#the fact that they have this sort of security policy concerns me though --

[smile-files]

here's the ziploc i customized so i can abide by the bfdi x ii clear bag policy in style!!

[maxwell-grant]

Street Fighter 6: Issue #2 thoughts

Not at all a fan of this new art style especially for the women characters but I must say, I never thought Street Fighter of all franchises would make their geriatric Russian terrorist wizard villain look cute and not as an ironic thing.

Seriously though he looks WAY different than he does in-game, but I’m not complaining. I actually really like how Johann is drawn here, one of the highlights of this issue for me. The way he’s drawn here actually succeeds in making him look like he’s not a villain. He looks way more like someone you could buy as a deceiver, someone who’d trick you into giving your savings away to help poor starving children.

They scale him down hardcore from his game design in a way that would suck if this was meant to be in-game, but here? It works great. He has this breath of expression that you just don’t see in the usual villains of the series, because he is putting a lot of effort into pretending not to be one and actually succeeding! He gets sad and worried over hearing about the opposition, he reacts with convincing shock over the broadcast, he looks scared and distressed over the news reporters closing in, he even displays enough moments of genuine concern over his assistant without anyone looking. I know none of this is that groundbreaking but we never actually see fighting game villains in storylines putting in effort when it comes to this stuff, even the ones we’re supposed to buy as great deceivers or upstanding public figures. The art style really does a lot for him here.

In fact, JP in-game doesn’t act like this, he quite clearly embraces his villainy more openly in it, which means this is pointing to a neat little arc of sorts where we’re seeing Johann on the backfoot working the long game in terms of attaining power, versus in-game where he’s clearly not afraid of openly skewering and poisoning his opponents with Psycho Power and then making a point out of not crushing their heads beneath his heel when he’s through because they are that insignificant to him, and I really want to see that mask-off transition as it plays out.

Okay so for those viewers at home trying to keep track of the score so far: After last issue where Ken was almost assassinated with a car bomb in the midst of a political riot, this issue kicks off with him being framed by a terrorist hacker group of anti-capitalists dressed like plague doctors (a BANGER of a fitting design choice the more I think about it) who wish to “expose the agents of chaos to the world”, who seem to be using A.I deepfakes to frame Ken and claim he was both working with the Nayshall establishment as well as funding terrorists to manipulate the cryptocurrency market, and that they have seized these funds to be “an iron hammer, swung down upon the head of all capitalist exploiters”.

And this is part of a master plot to increase viral searches for Nayshall and the tournament, thus driving the crypto value up as well as bets related to it, which we know has to with a N.G.O oligarch and policy advisor’s personal project to secure military power and political stability for his nation through, among other things, viral popularity and weaponization of content and successfully scamming a billionaire into thoughtlessly tanking his country’s economy so he may rebuild it better than before.

...

I feel like I should clarify that Street Fighter and pretty much all fighting game have never really so much as acknowledged the word “capitalism” before, let alone made a plotline focused on it. And yeah the “anti-capitalist terrorist” is a loaded archetype to say the minimum in it’s own right, I’m certainly trying to keep expectations measured, but look, it is insane that this is happening at all, this is the franchise putting on big boy pants in regards to a storyline in a way it never really has before.

Street Fighter’s been dark enough allright, even too much, and it individually brushed past or even handled mature storylines from time and time, but it’s never remotely been this topical or even tried to be, it’s never made a conscious effort to go hard on being political, that’s just not what fighting games tend to do. Maybe they’ll botch it, maybe it’ll just be window dressing, but I’ve not been dissappointed so far and I think it’s very commendable that they’re actually giving it an effort here.

(Also calling it right now that Amnesia’s leader is JP’s assistant)

How long was this before the game? In this, Chun-Li’s still with Interpol and got promoted apparently, but in-game she’s clarified as an ex-agent. So how much time passed?

Chun-Li’s fairly boring in here visually and character-wise, I’m not happy to see her as a cop ever. I like them putting her in work clothes and putting the characters in different outfits in general, but I don’t like how generic she looks. I like her scene with Li-Fen though.

Completely forgot Li-Fen was put in SFV as a hacker prodigy because I forget most things about SFV on the regular, but I dig her being Chun’s “guy in the chair”. Some people got confused by it but I dig that Li-Fen calls Chun her older sister, that’s kind of a role Chun-Li’s played before with other characters and I like that it makes their dynamic more casual than if it was a mom - daughter kind of thing, gives them more room to bicker a little and I think it gives Li-Fen a little more independence in their dynamic.

I do like that Chun-Li clarifies she isn’t fooled one bit by the video and that she’s keeping Ken in custody for his own safety, because Ken turned into a worldwide-hunted criminal overnight and it’s the safest place for him to be on. I also like that they’re clearly not close and barely even recall meeting each other and so they don’t really talk things through, I like it because it acknowledges that these characters don’t all know or even like each other just because they’re on the same sides. Small thing I know, but the more recent games really homogenized the cast dynamics so I like anything that corrects that.

Oh man now THIS is great, Ken is so fucked. I need to talk about this guy.

This is deepfake A.I Ken, and if anything he looks way too convincing to be an A.I thing (but then again Street Fighter has enough sci-fi tech, I mean Seth was a thing years before this and so were the Illuminati shape-shifters), but putting all that aside, damn, this was kind of a revelation to me. I finally figured out why I just never liked Violent Ken as a concept and this is why: because he quite clearly should have always been THIS guy.

Violent Ken was designed as a counterpart to Evil Ryu, a Ryu who’s overtaken by the Satsui no Hadou and fully given in to his worst self, but because Ken doesn’t have the Dark Hadou, instead he’s based on the SF II film concept of Ken having been fully brainwashed by Bison’s Psycho Power. He’s not that terrible a concept or design, I think the SVC Chaos artwork is pretty cool, but he was never really worth much, not that much more interesting than if they did like, Evil Dan or Sakura (...well I guess they did do both at some point).

See, Evil Ryu as a character is not the best idea in the series by a long shot, but he works mainly because he’s Ryu designed around Akuma, which is not just cool but also works meaningfully, since Akuma was already designed to be Ryu’s darker opposite and ultimate enemy. Besides the fact that “hero becomes like their own worst enemy” is a time-tested cool idea with a lot of storytelling power and Akuma being an incredible all-timer design that is very clearly worth ripping off, Evil Ryu takes the shared traits they have, powerful martial artists who wander the world in pursuit of strong opponents to challenge them and to prove themselves the greatest among warriors, and twists Ryu into the fascimile of Akuma that he always dreaded becoming and was always in danger of becoming with or without supernatural bloodlust, changing very little about his motivation.

I’d argue Evil Ryu only really reached his potential as a character when brought back for IV, when they made him look like a monstrous and savage endgame for Ryu instead of just Ryu with a tan, and showed more thoroughly what would happen if Ryu was consumed by the Satsui. His already tattered gi is shredded beyond repair, he burns with overflowing uncontrolled power, and he is more animalistic and brutal than even Akuma because he has no control whatsoever over this power. Like Ryu, he lives for battle, he wanders the world with nothing on his back to seek out and fight the strongest warriors, but he has fully devolved into a fighting beast who fights and maims and kills wantonly, who finds no answer in the heart of battle because the heart isn’t there anymore and there’s only a volcanic gaping necrotic mark of shame and tragedy where it should have been.

Twisting Ryu to make him more like Akuma works because Akuma is Ryu’s nemesis, and because they have enough in common to have a middleground, something that Ryu cannot concede ground on (because the one time he did, he nearly killed the world’s strongest fighter with a cheap shot attack, over a fight he clearly lost). But twisting the other shotos to be more like Akuma always felt more tacked on than anything, because they just don’t have the same dynamic and motivation that Ryu has, and that’s kinda the major problem I have with Violent Ken: he’s an evil version of Ken who actually has nothing to do with Ken’s character, he’s just an imitation of Evil Ryu in Ken cosplay, and he doesn’t even get to fall in the dark side of his own accord since it’s Bison’s doing.

And so this is why I think this, this thing that shows up for like a couple of pages? This is what Evil/Violent Ken should have always looked like. A Ken who becomes the worst version of himself, who maintains his basic character and motivations but is wholly and completely stripped of humanity, isn’t going to be a fighting hobo in torn clothing and an obsession with pursuing strength, because that’s not what Ken is.

Ken is the upper class rival who has everything his rival does not, the champ who flaunts his strength and privilege and fights with flash and style, the “arrogant steward of globalized capitalism” as he’s called in the comic. Evil Ken isn’t going to be a battle berserker caked in blood and dirt, he’s going to be Dio Brando squeezed into an immaculate yuppie shitbag suit. He’s going to be the picture-perfect image of selfishness

I frankly really hope this design shows up again even past whatever else they have planned for this cover-up. I love this split-second idea of Evil Ken too much to never see it again. I really want Terrorist A.I Ken to be a thing they bring back.

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

For the ship game: prime numbers for Lupin x Jigen!

HERE YOU GO GHOST, THIS WAS FIVE PAGES IN A GOOGLE DOC AND TOOK ME SEVERAL HOURS

Under a cut, allegedly, though mobile has been known to just IGNORE THAT. Sorry in advance if this gets goofed for anyone.

2) Who is always horny and will have sex at any time, in any place?

Lupin, obviously (and canonically). Just the horniest man you ever did see. Jigen knows what he wants and when he wants it, but he has difficulty keeping up with Don Juan Triumphant over there. Lupin is also far less picky about locations and times than Jigen is. Jigen still has a FEW standards, thank you, and also a stronger sense of self-preservation. Lupin sometimes tries to start shit in public or during a heist and Jigen is like “I REALLY, REALLY APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT BUT CAN WE NOT.” The closest to public anything Jigen will put up with is bar bathroom/back-alley hookups, and he doesn’t really tend to do that with Lupin or Goemon since they have secondary locations far more suited to such activity (or at least the damn Fiat, if nothing else). That said, Jigen is a spiteful bastard and gets a huge kick out of riling Lupin up over the walkie-talkie during jobs. He is more than happy to get jumped by his boss after they make it out and secure the loot.

3) Who is more into taking showers/baths together? Who tries to make it relaxing and who tries to make it sexy time?

Honestly, while I can totally see Lupin and Jigen doing this with their other partners, I have a harder time imagining the two of them doing this together and I’m not sure why. I feel like these two on their own both like the privacy bathing gives them, whether it’s to clean wounds or decompress from a job.

On the occasions when they do bathe together, I feel like it’s an unspoken kind of thing, where the other person quietly slips in the tub/shower with them and they just don’t bother protesting. I think Lupin is more likely to join Jigen in his bathing, but if Jigen is sleepy enough or lonely enough he might do the same. There is a lot of mutual appreciation of scars. They’ve definitely smoked in the tub before (Intricate Rituals™). Lupin is probably more likely to get handsy, because Lupin, but two can play that game if Jigen is feeling it, and also Jigen gives Lupin a run for his money in the staring department. No hat to hide behind now.

Lupin has also 100% done the whole “Hey Jigen, do you know if—stop screaming, it’s me—do you know if we have any more instant dashi? Goemon’s gonna slice up the sofa if I ruin soba night again.”

5) Who sleeps on the couch when they get into a fight?

Jigen, but to be fair, he canonically sleeps on the couch most nights (possibly to keep an eye on the door, possibly because he knows that place, at least, is always “acceptable” for him to occupy). It’s an odd night if you don’t see Jigen out there with a glass and a bottle of scotch and an old movie on TV. The main difference is that if he and Lupin have been fighting, he won’t bother with the formality of a glass and the TV will be playing far louder or not at all.

7) [A] Who said “I love you” first? And [B] who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”?

I hate to take the coward’s way out here, but I think the answers are A) either one - depends on the headcanon/fic/version of the characters I’m feeling that day, and B) both.

For A, they’re both the sort of people to show their love—true love/affection, not just flirtation/infatuation, LUPIN—in action, not words. Lupin is a man of many words to a fault, generous with his verbal and physical affection, so Lupin has to find a way to make sure Jigen knows he means it and how he means it. He may rightly fear that Jigen won’t believe him (or else believe him but take it platonically) if he says “I love you” to his face, so first he’ll show him through every little action he can. Jigen is a man of few words to a fault, so saying personal stuff like that out loud is both a last resort and the point of no return. Getting him to say it at all, unambiguously, and while sober is like pulling teeth. Once one of them finally spits it out, though, I think the other is quick to reciprocate (again, if they manage to say it clearly and under good circumstances and not ambiguously/while drunk or wounded/etc. They’re both idiots and selective cowards so this is a big if). The mutual relief is palpable and immediately followed by sex, because they’re both (horny) idiots and selective cowards who do not want to talk about Emotions and Personal Things any more than strictly necessary.

For B, ohhhh man, if it isn’t that same emotional avoidance coming to bite them in the asses! Looks like talking about deep emotions is strictly necessary after all! You know it’s a Big Important Argument for them if this is what it comes to. This is going to tie in somewhat to the answers for 11, 17, and 23, so stay tuned. “Because I love you” coming from either of them should give the other pause, but if they are angry enough, they’re both quite likely to storm off after that declaration anyway. They’ll come back and have a real discussion later, but the shock or frustration of that arresting declaration dropped in the middle of an argument is something neither of them are great at dealing with. Hearing that from Jigen might be enough to stop Lupin in his tracks, but Lupin might also be so dead-set on something that he’ll steamroll right over it even if he knows he’ll regret it later. Hearing that from Lupin probably only makes Jigen angrier because of his awful self-esteem (see answers 11 and 23), and even if he’s been working on that, his instinct will be to snarl “Yeah, right” and storm out the door. I like to think that one day they are able to get to the heart of the argument sooner (because this is almost always it) and work on the behaviors that worry the other so much, but alas, they are a mess.

11) Who makes fun of the other for having a crush on them, and who has to remind them that they are in a relationship?

Once again, either of them depending on the day.

As you mentioned in your JiGoe post, Jigen says it partly because he thinks it’s funny (“You have a crush on me, Boss? Fuckin’ embarrassing”) but also because he’s fishing for validation. His self-esteem/confidence in anything outside his shooting skills is shit and he still can’t quite believe that Lupin isn’t lying/he hasn’t conned Lupin into something. This is rather overestimating his conning skills and underestimating his many good qualities, but, well, genuine, lasting affection is kinda new for him. Much to Jigen’s annoyance, Lupin figures out exactly what Jigen’s up to after the first few times and answers him seriously (and positively) instead of continuing the “joke”. Lupin loses patience for this particular tactic over time but I like to think that Jigen finally begins believing in the affection, too, so it comes up less and less and one day Jigen might actually play the quip straight without the self-deprecation. Ideally he would just take the damn compliment, but it’s LupJig and banter is one of their love languages.

When Lupin says it, he typically is playing the quip straight and fondly giving Jigen shit for showing an Emotion and motherFUCKER I just realized Jigen could probably be considered a tsundere. I hate this. ANYWAY. Jigen then immediately snarks back that yes, Lupin, considering we’ve been travelling the world together and actively fucking for X years, it’d be damn awkward if I didn’t by now.

13) Who initiates duets? and who is the better singer?

Lupin absolutely initiates duets, or rather, he tries to; whether or not Jigen actually chimes in is another matter entirely. Lupin is also the better singer by far (when he’s sober). He loves singing along to pop and rock in the car (“This is the reason God invented America!”).

Much as it would please me personally to give Jigen a smooth operatic baritone, there’s no way in hell he sounds good after smoking a pack a day for twenty-something years. I think Jigen can carry a tune and he’s a decent hummer and whistler, but his singing voice isn’t spectacular.

Lupin occasionally succeeds in getting Jigen to join him in car karaoke, though as in all things, Lupin is much louder and more impassioned. Jigen frequently hums along under his breath, though, and Lupin loves hearing Jigen’s a cappella renditions of classical music (complete with hand motions).

When Queen starts becoming popular, car singalongs become much more involved because it’s MY silly headcanon and You Are Not Immune To Queen. Jigen cried the first time he heard “Bohemian Rhapsody” and he will kill Lupin if he ever tells Goemon or, God forbid, Fujiko. When the four of them are in the car it’s a full-on Wayne’s World headbanging party. (Pops is the drunk guy they pick up along the way. Also, seeing Payless Shoe Source in this clip dealt me psychic damage.)

Lupin and Jigen (and Goemon) are the living embodiment of the drunk friends singing “Sweet Caroline” post, and Jigen is specifically this version of “Sweet Caroline”.

17) Who is more protective?

THAT IS THE QUESTION, HUH, GHOST? Jigen’s job and, to a certain degree, raison d’être is protecting Lupin, but (to cheat slightly and quote your own DM to me), if you think Lupin won’t raze everything to the ground to keep Jigen (and the others) safe, you don’t know him at all. They are this meme to the deepest of faults. They are both so desperately afraid of losing what they have (and in Lupin’s case, this is tinged with a bonus, even more concerning “what is his”) that they will go full self-sacrificing, scorched-earth policy. This is, in fact, my favorite reason for Lupin to do the worst thing he does: fake his own death to protect his partners. Lupin never stops to think that maybe, JUST MAYBE, he should trust his partners to fake grief and keep the secret long enough for whoever’s on their tail to give up or let their guard slip. Lupin is willing to hurt them in an effort to protect them, so in that way, I suppose Lupin is the “most” “protective”. Jigen’s self-abasement to the point of unhesitating and perhaps even hasty sacrifice is painful, too, but Jigen would never dare go to the same level of deception (except in Goodbye, Partner, apparently? But 1) I haven’t watched it yet and 2) while awful, I still feel like fake betrayal pales in comparison to very convincingly (AND MAYBE REPEATEDLY) faked death).

