#the life of a revolutionary is neither simple nor easy

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

Love how Ekko is leading the Firelights against the Noxians in the trailer. He can always be trusted to know who the enemy is.

[ausetkmt]

Who Killed George Jackson? Fantasies, Paranoia and the Revolution

Who Killed George Jackson? Fantasies, Paranoia and the Revolution

At the time of his death at San Quentin Prison on August 21, 1971, George Jackson, a 29-year-old black convict, was serving his eleventh year of a one-­to-life sentence for robbery, and facing trial, along with two other black prisoners, for the January, 1970, murder of a guard at Soledad Prison. Jackson had also achieved great fame. His book of prison letters, Soledad Brother, published in the fall of 1970, had been called “one of the finest pieces of black writing ever to be printed…the most important single volume from a black since The Autobiography of Malcolm X.”

It was a typical notice, and a fair one. The response to Jackson’s book was translated into political support for Jack­son and his co-defendants (together, they became known as the Soledad Brothers). Always, the fund-raisings and rallies held across America and in Europe focused on Jackson.

Yet back in California Jackson’s fame was neither so simple nor so salutary. He attracted many who were eager to aid in his legal defense, but also those who were willing to kill for him, and more who would not kill for him, but who promised that they would. He attracted as well those who wanted to kill him. State and local police intelligence agencies had infiltrated the Black Panthers, prison reform and legal defense groups working with Jackson: they had knowledge of many of the plots and conspiracies discussed by some of Jackson’s supporters: plots to break Jackson out of prison or to begin revolutionary warfare. Sometimes intelligence agents attempted to take those plots over; to turn plots hatched for Jackson’s benefit against him; to make him a conspirator in his own murder.

Out of these murky events has come an extraordinary book: Who Killed George Jackson? (Knopf), by Jo Durden-Smith, a brilliant portrayal of radical, police, and prison politics in California—but not because it offers any easy answers, or even many hard ones. “It’s not only a question of what the facts are,” Durden-Smith said in a recent interview in San Francisco. “It’s also a question of who owns them.” But it is not even exactly a question of facts at all. Durden-Smith came to California, he says, with the idea that “All I had to do…to write my small piece of history was to find the facts buried in the piles of conflicting evidence.” What he found instead of immutable facts were hazy symbolic figures and tangible murders: murders committed by those symbolic figures, or murders of them. It is an almost classic detective story. It has the disturbing complexity of motives and masks of a spy thriller by John Le Carre or Joseph Hone, and the emotional anchor—the commitment of the detective to the mystery he has determined to crack—of the best work of Raymond Chandler or Ross MacDonald. It is first-rate political history—and political criticism—that is distinguished by intellectual clarity and a freedom from cant. It is a book of martyrs, but a book of martyrs that is also an unrelieved record of bad faith, self-deception, and betrayal. And it is, perhaps most interestingly, an act of owning up by Durden-Smith him­self, an English filmmaker and journalist who, frustrated by the sterility and smugness of the London Left in the late sixties and seventies, found himself drawn into an “imaginary relationship” with George Jackson. Durden-Smith was not the only one. For George Jackson was not only a convict, and not merely a famous writer. George Jackson was the last great hero of a long political rebellion that—beginning in the late fifties, and perhaps reaching peak with the Paris revolt of 1968 and the American anti-war movement of the late sixties—marked a turning point in our history; as has been said of the failed revolutions of 1848, it was a turning point in history when history refused to turn.

In 1970, when Jackson’s name first gained currency among radicals and liberals, left-wing politics in America were deepening in intensity and desperation even as their field of action was shrinking. Radicals felt trapped by their ever-increasing knowledge of the institutional injustices of American life—and by hidden doubts about their own efficacy and purity. And so, as has happened before in such situations, changes took place. The idea of “a correct line” began to replace thought; discipline to replace inventiveness and expression; symbolic actions and fantasies of terror to replace attempts to organize communities and groups: and secret cells to replace public mass movements.

As the field of action narrowed, so did the left’s view of America. The perfect microcosm of America, it was accepted—the ideal worst case—was to be found in its prisons. Thus, radical efforts were directed at the prisons, and a remarkable paradox developed: As prisoners, especially black prisoners, came to look to the radical groups outside as a means of personal and political salvation, radicals outside began to look to the prisoners for the same rewards. But it was a dangerous paradox. because each side wanted from the other something it lacked the ability to deliver. The prisoners wanted power over the prisons, and, ultimately, freedom; the radicals wanted a revolution in the prisons that would finally begin the revolution itself.

George Jackson symbolized, and overshadowed, this crucial shift in politics and perception; he became to some a figure of almost religious force, a man who might, by the strength of his own personality, absorb the failures and weaknesses of the left, and magically transform them into victory—or, short of that, into a kind of personal justification for those who had remained pure. Speaking for himself, Durden-Smith defines Jack­son as he was seen by many as the seventies began: “I came to think of him not just as a hero…but as something more personal: a wholly admirable man, a standard. However variable we were, Jackson was real, a fixed point, something to hold on to. He had made himself his own man. He was the way he sounded. Few could say as much.” When Durden­-Smith arrived here early in 1972 to investigate the question of Jackson’s death, the story as he and most others knew it was as follows.

A petty thief and small-time gun­man—eighteen years old and a three-time loser—George Jackson entered California’s prisons in 1960. Repeatedly turned down by the Adult Authority—the parole board—and disciplined with years of solitary confinement, he attempted to make political sense of his life. He read economics, political theory, and revolutionary and third world history. Convict life in California prisons was a round-robin war between racist gangs of whites, Mexican-Americans and blacks; Jackson came to understand that the convicts’ racism served the interests of the keepers, and he took steps—small, brave, risky steps—to educate and organize convicts across racial lines, not against each other, but against the guards, the wardens, and the government.

Prison authorities perceived Jackson’s actions as the worst sort of threat to the prison system itself. Partly in response to the rising political self-consciousness of many of the convicts, guards at Soledad Prison, where Jackson was incarcerated, set up a confrontation between feuding black and Chicano prisoners early in 1970. In the prison exercise yard, the anticipated fight broke out, and a guard, primed for the trouble, shot three black prisoners, all of whom later died. The guard was soon cleared by a grand jury; in short order, a guard in the maximum security ward, uninvolved in the killings in the yard, was killed in revenge. Jack­son and two other black convicts were charged with the murder. The possibility that Jackson was being framed for his politics was more than credible; a defense committee was set up, and support ranged far beyond California. White radicals, and the Black Panther Party, began to shift their activities from the streets to the prisons.

On August 7, Jackson’s seventeen-­year-old brother, Jonathan, entered the Marin County Courthouse, armed three black convicts, and took five hostages, who were to be held against the release of the Soledad Brothers—who had by that time been transferred to nearby San Quentin prison to await their trial. In the shooting that followed, Jonathan Jackson, two of the convicts and one hostage—a judge—were killed. Two months later, Jackson’s book appeared, dedicated to his brother. Jackson immediately became a world figure.

A little more than a year after his brother died, and shortly before his trial was to begin, Jackson, armed with a gun, broke out of the maximum security ward of San Quentin and into the prison exercise yard. He was shot and killed by a guard. Three guards and two white convict trustees were found dead in the ward from which Jackson had run. Prison authorities announced that a visitor, white radical attorney Stephen Bingham (who disappeared the night of August 21, and who has since surfaced only once, in 1974, when he announced through a reporter that he was living secretly in Canada), had smuggled the gun to Jackson, and that Jackson had been attempting to escape, this explanation did not fit the evidence, which included, among many anomalies, a gun too big to have been hidden without either detection or connivance by the guards. Jackson’s supporters claimed he had been set up, and assassinated.

Who Killed George Jackson? begins with “History as Fiction,” a frankly nov­elistic reconstruction of the events that took place at San Quentin on August 21, based in the main on grand jury testimony, most of it from prison guards. It is, in other words, essentially the state’s case—here, Jackson pulls the smuggled gun and initiates the carnage—as it was assembled for use against the six convicts who were charged, along with Stephen Bingham, with murder, conspiracy, and other crimes related to the deaths of August 21.

Durden-Smith writes that his presentation of what can probably be called the official version of the case is “fictional in two senses: imaginary rather than real, and unproven rather than true.” Durden-Smith doubts—and will later contradict—a good deal of the story as he tells it here, but he does not shrink from it. He uses a stark, direct narrative voice, and because the reader knows the climax to which each small detail of the day is leading, the flat tone of the writing causes the tension inherent in each incident to build, until the final explosion seems implicit in the most ordinary and trivial of the encounters described. The result is the kind of dramatic momentum that forces a reader to suspend disbelief or even doubt, and I think one must assume that is what Durden-Smith is aiming for. He wants his narrative to convince, but not quite in the sense of leading the reader to accept it as “the facts.” Rather, the specificity of violence—of each of the six killings—is to be impressed on one’s mind, and impressed deeply. The graphic, second-by-second nature of the descriptions is meant to ensure that as the story develops, no reader, regardless of his or her point of view, will be able to disguise these deaths in the politics that led to them—or that have since been called forth, by those on all sides, to justify them. Before seeking answers to crucial factual questions—Where did the gun come from? How many guns were there? (Save for those in watchtowers, prison guards are not permitted to carry firearms.) If a gun was passed to Jackson, was it meant to be inoperative?—and scores more—Dur­den-Smith files a refusal to smooth over a horror that in itself creates a different sort of fact. He is suggesting that there is a way in which a recognition of that horror must precede, and outlast, whatever other facts may eventually be found.

How and why six men came to be killed at San Quentin on August 21 may be disputed; the fact that they were killed cannot be. This may seem obvious; Durden-Smith’s primary argument throughout his book is that in the world in which these events took place, it was not. (Just this spring, one could read in Mother Jones, the new slick-paper left-wing magazine, that, “People may argue over what—if any—crimes the SLA committed.”) Durden-Smith writes at the close of his study that when he stepped into the case, the deaths it encompassed—there are at least eighteen—were not real to him; he begins by establishing the premises of their reality. With cold, physical detail, he puts back into death the sting one’s politics can rob from it.

[fitjourneydaily]

ProMind Complex: The Ultimate Guide to Dental Health and Cognitive Enhancement

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[charuchaturvedi]

LETTER TO MY BEST FRIENDS

Guys …I know its not easy to find answers to lot many questions in life, to discuss and share the things which we think others won’t be able to comprehend. And within this confusion we keep suffocating, waste our precious time, our competencies and above all get deviated from LIFE!!!!

I have lately realized life is not about having what you want, it’s about discovering things which are not in your perception and understanding and creating something in an entirely new direction, which is pleasant for everyone around us including us.

It’s ok to get pain in life, everybody gets, but how we use that pain to build our self and develop our understanding of the world and life depends entirely upon our self.

I know the greatest pleasure we get is from the approval of our family, our society, the one we love, for everything because this how we are brought up...Its only our conditioning , and this simple conditioning we are unable to break , all our lives… and we call ourselves rebellions ????

We simply cannot say no to the person who is inflicting us with pain, and we call ourselves courageous???

We just cannot not face our own fears, dark side and bad qualities and we think we are strong..

Embrace yourself completely first, all of yourself , with pride , then you will not find the need of raising fingers on others for hurting you , because you will simply take their powers away by doing this..

We all are such nice and gentle people genuinely. But we just fail it to reflect on others because we ourselves don’t believe in our goodness.

Life is full of inequalities..so complaining that its not fair will only damage our understanding of it.

Find love within yourself first…love yourself and trust me you won’t cause pain to anyone intentionally or unintentionally… don’t succumb to your weaknesses..i know we have not got the love , respect and understanding we deserved. But its fine … we will make ourselves full .. without any penchant or remorse of what we lost or didn’t get…we will not fight with these feelings …we will embrace it with all our consciousness. And lets see to it that we don’t replicate our old selves..

We are living in the society. Which we want to conquer. This cant be done by inflicting pain and sorrow upon it..i am not saying that we are doing things wrong..i m saying we are not doing things according to the culture & norms...which is imbibed not only in laws but also in our upbringing , in our minds and in our blood...we wont be able to find peace neither for ourselves nor our families and circles like this. Yes change must happen...but not like this..

Lets build ourselves first...So that we can contribute to the upliftment of society...lets add value to people first. Empower them to fight their own battles. People who claim to fight for others only do that to exploit them in return…true revolutionary is one who brings change by changing himself self and becoming exemplary!!

Don’t be conformist.. make your own norms. But with intelligence, values and ethics … it will be a little tough but it will last long…

But for that we have to first fight with our own demons...And come out victorious..

[sachichistan]

HOW TO MAKE EASY MONEY? Be a scammer. [extract]

It requires a bit of free time and the biggest bullshit brain you can have: convince your audience they could achieve the impossible and write a book about it.

I would probably write it with a title including the terms: Originals and non-conformist – whatever that could mean (follow us to learn more about non-conformity in Sachichistan).

