ends justifies the means” ideology between the two men.
The problem with this interpretation is that Jack has basically become a new version of “pre-fall Gabriel Reyes” in the present day story of Overwatch, down to repeating Gabriel’s own lines (“What are you looking at?”, “If you want something done right”, “I don’t play by the rules”, etc).  Jack being upset that Gabriel wanted to infiltrate Talon rings pretty hollow (or at least partially hypocritical) when you look at his current actions as “Soldier: 76″.
Therefore, it also makes sense that Jack genuinely was unaware of Gabriel’s plan.  After all, there’s the issue of plausible deniability to consider:
In “Retribution,” we learn from part of Gabriel’s debriefing that Gabriel offers Jack a chance to back out of the debriefing and secure “plausible deniability” for himself.  Jack refuses to leave, and while his tone is frustrated, what he actually demonstrates is that he’s willing to stand by Gabriel as his commander, his friend, and his “partner”, even through the consequences of the mission.
Personally, I think Gabriel would find that endearing.
I think he would also find it absolutely terrifying.
Gabriel wants to protect Jack (again, in blunt terms), and if Jack won’t protect himself from social, political, or possibly physical harm, then Gabriel will do it for him.
After all, “if you want something done right...”
You have to do it yourself.
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In “Retribution,” it was “what” Jack needs to know about.
By the time of “Uprising,” it was “nothing” Jack needs to know about.
Gabriel could have totally hidden his plans to infiltrate Talon from Jack, in a extreme effort to preserve Jack’s plausible deniability, and also distance Jack from the effects of him “going deep” as Reaper.
Because if Gabriel was bargaining with Moira for a cure for his “condition,” it’s also possible he fully expected to die for his decision - to lose his “condition” would make him mortal again, and to be mortal in the “talons” of his enemies:
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Could be deadly.
Gabriel trying to drive Jack away for Jack’s own safety is very plausible, and very much a common trope for the “undercover spy” story.  We have not seen Blizzard use that trope yet in Overwatch, so it remains a very open plot point in their deck of cards.
This also gives us a way to see Soldier: 76′s interaction with Moira as both genuine and “truth-twisting” simultaneously:
Soldier: 76: You were a disgrace to Overwatch.  If I had known what Reyes had been planning, I would never have allowed it.
(bold for emphasis) It allows Jack to be honest while also concealing the truth from Moira (and the best lies always have a little bit of truth and vulnerability to them): if he had known that Gabriel had been planning to “go in deep” under cover into Talon to infiltrate them (especially if Jack is aware that Gabriel is still trying to find a cure for his condition), Jack would never have allowed it -
Not because he disagreed with the methods or means -
But because Jack would want Gabriel to be safe.
As I said in “Reapercussions,” Jack probably wasn’t upset with Moira’s recruitment itself - not really.  He might have had qualms about Gabriel recruiting the scientist whose lab he helped shut down, but he probably wanted a cure for Gabriel’s condition as well.  Jack trusted Gabriel with his health and yet doing so opened up Gabriel, Blackwatch, and Overwatch to vulnerability, and allowed the greatest “disgrace” in Overwatch’s history to enter the organization.
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Again, a very classic storytelling trope between two heroes: one wants to go “all in” on a risky plan - a desperate attack, an infiltration, a “death blossom” tactic - while the other argues that they can’t, it’s too dangerous, with typical lines like:
“It’s the only option we have left!” “But what about you?” “If a sacrifice is what it takes, then I’m willing to die for it.” “But I can’t lose you.”
And yes, I’ll be blunt about it - it’s almost always tied to romance.
“But can’t two characters go through this sort of situation platonically?”
Of course they can - anyone who has ever loved someone platonically could admit to that.  No one’s being blind to that angle.  It’s just disproportionately a trope that’s used to heighten romance in stories.  If one of the two characters was the opposite sex (or, if you’d like to use the canon Overwatch romance of Lena and Emily), and you ran through this scenario, you know exactly what you the audience would think about those two characters.
As a reminder, Michael Chu is a big fan of “The Legend of Korra,” and Bryan’s words on the finale of the show are extremely relevant in this moment, and they represent one of the first times a writer and creator of a popular media story was open on the topic:
I’m usually rolling my eyes when that happens in virtually every action film, “Here we go again…” It was probably around that time that I came across this quote from Hayao Miyazaki: “I’ve become skeptical of the unwritten rule that just because a boy and girl appear in the same feature, a romance must ensue. Rather, I want to portray a slightly different relationship, one where the two mutually inspire each other to live - if I’m able to, then perhaps I’ll be closer to portraying a true expression of love.”
[...] However, I think there needs to be a counterpart to Miyazaki’s sentiment: Just because two characters of the same sex appear in the same story, it should not preclude the possibility of a romance between them. No, not everyone is queer, but the other side of that coin is that not everyone is straight. The more Korra and Asami’s relationship progressed, the more the idea of a romance between them organically blossomed for us.
(Source)
Blizzard has already taken a very open stance on this by creating Emily and introducing her - in no uncertain terms - as the romantic partner of Lena “Tracer” Oxton.
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Going back to Jack and Gabriel, individual members of the Overwatch development team - mainly Jeff Kaplan and Michael Chu - have said things like “it is a deep, complex relationship that’s not necessarily only driven by romance,” “these guys loved each other,” and (the most recent one) “Gabriel Reyes was Jack Morrison’s partner” to describe their relationship.
Once is an accident.
Twice is a coincidence.
Three times is a pattern.
So yeah, Jack Morrison could be very angry that “his friend” risked everything - Blackwatch, Overwatch, global peace, his health, his very life - to go under cover.  It happens in stories, and it happens in real life too.  Love is a powerful emotion in all of its forms - platonic, familial, romantic, etc.
Or we can be honest and use the terms that the developers themselves have given us.