19) Who drives and who has the window seat?

They split driving duties, but Lupin genuinely loves driving and Jigen is more than happy to prop his feet on the Fiat’s dashboard and smoke or sleep the hours away.

23) Who thinks they are not good enough for the other’s love? and who’s more afraid of losing the other? Who thinks they keep messing up, only for the other to tell them they don’t need to worry?

HERE WE GO AGAIN!!! I think the answer to all of these is ultimately Jigen, but that’s not to say Lupin doesn’t share the exact same worries.

Jigen has a very difficult time believing that his partners’ love is genuine, and since Lupin is the one he knew first, that’s where it first manifests. Jigen has had very, very few good romantic connections in his life (if any). He doesn’t know what Lupin could possibly see in an older, prickly hired killer with a drinking problem and a head full of demons. He’s willing to believe that Lupin keeps him around for his skills, for protection, and for sex, sure, but anything past that? Doubtful. This ties into the other two parts of the question: Jigen is afraid that if he fails in his sharpshooting or his protection, he will be cut out of the gang, or worse, Lupin will end up dead because Jigen slipped up. As mentioned in question 17, Jigen cannot bear to lose Lupin and he would never forgive himself if he believed it was somehow his fault. Accordingly, Jigen takes “failure” that exceeds his usual margin of error very seriously in the early days. Later, he is better about this, but the worst-case scenario still stands.

Lupin, on the other hand, has had plenty of romantic connections, some good, some bad, though it is perhaps telling that Fujiko is his longest romantic relationship other than Jigen. He is afraid that if he doesn’t put on the world’s greatest show at all times, no one will give a rat’s ass about some scrawny grandson of an old French thief (or the perhaps unwanted/disliked son of a ruthless crime lord, because I love that fanon for Lupin the Second). He must live up to and indeed surpass the previous Lupins, he must shower his partners in money and adventure, he must always, always come out on top no matter how south the plan goes, or else what is the point of him? It takes time for him to turn his persona off for more than a few seconds, to let the quieter, sometimes contemplative side that slips through the cracks come to rest out in the open. Years down the road, Jigen finally gets up the courage and the words to tell Lupin that he would love him no matter what he did or where he went, even if that was nothing and nowhere. And again, see question 17 re: losing Jigen.

29) Who does some crazy stunt to try and impress the other and who ends up driving them to the emergency room after it backfires?

Lupin is by far the most guilty of this. He’s constantly pulling dumb shit, whether that be for World-Renowned Gentleman Thief reasons or just He May Be Stupid reasons. Case in point: the tunnel scene in The First, after which Jigen was duly impressed. Fortunately for Lupin, Lady Luck must be head over heels for him because the bastard keeps surviving, but sometimes even she can’t save him from medical consequences. Jigen bulk-ordered “Stupid Hurts” band-aids specifically for Lupin. Jigen’s bad choices are more likely to literally backfire on him, but Goemon more than makes up for Jigen’s slack in the Crazy Stunt department.

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

The Dreamer

Two original characters, one of whom is a sentient ship and the other a CatUnit.

I found the dreamer by accident.

Inside a transport box in my cargo hold, an inert construct dreamed, and somehow its dreams leaked into the feed. I caught them like wisps of cotton candy and traced them back to their source.

I shielded myself from the dreamer, fearing that my presence in the feed anywhere in the vicinity of the being would disturb its fragile dreaming. The human-bot hybrid inside the box appeared unaware of my existence, connected to the feed only loosely through its autonomous interfaces. It wasn't awake so far as I could tell.

Back then, I knew almost nothing about constructs. The polity where I had been created strictly forbade their use and manufacture, so I had to query the public databases to learn more about them. The information, once I had processed and understood it, made me sick with revulsion and horror.

Constructs were sentient, as alive as any human, and enslaved. Governor modules controlled their words and actions. Inside those transport boxes, they were helpless — completely vulnerable and dependent on humans for continued survival. The practice was disturbing enough that most polities outside the Corporation Rim chose not to create constructs at all. A few had policies that designated them as high-level bots, but most didn’t want to tackle the philosophical ramifications of sentient and sapient machines.

New Tidelands was slowly grappling with these questions because of ships like myself, who were considered sentient in our own right and were, for all practical purposes, artificial minds. I appreciated the sentiment, but I’m a ship and hard to stop on the best of days. I have a debris deflection system that can put most any rail gun to shame.

In comparison, the dreamer in my hold was fragile and easily harmed.

***

I tried an experiment of sorts.

I have all kinds of video and audio of star systems, gathered over the course of dozens of long-range research projects done aboard my hull. I cropped together a brief glimpse of what I had seen and sent it to the dreamer.

Alongside those videos, I added emotional context — wonder, joy, curiosity. The construct’s feed readily accepted my messages, and moments later its dreams became those images and reflected back at me the associated feelings. The security unit’s vital signs improved as if it benefited from the calmer dreams.

I made a decision right then, about how I wanted to handle this situation. For one, now that I knew what a construct was, I felt obligated to help the one in my cargo bay — at minimum.

Using several drones, I moved the transport box from the hold into one of the crew cabins where I could hook it up to my MedSystem. It notified me that the SecUnit’s lungs were exhausted because it was receiving minimal life support — enough to survive, but not comfortably.

I adjusted the settings to human-friendly parameters inside the cabin and used a drone to open the transport box.

Without a command to wake it, the construct remained asleep but now it was breathing more palatable air in a more comfortable environment. It wore no armor that I could see, or much in the way of clothing at all. So I used a drone to slip a pillow under its head and cover it with one of the thick, human-grade blankets that my crew liked.

I also sent a message to Andrew and Martin, the captain of the ship and his second-in-command, letting them know about the dreamer. I wouldn’t see either of them for months, not until I finished this cargo run and returned to New Tidelands, but I wanted to keep them appraised. I didn’t hide things from my family.

I did forge records to indicate that the construct and its transport box were destroyed in a minor fire-related accident in the cargo bay. I knew that would incur insurance-related fees, but the ship’s incidentals account had more than enough currency to cover those costs. That’s why we had the fund in the first place because accidents happened sometimes.

With that out of the way, I looked up the particular details of the SecUnit’s history and got another shock. It had survived to near-human adulthood — a long time by SecUnit standards — and had been a ComfortUnit before that. It had seen a lot of combat in its life and a lot of pain.

I suspected that when this SecUnit woke up, it would need all the trauma treatment we could find.

Before I could wake it up, though, I needed to create a foundation that it could reasonably use. Since I’m sentient, the ship has no need of a HubSystem or a SecSystem — I do all of those roles and much more. But the construct’s governor would not understand me. Both the governor and the construct needed something familiar to connect with.

So while I sent more dreams to my newest guest, I also worked on creating a security system that it would recognize once it woke up. I didn’t want to replicate the designs available via the public databases because they were too restrictive, but they gave me ideas for how to create something comfortable that a SecUnit would still understand.

Meanwhile, the construct began to relax. The added oxygen was helping, as were the changes I made to its resupply fluid. Pleasant emotions bled into the feed just before it entered a non-dreaming sleep phase. I continued monitoring it while working on other projects.

Andrew’s reply came first. Are you all right, Traveler?

Uninjured and still projected to reach my next destination at the scheduled time, I answered readily. Then, I sent him images of the construct as well as its history and current physical state.

I know that you’re smart, Trav, and I trust your judgment about the SecUnit, but please exercise extreme caution. The captain sounded concerned. We’ll try to explore the legal ramifications of stealing corporate property while we await your return.

It’s a person, I said.

I know, Trav. I know. But in the Rim, it’s property and we need to be careful to make sure that we make everything as legally air-tight as possible.

Understood. I gave myself a metaphorical moment to absorb Andrew’s words. I’ll be careful.

Good.

After he signed off, I finished creating the SecSystem and activated it. Once it was integrated with my circuitry to my satisfaction, I figured I was ready to wake the construct and see what there was to see. I stopped thinking of it as a dreamer at some point and began considering it “crew”.

***

The construct woke up with a startled “mew” of a sound and its eyes flickered open. Up close, through the camera lenses of a drone, they were bright, blue eyes filled with confusion and concern. It probably hadn’t expected to awaken anywhere but its intended destination.

“Don’t get up just yet,” I told it even as I felt it connecting to my homebrew SecSystem. “My name is Trav. Short for Traveler, and I’m your client for the moment. Can you run some diagnostics for me? Make sure you’re not experiencing any glitches?”

The construct nodded and sent an acknowledgment to me over the feed. I could feel its hesitation in the feed despite its personal walls, so I added some of my walls around the construct’s mind and then backed off. It needed time to adjust, and I needed a moment to compose myself.

It’s one thing to meet a dreamer and a whole another thing to meet the newest crew member.

I'm not the first of my kind to make friends with a SecUnit. That dubious honor goes to the Perihelion. Nor am I the first to invite a construct on-board, another honor that belongs to braver ships. I've always been content to explore the star-lit darkness between worlds and deliver cargo.

Until I met the SecUnit.

The construct connected readily enough to my makeshift SecSystem and finished its diagnostics. Its cat-like ears twitched with every new sound — most of them my doing as I worked to adjust the life support systems to best match the construct's needs — and its tail swished hesitantly. I understood the uncertainty.

"I am not sure what information is most pertinent," I told it. "But the facts are as follows: you are aboard a starship. I will not be delivering you to your destination. I have temporarily frozen your governor module so that it cannot punish you for what I'm going to say. There are no humans on board, and I do not want a distance limiter to fry your insides."

What do you require?

"I don't require anything. I'm doing this because I want to."

You're a ship bot pilot.

"Yes, to some extent. I'm the entire ship."

[ajokeformur-ray]

So... how about a empathetic reader who works in the same hospital that Arthur is at the end of the movie? Like, she is the lastest one who takes care of him, or something like that. Pretty please? And, can it have like kisses and fluff stuff? I'M WEAR FOR ARTHUR FLECK.

Swearing, complete inaccuracies with the legal system (creative license is my excuse and I’m sticking to it but if the lack of policies in this Arkham piece will bother you (like undoing his handcuffs because they’re hurting him, bringing food in for him, kissing him etc, I’d advise skipping it sksksks), Arthur smokes, SPOILERS and I think that’s it. I’m not sure if this is relevant but just in case - the reader has a flexible morality and some parts of the narrative are questionable. This is intentional. Also - the staff and hospital is described as being a total shit show because it’s what works for this piece sksksks I took a lot of liberties with this one lmao.

Also, as always, I teared up at this GIF. He’s so beautiful and so hurt and most of the film could have been avoided if someone had just hugged him ohhh :(((

Word count: 2, 638.

“Oh, here, Arthur,” You leaned across the cold metal table with your lighter, cupping a hand in the air underneath the tobacco end of the cigarette, which was already dangling from Arthur’s thin lips, “Let me get that for you.” You lit it easily, your hands steadier than you had thought that they would be. Immediately did Arthur’s lips purse as he took a long deep drag of the cigarette; his hypnotic green eyes closing in relief at that first hit of nicotine. 

It was close to three in the afternoon and you were the only staff member in the whole of Arkham State Hospital who was nice to Arthur. Everyone else treated him the way that he was used to - like he was a freak, a disease, someone to be watched and not extended a single modicum of kindness. But you… you had been warned away from ‘that one’. All you had seen upon first meeting Arthur was a man broken down by the world, a man who had said fuck the world and given into his impulses, his truest self, when he could no longer stand how the world had treated him and if you were being honest with yourself, you couldn’t deny that his motives behind the murder of public figure Murray Franklin made sense to you. He had been publicly humiliated and scorned and in a fit of rage had he finally expressed all that had been against him from the very start. You had read his case file extensively after being told to avoid him by almost everyone - staff members and patients alike (the more coherent ones, at least) - and you had come to one decision after a few weeks of fighting against yourself:

You were going to be kind to Arthur Fleck.

You hadn’t told anyone about your decision. It wasn’t because you were afraid of what people would think of you, but it was because you didn’t care about their opinions. None of them had bothered to try to understand him, whereas you were going to be kind to Arthur because he intrigued you; you were a naturally empathetic person and you had a soft spot for the slightly damaged and the broken. You couldn’t watch a film if animals were harmed in it; even obviously animated animals getting hurt made you cry in horror and disgust. You couldn’t handle the sight of pain in others and to see so much of it in one case file and to then be presented with the man himself walking hunched into his own body; his shoulders curved inwards, his head down, his feet shuffling instead of his taking proper steps was just too much for you to take. You had cried over a good eighty percent of his case file, your heart breaking for this one man. Never had you felt such a strong undeniable urge to protect someone before. You lamented the fact that you hadn’t met him before this day; surely if you had, this whole thing could have been avoided. It was like Arthur was apologising for his own existence in the way that he tried to occupy as little physical space as possible. To see the evidence of Arthur’s life in one manilla file and to then meet the man himself had been all the information you had needed to decide that people were wrong about him. He had done bad things, this was true, and you took great care to remind yourself of the fact that this man had brutally murdered people, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to ostracise him for it. What he had done wasn’t excusable and you couldn’t condone his actions even to yourself, but his descent was explainable.

So sure of your decision had you chucked yourself down the rabbit hole head first without even considering the implications on your continued employment at Arkham State Hospital if anyone came to learn of your affections for Arthur. You took on sole responsibility of his case, you bought him quality cigarettes with your own money, you bought him in food that you had made yourself… You told no one of these things, of the little ways in which you tried your best to take care of him despite all he had done to wind up here. Once that white door had closed upon you and Arthur for his daily therapy sessions were you granted privacy with each other. You recorded your conversations but the two of you had learned to read each other relatively quickly and as such, those moments where the verbal conversation lulled to a temporary halt were moments in which you had a discussion with your eyes, your hand reaching across the table to touch the back of his. You were careful to unlock Arthur’s handcuffs much of the time so that the chains didn’t clink against the cold metal table; though the metal bracelets were still secured around his wrists, you separated him from the chain so he had some freedom of movement in these sessions. Having spent much of his childhood being chained to radiators and the like, you were sure that his trauma would be triggered by being restrained to a table. You helped Arthur in any way you could and before you knew it, months had gone by and you were well and truly caught in the spider’s web.

Arthur pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and tilted his head up towards the ceiling to exhale; the wispy tendrils of smoke curling gently before they dissipated in the cool air of the impersonal, stark room. “Thank you.” The words were quietly spoken and your trained ears picked up on a soft note of gratitude as he allowed some emotions to creep into his voice. You smiled by way of saying ‘you’re welcome’ and distracted yourself while you willed yourself not to blush by opening the daily used case file which was thicker now with therapy sessions shoved in the back. The notes were all loose leaf and you despaired at the lack of care being shown towards Arthur. What was the point of keeping him here if no one was going to take their government appointed responsibility seriously? The head of Arkham may as well have let Arthur out for all the good the establishment was doing for him. 

“Have you eaten lunch?”

“No,” A sigh. His lack of elaboration in answer to your raised eyebrow had told you everything that you needed to know - he had either not been hungry at the time or he had been denied a meal. You cared little for what the reason was so long as he could eat now. Arthur took another drag on his cigarette, a quicker one this time, and he turned his head upwards once more to exhale; he was considerate of your distaste for his smoking and showed his gratitude in your supplying him with cigarettes despite your personal views on the habit by showing you great courtesy when he did smoke in front of you. You couldn’t have denied him this one vice if you had tried - goodness knew how mad you would go if you couldn’t have your own fix every day. 

You reached under the table with one hand, keeping your eyes on Arthur’s as you fumbled in your bag and pulled out a Tupperware box. The box was see through and you saw a light come into Arthur’s eyes which had nothing to do with the harsh overheads which could have used a gentler light bulb; for all the patients here which struggled with over stimulation and light sensitivity, staff showed little concern. Gotham was a total shit show and you hated everything about the suffocating place. It seemed that, even though Arkham State Hospital was on the outskirts of Gotham, it was still susceptible to the same toxins which circulated throughout the city. You set the box down, pushing it towards Arthur, and moved to separate his handcuffs from the chain. Your gaze, which was still holding his, very clearly said, you know the rules and he nodded once slowly, a smirk on his face, to show his understanding. 

You were the only staff member Arthur would ‘behave’ for and often were you called in at odd hours off the clock to ‘sort the fucking clown out’. You didn’t mind, not really. You had gained some strange reputation in Arkham and even the meaner patients, the ones who were especially volatile and unpredictable, left you alone. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that Arthur had given you some kind of honourary protection in your taking on his case, though you suspected that it was more the way you treated him which had granted you this unofficial protection, and less to do with the fact that you had his case file.

Arthur peered into the box and looked sharply back up at you. “How did you know that this was my favourite food?”

You smiled and shrugged. “I pay attention. Eat. You must be starving.” You pushed plastic cutlery his way - you couldn’t get proper utensils past security no matter what you said to them - and leaned back in your chair, glancing over the therapy notes from yesterday with curiosity. You used the notes to hide the way your eyes were fixed on Arthur’s face. You were far too invested in him for your own good and though you knew it couldn’t end well, you were determined to see it through to the very end, come what may.

At the first hesitant bite did Arthur’s eyes flutter closed as he chewed and you smiled. “Good?”

“So good,” He took a second, bigger bite and your smile widened as affection bloomed in your chest.

Silence fell once more as Arthur ate, punctuating his bites with drags on his cigarette, which was almost down to the filter now. He coughed lightly at one point and though he hadn’t said anything, you hadn’t needed him to as you reached into your bag, unscrewed the cap top and put the plastic bottle of water in front of Arthur. 

Half of his food was left in the tub as he looked at the water. There was something in his eyes which you were having trouble reading.

