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skaruresonic · 10 months ago

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Colonizers are something else…

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This entire thread is evil. I have no other way of describing it.

“The reservations are bad because they made them that way.”

No, reservations are in poor condition because when the government finished killing most of us, they shunted the survivors onto prisoner of war camps situated on shitty land in the hopes of breaking our spirits so badly the last of us would die out.

I’m not even going to bother addressing the rest of the reply because it’s sneering at mixed Natives over blood quantum, something the federal government invented in order to “breed” the Indian out of us.

People tend to misinterpret decolonization through a settler lens. Because they personally cannot conceive of a scenario in which Native people are stewards of the land because their ancestors took it through industrialized violence and force, they automatically believe Indians would seize power in some bloody coup if given half the chance. Yet they don’t realize the contradiction inherent in believing we’re too small and weak to affect such change while also believing we’d play the part of violent savages.

Which is it? Are we too dangerous, or too stupid, for our own good?

This is literal fucking fascist thinking.

Nobody in this Chili’s knows how tribal adoption practices and mourning raids work, and I wish they would all shut up about it.

When tribes went to war, they lost people. Mourning raids - called such because of associations with grief over those lost - would be conducted as a form of compensation in which families, usually women and children, from the enemy’s side would be captured and adopted into the tribe.

While I won’t lie, slavery did take place among Native tribes, this particular Redditor is acting as though mourning raids and slavery are equivalent, which is erroneous.

It wasn’t assimilation in the sense that colonization is assimilation, because assimilation requires a complete shedding of the previous identity, while adoption did not. The adopted were allowed to retain some of their old ways, which were instead integrated with the new.

People who act like the settlers and the Indians threw hands the moment they clapped eyes on each other due to some assumed inherent incompatibility are selling you some heavy fascist historical revisionism, and I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that. Because this is also not accounting for the fact that some settler demographics we think of as white today managed to find common ground with us even outside of the context of adoption. From what scant I understand (and I apologize if I’m inaccurate), this mixing of cultures into a unique culture, neither strictly one or the other but both, is the basis of the Métis. In addition, I’ve read about Highland Scots and Natives peacefully coexisting due to similarities in culture and histories of oppression by the imperialist machine.

Of course, regular old adoption sans war takes place as well (present tense, because we still practice it). There are records of colonists confusing adoption for sacrificial rites: the most famous case being John Smith’s.

You know why he made up that story of Matoaka (her name’s not Pocahontas; also, she was ten) rescuing him? Because, in addition to having a fetish for making up stories where a Beautiful Exotic Girl from whatever culture he was annoying at the moment rescued him from ~a most horrible death~ at the last minute (ew), he saw something he didn’t understand and he was like

Call it assimilation if it makes you feel better, but you should really know that mourning raids were considered a way of strengthening the tribe by bolstering numbers, since we don’t consider skin color a factor in one’s indigeneity. You could be the blondest, most blue-eyed, most pale-skinned white person in the world, but if your tribe recognizes you as one of their own, that’s it, you’re one of us now. No questions asked.

Also, because you’re considered a part of the tribe once you’re adopted, you’re not supposed to talk about it in a way that draws special attention to it. Talking about it in such a way implies invalidity. You wouldn’t draw attention to the fact that your adopted children are adopted over your biological children when both are your children. Making a distinction is just shitty.

That’s not how landback works, you fascist ignoramus. You are literally espousing White Replacement Theory.

The brainrot has left them so bereft of critical thinking that they can’t possibly conceive of the notion that fighting for the right to sovereignty and self-determination is not colonization.

Actual Manifest Destiny bullshit.

I’m… legit in awe.

Ah yes because victim-blaming never gets tired.

“They should have teamed up but they hated each other so much that some tribes helped the colonizers then the colonizers enslaved them afterwards.”

(stares in Haudenosaunee, literally a “confederacy of Six Nations” which came together in peace hundreds of years before colonization)

Also, they’ve got it backwards. The colonists did the enslaving first, and because Indians were the most convenient “resource” in the early days, they shipped Native people off before the chattel trade.

Knowledge is power indeed.

“We straight up gave them a bunch of land, and many tribes have a significant level of UBI because of their casinos, and I’ve yet to see a beautiful, well-cared for reservation.”

A.) God, I wish we had UBI. Not every tribe gets UBI, much less from “casinos.”

B.) A bunch? Bitch where? Reservations can’t even be called pittances because they were a tactic of assimilation, not an offer of generosity.

And as my own tribe’s history proves, the state is always trying to encroach upon even that. We gave you all this land, except when we need it to build a dam. Then we’ll take half the rez and bulldoze your farms and homes, forcing you to relocate on the place you were originally forced to relocate to. Because you clearly weren’t using that land, you see. Aren’t we so generous uwu.

C.) It was shitty land, land believed to be uninhabitable and unfarmable because again, the intent was to break the survivors’ spirits so badly that they would have no other choice but to die out or assimilate. And when it turned out sometimes that land turned out to have some hidden resource, like oil, the Natives were murdered over it. Killers of the Flower Moon wasn’t fiction.

D.) Reservations were originally PRISONER OF WAR CAMPS, you fucking heartless bastard.

E.) The aforementioned coupled with trauma and the intergenerational transmission of poverty (nobody hires Indians if they act “too” Indian, thus perpetuating the cycle) are the reasons most reservations are destitute. You made this shithole, stuck us in it, and now cluck your tongue at us for not sweeping up. Unreal.

F.) Assuming reservations aren’t “well-cared for” is racist, and the mere expectation that they’d be neat and tidy after we endured, essentially, genocide to the point of apocalypse, is utterly heartless.

“Two completely opposing cultures can never live peacefully together.” - oh you must be a joy to have at parties

“One will always destroy the other.”

I would now like to direct your attention to the Two Row Wampum. It is the peace treaty between the Haudenosaunee and the Dutch settlers:

The metaphor being that, although our ways are different and we may not always see eye-to-eye on certain matters, we can coexist in peace, or row down the river in parallel, as equals.

“Neither will attempt to steer the other’s vessel,” “Together we will travel in Friendship and Peace forever” - what was that about Natives inevitably foisting colonization and violence onto everyone else because Muh Evil Human Nature? sorry I can’t hear you over all this ding dong you are wrong

oh but ig the Two Row Wampum doesn’t count because we were all such bloodthirsty savages, right. We saw settlers making homes for themselves and we didn’t convene or discuss the matter in a peaceful and organized manner or extend them any help. Our savage minds were automatically like crush maim kill destroy and that’s why boarding schools are justified.

Funny because we believe no one owns the Earth, either. Funny how we already believed that.