Originals. One of the most misunderstood word you could imagine. Yet it has the simplest definition ever: Not derived from something else; fresh and unusual. […]

In my opinion, we should distinguish the following: The Creatives; The Revolutionaries; and The Originals

We are all creatives. This is the connection between our overflowing imagination and our deeply rooted curiosity. This is innate and natural: It Is a part of us and of the whole survival of the fittest kind of thing.

Creative minds are the source of lies, stories, myths, … creative minds are the origins of civilization.

Some will be “more creative” than others, but this is an illusion. We are all creative, there is only some that are able to cross the mental barrier; the worst censorship of all, the ones everybody is wishing for: our own. […] Self-censorship is what is blocking our creativity from, coming out freely, deliberately. […]

We are all humans, we are all creative, but not all creators

The revolutionaries, on the other hand are not creators – intrinsically.

His role is different: he questions the obvious without dwelling on a possible solution. […]

As Rilke illustrate in “The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge”:

« Is it possible, it thinks, that we have neither seen nor perceived nor said anything real or of any importance yet? Is it possible that we have had thousands of years to look, ponder and record, and that we have let those thousands of years pass like a break at school, when one eats a sandwich and an apple? Yes, it is possible. »

Questioning, reassessing, these activities are enough to nourish his revolutionary spirit, without ever feeling the need to write a single line asking himself how things should be – apart from different. The revolutionary is wondering more than he’s actually building. The revolutionary is a free thinker because he got rid of all the authority figures – nothing or nobody could withstand his unceasing questioning.

Cartesian, he is the master of his own fate […]

Being a revolutionary is not innate. It’s something learned through long period of times. It requires a whole new understanding of our current matrix. […]

Being revolutionary is not a question whether you can do things differently (of course, you can and should) but it is about asking the question: But why should we do it in the first place?

And finally, there are the originals: hybrids, mixed of creativity and revolution boiling inside them. Not – the successful revolutionaries.

The successful ones because they turned their natural capacity for creation in a force, a new paradigm or reality; The successful ones because they turned, they rage against the system into novelty. Not only are things unsustainable but they come up with a viable solution. They became the captain of their soul. Is it natural or not? One could argue we are all equal, only the society define who we are […]

Self-help/Business Gurus often promise to unlock the creativity or their brainless victims. By being a revolutionary, one would see right through the brazen lies they spray their audience like cops with pepper spray.

Yet the answer to all the questions is quite simple: re-start from the beginning. Don’t forget, learn again – differently. […]

The first step to your originality or well-being is within your reach: stop putting your life in the hands of others, it’s yours.

And for those falling in the trap of the “become an original”, they simply don’t know what they are looking for; didn’t understand the whole thought experience it requires.

The original IS and therefore becomes one.

It is because they have freed themselves from others, from all higher forces, that their originality exists.

Not out of coquetry but out of necessity. […] Originals are fearless since they are their own judges[…]

To the question: but why did you do?

They will always answer: What else would I do? It's this or death. They would say :

“But if all of this is possible, if there is even so much as a glimmer of possibility to it, then something must be done, for pity's sake. Anyone – anyone who has had these disquieting thoughts – must make a start on some of the things that we have omitted to do; anyone at all, no matter if he is not the aptest to the task: the fact is, there is no one else.”

Queen S.

[sesamesaysme]

BOOKS FINISHED IN AUGUST 2019 + word cloud of their subjects

(listed in the order that I finished reading them)

Most of this month’s books were so good that I wouldn’t be surprised if half of them make end up making my Top 10 books that I read within this year. 

BAD FEMINIST by Roxane Gay / July 21, 2019 - August 1, 2019 / audiobook version / Summary - Essays exploring being a feminist while simultaneously loving things that could seem at odds with feminist ideology. / Reaction - Roxane Gay’s writing is SO RELATABLE! She allows that we may have principles we strongly support but we are human. Sometimes we find ourselves grooving to songs while knowing the lyrics are degrading or that are made by artists whose actions we don’t agree with. Sometimes we enjoy shows or movies that we know are mediocre and whose messages are flawed. Sometimes we believe in strong women but we want a man to lean on. These are the kinds of things she discusses in this collection of essays. I also previously read her book Hunger and loved that one too. I need to credit her as the writer who made me start enjoying essay collections. 

ANCILLARY JUSTICE by Ann Leckie / July 29, 2019 -  August 6, 2019 / Summary - A sci-fi book set thousands of years in the future in a time and place where the empire uses AIs to control human bodies as soldiers. First book of a trilogy. / Reaction - The reason I was drawn to reading this book is because I heard that it really makes you think about our use of binary pronouns. There are some characters in this book who do not distinguish between gender. Sometimes the same character will be referred to as she by someone and he by someone else and then she again by another person. Furthermore children are not referred to by gender. It disoriented me and I really appreciate that! Sadly that was the only aspect of the book I really liked. The world and characters felt cold to me. I couldn’t feel anything for any of them and I won’t be reading the rest of the trilogy.

SHOE DOG by Phil Knight / July 23, 2019 - August 6, 2019 / audiobook version approx. 13hrs / Summary - Memoir by Nike co-founder Phil Knight which chronicles the story of the Nike company from even before it was named Nike. / Reaction - I didn’t realize I’d be so interested in a book about how the Nike brand was developed but now I think it’s probably going to end up in my Top 10 books I read this year. How was I supposed to know that Shoe Dog would turn out to be an underdog story? In fact, you can even think of this as following the format of one of those heartwarming sports team movies or anime in which one team member after another is recruited into the fold, each with their own quirks. They meld and develop, then defeat their opponents against all odds. Phil Knight writes that these guys are all losers in some way or other, himself included, and almost none of them are athletic, yet they end up being the perfect team to build one of the top athletic brands in the world. They tackle all sorts of business-y problems with gumption and perseverance and are constantly trying to top their rivals adidas. Of course, since the author is one of the Nike owners, it is all from his POV, so you gotta be careful not to come out of reading it thinking the entire company is right in all of its actions. I’m sure there are criticisms about Nike that are still very valid. But that doesn’t take away from the book being a good read.  

CARRY ON, WARRIOR: THOUGHTS ON LIFE UNARMED by Glennon Doyle Melton / August 7, 2019 - August 10, 2019 / audiobook version approx 8hrs / Summary - Glennon Melton believes that if we stop striving to project a mirage of perfection we can get closer to people and build better lives. / Reaction - From the title alone, I thought this would be a book about gun laws! It wasn’t. It’s a nonfic by a mother who is a recovered substance abuser and now shares her struggles with friends/neighbors/readers to connect with them. I’m not a mother or a wife yet but I could still relate to many of the things she talked about. One part I particularly liked was when she described step by step how to get through your day(s). It felt like much of the advice could help anyone whether they are struggling with addiction, depression, or just having a really bad day. 

THE ARTIST’S WAY by Julia Cameron / August 7, 2019 - August 16, 2019 / Summary - An international bestseller which millions of people have found to be an invaluable guide to living the artist’s life./ Reaction - I would say this is like a textbook or workbook for how to unblock your creativity. A lot of creativity, motivation and productivity gurus these days use morning pages and this is the book from which morning pages originated. I’ve already been doing morning pages for about half a year prior to reading this so I’ve been interested in this book for awhile now. This time I borrowed it using the Libby app so I just read it without doing any of the activities. But I plan to get my own physical copy and go through the program in the book. I have a feeling this’ll turn into like a creativity bible for me that I’ll come back to over and over until it’s dog-eared and in rough condition. 

A GENTLEMAN IN MOSCOW by Amor Towles / August 15, 2019 - August 24, 2019 / audiobook version approx. 18hrs / Summary - Count Alexander Rostov is sentenced to house arrest at the grand hotel Metropol in 1922 Russia. The book then spans several decades of his life there. / Reaction - As I listened to this, it was so easy to picture everything that happened. If you like books that cover a long period of time this is a great one. Rather than trying to tell about every month and every year, the story is formed out of perfectly crafted little vignettes that represent different times in his life and they are all so charming. For example, testing out the sounds that different objects make when they are dropped from the floor above and hit the ground, or subtly helping out a young man on a first date by subtly stepping in to suggest the perfect wine that will neither bankrupt him nor make him look like a cheapskate, sneaking in ingredients to cook the perfect dish behind the back of your enemy, or trying to outsmart a 5 or 6-yr-old in a game of hiding. It’s not a particularly quick read, but it’s so freakin’ charming. And the ending turns unexpectedly thrilling as you find out if our Count makes it out of the hotel or not. 

THE COLLECTOR by John Fowles / August 16, 2019 - August 24, 2019 / Summary - A story of obsession about a young butterfly collector who kidnaps a young art student and traps her in the cellar of a house. /Reaction - I guess this would be categorized as a psychological thriller. The setup is very simple but the character development and interaction digs very deep. Essentially you take two very different people, put them in a small space together and watch the interactions. One is male, the other is female. One knows less culture (as in books, art, music etc.) while the other loves those things passionately. One has no relationship experience while the other does. At times you think, ok, this person’s motives are understandable, and at other times you find their actions incredibly disturbing. Then you start wondering what’s wrong with yourself because of those earlier moments when you found the person kinda relatable. Great read. And you can’t predict at all if the girl will survive. At least I couldn’t. 

BAD BLOOD by John Carreyrou / August 24, 2019 - August 30, 2019 / audiobook version approx 12 hrs  / Summary - Wall Street Journal writer John Carreyrou goes in depth into how it was possible for young entrepreneur Elizabeth Holmes to build a multibillion-dollar biotech startup (Theranos) that deceived countless people even though its supposedly revolutionary blood-analyzing device didn’t even work. / Reaction - Man, it really makes you realize how far money and connections can get you. People were fooled and bullied so easily. Throughout the whole book I was like I can’t believe this happened and I can’t believe that happened and holy crap, they seriously got away with that? The second I finished the book I was online googling what happened to Elizabeth Holmes and apparently she’s happily engaged like nothing even happened. 

WHAT AM I READING IN SEPTEMBER?

- currently halfway done with The Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbraith (but really JK Rowling)

- To the Bright Edge of the World by Eowyn Ivey

- Somewhere Only We Know by Maurene Goo

and the rest will just depend on what becomes available from my holds list on Libby

[margridarnauds]

for the ship headcanon thing, peyronan + whichever you most want to answer!

I have been Summoned by the word “Peyronan”

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

Ronan, while they were mid-cuddle and he was on the verge of going to sleep. It takes Lazare, like, several days to croak it out himself because he’s still in utter, absolute shock and trying to recover. If he ever does before You Know What happens, in which case it’s one of Lazare’s biggest regrets. And Ronan dies believing that Lazare, despite everything else, never truly loved him. 

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Laz is TERRIFIED that Ronan’s going to die from it, like...he consults his regiment’s physician and everything, trying to figure out the PERFECT cure, he fusses over Ronan day and night, constantly checks his temperature, it’s utterly adorable. To everyone except Ronan (though Ronan isn’t above feigning sleep so that Lazare will press his hand to his forehead longer), who really, really wants to get up and walk around and...no, Laz, I promise I won’t die if I take two steps out of bed. Yes, I’m sure. He gets a chicken soup recipe from his company’s physician and MAKES IT HIMSELF, spoonfeeding it to Ronan. 

Ronan has simultaneously never felt so touched or so smothered in his life. 

Meanwhile, Lazare firmly believes that he CAN’T get a cold, because obviously, if he could, then he would have gotten one as a child. Completely ignoring that he DID get them as a child, but Grandpapa de Fuck made him do drills through them anyway, even when he really, really shouldn’t have.

Spoiler alert: He can. And he does. About a week later. Then it’s up to Ronan to take care of him, and for all of his complaints about mother-henning, Ronan’s not THAT much better. The regiment’s physician, and the regiment as a whole, have never been so GRATEFUL to see The Colonel’s Peasant Boyfriend in their LIVES, because Lazare is not a particularly easy patient. He can take orders with everything BUT the doctor telling him that he needs to stay in bed and off the job for a few days. 

15. When they watch a film what do they choose and why? Who gets the final vote?

Lazare is perfectly happy to watch a science documentary most of the time. Ronan tends to like the crappiest films imaginable so he can poke fun at them (though his taste is bad enough that what is ACTUALLY crappy and what is a Bonafide Ronan Favorite is very, very thin.) Since Lazare is ALSO perfectly fine leveling snark at the worst films imaginable while his boyfriend "discretely” tries to cuddle up to him, they tend to go with that. (It is not discreet. At all. Because it’s Ronan, but Lazare at least PRETENDS to be taken aback when he looks down and sees Ronan there, popcorn in hand. Lazare doesn’t even know HOW Ronan got popcorn, but he did.) GENERALLY, Ronan gets the deciding vote, but if nothing else, they’re both pretty fine with just doing their own things on their laptops/phones. 

16. When the zombie apocalypse comes, how do they cope together?

Can neither confirm nor deny that I have a longstanding 1789 Zombies AU in progress that...one day, I REALLY need to do work on, because I had that one well-plotted out and everything and it’s been well over a year now. But, suffice it to say, they actually get a lot closer, because one of the things that’s kind of a staple of zombie stories from The Night of the Living Dead onwards is that societal boundaries just kind of...collapse. Things that are SUPPOSED to be important, like funerals, just...stop being as important, as people rush to defend themselves. So, with Peyronan, a lot of the things that would NORMALLY matter to both of them (homosexuality still being on the books as a crime, their social statuses, the tension between the revolutionaries and the Monarchy)...I’m not going to say they STOP mattering entirely, but they become a lot less important in terms of the larger goal, which becomes survival. 