So that we can say:
That Jack Morrison is very angry and hurt that his partner 
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- a man he loved, a man he built an organization and a lifetime with, a man he trusted over and over and over again - 
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risked everything that actually mattered - the organization they had built together, the lifetime they had shared, the loved that they had, their deep, complex relationship of romance, trust, and power - 
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to go deep under cover to fight and destroy the enemy organization threatening them.
...The story writes itself, doesn’t it?
So those are two possible interpretations:
1) Jack Morrison knew what Gabriel Reyes was planning and did not approve of it. 2) Jack Morrison did not know what Gabriel Reyes was planning, and once he found out, he still did not approve of it.
But then we come to the third possible interpretation:
3) Regardless of his awareness, Jack Morrison knew or eventually learned what Gabriel Reyes was planning, and he did approve of it.
Could this be plausible?
Given that we now know what Jack Morrison sounds like when he is actually angry, all of the interactions between Soldier: 76 and Reaper now sound like...
Mild banter, to be honest.
Soldier: 76: Aren't you supposed to be dead?
Reaper: Didn't take.
Soldier: 76: One of these days someone is gonna to put an end to you.
Reaper: I invite them to try.
Soldier: 76: Well. You sure take to this ‘bad guy’ thing easily, don't ya?
Reaper: And you sure know how to play ‘boy scout’.
These conversations don’t sound...angry or upset or even frustrated?  The second one is particularly weird now that we know that Jack knows Gabriel is virtually immortal, and the last one almost sounds like a joke, with Soldier even laughing a bit at one point.  
For two men trying to convince the world that they had a massive falling out and hate each other to the point of, uh, “trying” to kill each other (which they spectacularly fail at), they’re not doing a very good job.  
But again, notably absent is a remark that is remotely comparable to the intense emotion Soldier: 76 has in his new interaction with Moira.  His “threat” of “someone is gonna put an end to you” is actually pretty passive, and Reaper’s reply is equally as dry and “joking” - neither man says they’ll actually kill the other.
And of course, Soldier: 76 does not say anything like this:
Soldier: 76: You were a disgrace to Overwatch.  If I had known what [you] had been planning, I would never have allowed it.
To Reaper.
He never blames Gabriel directly for the fall of Overwatch at any point, in any source material.  He never says anything like “Gabriel Reyes destroyed Overwatch” or even “Gabriel Reyes was a disgrace to Overwatch.”  As I wrote above, he doesn’t even seem to get mad at Reaper in the present-day.
Compared to, McCree and Ana for example:
Reaper: Just like old times.
Ana: Right. Except for the part where you became a homicidal murderer.
Reaper: Guess you're going back on my list, Ana.
Ana: What happened to you, Gabriel?
Reaper: I taught you everything you know.
McCree: Not everythin'.
McCree: You weren't given those guns to toss 'em around like trash.
Reaper: I don't take lessons from you.
But there are two important things to keep in mind here:
1) Ana and McCree were not actually present for the explosion of the Swiss Base.  It is very likely neither of them know what Gabriel has been planning.  We know from Michael Chu that McCree has not encountered Reaper in the present day, but if they met, he would recognize Reaper as Gabriel.
2) Gabriel does not trust either of them to the same level or “depth of their relationship” as he does Jack.  Ana did not even appear in the “Retribution” comic, and McCree appeared only in the beginning and ending.  He also was unaware of Gabriel’s personal discussion about the mission with Jack, or Jack’s personal approval of it.
(And again, to be blunt, neither Ana nor McCree “directly motivate” Gabriel’s actions in “Retribution” the way Jack does.)
So, could Soldier: 76 approve of whatever Gabriel has been and is planning?
Yeah, I really think it’s possible.  Not a clue if it’s “more or less likely” than the other interpretations, but I think it’s definitely plausible.  Soldier: 76 acts and talks like “pre-fall” Gabriel Reyes did, and he - like Gabriel (and Reaper) - currently toes the line between “retributive justice” (“an eye for an eye”) and “renegade revenge.”  
Which means, if he does approve of Gabriel infiltrating Talon, then he’s lying to Moira.
...But I mean -
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He is wearing a mask.
And we know how important mask symbolism is in Overwatch.
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The fact that the two of them are “masquerading” as more “extreme” versions of the roles they have always played - the “hero” and the “villain” - 
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Is very suspicious at this point.
Which finally brings me to Moira’s reply.
Moira: It seems to me that it was convenient for you not to look too closely into Gabriel’s business...
...Now -
A number of people asked something along the lines of, “But isn’t she saying that he, Jack, benefited from turning a blind eye to Gabriel’s actions?” or “That it was convenient for Jack to ignore Gabriel’s actions because it either helped Overwatch in the long run, or because Gabriel later ‘took the blame’ for the problems?”
Which, I understand, conceptually, but personally, I feel like that...misses the mark.
The main reason is that - if that is what Moira is saying - then she still does not know how “deep” Gabriel’s relationship with Jack was (or possibly currently is).
That she is unaware that they had conversations like this in the past (and again, possibly still do in the present):
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And if that is “The Point” of her reply - to show the audience that she’s still “buying” that Gabriel is “mad he took the blame” for Retribution - then I find it awkwardly written, and rather starkly impassive.  If Moira was actually “firing back” at Jack for “letting Gabriel take the blame for Retribution,” wouldn’t she...do it to the same intensity as these?
Winston: Overwatch had good reason to shut down your research! Moira: I shouldn’t be surprised at such a narrow opinion coming from a jumped-up ape.
---
Mercy: Describing your work as “unethical” would be a kindness. Moira: But the true question is whether or not you can deny my discoveries...(pause) ...No, I didn’t think so.
---
Moira: Well, I must never worry about my safety when the brave agents of Helix are with us. Pharah: Don’t be so sure about that.
Moira can be absolutely vicious when she’s mad - you can actually hear the snear in her tone of voice in the Winston interaction, and also hear the snarky, icy coldness in the Mercy one.  The Pharah interaction oozes sarcasm - like, even more than her new McCree one.