Your friendly reminder that Natives were beaten, killed, and arrested for practicing their spirituality until the seventies.

“sometimes I can still hear their voices”

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That’s it. Jesus. Which one of you ungagged Governor Radcliffe?

This entire thread is trash and just ignorant fascist talking points. While normally I would ignore it, I feel compelled to point out that this shit was posted three hours ago. A veritable case study in why it is always morally correct to punch fascists in the face.

#submission

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atlanticcanada · 1 year ago

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United Way starts to distribute N.S. wildfire relief

United Way Halifax has begun giving out funding to organizations as part of the wildfire recovery.

The charity says the money is being used to cover needs like food, appliance replacements, baby hygiene and cleaning supplies. Twelve organizations in the Tantallon-area as well as Shelburne and Barrington have received funding so far.

The Wildfire Recovery Appeal has raised more than $1.3 million dollars -- more than $300,000 of which came from a relief concert.

“The money that United Way raises is going to people affected by the wildfires,” said Sue LaPierre, director of social impact strategy with United Way Halifax. “People who were displaced. People who’ve lost their homes. People without insurance. People who can’t afford their deductible.”

About $15,000 went to St. Nicholas Anglican Church in Upper Tantallon.

Their volunteers are working as quickly as they can to give it to those who need it.

“Mostly in small denominations,” said Tanya Moxley, the treasurer and board member at St. Nicholas Anglican Church. “Grocery cards, Walmart, helping with kids supplies -- that kind of stuff.”

The team of volunteers is also managing larger requests.

“We’ve also had two specific requests from United Way to put together a $1,000 package for two folks that were uninsured completely and really needed a lot of support.”

United Way approved about $20,000 dollars to the St. Margaret’s Bay Toy Library, a volunteer-run group that usually helps loan toys to kids.

Their volunteers will be giving $200 gift cards to Toys R Us to kids from the hardest hit areas, some who’ve lost everything, as well as $50 gas cards for their families to get there.

“We think of toys as something silly but it means a lot to these kids and we want them to know that we care and we’re going to do our best to replace it,” said Jill Crowe, who is helping to run the operation.

The wildfires levelled Terry Hiltz’ home. The house was insured and he plans to rebuild.

As he tackles his own tasks, he and his neighbours want to see any relief money help those people who need it most.

“I’m not looking for any handout or anything. I’m not like that,” said Hiltz. “But there’s a lot of people that are way worse off than I am, and I mean, that’s where the money should go to help those people out.”

For some, credit card debt is mounting to cover things like cleaning costs. In Mona Buchanan’s case, insurance has been slow.

“More costs are mounting on,” she said.

Hiltz notes how contractors have been digging into their own pockets to help support people as they rebuild and he believes they too should be eligible for help.

“Contractors that are working for people that maybe don’t have house insurance. Or don’t have a lot of money to work with. Maybe give some money to those people because they’ve got to make a living too,” Hiltz said.

CTV News asked United Way about whether contractors would be eligible for funding and Sue LaPierre noted how United Way only gives to people through non-profits, charities or Indigenous governing bodies.

“It is possible that one of those organizations could try to coordinate efforts and contract out on individual’s behalf,” LaPierre said.

She noted United Way still has well over $1 million left from the money it’s raised thus far.

“It’s just the early days of distributing money,” she said. “We are continuing to fundraise and we don’t know what the future needs are going to be.”

LaPierre said she expects United Way to be working for months to help people as their needs evolve.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/4jFbfPg

#new brunswick #prince edward island #nova scotia #news #politics #canada #CTVAtlantic

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worurntas · 2 years ago

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silverlab101 · 2 years ago

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olderthannetfic · 4 years ago

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I'm a Chinese, nationally and racially. Racial projection seems to be a common practice in western fandom, doesn't it? I find it a bit... weird to witness the drama ignited upon shipping individuals with different races, or the tendency to separate characters into different "colors" even though the world setting doesn't divide races like that. Such practice isn't a thing here. Mind explaining a bit on this phenomenon?

Sure, I can try. But of course, fish aren’t very good at explaining the water they swim in.

Americans aren’t good at detecting our own Americanness, and a lot of what you’re seeing is very much culturally American rather than Western in general. (In much of Europe, “race” is a concept used by racists, or so I’m told, unlike in the US where it’s seen more neutrally.) Majority group members (i.e. me, a white girl) aren’t usually the savviest about minority issues, but I’ll give it a shot.

The big picture is that most US race stuff boils down to our attempts to justify and maintain slavery and that dynamic being applied, awkwardly, to everyone else too, even years after we abolished slavery.

There’s a concept called the “one drop rule” where a person is “black” if they have even one drop of black blood.

We used to outlaw “interracial” marriage until quite recently. (That meant marriage between black people and white people with Asians and Hispanic people and others wedged in awkwardly.) Here’s the Wikipedia article on this, which contains the following map showing when we legalized interracial marriage. The red states are 1967.

That’s within living memory for a ton of people! Yellow is 1948 to 1967. This is just not very long ago at all. (Hell, we only fully banned slavery in 1865, which is also just not that long ago when it comes to human culture.)

Why did we have this bananas-crazy set of laws and this idiotic notion that one remote ancestor defines who you are? It boils down to slavery requiring a constant reaffirming that black people are all the same (and subhuman) while white people are all this completely separate category. The minute you start intermarrying, all of that breaks down. This was particularly important in our history because our system of slavery involved the kids of slaves being slaves and nobody really buying their way out. Globally, historically, there are other systems of slavery where there was more mobility or where enslaved people were debtors with a similar background to owners, and thus the people in power were less threatened by ambiguity in identity.

Post-slavery, this shit hung around because it was in the interests of the people in power to maintain a similar status quo where black people are fundamentally Other.

A lot of our obsession with who counts as what is simply a legacy of our racist past that produced our racist present.

The other big factor in American concepts of identity is that we see ourselves as a nation of immigrants (ignoring our indigenous peoples, as usual). A lot of people’s families arrived here relatively recently, and we often don’t have good records of exactly where they were from, even aside from enslaved people who obviously wouldn’t have those records. Plenty of people still identify with a general nationality (”Italian-American” and such), but the nuance the family might once have had (specific region of Italy, specific hometown) is often lost. Yeah, I know every place has immigrants, and lots of people don’t have good records, but the US is one of those countries where families have on average moved around a lot more and a lot more recently than some, and it affects our concepts of identity. I think some of the willingness to buy into the idea of “races” rather than “ethnicities” has to do with this flattening of identity.

New immigrant groups were often seen as Other and lesser, but over time, the ones who could manage it got added to our concept of “whiteness”, which gave them access to those same social and economic privileges.