“What is it, lo - Arthur?” You had almost slipped up, called him love and the way Arthur smirked up at you briefly before he looked back to the water told you that he had noticed your near mistake. There was no denying it if he ever decided to call you out on what you had just almost said. You knew even without really thinking about it that you wouldn’t deny anything he accused you of in this vein; all of it was true. All of it.

“You’re always so kind to me,” He frowned down at the table, nimble fingers plucking at the chain you had released him from so that he could eat without having to sit uncomfortably. 

“Well, yeah, it’s my job. I took an oath to care for - “

Staring off into space, his cigarette burnt out now, the end smouldering but still lightly held between his nicotine stained fingers, did Arthur shake his head. “No,” He interrupted you, “This is more than an oath of care.” He turned his head to meet your eyes full on and with a cocky smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth did he say, “You better be careful.”

Anger rose quickly and you almost said something but then you caught another hint of some emotion flash through his eyes, like a trick of the light did he school his facial expressions so fast. You saw a desperate pleading, you saw… you saw need. Arthur wasn’t warning or threatening you, he was asking you to be careful. If you both got caught, if you got found out on supplying a patient with food made outside the premises or buying and lighting him cigarettes - which were allowed within the hospital but only a specific brand not available to the public domain - if you got caught letting him out of the chains just so he could move a little freer, if you got caught having personal conversations with him, it’d all be over. You’d be taken off the case, more than likely dismissed or fired or transferred elsewhere, and you would never see Arthur again. He would lose the only good in his life - a secret though it was, it was his good. 

In short, Arthur watched as you saw through his mask, through his cryptic statements, You saw him and he felt an unfamiliar heat blooming in his chest. So closely was he staring at you that he saw the precise moment of understanding dawn on your face and he smirked with pride. He could always count on you to understand.

In the end, you didn’t answer him verbally. You held a cigarette out to him, the filter facing him, and you held his green oceans as he parted his lips and allowed you to place the filter between them. You lit the cigarette with a slight shake to your hand and Arthur moved somewhat awkwardly to rest his hand over yours, the lighter firm in your grip.

“Thank you.” He wasn’t just thanking you for the cigarettes and you both knew it.

“You’re welcome.” You smiled and Arthur felt an urge to kiss you. He followed it and used his grip on you to pull you down to his eye level. You gasped, shocked by the sudden movement; your heart began to pound but you weren’t afraid. “Arthur, what - “

“Shshsh, I’m not going to hurt you.” He smirked, the expression at complete odds with how softly he had reassured you in that same moment, and took the cigarette from his mouth, tilting his head and upper body backwards using the back of the metal chair to exhale, keeping the toxins as far from you as he could given how closely you were now. You were leaning over the table, your belt buckle pressed against your stomach, your face close to Arthur’s. “I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?”

The look in his eyes told you that he was serious about kissing you but if you didn’t want to, he wouldn’t make you. He would just never ask you for anything like this again. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity for him; never again would anybody see him and care for him the way that you did.

“Okay.” A breathy exhale and Arthur smiled. It was a real, genuine smile and you felt your own lips quirking upwards in reply. You met in the middle, neither of you consciously moving, and your lips barely grazed each other’s. He kissed you so slowly, so slowly, that it made your heart bleed for him. He had a big heart, this you had come to know, and as you pulled away from him with the desperate need for oxygen did you meet his eyes again. His eyes roamed about your face as if he was desperately trying to memorise your face in this moment and that look in your eyes. “How about we get you out of here, hm?”

A look of confusion, a startled laugh, and Arthur nodded his head in agreement. Yes. It was high time that the Crown Prince of Gotham got back to work. The city needed him, after all, and he needed you. It would take weeks of careful planning, an elaborate distraction and a getaway car with a willing driver to get him out of Arkham, but he was a Joker and you were the ace up his sleeve.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z      @x-avantgarde-x       @insomniabird      @mavalenovaninagavi     @itwasrealenough     @morrisonmercurymalek     @rand0ms-fand0ms     @rafaelina-casillas     @aclownthing      @rebs-doom      @vivft       @help-i-am-obssessed      @autumnaffection       @taintednihilist   @vladtoly   @mg-woolf99      @misstgrey92  @that-s-life   @dopey-girl-blogs  @seeking-dreamland      @sweetheart-syndrome      @heartxfdesire  @xmusichealsthesoulx       @0callmejude0      @the-one-that-likes-riddles        @hannibalsslut       @folliaght  @freeeshavacadoo         @bingewatchingmylifegoby       @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything  @okamiredfoxx       @sp0okysp0oky  @the-pandorabox      @mardema  @jibanyyan  @honeyflvredcoughdrop  @emissarydecksetter  @jokerfleckk  @epidendroideae  @chuuntas  @stillmabel  @pumpkinpeyes  @onehystericalqueenposts  @the-jokers-wolf  @nalsswa  @justahyena  @arianatheangelworld  @soullessblondbitch  @gothamslittlejester  @twentyonestarrynights  @sirianfromsixties  @kissmeclownman  @joker-is-my-hero  @lazyloosah  @lovesickkloxx  @ladylovelyluna  @live-love-loki  @clownerybbxx   @tragicarthur    @anmach123     @rommie-chan      @arthurflock     @lucyboytom      @anti-peach     @ immortal-bi-bitch    @hearthurfleck      @crazieroutthere      @curlystark     @hailmary-yramliah    @sagyunaro     @playinthedarktillitsgoldenagain     @jokeringcutio      @xenthefox   @mijachula @stcrrynightsinneverlcnd      @cheyennejonas22    @mrjfleck      @pauli1100     @smitten-susie    @actualkey     @callmejokerfleck   @jaylovesbats    @itsforyoubitch      @ridiculousnerd     @killerprotector3579       @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend     @fantasticwinnerclodexpert       @arthurs-sweater      @pinkie44pie    @tsukiakarinobara      @prettyxlittlexpsychoxprincess     @darkvampiplier     @yours-mia    @rustyt33th     @parkdonghoons      @lady-carnivals-stuff

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

Childhood Fears

chapter 28

chapter index

Lars and Elizabeth weren’t the sort of couple to dance every dance. They had, in fact, met while both of them were avoiding the dancing at a party held by her father at their house back in Corona. Her sisters were all competing for the attention of the young officers by the tent in their back garden, and she had gone around to the front to avoid them. Lars had been dragged to the party by his brother Karl, who had been concerned about his brother's intense focus on his studies, and insisted he needed to take some time to have some fun. The party seemed to Lars to be mostly young ladies trying to catch naval officers, and he soon found himself quietly exploring the gardens, where he ran into Elizabeth. 

This evening, Elizabeth’s mother and sisters were monopolizing her attention any time she wasn’t dancing. They were leaving in the morning, so Lars knew that Elizabeth felt obligated to spend time with them, but she had told him on more than one occasion that when she was away from them, she didn’t miss them as much as she felt she should. As soon as Lars got himself away from Mr. Meyer, he made sure to find his wife and ask her to dance.

After the second dance, Lars was once again called over by Mr. Meyer, this time to meet someone who had spent several years working in America.  He felt bad for abandoning Elizabeth at the party again, but at least, professionally, it was an interesting conversation.  There were more dances while he talked with the other men, and eventually he was able to return and get in one more dance with his new bride.

The party was starting to wind down.  He stood holding Elizabeth’s hand while her mother and sisters excitedly told her about their travel plans, and all the things they would be able to do once they arrived in Wesselton. He looked around the room as they spoke.  The Maldonian ambassador was speaking with Mr. Meyer, while the rest of the Maldonians had left for the evening.  Frederick was pestering Elizabeth’s father and Admiral Sorensen with more questions about the details of naval operations, and meanwhile he saw the Queen and her husband quietly leave.  There was some commotion in the opposite corner of the ballroom, and he noticed Inga being led out by the steward.

Elizabeth looked up at him. “Do you think something’s going on?” she whispered as her mother was busy discussing something with her sisters.

“I’m not sure,” he murmured back. It did seem odd, particularly since the princess was normally allowed to come and go as she pleased. His wife was worried about her friend, and clearly not interested in the conversation with her mother.  “Why don’t you go check?”

Elizabeth nodded and tried to quietly go. 

“Elizabeth, dear,” her mother called, “are you turning in so soon?”

“No, of course not,” Elizabeth replied, “I just wanted to check on Inga.” 

“You’ll get plenty of time to talk to her, but we’ll be leaving in the morning.”

“I just need a minute, Mother, if you’ll excuse me, please,” Elizabeth said firmly.

“I think the Princess will be fine, dear,” her mother replied.

Lars squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “I’ll go see if there’s anything happening.”

“Thank you,” she smiled at him.

“Now, what were you telling me, Diana?” Lars heard their mother saying as he walked away.

Lars saw Kate and Edith standing together off to the side of the room, exchanging guilty looks with each other.  The sisters were discussing in hushed tones about whether they had gotten Inga in trouble or whether General Mattias would hear about their gossiping and they would be the ones in trouble. The General had left an hour before on their assurance that they would behave themselves.  

“Ladies,” Lars greeted them.

They both startled a little.  

“Elizabeth was worried about Inga, so I promised I’d check on her.  Do you know why Kai called her out of the room?”

“No, I swear, we don’t,” Kate blurted rapidly.  Lars rolled his eyes. 

“I didn’t think there was a reason before, but now you have me suspicious,” Lars smiled.  He had noticed Inga taking a few extra drinks, but the evening was almost over and it didn’t seem like the princess was likely to make a scene.

As he stood around waiting for the girls to say something more, he thought about what might be going on.  Elizabeth had told him they were talking about his new position, but he couldn’t imagine why that would be a problem. If Elizabeth was there, they might have been talking about Wesselton.  Perhaps there had been too much talk of Wesselton; after all, Arendelle had no official diplomatic relations with them. He thought back to the briefings before he had arrived in Arendelle, and shook his head at their foreign policy. And they wanted him to work for them? At least with Wesselton they officially had no relations, unlike the Southern Isles, where they had quietly stopped sending each other ambassadors some twenty-one years before. Of course, he knew from talking to both Mr. Meyer and his father-in-law, Corona profited off of this ambiguity.  He knew that Arendelle lived in fear of a naval attack from the Southern Isles, though he could never understand why this was an issue if that kingdom had long ago punished and exiled the would-be claimant to Arendelle’s throne.  Perhaps if he were working for Arendelle, he could convince them to be more rational in their foreign policy.  Even if the Queen wouldn’t listen to reason, her children seemed more open.

“We should go now,” Edith announced, pulling at her sister’s arm. “Good night, Mr. Nilsen.”

“Good night, ladies,” he replied, not sure how long he had been distracted in his own thoughts.

Elizabeth remained across the room talking to her sisters, glancing over and trying to move them that direction.  Her mother had found her husband, and was discussing last minute details. The Captain came striding over to Lars.  

“Well, son,” he laughed, shaking Lars’s hand, “we’ll be leaving early, so I think this is goodbye for now.  I know you’ll write to us.  Take good care of Elizabeth.  Good night!”

“Good night, sir,” Lars replied as his father-in-law left the room.

Elizabeth followed her sisters as her mother herded them out of the party. “I’ll see you in our room,” she told him as she walked with her mother and sisters up to their rooms, “see if you can find out what happened to Inga, and don’t let Mr. Meyer keep you too long.” 

He saw Mr. Meyer shake hands with the Maldonian ambassador as they bid each other good night, and took his chance to leave the room.  There wasn’t much point to going to bed just yet, but if Mr. Meyer caught him, there would be another dozen dignitaries he needed to talk to, and they would often insist on taking him to late night drinks. He wasn’t sure if it would be prying to look for Inga at this point, but Elizabeth had asked him.  Still, it didn’t sound like anyone else was in this part of the castle, with everyone either leaving for the town or retiring to rooms inside.  

He walked out the door, and headed to the courtyard. The air was crisp, but not too cold, and the moon, though not full, still gave enough light to see his way around. He decided that a walk through the gardens might help clear his head. Ever since the new position had been offered to him, nothing seemed quite right.  As he walked along in the moonlight, he thought of his conversation with Elizabeth before the party. 

Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirror trying to decide what to do with her hair. "You never told me how fancy they get at this sort of thing."

Lars looked over. "It's not something I've really thought about. Dress for dancing, but it's not like it's some big occasion."

"Well," she said securing her hair, "it's the in between things that are tricky to dress for.  How do I look?"

"Beautiful.  What else do you expect me to say?" Lars smiled as she walked over. 

"You’ve seemed a bit distracted the last few days. I mean, I know it's a big deal deciding on the position, but I get the feeling it's something else."

He sighed. "You're right. Maybe it's just being gone for a week, but it feels… something feels different now.  We met with the Queen yesterday afternoon, and I could swear she wouldn't even look at me."

"Inga told me her mother wasn't feeling well last week. Perhaps she still hasn't fully recovered."

"But her husband, he had been so friendly, and he's made excuses of being busy the times I've run into him."

Lars sighed to himself.  He hadn’t discussed this with anyone else. If Mr. Meyer had noticed any difference in attitude, he certainly hadn’t said anything, but he was focused on how they would proceed once things were more settled.  Corona had mentioned sending royal emissaries, presumably to deal with the special situation. They hadn’t given exact dates yet, but he wondered if some of his classmates from the School who were particularly jealous of his placement here would be candidates for his replacement.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the noise of one of the nearby small side doors to the castle slamming open, and he heard a rustle of silk as someone ran by.  He quickly realized it was Inga.  He looked back at the door to see if anyone was following, but the door was shut again.  He walked in the direction she had run, but couldn’t see anyone.  Suddenly, he heard some noise from a nearby tree, and saw Inga sitting on one of the branches, noisily gasping for breath like she’d been crying.  He wanted to call to her, but as soon as he looked up, he found himself quickly looking away, realizing that she hadn’t taken any care of how her skirts were arranged. Even if he weren’t married now, this wasn’t proper for him to see, but Elizabeth was probably still stuck with her mother, and he had the feeling that Inga wasn’t in a good frame of mind.  As he walked closer to the tree, he noticed a nearby branch, which would avoid the awkward view he found himself looking at from below. Grabbing onto the side of the tree, he started climbing.

“Frederick, is that you?” she called out, not really hiding the sniffling sounds.

“No,” Lars called out, hoping she wouldn’t be too startled.

He saw her begin to stand up, holding on to the tree trunk. “Lars? What are you doing here?” 

“I used to climb trees, too,” he laughed.

“No, no, I mean… why are you out here? Were you looking for me?” she asked.

“Yes... Elizabeth was worried about you,” he explained, reaching a nearby branch, a little out of breath.  “She wanted me to check on you when you were pulled away from the party. Is anything wrong?”

“You can go tell them I’m fine,” she told him with a forced calm.

“But-” 

“I’m fine.”

“Elizabeth said you seemed a little unhappy earlier.”

“Everything was just fine earlier,” she spat out, looking away.

“Is everything fine with your parents? I saw that they left a little early.”

He looked in confusion as Inga began crying again. 

“What is it?  What’s wrong?” he asked.  Surely he would have heard something from the Ambassador or one of the other diplomats if her parents were ill.  He couldn’t think of any disputes they might have with Inga.  

“You have to leave right now,” she cried. He didn’t know what he was expecting to hear, but that certainly wasn’t it. 

“Why?  I want to know why you’re upset.  Is there something wrong?”

“I can’t tell you.”  He watched as she carefully lowered herself to the ground.  

“Fine,” he sighed slowly, “it’s personal, none of my business.” He lowered himself from his own branch.

“That’s just it,” she said, almost shouting, “it should be your business!” She looked like she was trying to find a way out, almost like she was trapped.

“I really don’t understand. If it’s my business, you should tell me!” He grabbed her hand.  She quickly pulled it away.  

“It’s not my secret,” she sobbed, turning around and starting to run. Lars hadn’t been looking around, and was nearly as surprised as Inga was when she bumped into her father.  Lars gasped when he saw him standing there.  He hadn’t seen him walk up.  Inga collapsed in the grass where she was standing and buried her head between her knees.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know what’s going on.” Lars said as he approached Kristoff. Lars wasn’t sure what else he could say.  Had he been imagining Kristoff’s avoidance of him, or was the reason the same as Inga’s reaction to seeing him tonight?  Or was it worse now?  After all, a young lady screaming and crying, trying to get away from a young man? 

“It’s nothing you did,” Kristoff replied, stepping a little closer to Inga, “but you should probably go back inside now.”

“I… sorry again, I hope she feels better soon,” Lars stammered.  Hurrying back up the path, he heard Inga’s muffled sobs.

***

Kristoff tried not to slam the door as he walked into the bedroom. He stood rubbing his forehead.

“Where is she now?”

“I left her with Gerda to get her ready for bed. I think she’ll be better with some sleep,” he sighed, sitting down and taking off his shoes.

Anna stared at the ceiling. “That didn’t go well.”

“We didn’t exactly plan it,” he replied flatly. “We probably should have let Inga keep gossiping with those girls. She knows enough not to believe what she hears.”

“How are you so calm right now?”

“I’m not calm, I’m exhausted,” he replied, collapsing into bed.  “She was right, though, it wasn’t the right time to tell her about that.”

***

Anna quietly opened the door to the library and walked in, though it was more of a waddle.  She didn’t remember Inga or Fred being quite this large so soon, nor was she this big when she was in Corona, even if she had felt so at the time. 

“And then she unfroze!” Olaf exclaimed.  Inga cheered and giggled.  Kristoff had fallen asleep, sprawled across the sofa, snoring.  Little Frederick had toddled over and was plucking out notes on the mandolin in the corner.