And let’s not forget the “unimpeachable” line.
So make no mistake - when Moira intends to fire back, she burns things down.
So her reaction to Jack Morrison - a man she likely has a personal bone to pick with for shutting down her old lab - vehemently calling her “a disgrace” and saying that he would’ve stopped “Reyes” if he could have...feels so calm.  
Like.  Unaffectedly so.  Almost eerily so.
And I don’t know if that’s her ploy or she simply doesn’t care enough to be bothered to get intense about it.
But it sounds and feels off to me.
When Moira believes she is in the right, or when she thinks something is going well for her, she gets unbelievably smug and savage about it.
Moira: I wouldn’t describe this as ‘light resistance’…quality intelligence we received. Genji: It makes no difference to me. Moira: …How droll.
McCree: Better to kill them now than wait for another surprise attack! Moira, to herself: …ha, ironic.
McCree: You’re awfully calm about all this. Moira: I take it all in my stride.
Gabriel: Enough art! Let’s get out of here. McCree: Never had the eye for it anyways. Moira, muttering: …philistines.
Soldier: 76 has revealed that he knows what she did during “Retribution”.  And in her McCree interactions, she’s honestly smug about it.
McCree: Always thought hiring you was a mistake. Moira: The best mistake one could ever make. 
But with Soldier: 76, not even...a tease.  Or a taunt.  Or a snide remark.
Just a calm, controlled:
Moira: It seems to me that it was convenient for you not to look too closely into Gabriel’s business...
She sounds...almost thoughtful.  Contemplative.
Methodical.
In “A Clash of Kings” I speculated that Moira might be aware of Gabriel’s plan to bring down Talon.  At the time, I wrote that she might not even care, and - if pressured to pick a side - would pick Gabriel over Talon because her research is more important than her organization.  I still stand by the latter point -
But I will admit that I think the “might not care” part might have been...preemptive.
Because again, as I said in the audio post, I personally feel like Moira sounds almost suspicious of Soldier: 76 here.  Is she saying that it was convenient for Jack Morrison to “turn a blind eye” to Gabriel’s actions in Blackwatch?  Is she saying that he benefited from Gabriel doing “the real work” for Overwatch?
...It’s still off to me.
Because Overwatch fell anyways -
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And Jack Morrison was literally scarred by the event.
So in the long run, how exactly was it “convenient” for Jack to ignore Gabriel’s actions - a perspective that we know is inherently incorrect because Jack actually knew a good deal about Blackwatch’s missions, and inherently incorrect again because Overwatch was destroyed anyways?
If Moira wants to say that Jack “reaped the rewards” of Gabriel’s work, there’s...a lot of other ways - a lot of smugger ways - she could say that.  And if that was “The Point” of the interaction, I personally think it would be more directly stated, considering how blunt and vicious her other interactions are when she gets mad.
To me, her tone implies that she thinks it is “still convenient” for Jack to continue “ignoring Gabriel’s business” - that, not only did Jack benefit from “turning a blind eye” then, but that he continues to benefit by “turning a blind eye” now.
Much like how Antonio’s monologue in “Retribution” was a very classic, “I’ve been expecting you, Mister Reyes Bond”, Moira here feels like she is throwing out another spy-genre trope line:
“It seems like it was convenient for you that things went this way...a little too convenient.”
...People always say not to “read too much into these lines,” or “it’s not that deep,” but I disagree.  It was a close reading and analysis of the “Masquerade” comic that really gave significant evidence towards the “Reaper is infiltrating Talon to take it done from the inside,” and that was nearly a full year before “Retribution” the comic came out.  It is a close and thorough look-through of Necropolis and Castillo that shows us what Sombra knows, and how she might be linking several characters together.
And it was a close synthesis and discussion of the lines of evidence in Retribution that indicated that Moira was the “double-agent” in Blackwatch.
And it is what the lead writer of Overwatch himself wants “you the player” to do:
“One of the things we really like doing with Overwatch is playing with perspective.  We utilize perspective when we analyze or when we tell stories about characters, what they’re thinking, what their goals are.  And we have a lot of unreliable narrators.  We want people to pay careful attention to what characters think about in particular situations.  We want them to use their judgment and their knowledge of a character’s thoughts to come up with their own ideas about the universe.”
(Michael Chu’s 2017 GDC talk)
Maybe this is a “cheap” argument, but I also think that downplaying Moira’s reaction here or writing it off as “she’s just saying Jack got all the pros while Gabriel took all the cons” is a bit of a disservice to the intelligence of her character, and the intelligence of Overwatch’s writing team.  They get only a few seconds to convey some really intense information (not just in this, but for example, the new Lúcio interactions, some of the Doomfist interactions, the Symmetra interactions, etc), and while I don’t expect every word to be “hand-picked” and scrutinized before it goes into a voice line or interaction, I do expect some sort of discussion about protraying character and development, different personality, reactions to new situations or information, tone and expression for the voice actors, and on and on.  
This interaction, as small and as “short” as it is, has to pass through several people before it “ends up” with the player - one of them being the voice actor or actress themselves, who has to provide the nuance and tone for the line - and I would bet that at least once or twice, alternate lines or word choices were brought up.  It’s part of the writing and storytelling process, especially one that involves actual voiced parts.
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Moira “the character” was smart enough to play two sides against each other in Retribution, survive the mission, survive “the consequences,” and successfully bring down an organization she hated, as well as gain leverage over one of its major leaders and eventually “recruit” him into her new organization.
All while also being a genuis but unethical scientist on top of it.
I think it is very plausible for her to question Reaper’s “loyalty” to Talon (especially when we add in her new interaction with him), but she seems to think he’s either “committed” now, or still bound to it by her research.  So while she might be skeptical of it, she tolerates and accepts Reaper’s working relationship with Talon for now.  Even if she doesn’t fully believe his statements of “No, I’m totally on Talon’s side now, trust me,” Moira at least knows she has extra leverage over him as a failsafe.