Skin color is a big part of this. In a system that is founded on there being two categories, white owners and black slaves, skin color is obviously going to be about that rather than being more of a class marker like it is in a lot of the world.

But it’s not all about skin color since we have plenty of Europeans with somewhat darker skin who are seen as generically white here, while very pale Asians are not. I’m not super familiar with all of the history of anti-Asian racism in the US, but I think this persistent Otherness probably boils down to Western powers trying to justify colonial activities in Asia plus a bunch of religious bullshit about predominantly Christian nations vs. ones that are predominantly Buddhist or some other religion.

In fact, a lot of racist archetypes in English can be traced back to England’s earliest colonial efforts in Ireland. Justifying colonizing Those People because they’re subhuman and/or ignorant and in need of paternalistic rulers or religious conversion is at the bottom of a lot of racist notions. Ironic that we now see Irish people as clearly “white”.

There are a lot of racist porn tropes and racist cultural baggage here around the idea of black people being animalistic. Racist white people think black men want to rape/steal white women from white men. Black women get seen as hypersexual and aggressive. If this sounds like white people projecting in order to justify murder and rape... well, it is.

Similar tropes get applied to a lot of groups, often including Hispanic and Middle Eastern people, though East Asians come in more for creepy fantasies about endlessly submissive and promiscuous women. This nonsense already existed, but it was certainly not helped by WWII servicemen from here and their experiences in Asia. Again, it’s a projection to justify shitty behavior as what the party with less power was “asking for”.

In porn and even romance novels, this tends to turn up as a white character the audience is supposed to identify with paired with an exotic, mysterious Other or an animalistic sexy rapist Other.

A lot of fandoms are based on US media, so all of our racist bullshit does apply to the casting and writing of those, whether or not the fic is by Americans or replicating our racist porn tropes.

(Obviously, things get pretty hilarious and infuriating once Americans get into c-dramas and try to apply the exact same ideas unchanged to mainstream media about the majority group made by a huge and powerful country.)

Politically, within the US, white people have had most of the power most of the time. We also make up a big chunk of the population. (This is starting to change in some areas, which has assholes scared shitless.) This means that other groups tend to band together to accomplish shared political goals. They’re minorities here, so they get lumped together.

A lot of Americans become used to seeing the world in terms of “white people” who are powerful oppressors and “people of color” who are oppressed minorities. They’re trying to be progressive and help people with less power, and that’s good, but it obviously becomes awkward when it’s over-applied to looking at, say, China.

Now... fandom...

I find that fandom, in general, has a bad habit of holding things to double standards: queer things must be Good Representation™ even when they’re not being produced for that purpose. Same for ethnic minorities or any other minority. US-influenced parts of fandom (which includes a lot of English-speaking fandom) tend to not be very good at accepting that things are just fantasy. This has gotten worse in recent years.

As fandom has gotten more mainstream here, general media criticism about better representation (both in terms of number of characters and in terms of how they’re portrayed) has turned into fanfic criticism (not enough fics about ship X, too many about ship Y, problematic tropes that should not be applied to ship X, etc.). I find this extremely misguided considering the smaller reach of fandom but, more importantly, the lack of barriers to entry. If you think my AO3 fic sucks, you can make an account and post other fic that will be just as findable. You don’t need money or industry connections or to pass any particular hurdle to get your work out there too.

People also (understandably) tend to be hypersensitive to anything that looks like a racist porn trope. My feeling is that many of these are general porn tropes and people are reaching. There are specific tropes where black guys are given a huge dick as part of showing that they’re animalistic and hypersexual, but big dicks are really common in porn in general. The latter doesn’t automatically mean you’re doing the former unless there are other elements present. A/B/O or dubcon doesn’t mean it’s this racist trope either, not unless certain cliched elements are present. OTOH, it’s not hard for a/b/o tropes to feel close to “animalistic guy is rapey”, so I can see why it often bothers people.

A huge, huge, huge proportion of wank is “all rape fantasies are bad” crap too, which muddies the waters. I think a lot of people use “it’s racist” as an easy way to force others to agree with their incorrect claims that dubcon, noncon, a/b/o, etc. are fundamentally bad. Many fans, especially white fans, feel like they don’t know enough to refute claims of racism, so they cave to such arguments even when they’re transparently disingenuous.

Not everyone here thinks this way. I know plenty of people offline, particularly a lot of nonwhite people, who think fandom discourse is idiotic and that the people “protecting” people or characters of color are far more racist than the people writing “bad” fic or shipping the wrong thing.

But in general, I’d say that the stuff above is why a lot of us see the world as white people in power vs. everyone else as oppressed victims, interracial relationships as fraught, and porn about them as suspect. Basically, it’s people trying to be more progressive and aware but sometimes causing more harm than good when those attempts go awry.

#Anonymous

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 4 years ago

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(pt 1) i really enjoy all your atla analyses & you've done a great job breaking down the usual arguments re how eip shows that kataang shouldn't have happened. i'm curious about your take on one specific argument that i just saw today, in an analysis of the show by a zker that was otherwise quite good and respectful (i know you've already talked about eip a lot, so no problem if you don't feel like rehashing). the premise: aang didn't just pressure katara in eip, he threatened her.

(pt 2) they point to when katara joins aang & asks if he’s alright: “aang: no, i’m not! i hate this play! katara: i know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting. aang: overreacting? if i hadn’t blocked my chakra, i’d probably be in the avatar state right now!” the suggestion is he’s threatening her when he says ‘i’d probably be in the avatar state right now’ to describe his anger. i think this take exaggerates and oversimplifies it, but interested in your thoughts on it.

Hello my friend!! It is true I am Old inside and don’t like rehashing dhdlksjslks BUT your comments on my posts are always incredibly kind and insightful so I am more than willing to do a bit of rehashing for you 🥰 Besides! I’ve seen this general take before a few times and it’s always irked me for the exact reason you point out - it simultaneously exaggerates and oversimplifies the situation (and honestly that’s an impressive duality since it’s seemingly contradictory, so hats off to them lmaooo) - and now is as good a time as any to address it. So, for starters, let’s go ahead and get the excerpt they love to focus on so much:

Cut to Aang standing alone on a balcony. Katara enters and walks up to him.

Katara: Are you all right?

Aang: [Angered.] No, I’m not! I hate this play! [Yanks his hat off and throws it on the ground.]

Katara: I know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting.

Aang: Overreacting? If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!