I do think, though, that the casual way that Lazare deals with the zombies really horrifies Ronan at first, as he tends to see it as one more sign that Lazare is A Murderering Murderer who doesn’t have a conscience, but then as time goes on it becomes VERY obvious that Lazare is doing this off of experience. He’s already figured out how the transmission of the virus works via trial and error, he’s figured out that there’s NOT a cure for it, and that the only way to ensure that a zombie isn’t formed is...well...making sure that the body doesn’t survive long enough to become one and then burning it for good measure. 

17. When they find a time machine, where do they go?

@lochley and I have a long, longstanding AU with Lore and everything where they...don’t INTENTIONALLY go to the Cretaceous Era, but they end up there anyway. So, yes, Ronan + Laz + Dinos: A winning combination. 

In terms of “Things that I could see the two of them actually doing In Canon...” I honestly think it would be hilarious to see the two of them fucking up the age of Louis XIV. Alternatively, Ronan and Laz + the Romans. Because there’s SUCH a huge classical influence at this point in time that I can SEE it. 

18. When they fight, how do they make up?

They have some absolutely FURIOUS arguments, usually with one of them storming off (generally Ronan), they have several hours to cool down, possibly cry a little (though if either one of them SEES the other crying, it tends to immediately end then. Because neither one of them can really see that and hold onto the anger,) then they go into Pining Mode, and then one of them will inevitably awkwardly knock on the door and they’ll actually TALK. Neither one of them can fundamentally EVER stay mad at the other for too long. 

19. Where do they go on their first date?

Most of the time, I’m going to have to say “The Bastille” for obvious reasons, but in at least one reincarnation AU I’ve considered, they run into each other at college. Ronan’s initially pissed because the prissy law student wasn’t looking at where he was going and bumped into him, then somehow this all led to said prissy law student asking him out to the coffee shop in the library in-between classes as an apology. 

20. Where do they go on holiday? 

Bold of you to assume that Lazare understands what the word “holiday” is. 

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

The Jacobin Club, Versailles...besides that, really anywhere out in public. For obvious reasons. Even if people thought they were FRIENDS, it would be cause for scandal, much less the truth. 

In the Modern AU, things have thawed a lot, but Laz still doesn’t really feel comfortable with Ronan’s friends. It’s not even that they actively hate one another, it’s just...they’re RONAN’S friends. And Laz is still a socially awkward parrot in any timeline. 

Also, the Chateau de Peyrol. That place REALLY creeps Ronan out. Really, really, REALLY creeps him out, and Laz really doesn’t like going there either. There’s a REASON why Laz tends to stick to Paris for the most part when he can, or else going around the provinces. 

22. Where does their first kiss happen?

In terms of Canonverse, I do tend to lean towards the Bastille. It’s the easiest place to assume a relationship upgrade. (And the fact that we do have this.) Not really original, but...well....Les Amants de la Bastille. And it’s not like they have THAT much range as far as locations, anyway. Given the whole “secret relationship” thing. 

23. Where is their favourite place to be together? 

Underneath a tree somewhere, watching the stars together on a cool night. (Bonus if Lazare *has* to share his coat with Ronan because it suddenly turned chilly.)

25. Why do they fight?

The sad thing in the canon verse is that, while there are probably about two-ish months that you can wiggle in where they weren’t quarreling (From ~May 3, when Ronan “escaped” the Bastille to June 2, when the printing shop was raided and Ronan re-joined the Revolution and then, depending on whether or not we’re going with the Takarazuka/Toho timeline or not, from June 2 to June 20th with the Tennis Court Oath. Which...in that timeline is DOUBLY sad because Lazare would have been fully under the belief that Ronan had given up the Revolution for him. And then...well...canon happened. Ronan Was Ronan), a LOT of their relationship was spent under fire. 

Most common topics tend to be their respective loyalties, Lazare’s increasing brutality towards civilians, where the Revolution is taking Ronan, Ronan wanting Lazare to leave the Army in favor of him, etc. (Ronan tends to see the Army + Laz relationship in very simplistic terms: Remove Laz from the army and he has his beloved boyfriend back and whole and safe, without the darkness of the Comte de Peyrol. The problem, obviously, is that it ISN’T that simple. Laz can’t easily remove himself from something that’s been his WHOLE LIFE, just like Ronan can’t easily remove himself from the Revolution.) Sometimes, Ronan doesn’t really understand Laz’s attempts at lessening the tension via buying things, thinking that Laz is trying to buy him off somehow, when...to Laz...that’s really the only MODEL that he has for this kind of thing. Aristocratic men keep their lovers in fancy apartments and buy them things regularly, that’s just...how it goes. But Ronan doesn’t love The Comte de Peyrol, he loves Lazare, and the reminder of how different their experiences are...doesn’t always sit well. 

And then there are the usual domestic disputes that boil over quickly. 

Personally, I think that had things gone better for them in canon, those disputes, while a FEW of them would have obviously lingered, would have lessened. Laz might have very well left the Army of his own accord post-1789, it would have DEFINITELY been a possibility post-1791, Ronan might have felt less pressure to be a Revolutionary™ in the time between the October Days and the Varennes Flight, he might have been more willing to run away with Laz to someplace far away. 

They just had the misfortune of getting into a relationship in a very, very tumultuous time and not having the time to really sort it out. On one hand, they’re having this rush of being in their first real relationship and having all these new, terrifying feelings, but then they aren’t REALLY given the chance to explore them before it’s all snatched away. 

26. Why do they need to have a serious chat?

...When do these two NOT need to have a serious chat, for some reason or another? See the above for a laundry list of reasons, which still doesn’t mention the whole “Killed Ronan’s father” thing. 

I found this in my R/L folder and had forgotten it was in there. 

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Ronan lives for those little moments where Laz is ever so slightly more HUMAN. Those moments where Laz comes to bed late and pulls him closer as soon as he gets in or nestles his head into his neck, those little half-smiles that he’s pretty sure are reserved almost exclusively for him, the dry jokes that it takes Ronan a few moments to realize ARE jokes because he’s so used to Lazare being perceived as humorless, dinnertime discussions where Ronan tries to see how many awful ways he can flirt with Lazare before he gets The Eyeroll™ (it’s never made it to more than two times), getting to curl up on the couch with him, the little moments where Laz is so CONCENTRATED on something that he doesn’t even notice Ronan (and he does try, like a cat, to see how much he can distract him. He WILL sit on Lazare’s lap when he’s in the middle of harpsichord practice), the forehead kisses that mean so much MORE coming from someone who he knows they don’t come naturally to, the hand kisses that are so reverent that it knocks Ronan off his feet every time that Lazare does it, getting to fall asleep to the steady beat of Lazare’s heartbeat. 

That’s his Lazare, and it’s the Lazare that the world can absolutely never know. 

And Lazare falls in love with Ronan’s life repeatedly. The tackle hugs, the kisses whenever he gets home, his terrible, terrible attempts at jokes, the moments when they’re fighting where Ronan looks him eye to eye and on one hand Lazare is furious but on the other hand he’s also impressed, his idealism, whenever he turns over and sees Ronan asleep and vulnerable and his heart just clenches at the thought of anything happening to him, the moments where Ronan can SEE that he’s too focused on his job at the moment and pulls him away (and Lazare can admit that, yes, his work was all the better for having a few moments of break), his absolutely garish choices in outfits, the way that he plays with Lazare’s hair when they’re waking up in the morning, how DEFENSIVE he’ll get of Lazare whenever Lazare offhandedly mentions something about his childhood or his later career, the compassion that he shows, albeit in his own odd way, towards the underdogs, even if Lazare believes that it’s ultimately futile. (”Futile” in this case means “...Of course we’ll adopt Stray Dog #10).

30. Why does it work (or not work) between them?

Is this the second time I’ve used this gif today? Yes. Do I care? No. 

They have their issues, definitely more than the average couple, but ultimately they’re both stubborn, they’re both DEEPLY devoted to one another, they both act as a push-pull force on one another to keep each other in check (with Lazare’s level-headedness serving as a buffer for Ronan’s impulsiveness and Ronan’s spark and idealism motivating Lazare), both of them ultimately learn a LOT from one another and their perspective, and, even though fighting all the time is obviously not the sign of a happy, well-adjusted couple, they TEND to default to an Old Married Couple dynamic, especially since a lot of their bickering, sans near the end where Lazare goes over several lines, is primarily bourne out of WORRY for one another. Both of them feel like the other’s side is using them, both of them are right, but unfortunately they don’t have the same hindsight when it comes to their OWN side. 

And, even though they have SUCH a massive power imbalance between them, especially at the beginning, Lazare is so...shocked, really, by the turn of events and so infatuated for the first time that Ronan really, really does have most of the power there, and he mainly uses it for good, bringing Lazare out of his shell as steadily as he can. And sometimes he overreaches, sometimes he missteps or blunders or doesn’t know the full scope of a situation before he throws himself into it, because he’s RONAN, but ultimately, he does care for Lazare and Lazare still cares for him. 

Had things been different and they’d had to part ways post-canon instead of The Thing Happening, I don’t really see them taking anyone else on BECAUSE they’re so really...focused on one another. Like, anyone who Laz would so much as LOOK at (which is impressive in its own right since Laz is...very, very picky. I lean towards him being either demisexual or gray-asexual, but the point is that the boy does NOT normally find people attractive) would have to be compared unfavorably to Ronan, and Ronan is going to compare anyone to Laz, and they’re simply not going to match up, because for better AND worse, the two of them have had such a cataclysmic impact on one another’s lives. 

And no matter what, they WILL reconcile at the end of things. It might take them into the afterlife, but they will figure out a way to make things work. It’s there in the French, it’s...not as present in the Zuka, but there’s at least the implication that Ronan is seeking out Laz in the afterlife even if Laz is rejecting that redemption at the moment, and Toho was homophobic and simply gave us Angel Ronan on a Platform. (Okay, not a LITERAL angel, but like. Ghost who’s ascended to a higher plan of existence.) But it’s so IMPORTANT to me that the French begins with Ronan seeking out revenge against Lazare and ends with their wedding reconciliation in the afterlife. Both sides FINALLY find peace. 

[pontmercyingtil]

Noise & Silence, E/R ficlet

“Thou talk'st of nothing."  "True, I talk of dreams...” (Romeo and Juliet)

It’s the quiet hours that are the hardest.

Not that the other hours don’t present their own challenges. But the moments when Grantaire’s alone, before he drifts off to sleep, or when he’s staring at a blank canvas with no ideas of how to fill it, those hurt. The silence offers no distraction from thoughts he’d rather not have.

When he’s around the others, he can talk, sing, shout, dance, anything to keep the thoughts away. Paint can be splashed onto a canvas sometimes, just to rid it of its blankness, and just like that, can an empty room be filled with a rambling lecture. Combeferre once teased him, saying he spoke a great deal about nothing at all.

What the young scholar didn’t know was how nothing at all was so much better than the feeling of everything pressing down on him.

As long as the others around him were amused, and the wine was flowing, Grantaire doesn't have to feel the emptiness deep inside. It was a shard of broken glass beneath his rib cage, and it pulsed in time with his heart, whispering “Alone. Alone. Alone.”

He doesn’t want to be alone.

He’d always been alone.

Even when surrounded by others, he knows he’s alone, knows whatever he says is idle chatter, because he mattered to no one.

If he keeps the noise going, kept the party alive, then he wouldn’t have to think about the one person he wanted more than any party, more than any liquor. The one person who chose to neither party, nor drink.

The one person who could make him feel less alone, deep in his heart. Because there was something in Enjolras’s silence, in the way he could say a single word and quiet any noisy room, that calmed Grantaire’s own dark thoughts. It was that power that both drew Grantaire closer to the man, and terrified him. Does Enjolras know, that sometimes, in the still night, he dreams thoughts of revolution too? That a small, quiet part of him too long fors a better world?

No. And he will never know. Must never know. Because if he knew those thoughts, then he would too know that Grantaire is weak, unworthy, unable to face his fears. He knows he’s alone, yes, and knows that being alone is better than trying and failing to fix it.

It was the loudness that hurt him the most.

The raucous echoes inside a classroom, a roaring peal of laughter over a matter that certainly was not humorous, dirty songs shouted as they walked into the Musain. The moments that Enjolras knew he was failing, that the group assembled before him were nothing more than school boys, not revolutionaries. The noise distracts him, and sounds like a never-ending echo in his ears. Failure. Failure. Failure. 

That’s all he is. It doesn’t matter what he wants, though he wants a great deal. He’s been told all his life he’ll never amount to anything. His father used to say he was just a pretty face.

He wants to be much more than that. Enjolras  wants to succeed. He wants to change the world.