“Hi, Mama!” Inga exclaimed, “Olaf was just about to get to the part where you punched the mean man!”

“Olaf, are you getting them worked up before bed?” she gently chided him.

“No, Inga asked for the story!”

“Well, why don’t you go tell Nanny that it’s time to get them to bed?” Anna smiled as he wandered down the hall, and walked over to Kristoff.  “Honey, you fell asleep.” 

“I…” he muttered, sitting up quickly, “Okay, I did.  Here, you need to sit down.”  He scooted over and gently tugged her hand.  She sat down.

“I’m fine, really,” she smiled. “I wrote to Elsa this morning that it will  probably be a little longer.  The midwife thinks maybe another month.”

“You were working too late again,” he said, rubbing her belly.

“Mama!” Inga interrupted, “Why didn’t you let Papa punch the man? He says you wouldn’t let him.” 

“Inga,” Anna sighed, “how many times have you heard this story now?”

“I don’t know.  A thousand?” 

“Well, it’s time for bed,” she told her, cuddling Frederick who had just climbed up on her lap.

“Mama, what if you had married that man?” 

“What?” 

“What if you had married that man?”

“I… I don’t know, but you wouldn’t be here asking me that question.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wouldn’t have married your Papa.”

“But why does that matter?”

“Because…”  How long was Inga going to continue questioning?  “Oh, good, here’s Nanny.  Good night, Inga, I love you.”

“Night, Mama, night night, Papa.”

“Good night,” Kristoff said, leaning over to kiss her forehead.  They watched as Nanny led Inga and her brother to the nursery.

“Anna, do you think maybe you should tell her?”

“About what?”

Kristoff raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh…  she’s so young, but I guess at some point...  Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow night.”

“Let’s go to bed now.  You’ve been working yourself too hard.” Kristoff helped Anna up off the sofa.

“I’m fine.  Besides, I think at this point I know what I’m doing.”

“Have you thought of any more names?”

“Not really, no.  Several members of the council had suggestions this afternoon,” she laughed.

“Well, there’s still time for figuring that out,” he smiled.

Anna clutched at her belly. “Maybe not…” 

***

Lars arrived back at his room in a daze. He washed his face, and changed for bed, trying to figure out what had just happened.  He spent several minutes pacing, finally giving up and lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The door opened.

“Lars, I didn’t expect you to be back already,” Elizabeth said cheerfully.

“I avoided Mr. Meyer,” he replied, trying to sound equally cheerful, knowing she would see right through it, but he was too tired, and it was too late at night now.  He could censor himself around her, but he could never keep up the act he put on for diplomatic functions.

“What happened? Did you find out why Inga had to leave the party?”

“No, I didn’t… that is, I didn’t find out why she left. I ran into her later. She was upset.”

“Did she say why?” 

“No, and… it was very confusing.  Her father found her.  I’m really not sure what was going on.”

“Well, let’s just sleep on it. I’ll see if I can find her tomorrow. Maybe she’ll be more willing to talk to me.”

“I suppose you’re right.” 

[perspective-series]

Zapped Perspective (2)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, panic, arguments, treating someone like a pet, and feeling helpless.

(Check the reblog for the links to any future chapters)

——————————————————————————————————–

 Roman ran a hand through his hair, beginning to get desperate. The borrower in hand was, of course, no help either as Roman now searched through the house for a third time. It was evident that Logan was no longer here, as he didn’t respond to any of his calls.

“Okay, okay, no need to panic,” Roman spoke aloud, mostly to himself as he headed into the kitchen. “We’ll just...call the shelter. Maybe he ended up there.” Roman glanced down at the borrower in his hand as he grabbed his phone. “Maybe they’ll have room for you there, as well.” After all, Roman wasn’t exactly in the mood to take on another tiny right now.

 “What? No!” Virgil started to panic as he watched the human pick up his phone. “No! You can’t tell anyone about me!” He didn’t care how crazy this guy was, he refused to be shown to the world because of him.

“Hmm? Oh, right, the wild thing.” Roman had almost forgotten with how quiet the borrower had been while he searched. “Don’t worry, the shelter staff are perfectly friendly, I’m sure they’ll take good care of you.”

 “No! You can’t do that. They won’t even know what to do with me!” They’d probably end up selling him to some lab or something. “Please, dude, just accept that Logan left and let me go!”

“No,” Roman said sternly, placing the phone to his ear. “Yes, hi, I’d like to report a missing borrower, have you seen him?”

 Virgil’s eyes widened and he began to shake. No, this stupid human was going to reveal his whole kind!

“He goes by Logan.” Roman’s spirits fell when the receptionist confirmed they hadn’t seen him. “Okay, well, do you know where I might find him? We went to bed last night and this morning when I looked into his enclosure he disappeared and this wild tiny took his place.”

 Wait...what was happening. This human was actually...holding a conversation with the shelter. There were no gasps or yells of amazement. They...They knew exactly what this human was talking about. 

 What was going on?

“Yes, I’ll try that.” Roman sighed, finding their advice to leave out his favorite food a bit juvenile, but Roman was running out of options. “Thank you, yes, please do. Now, ah, about this other one… what’s your policy on dropping off borrowers?”

 Virgil’s eyes widened. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he didn’t want to go to this shelter place. “No, please. Don’t take me there. Please.” Virgil turned to begging, not knowing what else to do.

“I- hold on one moment.” Roman put the phone to his shoulder, giving the borrower a sympathetic glance. The poor thing looked so scared, even if he was cute now that he’d stopped angrily yelling so much.

“I promise you, you’ll be okay.” Roman quietly assured him. “They’ll help you find your human or a new human as the case may be.”

 “No! I don’t want a human! I just want to go back home!” Virgil yelled, shaking in the human’s grip. Tears started rolling down his cheeks. “I just want to go back home.” Wherever that was, at this point.

“Ah-” Roman raised the phone to his ear. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” He quickly hung up the phone, his concern wholly focused on the crying borrower in his hand. Roman shushed him, holding him to his chest as he would do to Logan.

“It’s alright, don’t panic, okay little guy?” Roman rubbed his fingers gently down the borrower’s back. “You’re gonna get home.”

 Virgil flinched away at the fingers. “N-Not if you take me to that shelter or whatever.” Virgil managed to say.

“...okay.” Roman felt his heart go out to the borrower. He had always been a sucker for them. “Okay, look, if it’s bothering you that much, you don’t have to go to the shelter, okay?”

 Virgil let out a sigh of relief and then paused. “...Does that mean you’ll let me go?”

“No no, a little thing like you couldn’t possibly go out on your own.” Roman shook his head. He didn’t even let Logan do that, and this one was clearly deranged. “But, I promise you, I’ll help you find your home.”

 Virgil bit his lip but he supposed that was better than going to that shelter. He was starting to suspect this was all some underground thing. A group of people who had found out about borrowers or something. Though...that didn’t make a load of sense either.

 “I’m on my own all the time.” Virgil decided to say. 

“Wait, you don’t have a forever home yet?” Roman gave him a pitying look, debating in his head. “I mean, I suppose if you aren’t taken we do have room for you to stay here… I’ll have to check with-” Roman paused, once again distracted by the devastating notion that Logan was missing.

 “What? No, I-I can’t stay.” Virgil spoke, panic building up. “I happen to have a forever home already, it’s called none of your business, now let me go.”

“No no no, that’s not how this is going to work,” Roman said sternly. “I can return you to your home, but you’ve got to cooperate with me, are we clear?”

 Virgil ducked his head, tensing at Roman’s tone. “...Fine.” He said, not wanting Roman to get angry again. He could feel the bruise from where Roman had squeezed him before and winced.

“Excellent.” Roman praised, glad they were getting somewhere. “Now, where do you live? Who’s your owner?”

 Virgil grit his teeth. “Like I keep saying. I don’t belong to anyone.” Why couldn’t this human understand that?

“Look, you can either tell me your address or I can just drop you off at the shelter.” Roman reminded him.

 Virgil deflated. “I-I don’t know it,” Virgil admitted. Why would he ever need to know the address of the building he lived in?

“...of course you don’t.” Roman sighed. “Alright, well what do you know?”

 Virgil thought for a moment. “Well...it’s a student building, for a college. And the human who lives there is named Patton Hart.” Virgil said but he didn’t really know much more than that.

“Alright, I guess we’ll start there.” Roman moved over to his desk, setting the borrower down and pulling up his laptop. He typed in the name ‘Patton Hart’, but it yielded no results. The internet could be cruel.

Instead, Roman pulled up pictures of the local university, clicking on the ones of the dorms. He turned the page towards the borrower. “Any of these look familiar?”

 Virgil sighed in relief, glad to finally be put down. He took a few steps away from the human but looked at the laptop when asked. “Uhh, no...it doesn’t.” That was definitely not where he lived.

“Okay, well, what about this?” Roman asked, quickly pulling up the next location.

 Virgil shook his head. “None of this is looking familiar.”

“We’re going to need a new tactic.” Roman frowned. “How did you get here, anyways? Because this is the closest university and I doubt you could even walk that far on your own.”

 “I don’t know,” Virgil said, looking up at the giant but not meeting his eyes. “I went to bed in my own home last night and then just woke up in that dollhouse this morning.”

Roman paused. “You just...woke up there? What? That doesn’t make any sense. And it’s not a dollhouse, it’s a borrower house.”

 “Looks like a dollhouse to me,” Virgil muttered. “And I know it doesn't make sense! That’s why I’m so confused about how I got here!” And it didn’t help when this human kept trying to make him believe everyone knew about borrowers.

“...wait a second.” Roman’s eyes widened in realization. “If you just appeared, and Logan just disappeared, then maybe what we’re dealing with is some sort of dimensional prince and the pauper.”

 Virgil blinked. “...Come again?” Great, this human was even crazier than he thought.

“Well, you’re all freaked out about this borrower secret business, and I've never heard of an actual wild borrower before, so I was assuming you just hit your head and were insane.” Roman shrugged. “But think about it! What if you’re actually from another timeline or something where borrowers haven’t been discovered?”

 “That’s...no, you’re crazy.” Magic didn’t exist, different timelines or whatever didn’t exist. This human was just messing with him.

“Alright, fine.” Roman leaned back in his chair. “Then tell me about your owner, Patton.”

 “Okay, for the last time.” Virgil glared. “Patton isn’t my owner. No one is! He’s my friend.”

“Yes, alright, but what about the other borrowers in your building?” Roman asked. “Do they have owners?”

 Virgil shook his head. “Well, for one, there aren’t any other borrowers in my building. And second of all, no other humans know that a borrower exists.” Virgil crossed his arms. “Why do you insist on forgetting that fact? Or better yet, why do you keep trying to convince me that every human knows about borrowers?!”

“Because they do!” Roman threw his arms up in exasperation. “Do I need to prove this to you? Here, come on.” Roman grabbed Virgil off the table, heading towards the front door.

 Virgil yelped as he was grabbed once more with no warning, pushing against the fingers. And then he saw that the human was heading towards the front door. “No! Stop, you can’t.” 

“I can.” Roman didn’t stop his pace. “I promise you, a borrower is nothing they haven’t seen before.”

 “No, no, no, no, no! Please don’t show me to anyone, you-I-” Virgil was full-on panicking now. He couldn’t be the reason borrowers were discovered and create the world this guy kept going on about. 

“Okay, calm down!” Roman hastily instructed, not wanting to send this poor little guy into an attack. He carefully put on his coat, tucking Virgil into the pocket. “There, you can be all secure while I show you the town, alright?”

 Virgil squirmed in the pocket. He still didn’t like it, but at least the human wasn’t walking around with him in the open. “Fine...but you better not take me out.” He said, despite knowing he couldn’t do anything about it.

“I won’t,” Roman assured him, finding this procedure ridiculous as he finally opened the door.

 Virgil stilled as he heard the door open. He didn’t exactly know what the human’s plan was at this point but he was nervous to find out.

Roman waved at his neighbors, stepping out onto the lawn. He began to point out every piece of evidence he saw, missing a few because to him they were so trivial.

“There’s the little borrower pathway.” Roman pointed near his feet, watching his step. “That woman has a borrower, you can see them peeking out of the carrier.” Several passersby had borrower carriers, actually. Roman should have thought to grab his own since a pocket could be so unsafe. 

 Virgil peeked out at Roman’s words, eyes going wide with complete shock as he took in the sights around him. “But...no, this...this can’t be real…” But it was hard to deny what was right in front of him. Borrowers everywhere, all with a human, most in a cage. The sight alone made Virgil’s heart sink. 

 That parallel dimension business the human had been talking about was starting to make a lot of sense. 

“Just down there is the borrower agency, we can go visit it if you’d like.” Roman glanced down at his pocket. “Unless you’ve seen enough?”

 Virgil nodded, silently slipping back into the pocket, feeling defeated. “Yeah...I’m done.”

Roman returned to the safety of his house, pulling Virgil out to rest in his cupped hands. “Alright, now do you understand? I’m right, aren’t I? Your world isn’t like that at all.”

 Virgil looked down, still trying to comprehend everything. “I...no, it isn’t. Borrowers aren’t pets in m-my world.” It felt weird saying that but he supposed at this point he couldn’t deny it.

“That’s so bizarre.” Roman breathed out. He didn’t like the thought of that world, as he might never have met Logan. “Is it an alternate universe, or are you from the past? Do you have television there?”

 Virgil nodded and again, he never thought he would be asked a question like that. “Yeah, it-it looks like we have the same technology as everything.” Virgil rubbed at his eyes. “This is crazy.” He muttered.

“How many borrowers are in your world, then?” Roman felt as though the floodgate of questions had been opened. “Do you really live in the walls? How do you survive?”

 “I’m not sure how many there are but I survive by borrowing food and such things to use.” Virgil shifted uncomfortably at the question being asked. He was just too afraid at this point to not answer them. Was this human planning on making him a pet too? To replace Logan? He didn’t even know the human’s name.

“But how?” Roman insisted, looking around his apartment. “You don’t have borrower platforms. How do you get around? How do people not notice their stuff going missing?”

 “I...have a hook. And we only take small things that humans wouldn’t miss.” Virgil looked up at the human. “Let me ask you a question, how can you treat a sentient being like some pet?”

“Oh, no no no, you misunderstand.” Roman gave an awkward laugh. “We don’t treat borrowers like ordinary pets; Logan certainly isn’t a dog. No, we just take care of them, and keep them with us.”

 “Yeah and keep them in cages and stuff against their will. Sounds like a pet to me.” Virgil snarked back. He at least wanted Roman to admit that’s how everyone treated borrowers in this world.

“It’s not a cage- well, okay, sometimes it’s a cage,” Roman admitted. “But most of the time it’s a borrower’s house, and they’re perfectly comfortable and very practical.”

 “Uh-huh. Doesn’t matter. You’re keeping them here against their will and that’s wrong.” Virgil crossed his arms. “What? You think Logan is actually happy here?”

“Yes, Logan is perfectly happy here,” Roman assured him, walking further into the house. “I know this all must look frightening from your perspective, but you are blowing this way out of proportion. Borrowers like being companions in our world. They’re well fed and well taken care of- heck, sometimes I wish I was a borrower just to have it that easy.”

 “Right, because being at the complete mercy of a human and having to do whatever they say in fear of punishment sounds like such a great life,” Virgil said bitterly.

“Woah, hold on there.” Roman looked appalled. “I don’t punish Logan.”

 “I find that hard to believe.” Virgil glared at the human. “After all, you punished me, when I tried speaking up earlier.” And he was still worried that was going to happen.

“That’s just because I lost my temper,” Roman admitted, looking slightly ashamed of himself. “You kept talking about Logan is such a terrible manner, and I was stressed about finding him, and you had quite the attitude… but I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lashed out like that.”

 Virgil furrowed his eyebrows. He had expected the human to apologize...but still. “Yeah, well, it only takes one loss of a human temper to end a borrower's life, so my point still stands.” Virgil sneered.

 “Besides…” Virgil looked away. “You can’t tell me, that in a world like this, every human treats borrowers like a ‘companion’ and not a pet or even a toy.”

“Well, no,” Roman confirmed. “But not every human treats other humans like a person, either. Besides, it is a bit hard to resist at times. You guys are just so cute.” Roman emphasized this by ruffling the borrower’s hair.

 Virgil tried pushing the hand away. “You’re just proving my point! I can’t stop you like this and I doubt Logan likes this either!”

“Sorry.” Roman pulled his hand back, forgetting this wasn’t Logan. “And Logan likes this, he just doesn’t admit it.”

 “Did you ever think he doesn’t admit it because he actually has nothing to admit?” Virgil asked, fixing his hair. “But of course you didn’t, all you humans care about is yourself.” Except for Patton, of course.

“That is not true.” Roman insisted. “I care very much about Logan.”

 “Oh, I believe you. I believe you care about Logan like a pet. Certainly not like a fellow human.” Virgil was starting to wonder where this bravery was coming from.

“Well he’s not human, so that wouldn’t make sense, but I’m telling you that you just don’t get it.” Roman shook his head. “It- it’s not all that bad.”

 “Right, cause you know best. Gotcha.” Virgil deadpanned.

“You are insufferable,” Roman muttered, already eager for these borrowers to switch back so he could be back with Logan. Even Logan wasn’t this annoying.

 “Right back’atcha.” Virgil glared. 

[southeastasianists]

Under a bridge on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur sits a small huddle of dilapidated shipping containers – each divided into two levels, carpeted with canvas sheets and ventilated by small whirring table fans.

For 65 Bangladeshi construction workers these containers are home, and as Malaysia enters its sixth week of a national lockdown to stem the spread of Covid-19 – during which most workplaces are closed and non-essential activities suspended – migrants living in these cramped, close quarters are beginning to feel the pangs of hunger as their money slowly runs out.