However, I also think it’s plausible for Moira to be very skeptical of why Reaper and Soldier: 76 haven’t killed each other yet.  Why they both managed to walk away from the Swiss Base explosion alive.  Why there have been six to seven years since that with no “results” on Reaper’s part.
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Why Jack Morrison is using a “Soldier ID number” that Gabriel Reyes would recognize and understand.
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Why Jack Morrison is still alive after Reaper “trapped him” in Hakim’s compound.
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Why Reaper tells Ana Amari that Jack “made him this thing” when Moira knows a decent part of Reaper’s post-fall condition is due to her own influence.
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Why Jack Morrison seems to believe that his “approval” or “permission” for Gabriel Reyes to enact “what he had been planning” mattered to Gabriel at all.
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I think Moira can figure out that there are vital pieces of information that she’s missing.  She can see how - against all odds - the situation is still very convenient for Jack.  She just isn’t entirely sure how.
I think this Soldier: 76-Moira interaction pairs well with her new Reaper interaction.
Moira: Your condition seems relatively stable. Reaper: No one’s accused me of that in a long time.
I think it is possible for Moira to skeptical of Reaper here, but I do also think it’s just as likely that she’s simply stating a fact, doctor-to-patient.  I’m not certain if the interpretation matters significantly.
Instead, I think this interaction is meant for “us the player” to realize that the thing Reaper “claims” he wants from Moira - the thing that is his “supposed” motivation for working with Talon:
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Is “fixing” itself.  Or that whatever treatments Moira is giving him now are working.
And that “Reaper” could potentially be released from his “curse” soon-ish.
And if that is true, then why is Reaper still working with Talon?
If you believe infiltration theory, then yeah, the answer feels pretty obvious: Gabriel will eventually enact retribution on Talon and bring them down the way they did to Overwatch.
But if/when Moira realizes she’s steadily losing her extra leverage over him, what will she do?
Will she realize that she and Akande have just invited their own “retribution” into their castle?
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Or will it be too late for them to stop him?
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1K notes · View notes
itsfinancethings · 5 years ago
Link
Some candidates run on policy. Others run on nostalgia. Pete Buttigieg’s unlikely presidential campaign is all about story.
More than any of his Democratic rivals, Buttigieg has rooted his bid in the power of narrative, betting that voters are sick of partisan bickering and ready to hear a new vision about healing America’s divisions. His is a campaign of imagery, themes, and characters, a reassuring bedtime tale for voters who feel caught in a waking nightmare. The policy debates that dominated much of the race have faded into the footnotes, emerging when he’s asked but rarely central to his pitch.
Instead Buttigieg, the multilingual son of an English professor and a linguistics professor, has returned his campaign’s first language: a message of belonging and healing. That message—the one that has so far lifted Buttigieg from the unknown mayor of South Bend, Ind., to a serious presidential contender—emphasizes hope and unity. He talks about a country that can “put the chaos behind us” and “turn the page” to a “new chapter,” that rejects the “old playbook” and stops focusing on “who said what when.”
“Our message about belonging is designed to make everyone feel welcome, and my own search for belonging of course partly has to do with being different because I’m gay,” he told TIME in an interview Saturday afternoon as he drove from Dubuque to Anamosa on Saturday. “But it’s also part of what motivates me to help make sure anybody who’s been made to feel on the outside knows that they have a home in this campaign.”
That has meant reaching out to Republicans as well as Democrats, conservatives as well as liberals, the politically alienated as well as political activists. His narrative is one of an America that’s big enough to include even those who vehemently disagree, a nation that can be healed through forgiveness, not retribution. It’s classic big-tent politics, at a moment when much of the nation seems more wrapped up in drawing distinctions than in finding common ground.
“A big part of why the presidency matters is the tone that it sets,” he told TIME. “There’s no office like the Presidency when it comes to setting the overall tone and sending the overall signals about what kind of country we are.” In a 30-minute interview, Buttigieg used the word “message” 12 times.
As he crisscrosses Iowa, visiting high school gyms and community centers and hotel ballrooms, he urges crowded rooms to think of the “image that guides this whole campaign,” which is “the moment when the sun comes up, and for the first time, Donald Trump will not be president of the United States.”
It’s the political equivalent of “Once Upon a Time.” Gone is talk of policy specifics: he still mentions Medicare-for-All-Who-Want-It, climate change and college affordability, but it’s rarely central to his stump speech. He talks less about his fiscal or foreign-policy agenda and more about an emotional agenda of addressing mental health, curbing the opioid crisis, and reducing “deaths of despair.”
Buttigieg’s campaign is far more focused on healing what he calls a “crisis of belonging.” It’s a tonal problem as much as a political one.
“Donald Trump is the master of the politics of exclusion and the politics of wedge issues and the politics of pitting people against each other,” says Mike Schmuhl, Buttigieg’s campaign manager. “We firmly believe that most Americans want to have a future where they’re together and they feel like they’re united. They can disagree on a bunch of stuff, but that we’re in this together in the American project.”
It’s a big bet that needs to pay off in Iowa—or the campaign risks collapsing altogether. Buttigieg’s central pitch is that he can woo waffling conservatives and disaffected Trump voters back to the party. Iowa, with its Midwestern sensibility and aging white population, is Buttigieg’s first and best chance of proving his case. If he can’t show that the unity message works here, it will be harder for him to argue his case as he heads into more diverse and progressive states where he has less of an organizational foothold.
“It’s going to be very important for us to show well in Iowa and New Hampshire,” Buttigieg says.
Winning over a group Buttigieg calls “future former Republicans” is central to that strategy. His latest swing through Iowa has emphasized counties that voted for Presidents Obama and then Trump, and his campaign has focused on courting conservative volunteers to reach out to their networks to caucus for him, a strategy called “relational organizing” that emphasizes personal connections over cold canvassing. The campaign has said that 45 of their precinct captains are current or former Republicans.