He knows that he probably won't. That all his speeches fall on ears that only hear topics for jokes or gossip, that all his pamphlets he hands out end up underneath cold glasses full of beer.

He will never amount to anything, the noise tells him. He cannot raise his voice loud enough for anyone to hear.

Courfeyrac tells him to relax, to join in the fun. What the young man doesn’t know is that Enjolras has forgotten how to do so. Laughter, in these past few months, is a feeling he has given up on. It feels too fricolous, too wasteful to imagine enjoying life.

Because if he started to enjoy life, then he might be afraid to die.

A good revolutionary must stare death in the eye, and never cower from it. He must be brave, always, a leader among the people. Stern. Calm. Collected.

But deep in his heart, Enjolras doesn’t feel like he’s any of those things. He feels like a fraud, a silly boy, a nervous wreck. Sometimes, when he raises his voice to ask those around him to silence themselves, his voice cracks like a boy’s, despite being over twenty. His studies have become a disaster, his rooms resemble a war zone, and he can never sleep, because when he lays down, he feels guilty for having not done more that day.

So, no, he does not laugh, nor dance, nor join in the joyous mess around him. He practices and he preaches and he bottles up all his fear, hiding it under a stern face that he will never admit feels like a mask.

He knows he’s a coward, and afraid of failing. But to admit it is to fail, and so he will never speak of it.

The two of them exist like this, chaos and calm, pining and fear, until one day, when Enjolras loses his temper.  Grantaire is in the corner, ranting about stars and candles and all matters of nonsense. Enjolras storms over to him, puts his hand on his shoulder, and demands, “Are you ever quiet?”

The hand causes Grantaire to turn, and to utterly, and completely, become quiet.

Enjolras looks at Grantaire. Really, really looks at him for the first time. Noticing the bump of a once broken nose, the crooked smile of someone who’s forgotten what a real one looks like.

And Enjolras can’t remember the last time he smiled, either.

It’s not a handsome face, no, but it is not a mask either. That expression, as broken as it is, is genuine, real, alive. “Not as long as I live, no.” Grantaire replies.

“And if you were to die?”

“Than I shall sing my way through the afterlife, until the angels summon me up to their lofty heights, impressed by my vocals.”

Something tugs at Enjolras’s face. A crack in the mask. A smile. “So, all this… the shouting, the drinking, the partying, it’s not out of spite?”

“Spite?” Grantaire chuckles. “No. Say rather, fear.”

He keeps talking, because of course he does, but it’s that word that Enjolras hears again and again in his head. Grantaire has no problem admitting to it. Words are easy for him.

And they are so difficult for Enjolras. Grantaire uses up more words in a single answer than he might in a whole day. He forces himself to ask, “fear of what?”

Grantaire wets his lips, but for the first time, it is he who is silent.

Oddly enough, he stays silent, every day.

The meetings pass with no laughter, no songs, until Enjolras begins to miss them. WIthout Grantaire’s noise, it is just his lecturing. Courfeyrac teases them with a hint he might be bringing a new friend soon, one that will be eager to learn more of the ABC’s politics, but until this mystery friend shows up, Enjolras is quite literally preaching to the choir.

“Grantaire!” he calls, then, suddenly, fixed with the strangest idea. He should have gone to bed earlier last night. Or at all. “Sing us a song.”

“What?”

“You have been so quiet, I think everyone has gone to sleep.”

The man tilts his head, and Enjolras fears that he’s gone too far.

There’s that word again. Fear.

But when Grantaire begins to sing, the fear slides away, melting like snow under the sunlight. It’s an old folk tune, nothing lewd, nothing crass. Enjolras finds himself following, a counterpoint melody. That’s what they are. Counterpoint. Bright and dark, noise and silence. And they cannot live without both.

Somehow, all the other Amis slink away, until it is only the two of them in the room. Singing. Neither too much noise, nor none at all. Just… peace. Harmony now,  voices blending.

More than voices too, as Grantaire opens his arms and Enjolras steps into them, letting himself be held for just one moment.

For just a little bit of eternity.

Finally, he whispers, “is there any way to have you only noisy at the right times?”

“Oh I can think of a few ways to shut me up,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras freezes. Blushes terribly.

Grantaire’s hand slides into his. “What I’d really like, is for you to make some noise.”

Enjolras knows he could laugh it off. It very well could be a dirty joke. But something in the way Grantaire’s hand feels in his own, warm, steady, real, suggests otherwise. “How?”

“Embrace your fear. Live your life.”

They’re simple words, but they resound within all the hollow spots inside him. “And you? Will you let me teach you peace?”

Grantaire smiles. His free hand, fingers stained with paint, brushes through Enjolras’s golden hair. “You already have. I’m just a terrible student.”

They kiss, and it is the loudest soft noise that has ever sounded within that room. Two hearts, both calling out, now beating in time with each other.

[mermaidsirennikita]

January 2019 Book Roundup

New year, new reading challenge, etc.  After a decidedly bad start, I found 1) a very fun, very Gothic thriller 2) a sad but well-written YA contemporary about toxic friendships and 3) a fun Holly Black sequel.  Not a total loss, then!  My favorite book of the month, all things considered, was really probably Holly Black’s The Wicked King--if largely because the ending was exactly what it should have been.  On to February!  I’ll try to read a bit more romance that month, juuust to rub my own single-ness in a bit more.

Lie to Me by J.T. Ellison.  1/5.  Ethan and Sutton seem like they have it all--he’s a famous author, even if he has been struggling with writer’s block for years; she’s a successful romance novelist, though her recent run-in with a nasty reviewer online has tarnished her reputation.  Though they were shaken by the loss of their baby, they seem to be getting it together.  Until Sutton goes missing, with a note to Ethan warning him to avoid looking for her.  I won’t say much more, because you can probably guess the plot here, save for some twists that weren’t really twists because they were only there to shock and made very little sense.  This book ripped off Gone Girl to a degree that wasn’t so much capitalizing on the domestic thriller craze as it was literally ripping off Gone Girl.  This was just kind of stupid.

Luna and the Lie by Mariana Zapata.  2/5.  Luna works at an auto shop, and has for years, while supporting her younger sisters.  One of her bosses has become a father figure to her; the other, Ripley (or “Rip”) is the bane of her existence.  However, when Luna is invited to her grandmother’s funeral, she is concerned about coming into contact with her estranged family again.  In a bid to stay protected, she asks Rip to accompany her--which leads to her keeping a secret for him.  Honestly, I don’t even feel like I can properly give this a review because it just kind of bounced off of me.  I don’t mind a simple, even kind of dumb plot as long as I’m enjoying myself, and I just wasn’t here.  But someone else might!  A Zapata book’s enjoyability, I’ve learned, lives and dies on whether or not you’re into the male lead.  Rip was like...................... the opposite of my type.  So it didn’t work for me.

The Au Pair by Emma Rous.  4/5.  On the day that Seraphine and her twin brother, Danny, were born, their mother Ruth flung herself from the cliffs outside their ancestral home of Summerbourne.  Shortly after the death of their father twenty-five years later, Seraphine discovers a photo taken on the day of her birth, before Ruth died--but in it, Ruth is holding only one baby.  Increasingly obsessed with the truth behind her past, Seraphine seeks out Laura, the au pair employed by her parents before the twins were born.  But the more Laura avoids her, the clearer it becomes that what happened that day at Summerbourne may be worse than Seraphine imagined.  This book is ALL about the atmosphere.  It’s got a Gothic vibe, with the characters’ obsession with family and Summerbourne adding this super creepy edge to everything.  I can’t say that the plot is especially fantastic--I did see the ending coming, and I can’t say that much here was super revolutionary.  But the tone?  A+.

The Wicked King by Holly Black.  4/5.  In the sequel to The Cruel Prince, Jude has now had control of Cardan, the new High King, for five months.  This makes her the true power behind the throne--but her relationship with Cardan is not an easy alliance.  Struggling with her attraction to Cardan, Jude is warned that someone close to her is a traitor; and in order to keep her power, she must uncover that person’s identity as soon as possible.  This book was so dependent on the love-hate dynamic between Jude and Cardan working.  And oh, it does.  The tension between them simmers.  Their dynamic is easily the most compelling part of the book.  And the rest is good, too--I’m not one of those people that thinks Black has reinvented the wheel regarding the fairy thing in YA... because she hasn’t.  But this was *fun*, and I enjoyed it.  I could do without some of the cringey aspects of Black’s fairies (I refuse to call them faeries).  Overall, however, I’m really excited for the next book--the ending really sealed this one.

White Stag by Kara Barbieri.  2/5.  Janneke has lived in servitude to the goblin Soren for nearly a century, given to him by his wicked uncle, Lydian.  Just as she realizes that her humanity is slowly eroding, the Erlking dies, leaving a power vacuum.  Determined to keep Lydian from ascending to the throne, Janneke joins Soren in the hunt for the White Stag--the future king’s source of power--and along the way struggles with coming to terms with both her past trauma and her uncertain future.  This book has a great premise, but is bogged down by a lack of worldbuilding and slow pacing.  It just couldn’t keep my attention, despite the fact that I am an admitted sucker for sexy goblin books (HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN TO MEEEEEE).  Furthermore, although I appreciated Janneke’s trauma and the fact that she still hadn’t come to terms with it, something about the way it was handled felt rather clumsy?  Well-intended and not exploitative, but... yes, clumsy.  I wouldn’t be against trying something else by Barbieri as I think she has potential, but the pacing ultimately killed a lot of my interest in this one.

Our Year of Maybe by Rachel Lynn Solomon.  4/5.  Sophie and Peter have been best friends since childhood; and Peter has been sick the whole time.  Now that she’s turned eighteen, Sophie is donating her kidney to Peter; and she secretly hopes that this will be the catalyst for the change in their relationship that she’s long wanted.  But after the transplant, Peter is different--he’s free for the first time in his life.  Free to pursue new interests, a life separate from Sophie--and Chase, a boy he likes.  As Sophie and Peter grow apart--both struggling with guilt and gratitude--they find themselves forced to define a relationship that may be growing toxic.  First off, I love the way that Solomon writes her characters.  They’re so real and flawed and sometime straight-up assholes.  I also love that Peter is bi and this is just kind of a part of him--but a part he’s never really been able to explore, due to his illness.  There’s a lot at play here, and neither Sophie nor Peter get a villain edit, which is refreshing.  They just... are incredibly codependent.  And there is a good deal of attraction going on there, which adds to the complexity of what they’re dealing with.  And really, neither of them have ever had anyone else to lean on outside of family.  This book is basically just digging in to Sophie and Peter’s relationship; outside of that, there isn’t too much plot.  But that?  Is really good.  Is it quite as good as Solomon’s debut, “You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone”?  Not really.  But God, she’s a breath of fresh air in YA contemporary.

Echo North by Joanna Ruth Meyer.  3/5.  After hardship debilitates his family, Echo’s father journeys out to sell his wares.  Echo finds him lost in the woods, at the mercy of the very same wolf that scarred her years before.  The wolf gives Echo an offer: if she spends a year in his home, her father will be set free.  Taking the deal, Echo finds herself in an ever-changing house full of living books and secret rooms, with the wolf as her constant companion.  He sleeps in her room at night, with only one rule: she must never light the candle to look at him in the dark.  As you can imagine, this is an “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” retelling.  And there were so many things I loved about it.  The writing style is super pretty, exactly what you’d want from a fairy tale.  Furthermore, Meyer plays with some really interesting concepts that I hadn’t seen before.  But... I never was as emotionally attached as I wanted to be.  Nothing really surprised me.  I’d like to see what she does next, but I do think she needs to work a bit on character development and emotional intensity.

[cyberneticpeoplespolis]

Revolutionary Humility

Radical politics is partly built on a history of messiah figures, millenarian hope and simple arrogance, but running alongside this is a tradition of radical humility and redemptive dialogues. This is an attempt to look at different ways humility and emotional vulnerability can aid radical movements, and a discussion of very human methods of base building. At the same time, we need to be careful that we don’t fall into the traps of false humility, wellness culture, or justifying disengagement in the name of anti-sectarianism.

China Mieville, in the 2013 conference What is the point of the left? discusses a sort of radical humility with which we can approach issues within the left - a new deliberative and deferential politics that is open about our differences while learning from our comrades. This is not simply a call to action for the future - Mieville uses the example of gender as something the left has already begun this introspective process with. The left had extremely ossified ideas about gender and sexuality for much of the 20th century, but after decades of repression we opened up to ideas once derided as symptomatic of bourgeois scientific decadence (ie. contemporary sociology and sexuality studies) and now the left is able to draw on a huge new range of experiences. It would not be a stretch to say that the majority of western leftist groups now accept queer comrades, but it’s time to replicate that process in other areas too.

What this revolutionary humility can mean is a renewed willingness to admit we’re wrong. The expectation that every activist comes into our networks as a fully formed political being, with a concrete sense of political identity, is a very damaging delusion. We are constantly overcoming severe contradictions in our ideologies, and the idea that any of us have overcome all contradiction is ridiculous and very easy to disprove. Openness about areas where we’re unsure is a good way to create less sectarian groups, with less stubborn members. A broad group where every individual thinks they have found the perfect ideology is constantly going to be beset by petty bickering unless this expectation is lifted. On the other hand, the classic sect in which every member agrees that they have found the perfect ideology will be equally stubborn and even more powerless to overcome contradictions due to the necessity of maintaining consensus.