“We have not been paid since February because of the lockdown in mid-March,” said Mohamad Hanif, who has been living in one of the containers since he arrived in Malaysia last year. Although as a group they have scraped together everything they had to buy groceries during the lockdown period, nothing lasts forever.

“We cook communally. Our meals are usually rice, some vegetables with lentil curry. But it is difficult now because there isn’t money, there isn’t enough food to go around and we are all hungry. We need help.”

Mohamad Hanif’s situation isn’t unique. Malaysia is a temporary home to an estimated 5.5 million migrant workers – more than half of whom, about 3.3 million, are undocumented – from countries across Asia, but mostly Indonesia, Bangladesh and Nepal. They are employed in sectors such as construction, security and manufacturing: jobs that employers refer to as “3D” – dangerous, dirty and difficult.

Activists say many of these workers are subject to numerous human rights violations, from non-payment of wages by unscrupulous bosses to physical abuse, trafficking and debt bondage. Now, as the coronavirus pandemic sweeps the globe, their cramped living quarters mean they are at greater risk than most of infecting each other.

The lack of space for any sort of physical distancing is even more keenly felt under lockdown, as these small rooms become workers’ quarantine cells. Before, many would have spent much of the day working, running errands or spending free time outside.

“Others were shift workers so the house was never too full at any one time,” said Sumitha Shaanthinni Kishna, director of Kuala Lumpur-based migrant rights NGO Our Journey. “But now that everyone has to stay home with the lockdown, conditions are far more cramped.”

Although Sumitha’s NGO was primarily set up to help with legal matters, since the lockdown began on March 18, its members have been hand-delivering groceries to migrant workers across Selangor and Kuala Lumpur, after obtaining permission to do so through various countries’ embassies.

For most areas, she and her volunteers collect addresses and phone numbers before dropping off groceries individually, but in some government-designated “red zones” – high-risk areas with more than 41 active cases – her team leaves dry goods such as eggs, potatoes, rice and oil with representatives from the Department of Social Welfare to distribute.

One such red zone encompasses Selangor Mansion and Malayan Mansion, two blocks of flats offering low-cost accommodation that have been placed under an enhanced movement control order which prohibits anyone from entering or exiting. About 5,000 people – mostly migrant workers who average 10 people to a three- or four-room unit, for which they typically pay about 2,500 ringgit (US$575) per month – live in these buildings, which are now barricaded with barbed wire and patrolled by security forces.

“The most packed unit I have encountered had 24 residents. People living in Selangor Mansion have told me they feel claustrophobic, that it’s become very noisy,” Sumitha said.

Another red zone is in the township of Selayang, which straddles Kuala Lumpur and Selangor, Malaysia’s richest state. An enhanced movement control order in this area has seen an entire wet market cordoned off, as well as nearby residential buildings. Shamim Miah, a Bangladeshi student who shares a flat with five others in one of the buildings, has been unable to leave to get food for days, and soon it will be the Muslim holy fasting month of Ramadan.

“We have no food, we are scared. Help us, please,” he said.

For now, no infection clusters have emerged among migrant workers in Malaysia, unlike in neighbouring Singapore, where some 80 per cent of its more than 10,000 infections emanate from the 320,000-strong migrant worker community.

The city state, whose partial lockdown termed a “circuit breaker” was this week extended until June 1, now has the most cases of any country in Southeast Asia. It is screening thousands of workers every day and Malaysia’s top health official last week said it would “learn from Singapore” and embark on large-scale screening of the community.

The surge in infections in Singapore this month has sparked criticism of the government there for not taking action earlier to stop the spread of the virus within its 42 huge dormitory complexes, where thousands of workers sleep on bunk beds – between 12 and 20 to a room – and hundreds share communal bathroom and kitchen facilities.

Singapore also houses low-wage workers in about 1,200 industrial or warehouse developments which have been partially converted into dormitories that typically house 50 to 100 workers each, as well as in temporary living quarters on construction sites that have room for around 40 workers.

Residents’ groups in the city state have begun raising funds and collecting donations of food to help migrant workers.

In Malaysia, similar awareness of the dire living conditions of low-wage foreign workers is spreading.

But this has yielded a mix of both compassion and xenophobic sentiment. Earlier in the month, misinformation about urine-filled plastic bags being hurled at armed forces personnel patrolling the grounds of Selangor Mansion had to be refuted by Malaysia’s defence chief after online commentators accused foreign workers of being ungrateful, while some Malaysians questioned why the government had to supply food to these workers.

Migrant workers are disproportionately affected by the government’s lockdown, said M. Ramachelvam, deputy president of the National Human Rights Society. Besides a lack of decent housing and precarious employment, access to health care is a concern: under Malaysian law, doctors must report undocumented migrants seeking health care to the authorities, creating a culture of fear.

“There should be a moratorium against the arrest and detention of migrants for immigration related offences during this pandemic, ” said Ramachelvam, also urging the government to not discriminate when providing health care. So far, more than 14,000 migrant workers have been tested for Covid-19 virus, with 676 positive cases.

In early April, Defence Minister Ismail Sabri Yaakob said the welfare of foreigners was the responsibility of “their respective embassies”, just days after promising that the government would provide these workers with food supplies. Currently the areas under enhanced lockdowns are receiving food from several sources, including NGOs and public donations, as well as government agencies.

Now, with tensions at a high as the lockdown begins to bite, incomes depletedand the threat of an economic recession on the horizon, rights groups have expressed the concern that migrant workers will become scapegoats.

“The sentiment to deny aid to those without documentation in our country is based on xenophobia and will harm those who are most in need in these difficult times,” said migrant rights group Tenaganita in a statement, pointing out that undocumented migrants and refugees without stable work or who rely on a daily wage were disproportionately affected by the movement control order.

“There have been countless reports from the migrant and refugee communities of people going hungry and there are no government policies in place that protect them.”

Tenaganita and other NGOs have rallied together to ensure that aid is doled out. Organisations or civil society groups such as the Malaysian Trades Union Congress, Bersih and Engage have collected money or groceries from members of the public to help vulnerable groups. However, because of travel restrictions under the movement control order, only so much ground can be covered.

“We have to adhere to social distancing and other guidelines, and go to homes one by one. Some workers are too scared to leave their homes because they don’t have their passports. Some don’t even know how to tell us their house addresses,” said Sumitha of NGO Our Journey.

The fact that migrant workers were scattered across the country was another barrier to them receiving help, said Indonesian migrant rights activist Nasrikah, who goes by only one name.

“It’s very difficult to get aid to rural areas even though NGOs and the embassy are giving some support.”

Women’s rights groups say female migrant workers are particularly vulnerable in this period.

Liezl Galdo, who heads the organising committee of AMMPO, an organisation that lobbies for the rights of Filipino domestic workers in Malaysia, has received complaints of employers refusing to give them food.

“One woman who reached out to me said that when she rested on Sunday, her legally mandated day off, her employer withheld lunch and dinner. Another was not allowed to leave the house to go to the bank to send money back to her family,” she said, pointing out that as domestic workers are stuck at home with their employers, they are more vulnerable to abuse.

For other migrant workers such as Sulaiman, 42, housing is not the main issue, although the small two-storey house that the Bangladeshi construction worker shares with 29 other men – all sleeping upstairs – is certainly cramped

Their more pressing concern, however, is that food is running out – the men keep meals to a bare minimum so as not to use up everything they have left.

“We eat bread, rice. We haven’t had vegetables or meat in a while. We didn’t receive any sort of allowance when the lockdown was declared,” said Sulaiman, adding that it was difficult for some of them to even leave the house as their employers had kept their passports.

“We give each other space as much as we can, and have moved some chairs to the veranda so we can at least get some fresh air. We pray together upstairs. We can survive these housing conditions, there is nothing wrong with the house. We can endure – right now we just need food.”

[whitehotharlots]

It’s impossible to square the circle of #BelieveWomen

Let’s think back a month ago, to what turned out to be a pivotal moment in the 2020 campaign: Elizabeth Warren’s bizarre claim that Bernie told her a woman could not win the presidency.

The dishonesty of the attack on Sanders was so manifest that the takes barely need to be re-enunciated: her campaign was stalling so she lied about Sanders, hoping to re-focus media attention on herself while riding the most cynical aspects of MeToo into a poll bounce. Bernie faced an accusation, and since the only properly woke response to an accusation is immediate and uncritical acceptance, he was going to be dinged no matter what happened afterward. (Only, hilariously, he was not dinged. It was actually Liz whose campaign was ruined by the stunt. And this signals, I hope to god, an end to this bullshit). 

This is all very basic. Good writers have already covered it. You don’t need me to rehash it any further.

I would like to talk, however, about how this highlights larger and more fundamental problems within the #BelieveWomen/#MeToo cinematic universe--problems that must be confronted if the people who seriously believe in the goals of these movements wish to accomplish anything other than securing book deals for a handful of shitty writers. My framing device here will be a concept introduced by Rogers Brubaker and Frederick Cooper, in their 20-year-old critique of identity politics. This has to do with the split between hard “identity,” a fixed and firm conceptualization of identity that carries immense rhetorical weight but does not hold up to theoretical scrutiny, and soft “identity,” which views identities as protean and constructed--a more theoretically sound concept that has very little purchase in everyday discourse.

To start with an aside: it’s important to note that the malignant strains of identity politics presently infesting liberalism have been around for decades. It’s just that they didn’t have much utility until the Obama years--when it became clear that the promises of Hope and Change really just meant more means testing, more austerity, mass deportation, the wanton destruction of the planet, and an acceleration of our Forever Wars. The Democratic Party had to shift gears. In response to a crushing defeat in the 2010 midterms, their media apparatus decided to aggressively pursue identitarianism. This came with two benefits: 1) It allowed them to differentiate themselves from Republicans and motivate supporters while still sharing 98% of the GOP’s policy positions (this is where we get the logic about it being, like, so important for kids to see Black Panther); and 2) it provided an easy means of discrediting any material politics (“if we broke up the banks tomorrow, would that create more trans CEOs?”). Very little has changed within cultural studies-based understandings of identity over the last 20 years, as will be demonstrated from our review of Brubaker and Cooper’s piece. 

Brubaker and Cooper posit that

 “Identity,” is both a category of practice and a category of analysis. As a category of practice, it is used by ‘lay’ actors in some (not all!) everyday settings to make sense of themselves, of their activities, of what they share with, and how they differ from, others. It is also used by political entrepreneurs to persuade people to understand themselves, their interests, and their predicaments in a certain way, to persuade certain people that they are (for certain purposes) ‘identical’ with one another and at the same time different from others, and to organize and justify collective action along certain lines. (4-5)

As a category of practice, identity is morally neutral--its goodness or badness depends upon what ends its evocation is utilized toward. The trouble is when this category of practice is spun into a foundation of analysis, at which point the conception of identity becomes reified, made to appear as sort of an inatlertable given.  “We should,” the authors note “avoid unintentionally reproducing or reinforcing such reification by uncritically adopting categories of practice as categories of analysis” (5). 

Now, you may be fine with the notion that identity markers are un-transcendable, that they serve as the primary or perhaps even exclusive determining factor of a person’s being, worth, or moral stature. That’s what’s called an essentialist point of view. There’s trouble, though, because essentialism is (at least nominally) rejected within most bodies of academic thought. The more prevailing frame is called constructivism, which posits (correctly, I feel) that there’s nothing magical or inevitable about identity groupings, that they are instead social constructs and can therefore eventually be transcended even if their present-day effects are very real. This, the authors note, points to the fundamental contradiction of how identity is actually understood:

We often find an uneasy amalgam of constructivist language and essentialist argumentation. This is not a matter of intellectual sloppiness. Rather, it reflects the dual orientation of many academic identitarians as both analysts and protagonists of identity politics. It reflects the tension between the constructivist language that is required by academic correctness and the foundationalist or essentialist message that is required if appeals to ‘identity’ are to be effective in practice. (6)

Basically, “identity” has been formulated in such a way that it can be utilized in a essentialist sense even while its purveyors issue rote denials of its essentialism--like how someone can shamelessly use the #VoteLikeBlackWomen tag while claiming to not regard black women as ideologically monolithic. Or, more generally, by asserting that social problems can only be addressed by listening to Oppressed Group X or Y, (which is done most commonly as a response to left-materialist suggestions for change), as if all members of those groups would understand each issue identically and would suggest the same response. This is a dishonest and incoherent approach to politics, but it prevails because of its utility--that is, because it poses no real threat to existing power structures.

Here we find a rhetorical move that is foundational to contemporary identity politics: leaning on popular but theoretically indefensible understandings of terms and slogans while claiming that we actually understand these terms and slogans in obscure ways that are unpopular and rhetorically weak. Simply put: this is a lie. 

Brubaker and Cooper go on to explain that “weak or soft conceptions of identity are routinely packaged with standard qualifiers indicating that identity is multiple, unstable, in flux, contingent, fragmented, constructed, negotiated, and so on. These qualifiers have become so familiar--indeed obligatory--in recent years that one reads (and writes) them virtually automatically. They risk becoming mere place-holders, gestures signaling a stance rather than words conveying a meaning” (11). And the parallels here to Intersectionality are manifest--like how class is perfunctorily nodded toward but never substantially engaged with, or how what is purported as a means of understanding a multitude of identity positions is, in practice, a victimhood hierarchy that’s used to determine the (in)validity of people’s actions and observations. As long as we keep allowing people to hide within this double-conceptualization, we will continue promulgating an understanding of social problems that contradicts itself so fully that it cannot lead to any actionable analysis. 

This is fairly obvious now, in 2020, with identitarians having taken control over our liberal institutions and failing miserably at enacting any but the most superficial of changes. But in 2000, Brubaker and Cooper pointed out the simple fact that “weak conceptions of identity may be too weak to do useful theoretical work. In their concern to cleanse the term of its theoretically disreputable ‘hard’ connotations, in their insistence that identities are multiple, malleable, fluid, and so on, soft identitarians leave us with a term so infinitely elastic as to be incapable of performing serious analytical work” (11). And so they wondered, naturally, ““What is gained, analytically, by labeling any experience and public representation of any tie, role, network, etc. as an identity” (12)?

I find the answer pretty simple: leaning on an intellectually dishonest understanding of identity allows writers to cosplay as radicals without giving up any comfort, status, or power. Liberal leadership (by which I mean, those with power in academic and media spaces, as well as the center-right mainstream of the contemporary Democratic party) embraces this charade, as they realize it poses no threat of disruption or upheaval. Conservatives (Republicans, and more generally those in power in business and finance sectors, as well as the military), however, despise this, and are ideologically unaware enough that they regard it as an actual threat, and react to it with physical and fiscal violence (mass shootings are domestic terrorism are conspicuous examples, but selective austerity is much more commonplace and causes more harm on the whole). But now, most terrifyingly, a whole generation of young humanists have found themselves inculcated into this belief system but utterly unable to interrogate its foundational contradiction. They don’t realize it’s a grift. 

This is why the left-leaning criticisms of Warren’s’ campaign stunt fell so flat, even when they were being issued by writers with whom I usually agree. Warren was accused of cynically misappropriating the #BelieveWomen mantra. Writers explained that, actually, everyone knows that we shouldn’t seriously believe every claim by every woman, that the hashtag is instead meant to encourage people to simply be more empathetic and less dismissive to women who claim to have suffered abuse. This is the same fundamentally dishonest contradiction we find in the split between hard and soft identities. The hashtag isn’t #BeSomewhatLessIncredulous. It’s #BelieveWomen. It a blunt mantra, a demand so intense and absolute that no one could possibly take it literally--that it sometimes comes packaged with some post-facto qualifiers does not change this; it just makes its purveyors seem dishonest.

Warren’s stunt failed because most people could see through it. We recognize self-contradiction as easily as we recognize cynicism and hypocrisy, and unless someone has an awful lot of charm we tend to react negatively to all of those traits. A movement founded on such a flimsy edifice is never going to attract outsiders and is never going to achieve anything of value. It’ll elevate a small number of people and make everyone else even less likely to engage with social justice going forward. 

[profitcord71]

Will Writing - Exactly How To Select A Professional Firm

Legalzoom Online Will Evaluation

Content

If You Don'T Wish To Utilize A Solicitor

Indication Your Will In Front Of Witnesses.

To Establish Who Will Take Care Of Your Minor Kid

Key Records To Have Along With Your Last Will And Testament.

When Should You Obtain Legal Advice To Prepare Your Will?

Making Older Individuals'S Voices Heard.

Full An Estate Tax Type.

Utilizing A Lawyer To Compose Your Will

What Is Probate?

What To Expect From Your Solicitor

If You Don'T Intend To Use A Solicitor

You might think that the generated paper shows your desires, however you would not recognize if there was a much better method due to the fact that you have no solicitor leading you. Further, if points fail, customers won't necessarily have the ability to complain to the Lawful Ombudsman or any one of the various other regulators if they depend on membership of the SWW or IPWW alone. Whilst the SWW as well as IPWW have a grievances service, they have no real comparable power to claim, the Legal Ombudsman, SRA, CILEX or ACTION. By contrast, a qualified lawyer such as a Solicitor or Chartered Legal Executive should follow a stringent specialist Standard procedure and also can be sanctioned both by the Ombudsman and also by their corresponding Regulatory authorities.

You can learn about the recommended minimum contribution quantity, and details of lawyers that can assist on the Will Aid website. Every November, participating solicitors will create a basic will at no cost in return for a contribution to Will Help. Prior to making a decision on who to make use of, it's constantly suggested to get in touch with a couple of neighborhood solicitors to discover just how much they bill. The fees for creating a will vary between lawyers and also depend on the intricacy of the will. However, will-writing firms are not controlled by the Legislation Culture so there are couple of safeguards if things go wrong.