“He’s the most reassuring [candidate] at a time when people are tired of waking up and seeing the tweets, getting so freaking pissed off by the time you’ve had your coffee,” says Scott Matter, a former regional political director for the Republican National Committee who is now a precinct captain for Buttigieg near Ankeny, a Des Moines suburb. “I think people want somebody they can look up to again. You don’t have to be worried he’s going to say something that’s going to embarrass your children.”
“We don’t think you can win a general election by telling people that they don’t belong if they don’t agree with you on 100% of the issues,” said Buttigieg senior advisor Lis Smith in a campaign roundtable hosted by Bloomberg News in Des Moines on Saturday morning. “The idea of electability has to be centered somewhat around who can bring people together, and who can build a big-tent Democratic party in the traditional sense. And I would say that we are the only campaign that is actively aware of that.”
Buttigieg’s pitch to conservatives is based on tone, not policy. “That idea of tone: not everybody votes based on dots on an ideological spectrum,” he tells TIME. “I’m not going to pretend to be conservative, but I am going to make sure that folks see that there might be a place for them in this movement.”
Besides, he adds, “these are not voters who are diehard partisans. They don’t think first about party. They think first about the effects they’re expecting on their lives.”
Some of the message is tailored to people who don’t follow politics closely and may be unlikely to have strong feelings about the details of competing proposals. “Folks may not all be policy buffs, but they understand what policies mean to them,” Buttigieg says. “When we talk about what it’s going to take to keep kids safe from gun violence and act on climate, you know, it adds up to a message about how we’re going to be a better country.”
Buttigieg’s biggest challenge so far is his lack of support among voters of color. Buttigieg’s strategy to reach them has changed. He started by unveiling a racial-justice plan, titled the Douglass Plan, which he billed as a “comprehensive and intentional dismantling of racist structures and systems.” He tried to host rallies in South Carolina. None of it worked.
Now, he is focusing instead on lining up intimate conversations in black communities in order to build trust and support. “We’ve certainly made sure to adopt new forms of engagement,” he says, like a recent conversation about racial equity with Charlamagne tha God in South Carolina and smaller conversations about health equity and black-owned small businesses on his swing through the South in December. “I think that’s helpful in terms of building a relationship that’s just different for me, having to do it in a matter of months rather than decades.”
So for Buttigieg, the message is the message. Senator Bernie Sanders is running a campaign based on the idea of a progressive revolution, Senator Elizabeth Warren is running on her policy proposals (with a recent late pivot towards “unity”), and former Vice President Joe Biden is running on electability. For voters who are motivated by ideology or policy plans, Buttigieg probably won’t be their candidate. But for such a cerebral candidate, his pitch to Iowa voters is rooted more in emotion than in passion, in seeking a sense of peace rather than seeking particular policy outcomes.
Buttigieg’s own presidential aspirations hinge on whether Iowans are compelled by his message of “turning the page,” as he puts it. If they don’t, the story of the young gay veteran who came out of nowhere to shoot to the top of the presidential primary may soon be coming to an end.
0 notes
newstechreviews · 5 years ago
Link
Some candidates run on policy. Others run on nostalgia. Pete Buttigieg’s unlikely presidential campaign is all about story.
More than any of his Democratic rivals, Buttigieg has rooted his bid in the power of narrative, betting that voters are sick of partisan bickering and ready to hear a new vision about healing America’s divisions. His is a campaign of imagery, themes, and characters, a reassuring bedtime tale for voters who feel caught in a waking nightmare. The policy debates that dominated much of the race have faded into the footnotes, emerging when he’s asked but rarely central to his pitch.
Instead Buttigieg, the multilingual son of an English professor and a linguistics professor, has returned his campaign’s first language: a message of belonging and healing. That message—the one that has so far lifted Buttigieg from the unknown mayor of South Bend, Ind., to a serious presidential contender—emphasizes hope and unity. He talks about a country that can “put the chaos behind us” and “turn the page” to a “new chapter,” that rejects the “old playbook” and stops focusing on “who said what when.”
“Our message about belonging is designed to make everyone feel welcome, and my own search for belonging of course partly has to do with being different because I’m gay,” he told TIME in an interview Saturday afternoon as he drove from Dubuque to Anamosa on Saturday. “But it’s also part of what motivates me to help make sure anybody who’s been made to feel on the outside knows that they have a home in this campaign.”
That has meant reaching out to Republicans as well as Democrats, conservatives as well as liberals, the politically alienated as well as political activists. His narrative is one of an America that’s big enough to include even those who vehemently disagree, a nation that can be healed through forgiveness, not retribution. It’s classic big-tent politics, at a moment when much of the nation seems more wrapped up in drawing distinctions than in finding common ground.
“A big part of why the presidency matters is the tone that it sets,” he told TIME. “There’s no office like the Presidency when it comes to setting the overall tone and sending the overall signals about what kind of country we are.” In a 30-minute interview, Buttigieg used the word “message” 12 times.
As he crisscrosses Iowa, visiting high school gyms and community centers and hotel ballrooms, he urges crowded rooms to think of the “image that guides this whole campaign,” which is “the moment when the sun comes up, and for the first time, Donald Trump will not be president of the United States.”
It’s the political equivalent of “Once Upon a Time.” Gone is talk of policy specifics: he still mentions Medicare-for-All-Who-Want-It, climate change and college affordability, but it’s rarely central to his stump speech. He talks less about his fiscal or foreign-policy agenda and more about an emotional agenda of addressing mental health, curbing the opioid crisis, and reducing “deaths of despair.”
Buttigieg’s campaign is far more focused on healing what he calls a “crisis of belonging.” It’s a tonal problem as much as a political one.
“Donald Trump is the master of the politics of exclusion and the politics of wedge issues and the politics of pitting people against each other,” says Mike Schmuhl, Buttigieg’s campaign manager. “We firmly believe that most Americans want to have a future where they’re together and they feel like they’re united. They can disagree on a bunch of stuff, but that we’re in this together in the American project.”