This concept of revolutionary humility that Mieville introduces needs a kind of revolutionary vulnerability to accompany it. We need to be honest about the extreme fragility of our organisations, which (at least in Aotearoa) can all be destroyed by the collapse of the social group that created them. Part of humility needs to be a recognition of the realities of being a flawed human with a chemically and electrically addled squishy brain. The expectation that members are fully politically mature combines with the pressures of capitalism to create stressed out members who lash out, or bring self-destructive aspects to groups. A revolutionary humility also recognises that political discussion should cause a reevaluation of people’s ideals, and the subsequent cognitive dissonance is a viscerally unpleasant experience that causes angst and demoralisation.

The language we use is symptomatic of a lack of radical vulnerability. This expectation that members of our groups should have reached political maturity in order to participate means that we ape the work of those we see as politically mature - people who earned their place in the leftist pantheon. This sterile language (which may not have been so sterile in the context of previous centuries) adds to the problems caused by our inability to create introspective spaces. It is emotionless and dry, which is not to say that academic language doesn’t have its place, simply that it isn’t the same language that can be used to radicalise people. Engaging with people in a two way dialogue of radicalisation is the kind of intimately human experience that can’t be done in the same way as setting out a well-researched programme for a party.

An excellent example of this is the fact that to this day, most academic marxist discourse happens in the style of an austere leninist polemic - a style not only a century old, but also informed by a century of sterilised translations and a lack of historical context. Lenin was broadly correct in his analyses, but we forget that he was an arrogant, moody, sometimes sexist asshole (or as one comrade put it, a sassy bitch) whose personality was shaped by decades of repression, exile and war. This language made a lot of sense in a context of gradual normalisation in the decades leading up to the revolution, and in the context of a kind of brutality utterly alien to us now, but it’s simply not that useful to us now, apart from as an aesthetic choice to convey “seriousness.” We need to humanise marxist aesthetics and language, and a good first step is the admission of vulnerability. This is not a call for some sort of marxist wellness culture (ie. teaching our comrades that their lifestyle choices alone determine their mental health) but rather a more subtle shift away from sterilised and austere language that does not allow for the full scope of emotional realities.

Perhaps this sterilized set of marxist sensibilities is the reason that marxist memes have flourished, allowing fledgling radicals to test the waters of revolutionary politics using irony? Marxist humor is usually built on a very humble appraisal of human flaws and psychology, or else it’s built on an ironic use of revolutionary rhetoric that’s more extreme or violent than what we could normally get away with. This means that marxist memes are often a welcome respite from a boundaried sect-life, or from a life without radical politics, precisely because they engage with the visceral and emotional realities of politics better than a sterile essay. We should, however, be wary of a kind of false humility (to use a clunky hegelianism, a negation of a negation) that is used in a game of one-upmanship with rivals. This is a type of organisational liberalism, and is usually a humility constructed on an arrogant assumption - for example: the worst excesses of marxist anti-intellectualism (ie. complete rejection of academia) are built on assumptions that ignore the proletarianisation of academic workers in the context of neoliberalism. Similarly, people who engage in no consciousness raising but say that all sects are arrogant and worthless (when sects are often the only organisational form that people know how to build) are also engaging in a kind of false humility. Humility can never be an excuse for disengagement or cutting ties with comrades for perceived arrogance.

Similarly, belief in humility can lead to a rejection of charisma, a sort of “tall poppy syndrome” where any leftist with conviction or a following can be cast out of the movement. This is another kind of false humility, simultaneously a product of social-democratic movements investing too much hope in figureheads, and a self-defeating move by revolutionaries. Human societies naturally have different levels of respect for members, and certain members being the cornerstone of social groupings is something that organically occurs (and something that gives supposedly unstructured groups their structure). Indeed as Peter Frase suggests, respect may become a new form of accumulation in a communist society, but not a truly damaging one if it is separated from material wealth. The real mistake here is to give these people unique structural power, but this is not the same as respect that arises without structural power - which is something that can be used to build revolutionary movements.

We are working in a tradition that is built on currents that are in hindsight, terrible and imperfect. Many of the 19th century socialists were eugenicists, or anti-semites like Hyndman (without whom there would be no british socialist movement in Marx’s lifetime). The rank and file of the Socialist movement was once predominantly religious in nature, or else perceived class in imperfect moralistic terms. Hal Draper, whose early 70s essays on the nature of the political sect were vital to this piece, was himself very much a product of mid century sectarianism, and its many dated contradictions are present in his work. Contradictions are something that will always arise but ultimately they can only ever be ironed out by real movement in the classes, or failing that (as we often do) direct dialogue and engagement that is open to finding redeemable aspects in other’s ideas.

So much of our movement seeks to hide that it is fundamentally built on fragile and imperfect social groupings, which use various aesthetic and linguistic forms to hide their true nature. We can call a social group a party in the absence of movement, or we can call it a society, a tendency, an action group, a steering committee - these things neither add nor subtract from the fundamental work we’re doing which is raising consciousness through a variety of temporary and shifting social formations that are as much determined by unconscious feelings as they are by position papers. Any kind of sect, broad or ideological clique, can find itself to be important in a moment of real movement, but it’s not the mere presence of these groupings that creates the movement in the first place. The more informal social groupings the sects foster are usually more important in building the base of movement, and it’s counter-productive to limit these social groupings to the (often justifiable) ideological boundaries of the sect.

A left wing group with a revolutionary humility knows it is a product of social relationships. It knows that ideologies aren’t necessarily the result of who has the best ideas, but rather an ongoing process of linguistic, aesthetic and cultural normalisation of ideology. It knows that it is not above repeating the same mistakes as past left wing groups. It knows that radical education is the key to building movements, and education is not a one way street. It is not swept up by false humility based in the same sectarianism humility can overcome. It doesn’t see other groups as irredeemable sects, but rather recognises that sects have redeemable qualities and a broad sect could achieve a mass base in a moment of real movement. Most importantly, the radically humble group sees conversation between workers as the building blocks of any movement, and realises that we need to be prompting these conversations in every way possible.

[desertdollranch]

Tutorial: make a quill pen and ink for your American Girl doll

In honor of Felicity’s birthday, I’m going to show you how to make her some tiny doll-sized accessories that are very important to her story: her quill pen and ink. I’m adapting it from Pleasant Company’s excellent Felicity’s Craft Book. But before that, I want to tell you why I find this very simple craft so interesting. 

If you remember Felicity’s stories at all, you’ll remember that she had only a very basic formal education. By nine years old she could read and write and had good penmanship, but all of this was for the purpose of someday making her a notable housewife and a respected gentlewoman. She practices handwriting by writing invitations to tea or by copying proverbs, and reads to her sister from the Lord’s Prayer printed on a hornbook. There isn’t any mention in her stories of Felicity reading actual books, although she certainly expresses a love of reading, as well as interest in attending the College of William and Mary to study Greek and Latin and philosophy and geography. But girls in her time were neither encouraged nor allowed to do so, as her sister Nan helpfully points out. Girls rarely left the home to attend school, and even then only wealthy girls did. And it wasn’t until the 1830s that American women were admitted to university at all. 

One of the products in Felicity’s collection included a miniature copy of John Newbery’s 1744 children’s book, A Little Pretty POCKET-BOOK, Intended for the Instruction and Amusement of Little Master Tommy, and Pretty Miss Polly. This book was revolutionary for the time in which children’s literature was basically nonexistent. 

But A Little Pretty Pocket Book was not simply teaching lessons through repeated copying of Bible verses as the Puritans did, nor memorization of classical literature as secular schools did. Instead, it embodied a very new and exciting idea by the English philosopher John Locke: that children are born as blank slates, and their education is derived best through hands-on sensory experiences, through imaginative play, and through positive (not overly disciplinary) relationships with their instructors. He reminded parents that putting children through boring and difficult classes would cause them to develop negative associations with learning, and therefore their ability to become well-read adults would be forever hindered. 

The book was sold with an included toy: either a ball (for boys) or a pincushion (for girls). It contained rhymes that described a game to play while comparing it to a moral lesson to be learned.  

In fact, the proverb that Miss Manderly instructs Felicity and Elizabeth to copy in Felicity Learns a Lesson is taken straight from the rhyme about swimming!

When the Sun's Beams have warm'd the Air, ⁠Our Youth to some cool Brook repair; In whose refreshing Streams they play, ⁠To the last Remnant of the Day.

Rule of Life.

Think ere you speak; for Words once flown, Once utter'd, are no more your own.

It took a while for these new ideas about childhood to catch on in the wider culture, and this is reflected in changes in clothing. Felicity and her younger sisters wore stays and long skirts; but by the time Caroline was the same age, three decades later, girls were dressed in shorter dresses that allowed them to run and play.

But the Merrimans, for their time, are indeed somewhat progressive in the way they embrace the values of the Enlightenment. They aren’t overly religious, and they’re Patriots who refuse to drink tea in opposition to the king (remember that kings were considered to have divine approval for their position). It’s not hard to imagine that Felicity would have enjoyed book that encouraged learning through play. 

So why not make it easy and fun for your Felicity doll to do her lessons, and give her a homemade set of writing tools?

Here’s what you need. 

For the ink:

1 bag of frozen berries. We’re using frozen berries because they release juice when they thaw. I used blackberries, which make a nice dark purple color.  Vinegar Salt A saucepan A potato masher or something blunt to crush the berries Strainer or colander Red and blue food coloring (optional, but deepens the color)

For the pen:

1 small feather (I used a chicken feather; you can buy them at craft stores for two or three dollars) A straight pin Scissors First make the ink.

Let your berries thaw until they’re completely unfrozen. They’ll be soft and will have released some juice. Then dump them, juice and all, into a saucepan.

Cook them on low heat for about ten minutes, or until they’re warm and mushy. They’ll cook in their own juice, which is what we want, because that means you won’t have to add water. This will keep your ink color strong and undiluted. 

As they cook, they’ll release more juice. 

When they’re mushy, use a potato masher or a Mason jar to crush the berries and release even more juice. 

Once you’ve gotten a whole lot of juice out of the berries, set them up to drain. You can use a strainer, or improvise one by lining a colander with cheesecloth. 

Squeeze them to release the juice. 

Then you’ll add half a teaspoon of vinegar, and half a teaspoon of salt to your juice. This will help it from spoiling too quickly. 

It’s finished! Ready to pour in your doll’s inkwell. 

I used a mini salt shaker for my Felicity’s inkwell.

Now make your quill pen! 

You’ll need a small feather. Doesn’t matter what bird it’s from, but the smaller the better. You can trim it if it’s too big for your doll.  

Cut the tip at a sharp angle.

Then clean out the inside with the pin. Careful! Don’t puncture the shaft, but get out all the little shreds of keratin.  

Then cut a small vertical slit right on the tip.

Here’s a more precise look at how long it should be:

I trimmed my feather down into a more pen-like shape. 

Now it’s ready to write. Dip it in the ink. 

The vertical slit should channel the ink into the shaft and keep it suspended.

Undiluted blackberry ink makes a nice shade of lavender.

 Adding a few drops of red and blue food coloring gives it a more brownish tint, which I like better.

Now give her a writing assignment. Maybe ask her to...

Hmmm... 

Oh dear. 

Looks like her words have gone galloping across the page on the back of a horse. 