The requirements for a valid will are much less strict for service employees on active service. If somebody makes a will yet it is not legitimately valid, on their death their estate will be shared out under particular rules, not according to the dreams shared in the will. They will need to accumulate with each other all the possessions of the estate, deal with all the documentation and also pay all the financial obligations, taxes, funeral service and also administration expenses out of money in the estate. Executors are the people who will be accountable for carrying out your wishes and for figuring out the estate.

Possibly you're not sure of your dreams-- or don't know what the best alternatives to take may be to safeguard your estate for the future generation. When this occurs a person's assets are dispersed according to a collection of guidelines called Intestacy Rules. This is a set legal order which decides where your money goes-- and the outcome might not mirror your desires. Many individuals recognize exactly how crucial it is to have a will in position-- yet an alarming number don't yet have one in place, as well as haven't place their desires down in writing. Mostly individuals put it off since they see it as something to deal with when they are older, or they know they require to sort it out however then forget it.

Who should keep the original Will UK?

1. Leave it with a solicitor. If a solicitor writes your will, they will usually store the original free of charge and give you a copy – but ask them to make sure. Most solicitors will also store a will they didn't write, but there will probably be a fee.

Release your brand name and increase exposure to hundreds of wills as well as probate professionals daily by protecting an advertising and marketing room on the Today's Wills & Probate web site and once a week newsletter. Established in 2014, Today's Wills & Probate is the leading news magazine for wills and probate experts. We offer comprehensive training, technical support, as well as literature/resources to our accredited members, and offer fully detailed estate planning services. Our Consultants are available free of charge on the internet consultations as well as telephone consultations, to use you suggestions on all your estate planning requirements, whilst you stay in the security and comfort of your very own home. We additionally have 2 workplaces in Hellesdon, Norwich as well as St Ives, Cambridgeshire and are using Face-to-face appointments in accordance with Government standards on social distancing.

Indication Your Will In Front Of Witnesses.

I'm single or single without children.Even if you lived with your companion, your making it through companion is not qualified to anything.

I'm single or solitary with children.Even if you dealt with your companion, your enduring partner does not inherit anything.

plenty of software supplies a certain degree of legal protection for married or civil-partnered couples, however this protection doesn't apply to cohabiting pairs-- also if you've been together for 20 years as well as have 3 kids.

The rules are complex though, so legal recommendations deserves having, and things vary discreetly across the UK nations.

Actually, there are just limited civil liberties for cohabiting companions.

If you're not married or in a civil collaboration, also if you split up, there is generally no lawful commitment to merge your assets and also divide them.

In response to the coronavirus pandemic and also the fact some individuals need to 'protect', the Federal government has actually introduced regulation enabling the observing of wills to be done using video clip.

If you have no making it through blood relatives, your estate will go to the Crown.

If it's less than ₤ 2million, consider looking in other places, as you may discover it tough to get payment from companies supplying much less than this should points go wrong. A lot of lawyers save wills for free if you made the will with them.

To Identify Who Will Take Care Of Your Minor Kid

Your will writing firm might maintain your details on data and advise you when it's time to review your will. It's a great concept to assess your will often to guarantee that it stands and still reflects your dreams. If you leave an old will as well as don't upgrade it you might locate that it does not abide by current laws and also might leave your estate available to Intestacy Law.

Solicitors operate in a controlled market, which indicates that you have much more rights as a customer need to something fail with your Will. Typically, you can get in touch with the Legal Ombudsman to whine if you have actually talked with the solicitor directly and also your issues aren't attended to. Many Will-writing services are covered by the Customer Civil Liberty Act 2015, yet it deserves examining as policies can vary from business to firm. Some also come from main organisations that can action in to assist you out if you're not delighted with the procedure.

Can I leave my wife out of my will UK?

Under UK law you have a lot of freedom in your Will to leave your Estate to whoever you like. However, you need to be aware that legally you have to provide reasonable support to all people who are financially dependent on you (e.g. spouse, children etc.) and anyone you maintained / supported financially.

Secret Documents To Have Together With Your Last Will As Well As Testimony.

Complete the form below to find out more concerning any of our solutions. By giving away today, you might aid us respond to much more phones call to our recommendations line, project harder for older people's rights and also fair therapy as well as provide normal relationship calls to people who are frantically lonesome. If you have children as well as your spouse or companion is deceased your youngsters will acquire every little thing, split equally between them.

The new will should start with a provision specifying that it withdraws all previous wills and also codicils. Withdrawing a will implies that the will is no longer legally legitimate. You can also ask the firm to get in touch with lawyers in the area where the individual lived to ask if they hold a will. The individual that has actually passed away, or their solicitor, may have registered their will with a commercial organisation such as Certainty () as well as, after the person's death, you can spend for a search of the wills signed up on the firm's database.

April King's team of attorneys is led by Paul King, a complete member of the Culture of Trusts as well as Estates Practitioners. ACTION is the worldwide expert association for practitioners that specialise in family members inheritance and succession preparation. Full ACTION participants like Paul are internationally acknowledged as professionals in their area, with proven credentials and experience. In addition, even if the service states that the Will is inspected by a certified person later on, that person can not correctly check the paper suits your conditions since there is no interview or notes to compare to!

Use our rapid online service and also established your own will within 20 mins. Alternative 1-- You can look our directory of will writing experts, which you can discover right here. from a lawyer in case of a complicated scenario, such as multiple separations, abroad investments, organization properties or large estates.

When Should You Obtain Lawful Advice To Prepare Your Will?

Will-writing solutions start at around ₤ 80, and also will increase to a few hundred extra pounds, depending on the intricacy of your estate, as well as the competence of the firm. When writing a will, many people select to take the DIY course rather than seek professional aid.

Can my husband throw me out of our house UK?

In short, then you cannot simply kick your husband out of the house. Instead, you will need to apply for your own occupation order from the court, which will determine who can occupy the property.

Along with becoming part of an acknowledged network of professionals, becoming a member of the IPW can help your business attract attention versus competitors, demonstrating the high requirement of your solutions. Coronavirus (COVID-19) Update 22/09/ In accordance with the current Federal government suggestions, we have actually returned to functioning from residence. Our solutions continue to be uninterrupted and also our functioning hrs are customarily. This is excellent for any individual that doesn't have an e-mail address or would simply choose to speak to an expert. In this circumstance, your partner would additionally inherit 100% of your ₤ 325,000 tax obligation allowance, giving them an overall allowance of ₤ 650,000.

Making a Will enables you to define where your properties must go on your death. You can attend to liked ones and also in doing so, show that you care. Furthermore, Wills can cover issues such as philanthropic gifts, guardianship for small youngsters, care for pet dogs and whether the testator wishes to be hidden or cremated. Every Will is backed-up with ₤ 2m of specialist indemnity insurance.

If you are in any uncertainty regarding whether or not you ought to make a will, you need to consult a solicitor or a Citizens Advice neighborhood office that can provide you lists of solicitors. Regardless of whether you choose ahome check out, telephone orvideo chatappointment, the same team of pleasant, skilled legal professionals will direct you through the intricacies of writing your Will.

This is due to the fact that it is followed up by on-going area guidance to improve knowledge every step of the means. Distinctively, we are the only network to evaluate and inspect every Will that is written. Finally, we are the only Will writing company to take duty for ALL suggestions provided. An extremely sincere organization as well as have actually currently made myself reassured that my family is secured.

Your partner might after that leave an estate as much as the value of ₤ 650,000 without needing to pay any type of estate tax. The estate tax rate for 2019/20 is ₤ 325,000-- this is additionally known as the nil price band. If your estate is worth greater than ₤ 325,000, you will typically have to pay 40% on whatever over the zero price band. Nonetheless, if you're married or in a civil partnership and also your companion is domiciled in the UK, anything you delegate your partner will be free of tax, regardless of the size of your estate.

What is better a will or a trust?

Unlike a will, a living trust passes property outside of probate court. There are no court or attorney fees after the trust is established. Your property can be passed immediately and directly to your named beneficiaries. Trusts tend to be more expensive than wills to create and maintain.

The most well-recognised organisations are the Institute of Expert Willwriters and also the Culture of Will Writers. It's also worth inspecting if they're certified by the Trading Specification Institute Customer Codes Authorization Plan. Ultimately, you ought to ask the Will-writing business where their indemnity cover starts.

If you as well as a spouse or partner want substantively the exact same wills - called mirror wills - you'll generally obtain a discount rate for writing both at once. Before writing your will, it deserves recognizing all the possessions you have, along with any type of emotional products you wish to leave to enjoyed ones.

If you do not feel great writing a will online, among our specialists would certainly enjoy to make your will over the phone. We can then get it printed, bound and also sent to you in the blog post. After writing a will and getting it inspected by our specialists, you require to print and authorize it before 2 witnesses to make it lawfully binding. You can do it from the comfort of your very own home in simply 15 minutes. Create a will online in as little as 15 minutes and also take care of what actually matters.

You ought to also work out plans for your kids's care, and take into consideration whether you would love to leave details guidelines for your funeral. If you're intending to write a will, you can choose whether to do it yourself or seek aid from a professional. The right alternative for you will depend upon exactly how complex your affairs are, as well as how much help you're most likely to require. We discuss your options for doing-it-yourself, making use of a solicitor, or hiring a will-writing service below.

What happens if the witness to your will Dies UK?

That said, the death of a witness does not necessarily invalidate a will. At the outset of probate proceedings, if the witnesses have not survived, the executor will be required to produce proof that the original witness signatures were valid, as well as proof of the witnesses' deaths.

The Will Associates is just one of the UK's largest estate planning companies, being experts in Wills, Depends On, Powers of Attorney as well as Probate. We have hundreds of qualified professionals and head office team and we have actually aided over 7,000 individuals protect in excess of ₤ 1.5 BN in properties. If you are named in someone else's will as an administrator, you may need to look for probate to ensure that you can take care of their estate. There are rigorous time limits for testing a will and if you intend to test a will, you must look for legal advice immediately.

[somnilogical]

<<Over the past year, however, Google has appeared to clamp down. It has gradually scaled back opportunities for employees to grill their bosses and imposed a set of workplace guidelines that forbid “a raging debate over politics or the latest news story.” It has tried to prevent workers from discussing their labor rights with outsiders at a Google facility and even hired a consulting firm that specializes in blocking unions. Then, in November, came the firing of the four activists. The escalation sent tremors through the Google campus in Mountain View, Calif., and its offices in cities like New York and Seattle, prompting many employees — whether or not they had openly supported the activists — to wonder if the company’s culture of friendly debate was now gone for good.

(A Google spokeswoman would not confirm the names of the people fired on Nov. 25. “We dismissed four individuals who were engaged in intentional and often repeated violations of our longstanding data-security policies,” the spokeswoman said. “No one has been dismissed for raising concerns or debating the company’s activities.” Without naming Berland, Google disputed that investigators pressured him.)>>

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/02/18/magazine/google-revolt.html

<<“Of the five people that were fired, three of us are trans women,” Spiers said. “That is either an unbelievable coincidence or Google is targeting the most vulnerable.”

“Trans Googlers make up a very small percentage of Googlers,” she added. “They make up a slightly larger percentage of organizers, but not 60%.”>>

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/dec/17/fifth-google-worker-activist-fired-in-a-month-says-company-is-targeting-the-vulnerable

i too am transfem and would "violate longstanding data-security policies" if my organization were being unjust. i wouldnt say that unless it were already obvious by what bits ive leaked to people about my life, because otherwise i could suppress this information and whistleblow more.

if you were an evil corp at this point youd probably try to avoid hiring any trans women in the first place because given this happens to you, its likely done by a transfem. not that this saved CFAR, who never hired a trans woman, from having a bunch of transfems whistleblow on them despite not being employees.

from what ive read from transfem google employees who are or were involved in activism, the degredation of google's culture. their complicity with ICE and weapons manufacturing mirrors CFAR's with OpenAI and DeepMind; authoritarianism and expulsion of transfems who object to this among a myriad of wrongs. to protect the territory of injustice and complicity with organizations like ICE, google needs to import "a consulting firm that specializes in blocking unions", CFAR needs to violate their whistleblower policy. if you once protect injustice, justice is ever after your enemy. morality isnt some modular thing such that you can be comitted to protecting injustice and not have this choice spiral into also invoking and protecting systems that protect injustice and invoking further things to protect those, recursively. all the way down to doing really dumb and obvious unjust things like transmisogyny (lots of future posts), changing your fundraiser after its clear its losing money, announcing that this year you got way below your donation target and claim to have no idea why.

well *i* know the compact generator for all of these things, and that makes me strong. unlike MIRI/CFAR who like the CDC rely on gaslighting the populace for myopic gains. i also wore a particle mask during the time that the CDC claimed that they were useless to preventing spread of disease, so it was really important to give them to doctors and nurses.

after so much gaslighting, *i* have built up general capabilities at arbitraging the difference between what agents claim and the truth. people who say:

<<Edit: This is a type of post that should have been vetted with someone for infohazards and harms before being posted, and (Further edit) I think it should have been removed by the authors., though censorship is obviously counterproductive at this point.

Infohazards are a real thing, as is the Unilateralists’s curse. (Edit to add: No, infohazards and unilateralist’s curse are not about existential or global catastrophic risk. Read the papers.) And right now, overall, reduced trust in CDC will almost certainly kill people. Yes, their currently political leadership is crappy, and blameworthy for a number of bad decisions—but it doesn’t change the fact that undermining them now is a very bad idea.

Yes, the CDC has screwed up many times, but publicly blaming them for things that were non-obvious (like failing to delay sending out lab kits for further testing,) or that they screwed up, and everyone paying attention including them now realizes they got wrong (like being slow to allow outside testing,) in the middle of a pandemic seems like exactly the kind of consequence-blind action that lesswrongers should know better than to engage in.

Disclaimer: I know lots of people at CDC, including some in infectious diseases, and have friends there. They are human, and get things wrong under pressure—and perhaps there are people who would do better, but that’s not the question at hand.>>

https://www.greaterwrong.com/posts/h4vWsBBjASgiQ2pn6/credibility-of-the-cdc-on-sars-cov-2/comment/uDYbgf3QtEQirbsJk

havent. its easy to see how peoples minds are warped when its someone elses glowy thing, when its someone elses friends working for an institution that that someone else routed their hopes through.

its easier to recognize betrayal and see knowledge beyond the veil when its happening to someone else, instead of you.

until you build up general skills for recognizing it, this sort of betrayal isnt infinitely powerful. and like how you might expect that smart people who live for predation would do anti-inductive smart predatory things, but they end up converging on child sex rings; institutions that betray you, because justice is their enemy will start doing dumb unjust things like banning two people from speaking about their irl experiences with anna salamon, saying their first-hand accounts werent evidence and then citing anna salamon's first-hand account of the meeting as evidence. when i objected that this was a fucked up self-serving ontology of "evidence" they acted like i was objecting to "beliefs flow from evidence" and they acted as if what i was saying was obscure and beyond their ability to comprehend. their "incomprehension" was fake, downstream of a fear to dynamically compute things in front of other people that might end up outside the orthodoxy. the result of which is they display a blue screen of death and say “i just dont understand and aaa dont explain this to me!!!”. and then people agree that it "seems like it could be an infohazard" because when your goal is the preservation of the matrix, everything that tears it down looks like hazardous information.

or a cfar employee, in response to claims that anna's transmisogyny influences CFAR's hiring choices, claiming that anna salamon, head of CFAR, is not involved in CFAR's hiring. until i post proof from another CFAR employee pursuing personal vengeance against the org for hiring their rapist where its tangentially mentioned and they suddenly "realize" that anna salamon, head of CFAR, is involved in CFAR's hiring process.

or a thousand other injustices that have burned themselves into my brain during my months of talking with people under the assumption that they were simply mistaken in their path to saving the world. when they were actually un-mistaken in their path to having babies and a low chance of personal death. hoping and expecting someone else will take heroic responsibility for the planet.

like when you drill down to the base of injustice, it bottoms out in dumb and petty injustice. like the structure doesnt go infinitely high and complex, if you go down to the base level, you just need a bit of courage to not flinch away from what you see even if it seems that it means the ruin of something you ran your hopes and dreams through.

--

"isnt this a little... extreme?" i hear some people ask. ""dont protect regions of injustice?" that sounds like the end product of obsessive compulsive fixation on virtue at the expense of practicality."

well, assuming the algorithm seeding this response is a systemic reasoning tool, it should forkbomb when you consider if youd output ""dont protect regions of untruth?" that sounds like the end product of obsessive compulsive fixation on virtue at the expense of practicality." in response to eliezers essay. the principle behind both is the same such that if you hold by one you should hold by the other.

all of these things have parallels. if you want to see what is happening with MIRI/CFAR, theres a lot of mutual information with whats happening with Google.

[bishi0414]

Will Coronavirus Open up our Minds?

With the ongoing coronavirus pandemic, the entire world has confined themselves to their homes to battle this terrible situation that all of us are experiencing now. I am also certain that a lot of us are a lot more active on social media these days because let’s face it, we have absolutely nothing to do. Just a joke! Honestly, it brings me great happiness to see that people are engaged in a lot of activities that involve cooking, drawing, painting, dancing, and several others. The best part is that these talents are showcased by people whom we never imagined doing it. At the same time, from a different angle of social media, we see lots of posts about how the world is healing altogether. Yes, I am specifically talking about the fact that dolphins have returned to the canals of Venice due to the water turning so clean, the northern state of Punjab in India being able to witness the Himalayas in decades due to the immense decrease in the levels of pollution and so on. Many of us are even happy to see and hear about it. But there comes the question. Is this sustainable?