It’s a big bet that needs to pay off in Iowa—or the campaign risks collapsing altogether. Buttigieg’s central pitch is that he can woo waffling conservatives and disaffected Trump voters back to the party. Iowa, with its Midwestern sensibility and aging white population, is Buttigieg’s first and best chance of proving his case. If he can’t show that the unity message works here, it will be harder for him to argue his case as he heads into more diverse and progressive states where he has less of an organizational foothold.
“It’s going to be very important for us to show well in Iowa and New Hampshire,” Buttigieg says.
Winning over a group Buttigieg calls “future former Republicans” is central to that strategy. His latest swing through Iowa has emphasized counties that voted for Presidents Obama and then Trump, and his campaign has focused on courting conservative volunteers to reach out to their networks to caucus for him, a strategy called “relational organizing” that emphasizes personal connections over cold canvassing. The campaign has said that 45 of their precinct captains are current or former Republicans.
“He’s the most reassuring [candidate] at a time when people are tired of waking up and seeing the tweets, getting so freaking pissed off by the time you’ve had your coffee,” says Scott Matter, a former regional political director for the Republican National Committee who is now a precinct captain for Buttigieg near Ankeny, a Des Moines suburb. “I think people want somebody they can look up to again. You don’t have to be worried he’s going to say something that’s going to embarrass your children.”
“We don’t think you can win a general election by telling people that they don’t belong if they don’t agree with you on 100% of the issues,” said Buttigieg senior advisor Lis Smith in a campaign roundtable hosted by Bloomberg News in Des Moines on Saturday morning. “The idea of electability has to be centered somewhat around who can bring people together, and who can build a big-tent Democratic party in the traditional sense. And I would say that we are the only campaign that is actively aware of that.”
Buttigieg’s pitch to conservatives is based on tone, not policy. “That idea of tone: not everybody votes based on dots on an ideological spectrum,” he tells TIME. “I’m not going to pretend to be conservative, but I am going to make sure that folks see that there might be a place for them in this movement.”
Besides, he adds, “these are not voters who are diehard partisans. They don’t think first about party. They think first about the effects they’re expecting on their lives.”
Some of the message is tailored to people who don’t follow politics closely and may be unlikely to have strong feelings about the details of competing proposals. “Folks may not all be policy buffs, but they understand what policies mean to them,” Buttigieg says. “When we talk about what it’s going to take to keep kids safe from gun violence and act on climate, you know, it adds up to a message about how we’re going to be a better country.”
Buttigieg’s biggest challenge so far is his lack of support among voters of color. Buttigieg’s strategy to reach them has changed. He started by unveiling a racial-justice plan, titled the Douglass Plan, which he billed as a “comprehensive and intentional dismantling of racist structures and systems.” He tried to host rallies in South Carolina. None of it worked.
Now, he is focusing instead on lining up intimate conversations in black communities in order to build trust and support. “We’ve certainly made sure to adopt new forms of engagement,” he says, like a recent conversation about racial equity with Charlamagne tha God in South Carolina and smaller conversations about health equity and black-owned small businesses on his swing through the South in December. “I think that’s helpful in terms of building a relationship that’s just different for me, having to do it in a matter of months rather than decades.”
So for Buttigieg, the message is the message. Senator Bernie Sanders is running a campaign based on the idea of a progressive revolution, Senator Elizabeth Warren is running on her policy proposals (with a recent late pivot towards “unity”), and former Vice President Joe Biden is running on electability. For voters who are motivated by ideology or policy plans, Buttigieg probably won’t be their candidate. But for such a cerebral candidate, his pitch to Iowa voters is rooted more in emotion than in passion, in seeking a sense of peace rather than seeking particular policy outcomes.
Buttigieg’s own presidential aspirations hinge on whether Iowans are compelled by his message of “turning the page,” as he puts it. If they don’t, the story of the young gay veteran who came out of nowhere to shoot to the top of the presidential primary may soon be coming to an end.
0 notes
itsfinancethings · 5 years ago
Link
Some candidates run on policy. Others run on nostalgia. Pete Buttigieg’s unlikely presidential campaign is all about story.
More than any of his Democratic rivals, Buttigieg has rooted his bid in the power of narrative, betting that voters are sick of partisan bickering and ready to hear a new vision about healing America’s divisions. His is a campaign of imagery, themes, and characters, a reassuring bedtime tale for voters who feel caught in a waking nightmare. The policy debates that dominated much of the race have faded into the footnotes, emerging when he’s asked but rarely central to his pitch.
Instead Buttigieg, the multilingual son of an English professor and a linguistics professor, has returned his campaign’s first language: a message of belonging and healing. That message—the one that has so far lifted Buttigieg from the unknown mayor of South Bend, Ind., to a serious presidential contender—emphasizes hope and unity. He talks about a country that can “put the chaos behind us” and “turn the page” to a “new chapter,” that rejects the “old playbook” and stops focusing on “who said what when.”
“Our message about belonging is designed to make everyone feel welcome, and my own search for belonging of course partly has to do with being different because I’m gay,” he told TIME in an interview Saturday afternoon as he drove from Dubuque to Anamosa on Saturday. “But it’s also part of what motivates me to help make sure anybody who’s been made to feel on the outside knows that they have a home in this campaign.”
That has meant reaching out to Republicans as well as Democrats, conservatives as well as liberals, the politically alienated as well as political activists. His narrative is one of an America that’s big enough to include even those who vehemently disagree, a nation that can be healed through forgiveness, not retribution. It’s classic big-tent politics, at a moment when much of the nation seems more wrapped up in drawing distinctions than in finding common ground.
“A big part of why the presidency matters is the tone that it sets,” he told TIME. “There’s no office like the Presidency when it comes to setting the overall tone and sending the overall signals about what kind of country we are.” In a 30-minute interview, Buttigieg used the word “message” 12 times.