[alittlebitoftruthcan]

My sannyasin can never become orthodox: How can a constant rebellion be converted into an orthodoxy? That’s why you will find my statements so contradictory. The reason is that I have never read any of my books, so I don’t know what is in them. It helps me immensely, because then I don’t have to bother about whether I am contradicting myself changing, saying something else. It keeps me free. If you ask me, then whatsoever I am saying right now is the truth. Tomorrow will take care of itself, I cannot guarantee that this will be the truth for tomorrow too, because tomorrow… The whole universe is in a continuous flux. I am not giving you dead rocks. I am offering you living flowers. What it will be like tomorrow neither I nor anyone else can say. Only tomorrow will bring the revelation. I have been constantly inconsistent so that you will never be able to make a dogma out of me. You will simply go nuts if you try. I am leaving something really terrible for scholars. They will not be able to make any sense out of it. They will go nuts; and they deserve it, they should go nuts. But nobody can create an orthodoxy out of me, it is impossible. If Christianity is possible, then of course Jesus is responsible. His words may have been fiery but they were too consistent; it was too easy to make a dogma out of them. He was not careful enough. He made such simple statements that anybody could make a catechism out of them. From my words you can get burned, but you will not be able to find any kind of theology, dogmatism. You can find a way to live but not a dogma to preach. You can find a rebellious quality to be imbibed, but you will not find a revolutionary theme to be organized. My words are not only on fire. I am putting gunpowder also here and there, which will go on exploding for centuries. I am putting more than needed—I never take any chances. Almost each sentence is going to create trouble for anybody who wants to organize a religion around me. Yes, you can have a loose community, a commune. Remember the word loose: everybody independent, everybody free to live his own way, to interpret me in his own way, to find whatsoever he wants to find. He can find the way he wants to live—and everybody unto himself. There is no need for somebody to decide what my religion is. I am leaving it open-ended. You can work out a definition for yourself, but it is only for yourself; and that too you will have to continuously change. As you understand me more and more, you will have to change it. You cannot go on holding it like a dead thing in your hand. You will have to change it, and it will go on changing you simultaneously. One great Master, Nan In, was on his deathbed. He is one of those people who I can say was religious, really religious. His whole life is full of incidents, anecdotes, stories, which give a clear indication of a man of tremendous insight. He was dying. He had told his disciples, ‘I would not like my death to be mourned, because it is not death, so you will be unnecessarily wasting your tears and crying and weeping. And I will be laughing from the other shore, because I will see, ‘These fools! The whole of my life I have wasted, and they have not understood a simple thing. I would like you to dance and sing and laugh and rejoice, because death is not death. I am going, leaving this house because it is no longer useful. This body is now more of a trouble than a convenience; I am just changing it. So there is no need to mourn. You should be happy that your Master is going into a new life.’ To whatever he said they listened, but their faces were showing that they were all ready to burst into tears. They were sad—and who would not be sad when a man like Nan In leaves the world? But Nan In had made arrangements… He said, ‘A few things to be remembered… this is my will.’ In the East it is a tradition, perhaps in the West also, that before you burn or bury a body you wash the body and put new clothes on it. I know the reason in the East is that he is going on a faraway journey; maybe there will be some chance to have a bath, or maybe not. And certainly he will need new clothes, so new clothes are given, a bath is given. This is just a way to say goodbye from this shore: ‘From now onwards we cannot help, you take care of yourself.’ Nan In said, ‘Don’t give me a bath because I have just taken one. And I don’t like baths in such a cold winter; even if I am dead, I don’t want another bath. I have taken one which was necessary. I have done it myself because I was concerned that if you give me a bath I won’t know how much water you pour in, how cold, and what else you do. I have taken my bath, so that ritual has not to be done. And don’t change my clothes. You see, I have already changed, because I don’t like clothes which don’t fit, which are too loose or too tight. You know I am fussy about that, so I have my dress ready—you can see it is new.’ And they saw that he had taken a bath and he did have a new robe. Nan In said, ‘So these two things are not to be done—this is my will—but anything else you want to do, you do. Don’t weep, don’t cry, don’t mourn. That would not be the right kind of goodbye for me’—and he died. And although he had said, ‘don’t cry’—but what to do? Tears are not in your hands, just to stop or… To lose such a man, such a tremendously alive man, disappearing into who knows what. And how much he has given! Now towards whom are we going to look? Questions will be torturing us, doubts will be arising and who is going to say, ‘Don’t be worried, continue: you are on the right track and the goal is not far away.’ And his voice was enough to bring courage again, strength again. Now who is going to help? They were crying and they were weeping, but they could not manage to do it for long. People like Nan In are really creative geniuses. When his body was put on the funeral pyre they all started laughing in spite of themselves; tears were coming to their eyes. It was a strange situation: that man had hidden in his clothes many things—firecrackers and small bombs! That’s why he had prevented them from changing his clothes, that’s why he had taken his own bath. And his dress was specially made with many pockets inside where he was hiding almost a three-hour celebration. The people were laughing and crying, and the bombs were bursting and firecrackers were going off—colorful, beautiful, because in Japan they make the best. Nothing can be compared with Japanese firecrackers, they make them in such artful ways. What Nan In was continually telling these people appeared in the sky, in writing: ‘Beware!’ A firecracker would go up and burst into small, flower—like pieces and they all would fall together and make the word, ‘Beware.’ His disciples were looking at the sky and they forgot completely that it was a funeral; it became a beautiful exhibition of fireworks! They realized only as the fire died out and the body was consumed by the fire… only then did they realize that that man had been doing the same thing his whole life. He had even made arrangements before dying so that after death also his work would continue in the same way, uninterrupted. Death made no difference: Nan In was still doing the same thing. In the same way, in each of my words… I am putting enough fire, enough explosives to go on exploding for centuries! Nobody can be an ‘orthodox Rajneeshee’ unless you change the whole meaning of ‘orthodox Rajneeshee’ to be according to me, as I described to you. If by ‘orthodox Rajneeshee’ you can mean one who is untraditional, unconventional, unorthodox; rebellious as a continuity, with rebellion as his life… with no tight, regimented, bureaucratic, hierarchical organization, but just an open commune of friends who are only agreed upon one thing—that they love this crazy man… on everything else they can disagree. Their whole orthodoxy is confined to only one thing: That they love this crazy man.

Osho (From Personality to Individuality)

[shystoryrebel]

Fake Revolutionary

Ayesha Ansari was very nervous.

She had just five minutes left for her interview to start but she couldn’t find the right address. Lost, she stopped in the mysterious corridors of JNU to ask the address.

Nobody paid any attention to her. All ignored. She was bewildered and confused. Wondered why?

All were talking in English but the accent was more confusing. It was neither English nor Bihari, Bengali, Hindi, English and what not. All mixed and with twenty five per cent really good English.

‘Common room…please guide? I have to attend the interview…I am from OBC

/minority/backward region category. Where is the common room?’ She almost cried.

‘Where are you from, girl?’ asked a girl with uncombed hair, dirty jeans, cotton kurta, and cigarette in mouth.

‘Me Ayesh Ansari from Jalmahal, Bengal.’

The girl laughed. She wanted to show that she was modern and advance and she was a rustic villager.

‘What are you interviewing for? Guard or a peon?’ The ill mannered soiled clothed girl again laughed.

Ayesha Ansari did not reply as she did not want to spoil her interview. She and all seemed to be political activists. Another girl, tall and slim had some pity for her and replied, ‘Take a right turns at the multi story building and you will see there a ‘Q’ for interviews.

‘Thank you,’ she said very coolly.

‘The sign board is in English not in Bengali!’ the girl took a long puff and muttered.

Her friends pulled her and whispered some nasty things about her.

It was the first interview of Ayesha Ansari’s life. Four old men sat opposite to her. She could not understand whether they were professors or migrants of some drought hit areas.

Uncombed disheveled hair, floating beard, dirty trim fit jeans, long dirty kurata. One of them was puffing a cigar and two others were taking black tea. She was taken aback by their mannerism.

She had a different notion about the graceful attrite of professors.

She was taught to wish people before an interview. ‘Pranam, sir.’

‘We are four here,’ retorted the man sitting in the middle chair. He was around sixty years old, wore thick glasses and a loose jacket.

They all unitedly smiled at me in sarcasm. It was the English-class-to-Indian-class smile. The smile of superiority and arrogance that she wished them in Indian sanskars.

‘Pranam,’ Prof. Mukherjee said tersely.

‘Directly from village to Delhi,’ good break. Said Prof.Mandal,

‘OBC, minority, woman and the backward region category,’ said Prof.Siddiqi.

‘Dada Sunil Gangoupadhaya should be here to interview her,’ all laughed together.

‘Her category and backward region are her final merit,’ said the Prof. Mukherjee.

‘OBC, minority, woman, backward region category, Jalmahal Bengal,’ asked Prof.Siddiqi, scrutinizing through her file.

‘Yes sir,’ she was bewildered by their response.

‘Can’t you speak a full sentence?’ Prof.Yadav said in a rude voice.

‘Yes, yes, but I am afraid due to your high scholarship,’ she said meekly.

‘So…why you want to join JNU?’

There was hushed silence. All looked at her like wolfs.

‘I want good university, good city and scholarly environment for my future,’ she replied in wavering voice.

All smiled on her answer.

‘What is good about JNU and Delhi?’ Asked Prof. Mukherjee.

It was enough for her in English. She switched to Hindi. She was not comfortable in English. They will laugh on her English and she was sure to be rejected by them.

‘This university has a big name in Bihar, Bengal, Odisha and Jharkhand etc., states,’ she said.

‘Can’t you speak in English?’ Said Prof.Mandal.

She observed her slip-up on their smiling faces. She had said it because she was more at home in Hindi. But here the panel was more interested in showing their wrong accent English rather than knowing her correct Hindi.

‘Prof. Siddiqi even raised a question, how did she get a call for interview?’

Prof. Yadav perhaps realized her tension and nervousness and said to her ‘JNU desists Hindi as the medium of instruction.’

With her own mother tongue Hindi, she felt very panicky. Now she was trying to find out the easiest way to leave that place and go back to Bengal. But suddenly one Professor Yogesh Bhardwaj entered the room.

‘Bengal se ho? He said.

She was surprised but relieved.

‘Yes, sir. Bengal.’

She wanted to touch his feet. All four English speaking revolutionaries were staring at her and looking at each other with twisted brows.

‘Tell us about yourself and achievements.’ Bhardwaj Sir said.

Seeing me nervous he spoke,’ be easy and take your own time.’

The four professors were looking at Bhardwaj Sir with contempt.

She made herself relaxed and spoke her prepared lines.

‘And you want admission in M.A. English. Why?’ Asked Prof.Mandal

‘It is a very tough course. Need lot of study. Remarked Prof. Siddiqi.

She could not understand why they were against her?

‘I am from OBC, minority, woman and the backward region category or from a poor family will not work her.’ Sarcastically uttered Prof.Siddiqi.

‘Can I explain my point in Hindi Sir?’

All were surprised on her newly acquired confidence in Hindi.

All remained silent. She explained her point in Hindi.

Small crowd of students, mostly seniors, had gathered around the interview rooms. New admissions always pull the students. She stretched her neck and looked at the crowd. She saw a very simple boy. Very tall and slim.

Six feet is very attractive for an Indian boy. His fair colour, sharp features, long neck, broad shoulders, long and athletic legs were enough to pull the attention of every girl. He was an applicant of the general cum merit category. He wore blue very decently stitched trousers and white shirt.

‘5% reservation for attractive looks,’ a senior girl commented as he entered into the interview room. All the girls there giggled but he remained unfazed as if he was used to such comments.

When he passed her, she saw his sweaty charming face from close. They made eye contact for a split second and he vibrated her heart. She was attracted towards him. It was love at first sight. She felt something deep inside her heart for him. It was the most attractive face she had ever seen in her life.

All is wrapped in destiny. He returned after few second.

‘Pen, please,’ he said. She felt almost paralyzed.

She put out my pen from her bag.

‘I said pen, please,’ She held the pen for an extra second. She wanted to look at his innocent face a bit longer.

She gave him the pen. He took it nervously and looked at her.

‘Good luck, speak in English with the monsters.’ She said.

‘What?’ He looked at her. She wished she had worn better clothes.

‘They prefer English speaking candidates.’ she said. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He caught her staring. After the interview he walked up to Ayesha Ansari to return the pen.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Your pen was lucky to me. My interview was good,’ he said to her.

A few girls tried to make eye contact with him but he ignored them. She wanted to speak to him more.

‘What is your good name?’ She asked.

‘Good or bad, you know but one name, Yogesh Sharme.’ He said and smiled.

Yogesh! She liked his simple name.

‘Your name?’ He asked. For the first time in her life a handsome Brahmin boy has asked her name.

‘Myself Ayesha. Ayesha Ansari.’

‘From Bengal,’ he said and laughed.

‘You. You?’

‘From Haridwar UP..’

He was so attractive and charming that she wanted continue talking to him.

‘Wow, you are really good,’ she said.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Anyway, I have to go,’ he said and lifted his hand. ‘Bye, nice meeting you.’

‘Bye,’ she said, although her heart didn’t want it to end.

‘Unless god blesses us both and we are both lucky,’ he added and smiled.

‘Yes God will definitely bless us,’ she said.

‘Yes. If he does, then hope to see you again. Else, bye forever.’

He walked away. Her heart sank. She wanted nothing more than both of them to get admission in JNU.

She stood alone in the corner of the verandah. All others had left. She saw the red brick-coloured building and forest around it where young cupids were sitting inside every bush.

‘Good Morning,’ he said. His sober voice startled her. She had been scanning the university notice board.

She turned around. She had prayed for both of us to get admissions. She made it but his name was nowhere in the list.

She was very sad and shocked. She had only fifty percent but Yogesh Sharma had eighty five percent. Fifty percent was selected and eighty five percent was rejected. She never thought of this that her caste, religion and backward region will pay her so handsomely.

She joined the university but could not get a place in the hostel. One day she was roaming in a nearby colony in search of a room. She was shown a room in a flat. Inmate of the other room was a boy. She was hesitant but on her amazement the resident was none other than Yogesh Sharma. She gave advance and took that room.

Perhaps she was in love with Yogesh. But it was useless. She could not control her feelings. Yogesh Sharma, handsome Brahman boy, preparing for civil services and giving tuitions, most handsome boy on the earth, owner of an extraordinary intellect and speaker of mesmerizing lines and snatched her heart.

Every day she used to go to the university and he gave tuitions to students. In the night he prepared for civil services.

Sometime they walked down the university roads together. He was with her for hours.