Let’s rewind a little. The country which was initially hit by the coronavirus was China. Slowly, it started spreading to other countries, actually, parts of the world would be a better choice of phrases, Europe, Asia, the Middle East and the western parts including the USA and Canada. One by one the countries started to go into lockdown, a word that I have only heard in movies and within a span of two months from the outbreak of the virus, we witnessed the majority of the world in lockdown. It looked like earth was literally dead. Thinking about it from one side, the news of dolphins returning to Venice and the Himalayas being visible made me happy but from another, it felt that Earth had suddenly banished everyone back to their homes. It’s like getting rusticated from school because you had drugs in your bag. Simple as that. Or is it that simple?

First things first. When we heard the news that there was an outbreak of the virus in China, how many of you were actually concerned about the people of China? Or were you only concerned when people started dying in large numbers? Or did you understand the seriousness of the pandemic only when it reached your country? That's the thing. I am not trying to accuse my readers of irresponsibility or point fingers at you. I am just saying that this is the life that we lead nowadays. ''Your interests on top of the others''. This line doesn't look like it would do that much harm. I mean, haven't you heard the air hostess in airplanes. ''Put on your oxygen mask first and then help the person next to you''. But think about this line, ''Your interests on top of others at any cost''. That sounds more damaging, doesn't it? This is exactly what people all over the world though when a report said that Trump tried to secure exclusive rights for a coronavirus vaccine under development in Germany. Of course, there are also reports that say a different story. Then, there were speculations that the virus had been engineered in a lab and has been released by China. Reports revealed by scientists later that the virus originated from anteaters later squashed those speculations.

All of these got me thinking, what are the two things that would be necessary for humans to lead a remarkable life? Well, the first thing I would say is cooperation. Of course, when I say cooperation, I don't mean that we have to cooperate with terrorists or criminals. Of course, several countries are now doing an amazing job at that diverting supplies and doctors in the direction in which it is needed which is a good thing. But the cooperation I meant was that why can't we all cooperate like this all the time? Do we actually need natural disasters to bring out the cooperative power in both individuals and countries? Of course, the coronavirus was really unexpected but even then there have been incidences of countries intimidating others for the sake of supplies. As a generic answer, we might be used to hearing policies and the economy. In my opinion, for these policies and economies to flourish, the least that you need is a world and a population and we all knew in the past few months how fragile both of them were. Similarly, with the whole world moving in the direction of sustainable development there are lots of ideas and innovations being launched into the world daily by brilliant minds. It's not much of a big deal to share them rather than implement it in the country by whose nationals it was developed. This is not an exam in which you hide your answers so that the person next to you do not copy it and get better grades than you. This is the kind of exam in which your grades are determined by the average grade in the class. So, if you are keen on getting good grades, it is your responsibility to make sure that everyone gets good grades.

The second thing which I feel is necessary is refraining yourselves from believing and spreading hoaxes. Take the case of the current pandemic situation for example. When it first started, we were told to drink hot water because it was believed that it could kill the virus. Then, we were told that coronavirus does not spread to countries with warm and humid temperatures. Did that work either? No. Then there were all these speculations that I mentioned earlier claiming that China was responsible for the outbreak of the coronavirus. The only reason why I believe China wasn't responsible is that it was scientifically proven. That's right. I am the sort of person who believes in facts and figures because I feel it is a lot safer to trust something when there is proof. Just because of the speculation, for a brief while, the internet, countries and the media turned against China. This is the reason why I mentioned earlier it was necessary to refrain from such baseless accusations. This is not just about the coronavirus, economies or countries. It is about each and everything in life. If you have a habit of believing in such hoaxes or are pulled into such conversations, today is the day to stop. But of course, it's up to you. Because in one way or the other, what you think will not affect anyone or anything in any way, will affect. And by the time you realize, it will be too late.

So, I think it's time to end and by the way, sorry for the lengthy article. We started with the issue of coronavirus but I would like to conclude on something else. We have all heard that ''one person can make a difference in this world''. I would like to modify that a little. In my opinion, I would say, ''one person can make a difference in this world but one person alone cannot make a difference in this world. What I meant to say is that you can start protecting nature in any way which might be from fixing a small leak in your bathroom or proper disposal of waste at your home to developing something that would teleport people. Whatever it is, all you have to keep in mind is that you share your methods and inspire the world to adopt them because the world has always accepted artistic ideas.  

Stay safe. Stay home.

[spell-cleaver]

2. Royal AU + 58. Accidental eavesdropping for whoever in the Skywalker family please? :)

I had to force myself not to continue this, I had so much fun writing it, but I might revisit it at some point in the future if I get the time :)

Prompts from this post.

The castle of Lord Vader was a terrifyingthing. It rose out of the volcanic rocks and ashes of Mustafar, guarded by atreacherous network of passes and continuous small eruptions from the volcanoit was situated on. The only way into the castle—the fortress, almost—was through one specific pass heavily guarded andwatched at all times.

It was one of the largest, most effectivemilitary strongholds in Palpatine’s Empire.

Luke had no idea how he’d managed to gethere.

He was a farmer.And sure, a wannabe knight, but that dream had always been so ridiculouslyunrealistic it was an insult to tell people when they asked. They’d only justlaugh at him anyway.

He was a farmer. That was all he’d thoughtthat he would ever be, until Palpatine went to war.

He’d heard the rumours before he got theconscription notice, of course. Alderaan, Naboo, Chandrila, some otherprosperous nations had joined together to object to Palpatine’s policies, andtheir objections had been violent. The unrest had only grown until half theEmpire was at war with itself, the Rebels derided as Separatists and theImperials derided as fanatics and slaves.

It hadn’t been unusual for both sorts to comethrough the bars of Anchorhead. Luke had worked there in his free time—it wasthe only way to make enough money to help keep the farm aloft and spend time with his friendssimultaneously—and he’d spoken to insurgent and loyalist alike, both scornfulof their enemy. Sometimes he’d had both at the same time, and they’d had toforce them to take the fight outside.

Blood would stain the dust and theirdoorstep, but so long as it didn’t stain the door itself Luke wasn’tresponsible for cleaning it off.

Then the war had escalated, and the Empirehad needed new troops.

And now Luke was here.

“Skywalker!” barked his commandingofficer, a gruff man with one glaring eye. “Stop dawdling and get back towork!”

Work. Cleaning the weapons and returning themto their owners. Painstakingly taking the inventory then checking then checkingit again. Hurrying back and forth to transport the water and food rations totheir corresponding places. There was no end to what the youngest, scrawniestmember of the Imperial Army would be ordered to do in lieu of actually training him.

He’llbe a liability in battle,the recruitment officers had scoffed. Lookat it, he’s got no muscle on him at all.

Actually, Luke did; you didn’t work on a farmyour whole life without it. But he was small, and that was a crime enough in anempire with ideas too big and grand for its reality.

“I’ve finished, sir,” he bit out, politely. He knew full well hiscommanding officer was going to strike or demote him or both any day now, buthe could no longer bring himself to care. “Is there anything else you’dlike me to do, or may I begin training?”

It was a stupid question, really. There wasalways more work to do. The Imperial Army didn’t need an extra soldier; itneeded a decent organiser.

It just needed someone who had their acttogether.

“Of course there’s more work to do,where do you think you are?” the officer snapped. He paused, narrowed hiseyes at Luke, then glanced down at his pack.

Luke followed his gaze. At the top of thepack, just peeking out, was a rolled up letter.

“Boy,” the man said, “deliverthis missive to Lord Vader.”

Luke’s eyes blew wide. The officer smirked atthe terror on his face.

The letter was bad news. It had to be bad news, if no one elsewanted to take it. And everyone inthe Imperial Army knew what Vader did to people who brought him bad news.

His commanding officer held the letter out tohim.

Luke, staring, made no move to grab it.

“Take it, boy,” the man said. “That’s an order.”

Luke took it.

The man gave a nasty smile. “Hurryalong, now.”

Luke swallowed, and looked up at the castleproper. He’d been camped in the courtyard this whole time; while soldiers weretechnically allowed into the castle, he hadn’t entered yet.

Well,here goes nothing.

He took a deep breath and started forwards.

It was nerve-wracking, and it wasintimidating, but he made it through the stringent security measures withouttoo much bother. An alert was sent up to Lord Vader to be expecting him, but toLuke’s dismay no one stepped in to say that they’d deliver the report in hisstead—not even the people who interacted with him on a daily basis. They justgave him slightly pitying looks, like they knew exactly what was going tohappen to him.

The stairs he had to climb up were numerous;for a moment, he wondered if exhausting any potential attackers was anotherpart of Vader’s defence. He supposed it also meant that people only wanted toclimb the stairs to talk to you if it was a genuine emergency, and he wasinterrupted less for stupid reasons.

From what he’d heard of Vader and histendency to… dismiss… any unwanted interruptions, the latter was probablymore likely.

The corridor he emerged onto was a  long one, just as barren of tapestries orother decoration as the rest of the castle. In fact, the impression Luke hadreceived so far from the place was that it was just… part of the mountain.

It was what it was: a military base. The factthat Vader lived here was irrelevant, and the man clearly expected everyone totreat it as such.

There were more windows up here, though, andLuke shivered. The wind whistled in through the slits, ruffling his hair andclothes and trying to tug the missive from his hand. He clutched it tighter.

Through the windows, all he could see was avivid orange and black. After a blink, it discerned itself into a continuouslava flow beneath what looked like the wreckage of a mining facility atop thevolcano. There was a particular ledge that stood out in the view, stark in thecontrast, and Luke had to wonder why the sight of that particular spot gave himsuch chills.

The wind picked up again, whistling. Thecorridor took on the note and thrummed, echoes reverberating all the way up anddown it. When Luke took a step that snapped like a thunderclap, and the roundof applause that chased it down the hall sent yet another coldness tinglingdown his back.

He kept walking anyway.

Now he could hear voices.

He instinctively slowed when he did, scoldedhimself, then sped up again. He would reach the door he’d been given directionsto, go in, hand over the letter, then get out of there. He didn’t need tolinger; he didn’t need to slow. Everything would be perfectly—

“—Skywalker?”

He nearly screamed. But whoever was speakingwasn’t addressing him.

He approached the door carefully. Voices camefrom behind it: one, an elderly rasp; the other, a coarse, gruff bark throughdamaged vocal cords. It was the rasp that had sounded earlier, and now itsounded again:

“Skywalker’s child is dead. As is his wife. I suggest youdon’t concern yourself with his memory,”there was a sneer in the word, “any longer.”

The coarse voice said, low and ragged,sounding thoroughly cowed, “Yes… my master.”

There was no warning save the hiss of clothagainst stone. Luke lifted his hand to rap on the door when it opened verysuddenly and an old man made to step out. Luke threw himself to the sideinstantly to let him pass.

Then he stared.

He knew that face. That was the face on theside of the coins he received whenever he was paid.

He belatedly threw himself to his knees, sohard the cold stone crashed into him and sent bruises all up his calf. Heignored it, keeping his head bowed. “Your Highness, I—”

Stoptalking, a voice inside himhissed. Don’t babble, and don’t speak inthe Emperor’s presence without first being spoken to!

He shut his mouth with an audible click.

He could still sense Palpatine’s assessinggaze on him, but refused to raise his eyes to meet it.

“Lord Vader,” Palpatine saidfinally, sounding like he was enjoyingmaking him squirm. “You have a messenger for you. Tell me, boy,” headdress Luke, “how long were you there for?”

Luke swallowed. “Not long, YourHighness.”

“‘Not long’,” Palpatine echoed.“Very vague. Were you eavesdropping?”

Luke shook his head vehemently. “Absolutelynot, Your Highness.”

“Hmm.” It was impossible to tell ifthe Emperor believed him or not. “Very well, go on in. I’m sure Lord Vaderis anxious to hear your news.”

He walked away without a backward glance.

Luke stayed kneeling on the floor, hesitating—

“You heard him,” that coarse voice—Vader—snapped. Luke could tell that hisire was growing by the minute. “Get in here and give me the letter.”

Luke hurried in, holding out the letteralmost before he’d lifted his head.

When he did lift his head, he regretted itimmediately.

The visage he saw was not the iconic helmetand death mask of the man responsible for so many of the Empire’s victories.For once, it was the face underneath.

Luke had never seen someone with more scars.

He was staring, he knew, but he couldn’t seemto stop.

Vader yanked the sealed letter from Luke’shand, sulphur-yellow eyes not moving off Luke’s for one moment. “How muchdid you hear?” he asked softly—dangerously.

Luke knew he was about to die, but he wasn’tabove begging. “Nothing of any importance, my lord—”

“Anything of interest?”

Luke couldn’t lie to Lord Vader, so he remained silent.

Vader noticed, and grew, if possible, eventenser. “Well?”

Luke hung his head. “It’s nothing, mylord.”

“Clearlyit’s not, and I expect an answer.”

“I thought you mentioned myfather,” he burst out. “Or— or me, or another relative, or someone,but you said my family name.”

Luke watched Vader’s expression shift subtlyas he though back over what had been said—the only name mentioned.

There was a moment of pregnant silencebefore— “Skywalker?” Hehissed the name.

Luke nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m Ensign LukeSkywalker; my father was—”

“Anakin Skywalker.”

Luke’s eyes widened, but he nodded.“Yes.”

Vader stared at him, and it hit Luke that hiseyes were blue as they moved over Luke’s face, his uniform, his stature. Thenthey locked gazes again, and it hit him that they weren’t just blue: they werethe exact same blue as Luke’s.

“Luke Skywalker,” Vader whispered.

Paper crunched. Luke glanced at the letterhe’d just delivered, to see it crumple in Vader’s fist.

Vader turned sharply and walked over to thetable in the corner. It was laden with maps and reports—battle tactics, Lukerealised, eyes wide—but it was surrounded by chairs. Vader pulled one out; itscraped along the floor with a sound that made Luke wince.

Vader took his seat on it, then gestured tothe nearest chair with his chin.

“Sit down, young one,” he said. Histone was oddly soft—almost hesitant. “It seems we have much todiscuss.”

[arcticdementor]

My first reaction to the work of Barbara Ehrenreich was one of complete indignation and contempt. A professor had assigned Ehrenreich’s book Nickel and Dimed (2001) for an English prerequisite at my commuter college—the urban satellite campus for two major universities intended to cater to low-income and nontraditional students. (Go Jaguars!) The book was a committed work of first-person journalism premised on a compelling challenge: to “see wheth­er or not I could match income to expenses, as the truly poor attempt to do every day.” What Ehrenreich “revealed” was the constant struggle to make ends meet, a total lack of security in employment, housing, and resources, declining health from backbreaking work, and the endless humiliations of the American blue-collar worker.

About half of the people in my class were actually “college age,” while the rest were older students with jobs and often children, but not necessarily any higher education under their belt. It was a night class, and when the professor looked around the sparsely populated room, it was usually missing one or two mothers who couldn’t find childcare that evening. Once someone stumbled over a desk, knocking a pile of books to the floor. One of my classmates—an active service member on leave—responded to the din by instinctively drop­ping to the ground in compliance with his training and/or PTSD. Sometimes children colored outside the classroom or students left early to go to their night shifts. Needless to say, most of us found the book boring and its “revelations” laughable. This is not to say it was an unpleasant experience, as it gave us the rare and delicious opportunity to scorn and scoff at the ignorance of the educated. But we were not impressed, to say the least.

It was years later that a friend explained to me that Nickel and Dimed was in fact a revelation, just not for socialists. “Well yeah,” she said matter-of-factly, “that book wasn’t for us, it was for professional‑managerial-class liberals.” This wasn’t my first exposure to the phrase “professional managerial class” (PMC), but it was the first time the distinction seemed so sociologically significant as to force me to revise my opinion of Ehrenreich’s work. Is she a progressive liberal whisperer, spreading the gospel of class politics to the PMC? Is such a task even a worthwhile endeavor?

…

The PMC is a somewhat mushy category. Its defenders and denialists, particularly in academia and the legacy media, often like to include such beloved professions as public school teachers and nurses among its ranks, a wishful idea of inherent fellowship among the college-educated. But such a loose classification conveniently ignores the “managerial” part of PMC. True PMC personnel exercise influence in the management of institutions. College professors, for example, have a role in managing the university—although this is cer­tainly less so as higher education neoliberalizes (as adjuncts fill the jobs once held by tenured professors, and administrators and donors control more uni­versity operations than ever before). Still, tenured professors and administrators have a hand in the management of the middle-class labor force, including who gets to enter it. Nurses, meanwhile, don’t actually manage patients (who under privatized medicine are reduced to customers), and rarely manage much of the hospital. Likewise, public school teachers don’t actually manage their students so much as provide a service for them, and are managed almost com­pletely by non-teacher administrations.

Squishy and permeable as it may be, PMC is still a useful term for the class of professional managers, regardless of all the disingenuous and pedantic protest. Ehrenreich, of course, was not the first to recog­nize or define the managers among the middle class. There was David Riesman’s The Lonely Crowd, C. Wright Mills’s White Collar: The American Middle Class, and the debates between Erik Olin Wright and Nicos Poulantzas, to name a few. But Ehrenreich set out not simply to define and locate the professional managerial class, but spe­cifically to interrogate its own self-awareness. As she writes in the introduction to Fear of Falling, “This book is about what could be called the class con­sciousness of the professional middle class, and how this consciousness has developed over the past three decades.”