Here’s the thing about so-called analyses of this excerpt: in a manner extremely convenient to the poster, they never seek to contextualize this moment. (I mean, to do so would deplatform their entire “argument” - perhaps that’s why they avoid performing a full analysis?) So let’s avoid that pitfall from the start.

Firstly, below are some links to related posts; I’m going to do my best to summarize the most relevant parts, but for anyone who desires greater detail, I gotchu 😤

This post explains why EIP (the play, lol) is imperialist propaganda and is intended to belittle the entire Gaang.

This post explains how Aang never acted “entitled” to Katara’s affections, particularly in regard to EIP.

This post breaks down the infamous EIP kiss like Snopes Fact Checker, covering common misconceptions, important perspectives to consider, etc.

Alright. With that out the way, it’s time for some context.

Aang and Katara have this conversation on the balcony after watching 95% of “The Boy in the Iceberg,” a play chock-full of Fire Nation propaganda that demeans the entire Gaang in order to prop up the Fire Nation as superior (hence why the play ends with Ozai’s victory). Here is my general breakdown of Aang and Katara’s treatment in particular from a previous post:

- katara, an indigenous woman, is highly sexualized and portrayed as overly dramatic and tearful, because the fire nation objectifies women not of their own people and views them as less intelligent and less emotionally stable

- aang, the avatar, the sole survivor of the fire nation’s genocide of the air nomads who is incredibly in-touch with his spirituality and femininity, is portrayed as an overly-airy and immature woman. the fire nation portrays him with a female actor to demean him (like, that’s classic imperialistic propagandist tactics) and furthermore writing his character as a childish airhead reinforces the fire nation sentiment that the air nomads were weak, foolish people who did not deserve to exist in their world

In other words, these kids have just watched almost an entire play that preys upon their insecurities and depicts them using racist and sexist stereotypes about their respective nations. It is completely understandable that tensions might run a little high and that their interactions would not be as balanced as usual (Katara and Aang have a great track record of communicating well with each other, as it happens!).

So we have to keep that in mind when examining the aforementioned excerpt. But there are other factors to consider, too! Namely: they are kids. Children. Teens. Aang is 12, Katara is 14.

If we want to be scientific, a person’s brain doesn’t finish developing until they are 25, lmao, and the preteen/teen years are when the prefrontal cortex that controls “rationality,” “judgement,” “forethought,” etc. is still developing. This doesn’t mean Aang and Katara are irrational and make poor decisions 24/7 (obviously not), but it does mean that in an intense, highly emotional situation, like after watching a play that intentionally demeans them and depicts them as inferior, they are more likely to overreact, more likely to be emotional, and more likely to make mistakes. Like, I’m serious, lol. “Teens process information with the amygdala.” That’s part of the brain that helps control emotions! It’s why teens sometimes struggle to articulate what we’re thinking, especially in situations that require instinct/impulse and quick decisions, because we’re really feeling whenever we make those choices. Acting more on emotion. Our brains simply haven’t finished developing the decision-making parts, lmao.

In sum: Aang and Katara are both kids, not adults, and should be interpreted as such. This doesn’t negate their intelligence, because they are both incredibly smart and Aang is arguably the wisest of the Gaang, but they are human. Young humans. They have emotions, and we should not be so cruel as to assume they’d never act on them.

So taking that all together, we can now acknowledge the high stress Aang and Katara are under, understand why they might be upset (*cough* imperialist propaganda is hurtful *cough*), and examine how their youth might play into their emotional reactions. And funny thing - all analyses that come to the conclusion of Aang “threatening” Katara here do not usually bother with this context. I can’t imagine why!

And you know what, let’s add one more piece of context: Sokka states that Aang left the theater “like, ten minutes ago,” which is what cues Katara to go look for him on the balcony. The reason I mention this line is because to me, it suggests Aang knew he was more worked up than usual! He chose to separate himself from his friends so he could process his frustration! He did not take his anger at the play out on them; instead, he purposefully took time and space to be alone.

With that in mind, I don’t understand at all how Aang’s Avatar state quote could be interpreted as a threat? Canonly, Aang is someone who was aware enough of his frustration to separate himself from the others - yet the logical next step is him threatening Katara as a result? He knew his intense emotions were because of the play (which he says himself), so the logical conclusion is that he then pinned the fault on Katara? What?? Sorry, that interpretation has no textual basis, lmao. But I digress!

Aang tells Katara, “If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!” As you said, this is the line people point to in an attempt to justify their (baseless) conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. So let’s bring in the two key pieces of context: imperialist propaganda and age. Given that Aang is 12, and given that Aang has just watched almost a full play that demeans him and everything his people stood for (and let’s not forget it also mocks his and Katara’s love for each other)…

His reaction is understandable. An exaggeration and needlessly dramatic, but understandable. He feels vulnerable and insecure and Aang is human. He is human and flawed and he overreacts here and I love that A:TLA shows how even our heroes, even people who are truly good at heart and in soul, can get overly upset (especially given the aforementioned circumstances!). Would Aang actually be in the Avatar state at that moment, had it been possible? Of course not! He’s young and he’s hurt and as such he says something dramatic to convey his anxieties and frustrations. The line is not meant to be taken literally, and seeing people do so despite all the factors that should be taken into consideration when analyzing it… Cue a long, tired sigh from me and so many other A:TLA fans.

And to be honest? I cannot fathom how people watch this episode and come to the conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. To me, this episode - besides being a recap episode - is one that humanizes our cast even further. Aang snaps at Katara, kisses her when he shouldn’t (which the story appropriately treats as wrong). Katara pushes down her true feelings and retreats into herself, afraid to start a relationship with the boy she loves because she’s already lost him once before and can’t bear to do so again. Zuko further confronts the hurt he’s enacted upon others, especially upon Iroh. Toph practices being vulnerable and accepting vulnerability from others by conversing with Zuko. Sokka witnesses how others have erased his contributions and labelled him as nothing more than the token nonbender in the group. Even Suki learns that she is not the only person who holds a place in Sokka’s heart and that she can never replace what he has lost.

To watch this episode where our heroes must come to terms with how the Fire Nation deems them inherently inferior, with how they have more fights to overcome in the future with the Fire Nation than a single war, and to come to the conclusion that… that what, Aang is abusive? A monster? Irredeemable? That he would threaten his best friend, someone he loves in every way?

Wow. That says more than enough about the viewer, doesn’t it?

#getting back into the swing of things babey ✌️#aang #katara #kataang #kataangtag #the ember island players #atla #avatar the last airbender #amy answers #dramaticowl #amy analyzes #also i am speaking in GENERAL TERMS here lmaooo this is not a direct response to any one post 😂😂

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qqueenofhades · 3 years ago

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So I’ve been thinking about the end of empires lately, the way they behave, the patterns that emerge, things like that. Yes, I know. What a lovely topic. Lol. My brain likes punishment. Shhh. Anyway, I was wondering what we have learned from past ended empires that could help us understand today’s world? Do you have thoughts? Any book refs on this? Thanks qqueen!