‘You made friends here?’ he asked.

‘No’ she said.

She could not tell him that you are her only friend here.

‘You?’ She asked.

‘I am still trying to adjust,’ he said. ‘I feel I don’t belong here.’

‘Trust me, next year you will get admission,’ she said.

Our flat was a ground floor flat. There was small piece of land behind our flat. Yogesh was very fond of gardening. He was a lover of trees and plants. He planted red hibiscus, mango trees in the garden. Soon the small garden had lush green plants all around. She also started helping him in his hobby of gardening.

In this manner time passes. Days, weeks, months and a year passed.

Next session started. He again applied. But again he could not get admission due to faulty admission system where merit has less points but caste, backwardness of the region, gender etc., have more point. This system was a new kind of apartheid.

One fateful morning when she got up, Yogesh was not in his room. He had collected his belongings and left the flat.

She was shattered, devastated. In a moment, her world and dreams were crushed.

His phone was switched off. Her messages were not delivered to him. She waited for him at the entrance of the flat every evening.

Their neighbors could not understand her trauma. But they all saw it, “It was the first thought that came to her as she woke up. He was gone. And, soon, this bedroom, the house in whose eastern corner it sat, and the tiny garden outside with its gnarled old red hibiscus and the half-grown mango tree they had planted together, all those would be gone as well. It was the strangest feeling ever.”

After this her personality changed. She became silent. She never missed any class. She sat on the front seats and took notes very seriously but never participated in any discussion or activity. She would sit in the flat and the garden for hours but never talked to anyone.

Sometime she lurked on the university roads, hoping to see him again. Nights hit her hardest. She found it difficult to sleep alone. She lay on the bed where they used to sleep together. She ended up being more shattered and puzzled. She wanted to get Yogesh out of her mind but she failed.

She passed M.A. and got some jobs too. But she did not want to work in Delhi or in any big city. She got a job of a teacher in a village, Bhawanipur, Bengal. She preferred that job, where she could serve her own people and make them good citizens.

She reached the school. But she could not understand. Should she focus on the teaching or see the cracking plaster of ceiling?

‘Live with self-respect. Live for others, which are how one can earn respect.’ This was taught by her father.

School was a fifty minute walk from the main kasba of Bhawanipur. After passing through field, she reached the grey-and-red school building. It was very old building, perhaps not painted nor repaired for decades. This was the gift of our much hyped revolutionary comrades and secular TMC. Rains create more havoc.

The school has three classrooms and a common staff room. There was no electricity although electric poles were there. School has no toilet. Teachers and students have to go to the field to relieve. Ayesha used bushes or the field as do all the teachers of the school.

There was no fee; even then enrollment was very low. Indians have beggars inside. Without any fee they want all the degrees.

Imran Ansari was the most notorious boy of the school. He was hardly eighteen but appeared much bigger than his age. He belonged to a very rich and politically connected family. Both Communists and TMC leaders used to visit his father due to his grip over his community votes. Ansaris were in meat and scrap business and were doing very well.

Imran was addicted to whisky. Imran spent as much money on whisky, almost equal to the school’s entire budget. Imran was very short stature but his confidence and bullying nature made Ayesha seems like a kid answering his questions. Imran’s family was insanely rich and rough. He had an Urdu accent, used to wear skull cap and lived in a Muslim ghetto.

One day he did a horrifying thing with Ayesha. He bent forward and to hold of her waist. She was too shocked to understand this. Imran lifted her. All students giggled.

A part of frustration came from her heart. Ayesha has lived with this fakeness all her life. She was a like a refugee for Imran and his fellow students cum friends.

One day Ayesha got up very early and went to relieve in the fields. When she was washing her shit and her butt in the village pond, from the other side, a voice devastated Ayesha:

‘myadama kaal skula khulbe ?’ (‘Madam will the school open tomorrow?’) It was Imran.

Ayesha Ansari fainted. On regaining consciousness, she rushed to her room, collected her belongings and took the first morning train to Haridwar to find out her true love.

[fitjourneydaily]

ProMind Complex: The Ultimate Guide to Dental Health and Cognitive Enhancement

Introduction: In today's fast-paced world, maintaining optimal dental health and cognitive function is essential for leading a fulfilling life. ProMind Complex is a revolutionary supplement that aims to support both aspects, offering a holistic approach to oral hygiene and enhanced cognitive abilities. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into how to use ProMind Complex, its effectiveness in improving dental health, the science behind its formula, and address any doubts regarding its legitimacy. 1. How to Use ProMind Complex: ProMind Complex comes in the form of easy-to-swallow capsules. To maximize its benefits, follow these simple steps: Step 1: Take the recommended dosage – The suggested dosage is two capsules per day, preferably with a glass of water. Adhering to the recommended dosage is essential for achieving the best results. Step 2: Consistency is key – Incorporate ProMind Complex into your daily routine consistently. This ensures that the ingredients can work together over time, promoting overall oral health and cognitive enhancement. Step 3: Combine with good oral hygiene practices – Although ProMind Complex is designed to support oral health, it's essential to maintain regular brushing, flossing, and dental check-ups for optimal dental hygiene. 2. Dental Health and ProMind Complex: ProMind Complex takes a unique approach to addressing dental health by targeting the root cause of cognitive decline. It contains a synergistic blend of natural ingredients that aim to eliminate harmful bacteria associated with gum disease, plaque buildup, and bad breath. a) Combats harmful bacteria: The powerful ingredients in ProMind Complex, such as Huperzine A and Vinpocetine, have antimicrobial properties that help reduce the growth of harmful bacteria in the mouth. By doing so, it supports gum health and prevents tooth decay. b) Prevents plaque buildup: ProMind Complex ingredients work to inhibit plaque formation on teeth. This helps prevent the accumulation of harmful bacteria, maintaining the cleanliness and health of your oral cavity. c) Freshens breath: The combination of natural extracts in ProMind Complex, including peppermint and spring parsley, helps combat bad breath by neutralizing odorous compounds and promoting oral freshness. 3. Does ProMind Complex Work? ProMind Complex's unique formulation has been carefully developed by experts in the field of cognitive health and oral hygiene. The effectiveness of ProMind Complex lies in its ability to address the underlying causes of both cognitive decline and dental health issues. Here's how it works: a) Cognitive enhancement: ProMind Complex's blend of brain-boosting compounds, such as Gingko Biloba and Phosphatidylserine, promotes cognitive function by supporting brain cell communication, enhancing memory, and improving mental acuity. b) Dental health support: By targeting harmful bacteria, reducing plaque, and improving overall oral hygiene, ProMind Complex works synergistically to support the health of your teeth and gums. c) Customer testimonials: Numerous satisfied customers have reported improved cognitive function, reduced brain fog, and enhanced dental health after adding ProMind Complex to their daily routine. These positive experiences provide further evidence of the product's efficacy. 4. Is ProMind Complex a Scam? Given the saturation of the supplement market, it's natural to be cautious about the legitimacy of any product. However, ProMind Complex stands apart due to its robust scientific backing and positive customer testimonials. Its manufacturer prioritizes transparency, ensuring that the product is manufactured in an FDA-approved facility under strict quality standards. ProMind Complex is neither a scam nor a quick fix. It is a result of extensive research, combining scientifically-proven ingredients to address the underlying causes of cognitive decline and promote dental health. Tags suitable for WordPress: 1. ProMind Complex 2. Dental Health 3. Cognitive Enhancement 4. Natural Supplements Conclusion: ProMind Complex offers an innovative solution for those seeking to boost their cognitive abilities and improve dental health simultaneously. By incorporating this comprehensive supplement into your daily routine, you unlock the potential for enhanced mental clarity, improved memory, and optimal oral hygiene. With its science-backed formula and positive customer reviews, ProMind Complex is an ideal companion on the journey to overall well-being. Embrace the power of ProMind Complex and experience the transformative benefits it has to offer Uncover the truth about ProMind Complex, addressing questions on its effectiveness and legitimacy. Explore what ProMind Complex is, its safety, and where to buy. For more information, visit the 'ProMind Complex' website. Visit the ProMind Complex Product Page. Read the full article

[caffeinatedreviewer1]

LifeStraw Personal Water Filter for Hiking, Camping, Travel

Update! As a result of this review, Eartheasy, the North American distributor of the Lifestraw, sent me a few products to try out, and I appreciate when a company is willing to stand behind its products like that. I still feel that the Lifestraw itself is less useful than its fans make it out to be, and that the bottled version is the only version hikers and travelers should consider purchasing. I’ve given specific comments on the bottled version down below, which is worth a look as a portable filter for hiking and other outdoor activities.

As many of you may know, clean drinking water is kind of a big deal. The fact that nowadays we can get drinkable water, right at home, practically for free, is a downright revolutionary (and thoroughly recent) development, and one which remains entirely out of reach for billions throughout the world.

Enter the Lifestraw: A small, lightweight, portable, durable, relatively inexpensive filtration device that can hang around your neck like a necklace, providing you with filtered water wherever you go. It has won an endless string of accolades, and has even been called “one of the ten things that will change the way we live,” with legions of adoring fans singing its praises, swearing by its use in situations of all sorts.

Unfortunately, I think it’s bizarrely overrated.

https://amzn.to/3gpvGxC

The Lifestraw is a hollow-membrane filter built into a straw. You place the straw into the water, and drink. Sucking the water up through the straw forces it through the filter, which removes 99.9999% of bacteria, and 99.9% of protozoa, down to 0.2 microns, with a filter that lasts for 1000 liters, for about $20. Not bad, right?

That’s pretty good, but on the downside, it won’t remove microscopic minerals, chemicals, or viruses.

This isn’t necessarily a deal-breaker, since most water will be fine, especially if you’re just filtering river water to avoid getting sick…but this thing was designed for the third world, with viruses all over the place, meaning you’d need iodine or other methods to eliminate the potential threat of viral diseases.

It’s certainly better than nothing, and preventing most water-borne diseases is better than preventing none. The Lifestraw was designed to provide excellent filtration at a reasonable cost, which is probably more effective than providing perfect filtration at a high cost, which could very well be too expensive to accomplish its own goals of third world disease reduction. Again, missing the viruses isn’t a deal-breaker, and it can prevent a huge number of water-borne diseases from infecting at-risk populations, but people talk about this thing like it’s the messiah of water filters.

But that’s not even the most annoying part.

The weird problem no Lifestraw review ever seems to mention

I have gone over this problem again and again in my head, looking at the endless cavalcade of glowing Lifestraw reviews, “Invention of the Century” accolades, and legions of ardent fans, and cannot fathom why no one seems to notice or care.

Take a look at the snazzy in-action shot of a guy using the Lifestraw out in the real world:

What happens when you walk away from the water?

No more water.

So if you’re heading into riverless mountains, or the desert, or a 12 hour bus ride in body-temperature heat, or any other situation in which you won’t have access to water, you’ll have to fill up a water bottle ahead of time, and whenever you want a drink of water, you have to:

Open the bottle

Open the Lifestraw’s top cap

Open the Lifestraw’s bottom cap

Stick the Lifestraw inside

Drink

Take it out

Expel the remaining water

Close the top cap

Close the bottom cap

Close the bottle.

And then…you’ve got a wet Lifestraw, so you’ll probably end up with wet clothes. Sexy!

People talk about how “simple” this is, as if handling three caps instead of one is somehow…simple?

On a related note, imagine traveling with this thing, and trying to fill up from a sink. You’d have to plug the sink, fill it up, wait for it to get deep enough to drink, then take a few sips, unplug the sink, and walk away. Imagine being incredibly thirsty and trying to do this in a hurry. Now imagine you’re about to get on a 12 hour bus ride through midday temperature highs, and all you had ahead of time was a quick sip from the sink, and that’s all you’ll have until the next time you get to another sink, when you’d begin the sink plug process anew. Just for one sip.

Seriously, has anyone actually used this thing?

What the Lifestraw should have been

So here we finally are, at a product that’s actually recommendable. The Lifestraw Go. They took the Lifestraw and stuck it inside a water bottle, which eliminates the pointless inconvenience of only being able to drink with water nearby, or having to deal with three different caps and two separate objects for every sip.

But damn…the Lifestraw has been around since about 2005, and this bottled version only started shipping around 2013. This means that for 8 long years, nobody ever bothered asking “Dude, what if you walk away from the river but you’re still thirsty?” Sigh.

This bottled version was designed for the consumer market, which makes a lot of sense, and it’s true that shipping a million regular Lifestraws to disaster zones or poverty-stricken rural areas is logistically easier than shipping a million bottled Lifestraws, as they’d need maybe 5 or 6 times as many shipments due to the size, but damn…how does anyone use the regular one more than a few times without going crazy?

While it’s true that the original Lifestraw was designed for simplicity, portability, durability, and ease of use (and somewhat succeeds), I just can’t see many good reasons not to stick it inside a water bottle in the first place. Particularly from a consumer standpoint, the bottled version is clearly the correct answer here.

Update: I can think of ONE situation in which the straw by itself might be more useful than a bottle: Trail running, near a river. You can strap it to your leg, so it doesn’t bounce around, and you’re always near an outdoor water source, which would only need this type of filtration, and wouldn’t need a bottle.