As he crisscrosses Iowa, visiting high school gyms and community centers and hotel ballrooms, he urges crowded rooms to think of the “image that guides this whole campaign,” which is “the moment when the sun comes up, and for the first time, Donald Trump will not be president of the United States.”
It’s the political equivalent of “Once Upon a Time.” Gone is talk of policy specifics: he still mentions Medicare-for-All-Who-Want-It, climate change and college affordability, but it’s rarely central to his stump speech. He talks less about his fiscal or foreign-policy agenda and more about an emotional agenda of addressing mental health, curbing the opioid crisis, and reducing “deaths of despair.”
Buttigieg’s campaign is far more focused on healing what he calls a “crisis of belonging.” It’s a tonal problem as much as a political one.
“Donald Trump is the master of the politics of exclusion and the politics of wedge issues and the politics of pitting people against each other,” says Mike Schmuhl, Buttigieg’s campaign manager. “We firmly believe that most Americans want to have a future where they’re together and they feel like they’re united. They can disagree on a bunch of stuff, but that we’re in this together in the American project.”
It’s a big bet that needs to pay off in Iowa—or the campaign risks collapsing altogether. Buttigieg’s central pitch is that he can woo waffling conservatives and disaffected Trump voters back to the party. Iowa, with its Midwestern sensibility and aging white population, is Buttigieg’s first and best chance of proving his case. If he can’t show that the unity message works here, it will be harder for him to argue his case as he heads into more diverse and progressive states where he has less of an organizational foothold.
“It’s going to be very important for us to show well in Iowa and New Hampshire,” Buttigieg says.
Winning over a group Buttigieg calls “future former Republicans” is central to that strategy. His latest swing through Iowa has emphasized counties that voted for Presidents Obama and then Trump, and his campaign has focused on courting conservative volunteers to reach out to their networks to caucus for him, a strategy called “relational organizing” that emphasizes personal connections over cold canvassing. The campaign has said that 45 of their precinct captains are current or former Republicans.
“He’s the most reassuring [candidate] at a time when people are tired of waking up and seeing the tweets, getting so freaking pissed off by the time you’ve had your coffee,” says Scott Matter, a former regional political director for the Republican National Committee who is now a precinct captain for Buttigieg near Ankeny, a Des Moines suburb. “I think people want somebody they can look up to again. You don’t have to be worried he’s going to say something that’s going to embarrass your children.”
“We don’t think you can win a general election by telling people that they don’t belong if they don’t agree with you on 100% of the issues,” said Buttigieg senior advisor Lis Smith in a campaign roundtable hosted by Bloomberg News in Des Moines on Saturday morning. “The idea of electability has to be centered somewhat around who can bring people together, and who can build a big-tent Democratic party in the traditional sense. And I would say that we are the only campaign that is actively aware of that.”
Buttigieg’s pitch to conservatives is based on tone, not policy. “That idea of tone: not everybody votes based on dots on an ideological spectrum,” he tells TIME. “I’m not going to pretend to be conservative, but I am going to make sure that folks see that there might be a place for them in this movement.”
Besides, he adds, “these are not voters who are diehard partisans. They don’t think first about party. They think first about the effects they’re expecting on their lives.”
Some of the message is tailored to people who don’t follow politics closely and may be unlikely to have strong feelings about the details of competing proposals. “Folks may not all be policy buffs, but they understand what policies mean to them,” Buttigieg says. “When we talk about what it’s going to take to keep kids safe from gun violence and act on climate, you know, it adds up to a message about how we’re going to be a better country.”
Buttigieg’s biggest challenge so far is his lack of support among voters of color. Buttigieg’s strategy to reach them has changed. He started by unveiling a racial-justice plan, titled the Douglass Plan, which he billed as a “comprehensive and intentional dismantling of racist structures and systems.” He tried to host rallies in South Carolina. None of it worked.
Now, he is focusing instead on lining up intimate conversations in black communities in order to build trust and support. “We’ve certainly made sure to adopt new forms of engagement,” he says, like a recent conversation about racial equity with Charlamagne tha God in South Carolina and smaller conversations about health equity and black-owned small businesses on his swing through the South in December. “I think that’s helpful in terms of building a relationship that’s just different for me, having to do it in a matter of months rather than decades.”
So for Buttigieg, the message is the message. Senator Bernie Sanders is running a campaign based on the idea of a progressive revolution, Senator Elizabeth Warren is running on her policy proposals (with a recent late pivot towards “unity”), and former Vice President Joe Biden is running on electability. For voters who are motivated by ideology or policy plans, Buttigieg probably won’t be their candidate. But for such a cerebral candidate, his pitch to Iowa voters is rooted more in emotion than in passion, in seeking a sense of peace rather than seeking particular policy outcomes.
Buttigieg’s own presidential aspirations hinge on whether Iowans are compelled by his message of “turning the page,” as he puts it. If they don’t, the story of the young gay veteran who came out of nowhere to shoot to the top of the presidential primary may soon be coming to an end.
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itsfinancethings · 5 years ago
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February 02, 2020 at 12:29AM
Some candidates run on policy. Others run on nostalgia. Pete Buttigieg’s unlikely presidential campaign is all about story.
More than any of his Democratic rivals, Buttigieg has rooted his bid in the power of narrative, betting that voters are sick of partisan bickering and ready to hear a new vision about healing America’s divisions. His is a campaign of imagery, themes, and characters, a reassuring bedtime tale for voters who feel caught in a waking nightmare. The policy debates that dominated much of the race have faded into the footnotes, emerging when he’s asked but rarely central to his pitch.
Instead Buttigieg, the multilingual son of an English professor and a linguistics professor, has returned his campaign’s first language: a message of belonging and healing. That message—the one that has so far lifted Buttigieg from the unknown mayor of South Bend, Ind., to a serious presidential contender—emphasizes hope and unity. He talks about a country that can “put the chaos behind us” and “turn the page” to a “new chapter,” that rejects the “old playbook” and stops focusing on “who said what when.”