Aha, okay, I'll give this a crack. I'll try not to get bogged down in too much pedagogical woolgathering about how it is defined, determined, decided, or otherwise applied as an analytical concept, but we'll say that an "empire" is a geographical, political and territorial unit that comprises multiple countries/regions, is united under one relatively centralised administration, ruled either by one all-powerful figure or a small circle of powerful elites (usually technically answerable to the former), and held together by military, financial, and ideological methods. The basic model, as established by the Romans: take their sons to serve in the army, make them pay their taxes to you, and worship Roma, the patron goddess of the city, alongside their own preferred religion. Simple, straightforward, and lasted for five hundred years (almost a thousand if you count the Roman Republic which preceded it). We hear a lot in Western history classes about the "Fall of Rome," which is usually presented in popular narratives as the moment when everything went to pot before the "Dark Ages." Is this true? (No.) If so, did it happen because, as is often claimed, "barbarians/savages were attacking Rome and overthrew it?" (No.)

The collapse of the Western Roman Empire is way more than we can get into in the course of one ask, and there are other fallen empires to consider: for example, the Aztec, Ashanti, Russian, and British ones. It's a subject of debate as to whether modern-day America should be termed an empire: it fits most, if not all, of the historical criteria, but is an empire only an empire when it declares itself to be one? The long and sordid history of American imperialism, whether it's a rose by any other name or otherwise, is covered in American Empire: A Global History by A.G. Hopkins, How to Hide an Empire: A History of the Greater United States by Daniel Immerwahr, and A People's History of American Empire by Howard Zinn. All are worth looking into.

Overall, I think the basic similarities for what makes an empire fall would include:

it geographically overextends itself (Roman, British)

it is attacked by foreign rivals and internal enemies (Roman, Aztec, Ashanti)

it becomes massively financially indebted and deeply politically unstable (Roman, Russian)

it resorts to heavy-handed attempts to punish dissatisfaction among its people, spurring popular resistance (Aztec, Roman, British, Russian)

it is emerging from a period of long war internationally and internally that has strained it militarily (Roman, British, Russian)

it simply gets devastatingly unlucky thanks to a combination of unforeseeable external factors (Aztec, Ashanti)

And so on. Basically, the administrative bureaucracy gets too big to manage itself, the ever-increasing financial exactions can't pay for the necessary wars to maintain and expand its borders, people become dissatisfied both outside and inside the imperial system, and since no human institution or nation-state lasts forever, down it comes. However, I would caution against too much insistence on a total or categorical end of any of these societies. You've probably heard of Jared Diamond, who wrote uber-popular bestsellers including Guns, Germs, and Steel and Collapse, focusing on how human societies survive, or not, from an eco-scientific perspective. However, Diamond is not a trained anthropologist, archaeologist, or historian, despite writing extensively about these subjects (he's a professor of geography at UCLA) and a whole bunch of eminent historians and anthropologists got together to write "You're Full of Shit, Jared Diamond," also known as Questioning Collapse: Human Resilience, Ecological Vulnerability, and the Aftermath of Empire.

This book basically blasts Diamond (as he deserves, frankly) for removing all social/cultural factors from his analysis in Collapse and only focusing on ecology/science/environment. Geographical determinism can shed light on some things, but it's very far from being a total explanation for everything, completely divorced from the human societies that interact with these places. For example, did the Easter Island society of Rapa Nui collapse because the Polynesian people "recklessly" overexploited the environment (Diamond) or the impact of European diseases, colonialism, slave trade, and other direct crises, combined with the introduction of the non-native rat to the islands? (Spoiler alert: The latter. You simply can't write about these societies as if they're just places where things somehow happened thanks to natural processes, entirely outside of human agency and cultural/social/political needs.)

Anyway, the silver-lining upside, especially in an incredibly gloomy political milieu where the current American system was nearly overthrown by the last president and hordes of his fascist sympathisers (as they were talking about on Capitol Hill today, incidentally), is that the usual story of human societies is resilience rather than disappearance. None of the empires listed above, with the exception of the Aztecs (conquered by the Spanish, decimated by smallpox, and resisted by internal indigenous enemies) totally vanished. Their structures and ethos often just got a change of paint and name and carried on. For all the ballyhoo about the "Collapse of Rome," the Western Roman Empire had been an almost entirely ineffective political entity for years and the capital had already been transferred to Ravenna well before 476. There were outsider attacks, but Rome had weakened itself by a constant succession of military coups, palace intrigue, too-heavy taxes, and a simply too-vast area to effectively control. The Eastern Roman Empire, however (aka the Byzantine Empire) carried on being a major political player straight through the medieval period and only ended in 1453, with the Ottoman sultan Mehmed II's conquest of Constantinople.

Even the Ashanti Empire still exists today, as a small independent kingdom within the modern African country of Ghana. The Russian and British empires no longer exist under that name, but few would deny that those countries still retain considerable influence in similar ways. When people talk about the "collapse" of societies, especially non-Western societies, it also produces the impression that they did in fact just disappear into thin air, often as no fault of the invading Westerners. (Sidenote: I suggest reading "Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native" by Patrick Wolfe in the Journal of Genocide Research. The whole thing is online and free.) How many times have we heard that, say, the Mayans/Mayan Empire "vanished," when there are up to seven million Mayan speakers in modern Mexico? If you're insisting that they're gone, of course it's easier to act like they are.

Anyway. I think what I'm trying to say here is that in terms of lessons for the modern world:

empires always (always) fall;

this comes about as some combination of the above-mentioned factors;

however, the societies previously organised as empires almost never disappear, so the end of an empire does not necessarily mean the end of its attendant society, culture, countries, etc;

empires often re-organise as essentially similar political units with different names and can maintain most of their former status;

empire is an inherently unequal and exploitative system that often relies on taxonomies of race, gender, power, and class, with the usual suspects at the top and everyone else at the bottom;

empire is usually, though not always, related to active colonialism and military expansion, and as soon as it cannot sustain this model, it's in big trouble;

the idea that human societies just disappear solely as a result of inadequately correct economic choices and/or ecological determinism is a lot of shit;

And so on. The end of an empire isn't necessarily anything to fear, though it can, obviously, be incredibly disruptive for those living within the country/countries affected. And until we learn how to move, as a species, permanently away from political and ideological systems that give so many resources to so few people and nothing to so many others, we're going to continue to experience this cycle.