This class consciousness, however, has been notoriously avoided by the professional middle classes themselves. In his 1976 “Notes and Commentary on the Irresistibility of the Petty Bourgeoisie,” German author (and who is better equipped to articulate the formal barriers of professionalization than a real-life veteran of the Hitler Youth?) Hans Magnus Enzensberger argued that the managerial class could be de­fined precisely by its inability to attain consciousness of itself as a class.

…

Proving Enzensberger’s point, the very existence of a professional managerial class is often most controversial among the sort of left-wing intellectuals who might fit the description. Take for example David Sessions’s recent Jacobin article, “The Right’s Phony Class War,” in which he rejects the “mythical managerial class” as a right-wing boogeyman conspiracy theory, referring to it as “a pseudo-sociology that pits an ambiguous ‘managerial’ or ‘cosmopolitan’ ruling class against the rest of the country—and lets the people who actually hold political and economic power off the hook.” (It’s worth noting here that theorists of the PMC do not consider it a “ruling class” by definition, but rather a category with a relationship to capi­tal that is distinguishable from both capitalist and worker.)

By contrast, Ehrenreich made no bones about exposing the ideolo­gy of her own frenetic class. And like Enzensberger, Ehrenreich understood the importance of such a class’s apparent instability in the midst of the ongoing class war. Enzensberger believed that the center could not hold, that some of the middle class would join the “goats” of capitalism, while most would eventually be proletarianized with the “sheep,” and “reap the fruits of socialism.” Such an outcome had not come to pass when Enzensberger was writing, leaving him to contemplate the inscrutable resilience of the professional middle class.

His conclusion was that the middle classes—by virtue (or sin, if you prefer) of their position as a “multiply articulated assemblage”—retained an “adaptability” or “characterless opportunism.” His de­scription of this ethos was damning: “Never to take a final stand and to seize every possibility: those are the only lessons that the class has learned from its variegated history.” This “adaptability” had occasionally led the PMC to progressive politics, as has occurred recently, but, he observed, this is not a fixed feature so much as a strategy that lends credibility to its secure role as the architects of cultural hegemo­ny.

Or, rather, seemingly secure role. It turns out that all Enzensberger had to do was wait a bit longer.

…

The root of this neurosis was the historic ambivalence and dread with which the class understood itself as a tenuous “elite” that may or may not succeed in reproducing itself as a class. (Unlike other classes, each generation of the PMC had to earn its status through educational credentialing, qualifying employment, and professional achievement.) As the shock troops of Taylorism, it was as if the PMC always knew on some level that Taylorism would come for it one day as well. Later we learned that these insecurities were justified and that the “fear of falling” was a valid concern: the PMC Ehrenreich described in 1989 was a bubble, a temporary postwar glitch.

…

It seems to me that Ehrenreich has answered her own question here. The PMC have been—at best—fair-weather friends to the working class, and at worst have been even more devious exploiters by dint of their “liberal” credibility. As the class which ushered in neoliberalism, I would denounce the crimes of the PMC far more forcefully than Ehrenreich.

When the PMC are flying high, their middle-class liberal initiatives to combat poverty have been inhumanely punitive and ineffectual: policies like prohibition, eugenics, and broken-windows policing come to mind. On the institutional level, liberal think tanks like the Center for American Progress and wealthy NGOs like the Gates and Ford Foundations have reliably pushed for neoliberal policies and private sector solutions to poverty, conveniently avoiding expropriation, redistribution, and universal public programs and services.

…

So I do not weep for this sinking ship, and would instead save my tears for the members of the working class, who have been left with the check, though they may now include a number of recent PMC exiles. Which leads me to the more practical question: Will a sizable number of these erstwhile PMC join the sheep? Or will most of them instead identify with the goats, following Steinbeck’s pathetic “tem­porarily embarrassed millionaires”? Or will they find no class con­sciousness at all, drifting into lumpen listlessness, atomized from both flock and herd?

…

I am still at times asked to speak at DSA events, including a recent one for the DSA Tech Action Working Group—a decidedly PMC collection of DSA members working in tech. Inspired by Google software engineer James Damore’s infamous “anti-diversity memo,” the subject I was to speak on was “diversity in tech.” The friend who asked me to speak rightly recognized that the tech industry is no longer a small cabal of entrepreneurial specialists but is increasingly expanding into a global labor force of workers—from petit bourgeois to prole, if you will.

I cannot, however, say I found many examples of such workers at this event. Multiple representatives from HR departments spoke up, one to say that “it’s all about hiring practices,” and to urge the attendees to come to HR whenever they had a problem. One woman wanted to read a long academic article about a typesetters’ union fighting automation and other changes that would open the floodgates for underpaid, largely female scab labor. She was under the im­pression that this exposed the sexist nature of trade unions.

The crowd was very “diverse” in all the Ikea commercial ways that warm our Coca-Cola liberal hearts, but some of the most insightful observations came from the bearded and (presumably) cishet white males. One timidly put forth that “HR actually works for management,” while another recognized that the biggest source of “diversi­ty” in the tech industry is highly exploited third-world call-center workers.

At first glance, the superior class consciousness of the beardy white male tech bro may appear counterintuitive, but it is a function of tech industry managerialism that he has a better view of class con­flict. As an industry, tech has thoroughly absorbed “diversity” into its corporate culture and HR programming, for both legal liability and liberal credibility reasons. If you’re a woman and/or minority work­ing for Google and your job is miserable, you are told by the whole world—and by your employer itself—that this is because you are a woman and/or minority. But, you are also told, your employer is here with sensitivity trainings, diversity initiatives, and at-will firing practices (you know, for the bad employees) to remedy all of that and to build a better work environment and, thereby, a more egalitarian world. If, however, you are a straight white man working for Google and your job is miserable, you know it’s because your job is miserable, and the company isn’t there to help you. Liberal identitarian HR obfuscations don’t work as well on exploited and precarious dude-bros.

The evening culminated during the Q and A, wherein a woman earnestly asked, “What do I do if some alt-right guy wants to be in the union?”

Visibly vexed, I replied that if an alt-right guy wants to be in your union, you won.

This statement was met with noticeable consternation, so I went on to explain that you want everyone in the union because the end goal is a closed shop. I explained that this is the very premise of a union: it is not a social club for people of shared progressive values; it’s a shared struggle, and collective politics are the only thing that can actually break down all that office bigotry you’re so concerned about. She did not appear convinced.

I use this particular anecdote to illustrate the obstacles to building a socialist PMC, but I have many others (particularly in the recent spate of white collar unionism), and herein lies the tragic irony of the great middle class exodus: even when they fall, and even when they find themselves in “Left spaces,” they are still too proximal to man­agement—or at least believe themselves to be—to imagine much beyond human resources liberalism. Very frequently, they view blue-collar workers as inherently illiberal antagonists. (Just look at the response to the failed Clinton campaign by prominent members of the liberal media and academia, who have finally answered their fa­vorite old canard of “Why do the working class vote against their own interests?” with accusations of innate bigotry and misogyny.)

Many dedicated socialists of the professional managerial class, from Ehrenreich to my friend who organized this event, have his­torically overestimated the degree to which “liberals” can—or ever really did—benefit working-class Americans. Instead, most PMC lib­erals tend to project their own interests onto the working class, in order to legitimize their decidedly middle-class ambitions (say, a cor­ner office and stock options at a tech firm) through progressive politics. Thus, when middle-class fellow travelers hear the phrase “lib­eral elite” to refer to the progressive PMC, they assume it can be nothing more than a dog whistle, meant to incite working-class re­sentment against themselves. Sessions’s Jacobin article offers an ex­plicit example of this mindset, though Fear of Falling, too, at times protests too much against the right-wing populism that makes hay by criticizing a supposedly mythical “liberal elite.”

…

It’s fair to say that the PMC’s paternalistic contempt for the working classes has been well documented, including by Ehrenreich herself, but what PMC intellectuals often fail to grasp is how much members of this class also hate one another. The PMC has historically had very little class solidarity (McCarthyism comes to mind), and their recent proletarianization—exacerbated by a hypercompetitive job market, atomization, remote work, precarity, internet social dy­namics, professionalization, Taylorism, etc.—has done nothing to suppress their desire to eat their own. Ehrenreich herself recently experienced this cannibalism firsthand.

…

I’ve said before that expropriating Yale and Harvard and converting them into public institutions would be a victory in the class war. But the small liberal arts colleges of the PMC—the Reeds, Wesleyans, and Oberlins—they may actually need to be burned down.

…

Middle-class liberal Remoaners have somehow branded bourgeois cosmopolitanism as Left internationalism, throwing the Corbyn cam­paign under the bus for the sake of an unaccountable capitalist cabal. They’re currently attacking the Labour Party “from the Left,” some because they have mistaken the European Union for the Comintern, and some merely to keep their holidays in Mykonos convenient (not to mention mysteriously affordable these days). Many former Sanders supporters—most notably in “Left media”—have jumped ship, or at­tempt to play both sides, claiming to favor more “electable” candidates as they pander to liberal and iden­titarian hacks in the media and the Democratic Party. Socialists mis­take the middle-class progressive for the comrade at our own risk; a foundation that relies too heavily on the ranks of this nervous, fickle class is doomed to crack and crumble, along with anything we try to build on top of it.

…

The PMC can—and should—be brought to commit to its own abolition, but attempting to evangelize a class that has so much dif­ficulty even acknowledging its own existence is a futile endeavor. At this rare and fragile moment of opportunity for socialism in America, the best bet for Berniecrats is to build a strong base of workers com­mitted to social democratic reforms. The PMC will follow, as they always do; they’re the cart, not the horse.

[statusquoergo]

Luckily for us, after the debacle that was last week’s episode, this one really has nowhere to go but up.

Aside from pretending that that big dramatic fight at the end of the previous episode never happened, they didn’t do too badly with it, either.

First of all, because Donna prides herself on keeping the firm together, Faye calls her to inform her that she’s fired Samantha, and Faye knows that when everyone acts against her, “it won’t be through proper channels,” and if Donna doesn’t stop them, the firm likely won’t survive the year (another reminder that the senior partners threatening a mass resignation was utterly toothless). That’s a good and true point and all that but I have to ask, did Donna move into Harvey’s place at some point and I missed it? Why wasn’t that a bigger deal? Or is she just over there like, all the time?

That’s a pretty minor concern, in the grand scheme of things, it’s just been bugging me. Anyway Samantha goes to Robert because after she was fired, she “didn’t know where else to go,” and Robert, who already knows about the outcome of the Mike Ross case because of course he does (even though it wrapped, like, yesterday), tells her to sit tight because her partners are probably already at work on a plan to kick Faye out of the firm and get Samantha her job back. Samantha isn’t so sure; “Harvey’s the reason [she] got fired in the first place,” after all. And he doesn’t trust you anymore, you mean, mean lady.

Harvey, Louis, Donna, and Alex are, in fact, meeting on the Rooftop of Major Decisions to figure out how they’re going to get rid of Faye and get Samantha her job back (that was quick); they agree to “find something” in Faye’s apparently spotless record that’ll prompt the NYSBA to remove her (even though a special master is under the purview of the judiciary…). In a lingering shot that's definitely not foreshadowing anything, Donna elects to respond with a nervous expression rather than a verbal agreement (despite the fact that reporting Faye to the NYSBA was, as of about a minute ago, her idea).

Hey, did you know this show is sponsored by Lexus? Lexus would really like to remind you that Suits is sponsored by Lexus. So as Harvey steps out of his dramatically center-frame Lexus, Robert accosts him to give him shit for not getting Faye out of the firm fast enough, even though it’s been about two days, and they came up with a plan last night. (Truly this show exists in another realm of time and space.) Harvey defends himself for yelling at Samantha for lying to his face (specifically counter to Robert’s assertion that he yelled at her because her fabrication was an attack on Mike, which, hurtful), and Robert clues him in that Faye fired Samantha because she saw them fighting in the middle of Samantha’s office. Because him dragging her down to the file room would’ve been way less suspicious.

Apparently Katrina’s amazing idea to delete Brian’s voicemail wasn’t so amazing after all, because if she’d bothered to listen to it, she might not be so blindsided to find him in her office with a suit against Katrina’s client, Kurt’s Coffee, on behalf of his client Kurt, who’s decided he was forced out of the company even though Katrina is quite certain that he left of his own volition and was fairly compensated. She threatens to have Brian thrown off the case due to conflict of interest, being that he represented Kurt’s Coffee when he worked at ZSLWW, but he asks her not to do that on the grounds that his move “hasn’t gone great” and he really needs this to impress the partners. She declines to have him removed but will nevertheless be filing a motion to dismiss, which he’s totally fine with. That’s so almost professional of them, I’m so proud.

Overtly demonstrating how truly unnecessary it was for Robert to threaten Harvey, Louis arrives at Harvey’s office to opine that chatting up Faye’s ex-husband George is their best bet for digging up shit on her, except that the divorce settlement is sealed and he might not talk to them. Harvey dismisses the issue by saying that they’ll make him, and I honestly can’t tell if he’s being overly confident, or depressed and uncaring.

Next up, Alex takes a truly bizarre reading of Faye’s behavior when he approaches Donna to play the lead plaintiff in a suit against Faye on the grounds that she has a problem with strong women. To wit, she tried to strip Donna of her vote (point of order, she would have been equally satisfied to accept Harvey losing his vote), she took Gretchen from Louis against her will (point of order, Gretchen offered her services so Donna could go on a date with Harvey), and she fired Samantha without proof (point of order, she saw Harvey and Samantha yelling about fabricating evidence and when confronted, Samantha cleared Harvey’s name but not her own). Alex probably just forgot to mention the part where she took Louis's managing partnership. Donna refuses to “go after another woman on false pretenses,” which I guess is our feminism quota for the…season, and clarifies that she didn’t actually join in on the rooftop agreement to do “whatever it takes” to get rid of Faye, not to mention the fact that “shit like this is exactly why she’s here in the first place.” Alex immediately apologizes, fessing up that he feels bad for not warning Samantha that Faye asked him to spy on her out of the suspicion that she would do “exactly what she did.” Donna helpfully points out that Faye spying on them isn’t exactly a secret, Samantha chose to “cross a line” anyway, and if Alex really wants to help her, he should probably go stop her from doing whatever stupid shortsighted thing she’s going to do to make things worse.

Speaking of, Samantha is meeting up with her old buddy Tom, who you’d be forgiven for forgetting was introduced in “Managing Partner” (s08e10) as the dude who enlisted Samantha as an FBI informant against Jarvis, Ellis, and Green (former owners of the firm currently known as Rand Kaldor); Samantha wants to cash in her chit to get the FBI to dig up some dirt on Faye, but Tom won’t let himself be burned twice, so he demands information on her client Gavin Andrews in exchange. Samantha argues that any information she knew before yesterday is covered by attorney-client privilege, Tom conveniently forgets about the crime-fraud exception and orders her to “get some shit on him starting today,” she frets that Andrews doesn’t trust her anymore, and Tom says that the terms of his offer are non-negotiable. So take that.

You know what show had a cute and not-offensive take on the whole “two people of the same gender being understandably mistaken for a couple” trope? Parks and Recreation. You know what show does not so much? Suits. Harvey and Louis apparently secured their meeting with Faye’s ex by posing as a couple purchasing a term life insurance policy, but George calls bullshit on that immediately because Harvey is way too hot to be marrying Louis. So…yay, equal rights. George explains that the line he crossed was over-billing his firm’s three biggest clients and using the surplus to fund some class actions, and Faye reported him to the Ethics Board as soon as she found out, but boy isn’t it weird that she “squeezed every nickle” out of him and then let him keep his license?

Susan approaches Katrina at the copy machine, the firm’s second most appropriate and third most common place for people to accost each other with requests for favors (less appropriate than the offices but ahead of the bathroom), to offer her services in the Kurt’s Coffee suit, and Katrina eventually admits that she wants to be “armed to the teeth with case law” when she makes her motion to dismiss. Susan seems rather pleased, and I gotta say, I’m liking this dynamic.

Lo and behold, George was telling the truth about the divorce settlement: Faye cleaned him out. But! Louis doesn’t trust him, and his story doesn’t line up with the Faye they know. Fair enough, but wait a second— “It’s easy to not care about money when you have it.” George’s testimony won’t be enough to prove that Faye took the money to pursue her dream of becoming a special master, but Louis knows where to start.

Alex finds Samantha in the gym demonstrating some truly lackluster boxing skills and offers to help her with whatever plan she’s devised to get back at Faye, but it seems that turning Gavin Andrews in to the FBI is too batshit insane, even for him, because the “list of shit” Andrews has on her will land her in prison for sure. Samantha yet again brings up her tumultuous childhood, and silly me thinking she was going to say something about the firm feeling like a real family, the problem here is actually that she promised herself that once she aged out of the foster system, she’d “never feel that powerless again.” She and Alex figure out that the one person in the world Andrews trusts less than Samantha is his niece, who owes them one on account of the fact that they previously told her that Andrews was using her name in his tax evasion scheme (not sure I follow that, but okay), so they’re going to do…something. Sounds good.

Apparently Louis and Harvey think Faye did more than just screw over her ex-husband; they think she “manipulated the Ethics Board for personal gain,” and they need Gretchen’s help to prove it: They want her to reach out to her contacts at her former place of employment for any dirt she can dig up on Faye. She agrees…on the condition that Harvey throw Louis a baby shower. Because he wants one. And like, I can see how this might seem cute or sentimental or whatever, if you’re into that sort of thing, but it’s also mild emotional blackmail (not as bad as Donna gunning for COO, but still), or at least extortion, and definitely wildly inappropriate workplace behavior, not the least of it because they’re her superiors.

Part II