“Our message about belonging is designed to make everyone feel welcome, and my own search for belonging of course partly has to do with being different because I’m gay,” he told TIME in an interview Saturday afternoon as he drove from Dubuque to Anamosa on Saturday. “But it’s also part of what motivates me to help make sure anybody who’s been made to feel on the outside knows that they have a home in this campaign.”
That has meant reaching out to Republicans as well as Democrats, conservatives as well as liberals, the politically alienated as well as political activists. His narrative is one of an America that’s big enough to include even those who vehemently disagree, a nation that can be healed through forgiveness, not retribution. It’s classic big-tent politics, at a moment when much of the nation seems more wrapped up in drawing distinctions than in finding common ground.
“A big part of why the presidency matters is the tone that it sets,” he told TIME. “There’s no office like the Presidency when it comes to setting the overall tone and sending the overall signals about what kind of country we are.” In a 30-minute interview, Buttigieg used the word “message” 12 times.
As he crisscrosses Iowa, visiting high school gyms and community centers and hotel ballrooms, he urges crowded rooms to think of the “image that guides this whole campaign,” which is “the moment when the sun comes up, and for the first time, Donald Trump will not be president of the United States.”
It’s the political equivalent of “Once Upon a Time.” Gone is talk of policy specifics: he still mentions Medicare-for-All-Who-Want-It, climate change and college affordability, but it’s rarely central to his stump speech. He talks less about his fiscal or foreign-policy agenda and more about an emotional agenda of addressing mental health, curbing the opioid crisis, and reducing “deaths of despair.”
Buttigieg’s campaign is far more focused on healing what he calls a “crisis of belonging.” It’s a tonal problem as much as a political one.
“Donald Trump is the master of the politics of exclusion and the politics of wedge issues and the politics of pitting people against each other,” says Mike Schmuhl, Buttigieg’s campaign manager. “We firmly believe that most Americans want to have a future where they’re together and they feel like they’re united. They can disagree on a bunch of stuff, but that we’re in this together in the American project.”
It’s a big bet that needs to pay off in Iowa—or the campaign risks collapsing altogether. Buttigieg’s central pitch is that he can woo waffling conservatives and disaffected Trump voters back to the party. Iowa, with its Midwestern sensibility and aging white population, is Buttigieg’s first and best chance of proving his case. If he can’t show that the unity message works here, it will be harder for him to argue his case as he heads into more diverse and progressive states where he has less of an organizational foothold.
“It’s going to be very important for us to show well in Iowa and New Hampshire,” Buttigieg says.
Winning over a group Buttigieg calls “future former Republicans” is central to that strategy. His latest swing through Iowa has emphasized counties that voted for Presidents Obama and then Trump, and his campaign has focused on courting conservative volunteers to reach out to their networks to caucus for him, a strategy called “relational organizing” that emphasizes personal connections over cold canvassing. The campaign has said that 45 of their precinct captains are current or former Republicans.
“He’s the most reassuring [candidate] at a time when people are tired of waking up and seeing the tweets, getting so freaking pissed off by the time you’ve had your coffee,” says Scott Matter, a former regional political director for the Republican National Committee who is now a precinct captain for Buttigieg near Ankeny, a Des Moines suburb. “I think people want somebody they can look up to again. You don’t have to be worried he’s going to say something that’s going to embarrass your children.”
“We don’t think you can win a general election by telling people that they don’t belong if they don’t agree with you on 100% of the issues,” said Buttigieg senior advisor Lis Smith in a campaign roundtable hosted by Bloomberg News in Des Moines on Saturday morning. “The idea of electability has to be centered somewhat around who can bring people together, and who can build a big-tent Democratic party in the traditional sense. And I would say that we are the only campaign that is actively aware of that.”
Buttigieg’s pitch to conservatives is based on tone, not policy. “That idea of tone: not everybody votes based on dots on an ideological spectrum,” he tells TIME. “I’m not going to pretend to be conservative, but I am going to make sure that folks see that there might be a place for them in this movement.”
Besides, he adds, “these are not voters who are diehard partisans. They don’t think first about party. They think first about the effects they’re expecting on their lives.”
Some of the message is tailored to people who don’t follow politics closely and may be unlikely to have strong feelings about the details of competing proposals. “Folks may not all be policy buffs, but they understand what policies mean to them,” Buttigieg says. “When we talk about what it’s going to take to keep kids safe from gun violence and act on climate, you know, it adds up to a message about how we’re going to be a better country.”
Buttigieg’s biggest challenge so far is his lack of support among voters of color. Buttigieg’s strategy to reach them has changed. He started by unveiling a racial-justice plan, titled the Douglass Plan, which he billed as a “comprehensive and intentional dismantling of racist structures and systems.” He tried to host rallies in South Carolina. None of it worked.
Now, he is focusing instead on lining up intimate conversations in black communities in order to build trust and support. “We’ve certainly made sure to adopt new forms of engagement,” he says, like a recent conversation about racial equity with Charlamagne tha God in South Carolina and smaller conversations about health equity and black-owned small businesses on his swing through the South in December. “I think that’s helpful in terms of building a relationship that’s just different for me, having to do it in a matter of months rather than decades.”
So for Buttigieg, the message is the message. Senator Bernie Sanders is running a campaign based on the idea of a progressive revolution, Senator Elizabeth Warren is running on her policy proposals (with a recent late pivot towards “unity”), and former Vice President Joe Biden is running on electability. For voters who are motivated by ideology or policy plans, Buttigieg probably won’t be their candidate. But for such a cerebral candidate, his pitch to Iowa voters is rooted more in emotion than in passion, in seeking a sense of peace rather than seeking particular policy outcomes.
Buttigieg’s own presidential aspirations hinge on whether Iowans are compelled by his message of “turning the page,” as he puts it. If they don’t, the story of the young gay veteran who came out of nowhere to shoot to the top of the presidential primary may soon be coming to an end.
0 notes