#history #history of empire #history of racism #flynnanimal #ask

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strangerobin · 3 years ago

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Rue: Chapter 9 (Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

Note: I'm literally in tears right now. I have 7000+ words over 13 pages on my word processor just for this chapter.

Night after night, summer and winter, the torment of storms, the arrow-like stillness of fine weather, held their court without interference.’

The swaying wheat and barley waved in the warm breeze; the burning sun burned like the beacon it was. The entire world was brown and golden. It was hot, it was suffocating. It was terrible.

“The land is barren.” Adeline muttered, her body rocking to and fro with the movement of the wagon, her eyes were trained into the far distance, squinting in the broiling sun.

“You’re being over dramatic.” Henriette’s tone was dry, her hands on the reins, spurring the horses to continue its trot.

“I hate it here already.” Adeline announced, crossing her arms in a huff. “Why couldn’t we have gone somewhere else? Somewhere with more greenery than this? There’s still plenty of places to hide in Louisiana-”

“Staying in the same place over and over will attract attention and you know it.” Henriette was losing her patience too, turning her head sharply to glare at her sister. “Your father will find us if we keep staying in the same place.” The lines on her face and around her eyes deepening, the ever growing frown settling over her wrinkled forehead.

“…We left Ralph in Orleans. All alone.” Adeline bowed her head in grief, hiding her face behind her hair and avoiding those piercing eyes of her sisters. “Six feet under and his body wasn’t even cold when we left.”

Her sister sighed again, though this time it betrayed a tenderness and affection that she only displayed towards her loved ones, freeing one hand to gently comb back Adeline’s soft tresses.

“Silly girl. How many times do I have to tell you? Ralph hasn’t gone anywhere, he’s always with you and me. Always.”

“He’s dead, that’s what he is.”

Henriette continued rubbing her shoulder’s soothingly, as if she were comforting a child. “But he’ll always be in our hearts, and that’s what matters.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Come Addie, let’s not fight.” The older woman smiled lightly, turning the younger girl’s head towards her for closer inspection. There were bags under her eyes and an unnatural pallor, a sullenness swirling behind. Even her usual bright eyes were dulled. “I hate it when you’re angry or sad.”

The younger girl shook her head and curled around the older ones side, much like a feline would.

“I still hate it here. Everything’s so dry and barren and ugly. I’m only putting up with it because of you.”

“What will you do when I’m gone?” Henriette sighed.

“Then I’ll just have to die and pursue you."

“Silly girl.” The elder smiled at the other indulgently, yet her eyes betrayed a melancholy she failed to hide. “You don’t mean that.”

He saw them long before they arrived.

Initially a speck in the distance, and then gradually enlarging until he could see their wagon gradually pulling into town along the dusty highway.

In truth, Jasper had noticed the old lady at the front first; her face hard and etched into a permanent frown, doing nothing to dispel the presence of her wrinkles and only succeeding in making more pronounced than ever. He would have turned away back to his field then had he not caught sight of her in the setting sun, the last of the sun rays reflecting a pale face.

She had a simple shawl wrapped around her head, protecting her from the dust. But it did nothing to hide the beauty she possessed, there was an ethereal feel to it; a otherworldliness. There was also a melancholy to the girl; with her head bowed, eyes downcast, looking so dejected. It captured his attention, struck a chord in his heart, and later he would stop to think about her, in his work, during mealtime, before he went to bed, in his walk.

His eyes followed their receding figure unconsciously as they made their way into town.

He did not know her name yet.

But she had unknowingly sent a ripple in the pool of his heart

Except he did not know of any of this yet.

It was another sleepless night.

Adeline clutched at the tattered copy of To The Lighthouse she had found fallen behind the shelf in the library and staggered downstairs.

Sleep had evaded her yet again. When was the last time she had had a good night’s rest? Or perhaps it was herself who was avoiding it altogether. Whichever it was, she barely slept a wink in the past week. she could almost feel the rush of agitation in her nerves now, the lethargy in her frame, the shortness of her temper.

She needed to get out.

This was a paradise for vampires she supposed. A secretive hideout for the Cullens, no one bothered them here. The town was too enamoured by the dazzling family, the town’s police chief was Bella’s dad and the only visitors they ever had were the wolves from the nearby indigenous tribe. And anyways there was ever only one person who came most of the time.

But it still unnerved her. The jitteriness she experienced in Colorado never fully left her. And she was still startled by the smallest things, the tiniest sounds.

It was the house. She finally concluded. It was Jasper.

She couldn’t rest with Jasper around. No she couldn’t.

Pocketing the few cigarettes she still had remaining into her worn satchel, Adeline grabbed the giant coffee flask she had prepared and stalked out of the house into the dreary morning of Forks in only a thin parka and boots.

As she stalked down the clearing at the back of the house, she felt a shiver down her spine and a feeling of being watched. Turning back she just made out a silhouette at the upper left window.

She didn’t need to squint to know who it was.

She flipped the bird at him before turning around to leave in a huff.

Jasper saw her multiple times in town over the next few days. The two had settled down into one of the cottages his parents had owned bordering their own farming fields; he had yet to formally acquaint with his new neighbours. But it would seem that the arrival of the girl had already sent the town into frenzy.

For one, her dress making skill was excellent. Her embroidery so fine and so meticulous that all the ladies of the town were soon sending in requests, until she had to put them on hold until she could finish the earlier ones first.

Two, she was soon the gossip of the entire town. She’d already had seven proposals in the course of a week, all of which she had rejected without even a side eye. Men were in awe of her beauty and wondered aloud at her ever downcast eyes and the enigma that she was. For the women in town though, she was the subject they loved to hate, for monopolising the attention of the other half of the town. Jealously was an ugly sentiment and hostility an ever isolating one. And the girl soon found herself alone and alienated without a single soul to call as friend.

Soon they had a third topic to discuss on.

She was seen trying to storm the local bookshop for new reading materials, but on seeing her, the store owner had kindly redirected her back to her ladies’ weekly digest.

“You don’t make any sense! Why am I not allowed to read?! It’s only a novel!"

“Child, novels are hardly a suitable reading material for a lady. It promotes unrealistic fancies in young minds like yours.”

“That’s a condescending observation sir.”

“Who do you say you live with again?”

“My grandmama.”

“Well young lady, I suggest you have a word with you grandmother then.”

“Wait!”

The man slammed his door in her face.

And no matter how hard she pounced on the wooden door, the shopkeeper refused to open the door again to the girl.