But, ranting aside, is it a good filter? Is it a cost-effective solution to commonplace water purification needs, third world or otherwise? Could this be the one and only water purification method you employ, whether hiking in the mountains, or adventuring throughout the developing world?

Well…maybe.

Remember, it still can’t filter viruses, which is what you’d want in developing countries.

That’s not to say it’s not useful. A $35 water bottle that provides 0.2 micron filtration which lasts for 1000 liters certainly isn’t bad.

But on the other hand, you can just get the Sawyer Water Bottle, which manages 0.1 micron filtration for a guaranteed 3.7 million liters for a one-time cost of $50.

Um…tell me again, why is the Lifestraw so popular?

It has been claimed that the Lifestraw’s lifespan estimates are intended to be a little on the safe side, using low-quality water for all of its tests, which is good (and Sawyer’s lofty claims were put to the test, and were sadly shown to come up short, so the performance difference is likely to be smaller than what is claimed). And again, it’s not that it’s bad, and the filtration quality will probably work just fine if you’re hiking in North America, and you could supplement it with iodine tablets if you ever take it with you to Mexico, or wherever else you might want anti-viral protection. And if you’re drinking a liter of water per day, a $35 Lifestraw Go will last almost 3 years, which isn’t bad at all, and if you’re only using it for camping trips on weekends, it’ll last much longer. I also think it looks nicer than the Sawyer. So it’s definitely good; it’s just not necessarily the best, neither on filtration quality, nor on cost-effectiveness.

Update: After receiving and using the Lifestraw Go, I can say that it’s a pretty good product for hikers who plan on filling up from a river and just want a simple water bottle filter to do the job. Its filtration performance isn’t as strong as the Sawyer, nor is it as cost-effective, but it’s still effective and affordable, for non-viral filtration. Keep in mind it’s supposed to filter biological contaminants rather than chemical, meaning it’s more suited to filtering clear river water than tap water, which is more likely to have chemicals of some sort.

Two issues: Firstly, the Lifestraw Go does not use the regular Lifestraw as a replacement filter, but instead uses a slightly modified version. This means you cannot replace the filter inside the Lifestraw Go with a regular Lifestraw, and, at the moment anyway, you cannot buy just the replacement filter by itself. When your Lifestraw Go reaches the end of its life, you’ll have to buy an entirely new bottle. I expect that if the product is successful that they will offer those replacement filters by themselves, but it’s worth being aware of this issue.

Secondly, when the bottle is shut and the straw is folded down, it protrudes slightly beyond the edge of the lid, and it’s easy to get your grubby hands all over the straw when you pick up the bottle, potentially getting the straw a little dirty and thus defeating the purpose of drinking filtered water. This could be easily fixed, and I hope they do it. Second update: THEY DID!

If you think it’s for you, check it out here.

But again, neither of these devices will provide chemical or viral filtration. If you want to get rid of viruses, then you’ll need iodine tablets, or a UV light, or upgrade to a water bottle that actually gets rid of viruses, too.

What if I need serious purification?

For most people, high-quality filtration works just fine. If you’re hiking in North America or filtering tap water while traveling through modern countries, you probably don’t need virus removal to be safe. But if you’re traveling in developing countries with incredibly questionable tap water, you might want to take some extra precautions.

And yes, you can fit a whole purifier right inside a water bottle, like these do:

So why does everyone love the Lifestraw?!?!

Well, I don’t really know. It was even called the “Invention of the Century,” from a publication I otherwise enjoy, despite lower performance and higher long-term cost than competing options that have been on the market for years.

Again, it’s not bad, and the bottled version solves quite a bit of the silly ridiculousness of the straw-only version, but everyone adores the straw-only version, as a consumer product, which is absolutely inexplicable to me.

But I have a theory:

At $13, it’s cheaper than many other filters, and, admittedly, its filtration capability is pretty good, and a lot better than most of what I’ve seen for the same initial cost. It has a nice impulse-buy price point that gets people interested, and its unique design sets it apart in a world of filtered pitchers, faucet adapters, and so on. And when it arrives in the mail, people give it a try, drinking from a cloudy glass of water, and impressing some friends. Buyers are left happy.

And then they never use it.

Seriously. If you read the Lifestraw reviews on Amazon, you’ll see lots and lots of people talking about how great it is, who stuffed it into an emergency preparedness kit and never bothered with it again. They’re rating the product on how cool they think it is, not how practical it is in real-world use.

People actually love it so much that they videotape themselves drinking from jars of water full of feces…which is explicitly something the Lifestraw cannot handle, because water contaminated this way can easily have viruses inside, which the Lifestraw is incapable of removing. There’s a level of enthusiasm for this product that is literally dangerous.

So is the Lifestraw useful at all?

I would like to clarify that I am examining the Lifestraw from a consumer standpoint, rather than from a disaster-relief or third world disease alleviation product. It offers plenty of functionality in those situations, especially the Lifestraw Family, which is a larger (though still portable) filter intended for home use that does remove viruses. Most of my annoyance should be directed toward the overrating fanboys, who post videos of people drinking toilet water, and then resort to third-grade name-calling if anyone ever criticizes its performance or design.

So it’s certainly not horrible, particularly the bottled version, which is the only one you should bother looking at. Its filtration capability is actually quite good, and it’s pretty convenient. I just think it has been played up way too much in the media, and people salivate over it like it’s this work of art that no disaster-preparedness kit should ever be without.

Just remember that it is incapable of handling chemical and viral contamination, meaning you should only use it within a narrow band of circumstances; outdoor recreation, in North America (and similar settings), where the water you come across has neither chemicals nor viruses.

So it’s certainly worth a look, but I can’t say it’s the best. Competing products provide better filtration at a more cost-effective price, while other devices handle viruses as well, which is what you’d want in developing countries.

[perfectirishgifts]

2021: The Year We Start Securing Data Even When In Use

New Post has been published on https://perfectirishgifts.com/2021-the-year-we-start-securing-data-even-when-in-use/

2021: The Year We Start Securing Data Even When In Use

Remember when Apple AAPL first allowed you to put “1,000 songs in your pocket”?

Remember when an mp3 player was the height of modernity?

Few of us now remember the days when we had to carry around a wallet of CDs and a discman if we wanted to listen to music on the move.

But notice how we barely even remember iPods, either! Something that seemed so new was itself first commoditised and then rendered redundant.

It’s probably a long time since you’ve ‘ripped’ a CD or paid for a song on iTunes. But you probably don’t even bother to download Spotify tracks for ‘offline’ use these days, so prevalent has high-quality pervasive connectivity become.

It’s a normal part of the technology lifecycle that a product that at first seemed ground-breaking soon becomes commoditised and accepted as the status quo… and sometimes even then obsoleted.

We know this is just the circle of technological life.

But that period of novelty, even if it is fleeting, is nevertheless a period of ambition, creation and opportunity. Even when you know something will be commoditised there can still be good money to be made from it whilst it’s still new.

Think about something as mundane as security on the web.

What does the padlock in your browser actually. mean?

The once rare, but now ubiquitous green padlock in the URL bar is a simple visual cue to the end user of a website that the page is secure, and they can submit sensitive information to your server. As we all now understand, this is because the site uses HTTPS, which is designed to prevent anyone from reading or modifying the data you exchange with the website, made possible because of the SSL/TLS protocol that secures transmitted data.

When this was first introduced in 1994, very few websites used it. As adoption grew, we became subconsciously trained to look for it as web users. Firms who adopted it before their competitors could win business from the laggards.

Everybody knew it would soon be ubiquitous. But it didn’t happen immediately. There was opportunity even when you knew where things were heading.

Now we’re at the point where it’s table-stakes – we even use it for simple documentation sites, and any website owner that doesn’t use it is seen as negligent.

And the firms who mastered the technology early were well placed when it became an expected cost of doing business. If you were ever in doubt about the importance of mastering pivotal technologies before ubiquity, just look at the price of eCommerce specialists in 2020 as the retailers who failed to invest in their web presence went into full-on panic mode when the pandemic struck.

But how does this apply to data security in the world of enterprise technology?

As we head into 2021, we’re beginning this same process in the lifecycle of a previously niche technology, Confidential Computing. It was those working on enterprise blockchain projects who have helped propel it into the mainstream but the impact will spread far beyond as it helps us deliver on the promise of securing a business’s data whilst in use.

Securing business data whilst it’s being used? Aren’t security protocols such as HTTPS already meant to protect us like that?

Well, you might assume that, but…no.

Have you ever stopped to ask yourself what that little green security padlock actually means?

Secure in what way?

What does it actually represent?

What protection is it giving you?

What bad things could happen to you if the padlock wasn’t there?

And in any case, isn’t there a padlock when you browse sites like Facebook? And yet aren’t they appearing in the news regularly accused of “selling” or “misusing” your data? How can they do this if they have the padlock and the padlock means it’s “secure”?

The answer, of course, is that the padlock is there simply to ensure you really are logged in to facebook.com and not some other site. And it ensures that nobody can intercept your private information as it flows back and forth between your computer and Facebook’s data centres.

The padlock in your browser keeps your data safe as it travels to and from your favourite social media service. That’s important, of course.

But notice what that padlock doesn’t do.

That padlock doesn’t tell you anything about what Facebook will do with your data once it arrives. You just know you’re sharing your data with them and not somebody else.

In the world of business, where data is often a firm’s most valuable asset, this situation is no longer acceptable. Traders, for example, want to buy and sell stocks for the best prices in the most liquid venues. But they don’t want the operators of those venues using their orders to trade against them.

This is where Confidential Computing comes in.

This technology makes it possible to check what program is running on somebody else’s computer before you send your information, and to be sure that the owner of that computer can neither influence nor observe what’s happening.

And it’s going to utterly transform how we think about data security.

OK, but what does this have to do with blockchain?

In my last column I stated the fact that no technology stands alone. After all, market-level cooperation, which is the central promise of enterprise blockchain platforms, relies on accurate, timely and secure data sharing between firms.

But that’s not always the whole story. What if firms need to gain collective intelligence from data that needs to remain concealed? Blockchain has no answers to that question. But by integrating an adjacent technology – such as Confidential Computing – this challenge can finally be overcome.

The last five years of enterprise blockchain development have woken the business world up to the fact we can solve problems for entire markets in a way that we couldn’t in the past. Just look at some of the market-wide initiatives that are already live – Spunta Banca DLT for interbank reconciliation in Italy, B3i for the global insurance industry, and Contour and Marco Polo for trade finance. But that’s not to say it’s easy bringing so many different players together – in fact, it’s been much harder than many of us anticipated, and taken much longer. But it is possible – and the live use cases of this technology continue to grow month by month.

Ironically, however, as the technology moves towards widespread adoption, fewer and fewer businesses will realise that the platforms and apps they’re using are being powered by blockchain. It won’t be new or exciting anymore, it’ll just be there – and it will work.

Similar to that little green padlock.

As we head into 2021, Confidential Computing will begin its journey on this same lifecycle. Ever since blockchain firms began working with clients on tackling their challenges with blockchain technology, there would always be someone in the room that would say: “you don’t need a blockchain for that!” And guess what – sometimes they were right. In some scenarios, firms needed to collaborate at a market level but not everyone’s records needed to be synchronised.

The challenge was sometimes to bring together data to extract insight but without anybody seeing anybody else’s information – and this is what Confidential Computing is able to achieve. And so, the combination of these two innovations enables collaborative data processing without giving up privacy. This seemingly simple premise is in fact so revolutionary that it will enable businesses to gain a major competitive edge and grow market share in the coming years.

Imagine, for example, a bank that operates a dark pool. As a buyer or seller, you can send a bid or offer to the bank and be assured that you won’t be revealed to other participants. Your trade will be successful only if it’s matched with a counterpart, but the act of buying or selling doesn’t move the market unintentionally. This is a low-risk way to test the market – but you’re sending data to the bank and it can do whatever it wants with it. The only real protection is the bank’s privacy policy and its reputation as a trusted institution.

There have been some very high-profile examples of front running in this scenario – so imagine if a bank actively gave up its freedom to see your data by deploying Confidential Computing. Isn’t it possible it would actually grow its market share?

Or imagine multiple institutions being able to share all their transaction data to a third party via a blockchain-based anti-fraud solution and the third party being able to analyse it for fraud patterns without actually seeing any of the sensitive data. Would they not quickly become a market leader?

And that’s why the convergence of blockchain and Confidential Computing is my tip for 2021’s most meaningful development in the enterprise software world.

As the world’s software engineers come to view Corda and other blockchain platforms as just another tool in their toolkits – just like the green padlock, Confidential Computing will begin this same journey towards adoption and ubiquity. Because with the massive benefits it offers businesses that value the privacy of their data, there’s no way it can be held back.

And even though it’s abundantly obvious to me that it will be the table-stakes for anybody processing other people’s data in a few years’ time, it’s also the case that those who master it in 2021 will enjoy an amazing period of competitive advantage when they’re the only ones in their industry who can make data security promises to their customers that their competitors could only dream of.

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