“Darling, sweetheart.” A pair of well-meaning elderly ladies stopped in their tracks to regard the girl. “Don’t be mad at the man, he’s only trying to do you good. What kind of gentleman of good status would want a woman with her head stuck in a book? It’ll only spur you on into fantasies after fantasies; no man would want a wife who would neglect the family. What would you possibly do then?”

Her lips pursed now and Jasper could see how upset she was with the way her shoulders were hunched and her teeth biting into her lips so hard it drew blood but somehow her eyes shone with a fierce defiance he had never seen.

“A man who loves me would not ask me to give up any of that.”

She let slipped this one sentence before turning to leave with her head held high.

“What a peculiar young girl.” The lady turned to her equally surprised friend and wondered aloud.

The crowd dispersed to return to their day and errands.

Only Jasper was rooted where he was, his mind replaying the conversation the girl and the lady had, the silent dignity, the crackling flame inside her.

He looked to the bookshop again.

Adeline always thought that their relationship now was like a predator to its prey; Jasper always on the outlook, ready to pounce anytime she showed the slightest weakness. But when she did look closely, it wasn’t difficult to find him shuffling awkwardly in the corner when they were in the same room, looking at her with unveiled longing and then the predator would turn into a wounded puppy.

Adeline wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. That he should feel hurt and yet still longed for her, instead of choosing to hate her for all she had done. It was beyond her comprehension. If their fortunes had reversed, she couldn’t say for certain if she would feel the same.

She wondered if he ever thought of the past, their past together. Because she was convinced that he viewed it through a rose tinted lens

Adeline lighted a cigarette and puffed thoughtfully. What she had read at the break of dawn still fresh on her mind.

“There it was before her - life. Life: she thought but she did not finish her thought. She took a look at life, for she had a clear sense of it there, something real, something private, which she shared neither with her children nor with her husband. A sort of transaction went on between them, in which she was on one side, and life was on another, and she was always trying to get the better of it, as it was of her; and sometimes they parleyed (when she sat alone); there were, she remembered, great reconciliation scenes; but for the most part, oddly enough, she must admit that she felt this thing that she called life terrible, hostile, and quick to pounce on you if you gave it a chance.”

She must admit, Woolf’s writings always did have a knack of making one feel and think differently; to approach life, time and memory in a new light; to reflect. The lighthouse, was the never changing vantage point in the passage of time, the ever eluding desire that one chased after but never could quite grasp; ten years was a very long time in a life span, people change, for better or for worse; people die, and all was left was a memory frozen in time. And even that fades, lost in time and space. Nothing was everlasting, no mark or testimony survives the void.

Not even love.

The brutality of life and reality had made sure that it did not.

She briefly considered her own life.

The innocent child Henriette had protected at all cost when she was alive, who was immediately killed by her father after Hettie’s death, gutted and left to her own demise in some dirty gutter. And in her place, all that was left was this new emotionally dead and drained Adeline. Haunted by her own past, her deeds and her misfortunes, completely broken and never quite pieced back together right.

Adeline had taken the gamble with life and lost miserably.

The fog was getting thicker now, the wind lost somewhere in the thicket. The spring air was stagnant, and the soft tendrils of smoke curled around her hair, her frame. For a moment, she stopped in her tracks, just to take in this present moment that would soon morph into another forgotten memory of hers.

He found her at the far end of his parents’ field, looking out into distance, sniffing.

“Hey are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She sniffed again no doubt surprised that someone had crept on her, scrubbing at her face furiously. “Never better.” Before turning around to scrutinise him.

“Who are you?”

“I don’t think we’ve formally met ma’am, I’m Jasper Whitlock.”

“You’re Mr and Mrs Whitlock’s second son.” The girl gasped, before ducking her head formally and shaking his hand. “I’m Adeline, Adeline Ruelle. Your mother’s told me about you.” She looked around again before smiling awkwardly and gesturing to the fields. “I’m trespassing. This is your land. I’ll go-”

“No, no. It’s uh… it’s alright. I don’t mind, Miss Ruelle.”

“But still. I shouldn’t be disturbing the lot of you.”

“Wait. Uh I… I couldn’t help but saw what happened in the town square.”

“Oh.” She frowned before looking down, clearly getting the wrong idea. He wasn’t there to reprimand her too. “It’s alright, I won’t-”

“No wait, I don’t mean it that way. Here.” He quickly thrusted the bundle he had been hiding behind his back this whole time.

Confused, Adeline clutched at the bundle, feeling the hard texture of the package before looking up to stare at him agape. Her hand quickly dove in to tear at the wrapping paper to reveal a hardback book.

“Frankenstein?” She held the book up questioningly. “Why are you giving me this?”

“You wanted this right? Or was it not this? I could take it back and change it if you want-”

“No, no. This was what I was looking for. But why are you giving me this?”

“Because you wanted it.” He stated as a matter of fact. When his answer didn’t dispel the confused look on Adeline’s face, Jasper struggled to explain himself more. “I don’t think they were right in refusing to let you read just because they think it’s not suitable for a lady. Anyone should be allowed to pursue their own knowledge��”

“This isn’t really the most educating thing you know.” For the first time, there was a playful smirk on her lips. “It’s a novel on a man making a monster.”

“You know what I mean.”

Evidently she was grateful. “I- how can I ever thank you for this? How much does this cost? I’ll pay you back the money… I’ll pay you double for all your trouble-”

“No, no it’s fine. Please don’t pay me. I wanted to help. You looked so sad and I just wanted to cheer you up is all.”

“Wait, where are you going, Mr Whitlock sir?! Wait.”

In his mind he had embarrassed himself. It was a stupid move buying her the book. Now she would think him worse than all her other suitors. He had intruded into her privacy and had condescended her by deciding that she would want the book. He had never lost his cool once before, not in front of the girls who had flirted with him, and this new girl had come along and thrown him off his balance.

He didn’t realise till then that his heart was beating erratically and his hand clenched over it unconsciously.

What a stupid stupid man that he was.

“Adeline.”

She was momentarily shocked from her thoughts. Looking up, she found that she had come across the Cullens. There was Alice with the little family.

Alice looked concerned, no doubt surprised by her haggard look and her sleep deprived countenance. Even Bella and Edward looked alerted too. Despite being eccentric, Alice was, Adeline concluded, actually quite a nice person, overly friendly maybe.

“You look tired, are you alright?”

“I’m alright.” She shrugged nonchalantly. Even though the exhaustion was catching up on her fast.

Alice hesitated before smiling. “We’re going to hunt. Do you want to join us?”

Ah, so they were going to hunt. She remembered her surprise when for the first time she had heard that they were vegetarians and that they only fed on animals. Henriette had half forced half bullied her to adopt this kind of diet since she was born, yet she had never seen another doing the same before.

But she didn’t like to hunt in the presence of another, it made her self conscious. And anyways, she was trying her best to steer away from the company of the family.

“It’s alright.” She remained aloof. “I’ll hunt on my way.”

“Will we expect you by dinnertime?” Bella spoke up at the back, Adeline could literally see the trying in her effort to be nice. She quickly looked to Edward who’s face remained neutral.

“Hmph. I’ll be back.” She nodded her head at the latter.

Their paths diverging, the rest of the clan soon took their leave of her. And Adeline looked on at their receding back from her spot.

They would all soon be a distant memory of hers, there was no need to be formally acquainted with any of them.

‘With her foot on the threshold she waited a moment longer in a scene which was vanishing even as she looked, and then, as she moved and took Minta's arm and left the room, it changed, it shaped itself differently; it had become, she knew, giving one last look at it over her shoulder, already the past.’

This time she was waiting for him.

The moment she caught sight of him strolling towards the perimeter of his fields after supper, Adeline immediately jogged towards him, a large basket in tow.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, Mr Whitlock.” She chirped, an unusually bright smile graced over her porcelain features, a stark contrast to the melancholy he saw on her first day in town.

He decided that he loved seeing her smile more than anything right then.

“Jasper is fine ma’am.” He ducked his head bashfully. “Mr Whitlock’s my dad if you will, everyone around here just calls me Jasper, Miss Ruelle.”

“Fine. But then you must call me Adeline. It’s only fair.”

“Miss Adeline.” He bowed half out of jest.

“Adeline.” She corrected him, though there was a twinkle in her eyes. “So where’re you headed to?”

“I’m just heading to the creek down below to rest for a bit, it’s been a long day.”

Adeline nodded in understanding and he was somewhat amused to find the girl trotting behind him. Chuckling, Jasper swooped in to take a grasp at the handle of the basket and carried it. When they finally settled at a shady spot near the creek, Adeline leaned forward to open the latch of the basket.

“I wanted to thank you,” she began, pulling out a batch of baked cookies. “For the book.”

“Its nothing-”

“No! It wasn’t just anything! I…” He watched as she frowned and look away, debilitating with herself, trying to find the right words to express herself.

“No one’s ever done this for me… ever.” She finally murmured, her hands playing at her aprons absentmindedly. “So… yeah.” She pulled at her ear sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m sure you’re not interested in my ramblings. I should go… it’s your rest time.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

They sat in mutual silence, though there was less initial awkwardness.

“Do you-”

“So I-”

They started at the same time. Sheepish, Jasper gestured for Adeline to continue speaking. She smiled another of her easy smile.

“What I wanted to say was that you really don’t know how much it means for me… for you to get that book for me. My grandfather taught me how to read and write. And between the both of us, this was our most favourite book of all time. But his copy was destroyed in the floods some years ago so when he died… I wanted something to remember him by. That’s why I desperately wanted it at the bookshop.” She grew sentimental then. “Of course it’s not the same copy we used to have, but it’s the sentiment of it that’s the most important.”

“Then I’m glad I got it for you.” And he meant it from the bottom of his heart.

“Here.” She handed him a cookie, “you still haven’t tried it yet.”

Tentatively, he took a bite out of it. “It’s delicious!"

Adeline grinned, evidently proud. “Of course. And they said no decent southern gentleman would want me. You’ve just proven them wrong!”

Jasper laughed. “Well you’ve certainly stolen my stomach away with that amazing bakery.”

Adeline reclined onto her elbows in her spot and squinted in the dazzling sun. “You know it’s not half as bad here as I initially thought.”

“Must be because of my company.” He spoke jokingly.

“Hmm. Maybe." Jasper found himself observing Adeline’s every move. Now she was closing her eyes, basking in the glory of the setting sun, humming to herself. The warm ray of light accentuating her long neck and her collarbones and-

She turned suddenly, her excited eyes on him.

“Have you ever read Frankenstein?”

She knew she was getting closer and closer towards the sea, despite the fog being thick and hanging over the threshold. She just knew.

There was the faint crashing of waves now, getting louder by the minute. And the brambles of the forest floor was spreading out.

Now all she needed to do was-

And she stepped out into the sunlight. Despite the sun, it was not the Texan sun she remembered from her memories, it barely gave her warmth. But it did dispel some of the mist that clung around her like tendrils. Here was a cliff of some sort, with the sea roaring right below her feet, the moss and the wildflowers carpeting the entire forest ground until it ended abruptly at the ledge, to a steep drop of some fifty or even sixty feet.

It was indeed beautiful.

Adeline watched mesmerised, how the waves licked the cliff side, thundering, throwing up white foam and algae and whatnots.

Sighing, she leaned back against a tree trunk. The sky was grey and endless in the horizon. It was dreary, and she felt that it suited her more than the Texan sun and blue sky ever did.

She readjusted her sitting position against the tree and took out her book.

James and Cam and Mr Ramsey were heading to the lighthouse now and Lily Briscoe was finishing off her painting ten years later.

‘“It will rain,” he remembered his father saying. “You won’t be able to go to the Lighthouse.”

The Lighthouse was then a silvery, misty-looking tower with a yellow eye, that opened suddenly, and softly in the evening. Now—

James looked at the Lighthouse. He could see the white-washed rocks; the tower, stark and straight; he could see that it was barred with black and white; he could see windows in it; he could even see washing spread on the rocks to dry. So that was the Lighthouse, was it?

No, the other was also the Lighthouse. For nothing was simply one thing. The other Lighthouse was true too. It was sometimes hardly to be seen across the bay. In the evening one looked up and saw the eye opening and shutting and the light seemed to reach them in that airy sunny garden where they sat.’

She closed the book with a sigh.

To be fair, she knew that Jasper thought about their past, just as she did. Except, they each remembered things and events differently. Or maybe it was just that for her, with the knowledge of hindsight, everything was brought into a new light and became tainted.

Could she look back with pure joy now? At her days with him which was now, in hindsight, filled with regret and more importantly, guilt.

There was some truth in it she supposed.

Perhaps there were more facets in their memory than she would give credit for. There was the truth, and then there were all the different angles you could appraise it from. Both were looking at the lighthouse, but he no doubt looked on with fondness and through a rose tinted lens, and she with hindsight could only look on with a sense of dread.

She only wished that he would not be so enamoured by his sentiments that he was blindsided by the truth.

With that thought, her mood soured again and she threw the book into the ground. Subconsciously, her hand went to the locket hidden beneath her shirt where she fingered the engravings to calm herself.

Adeline closed her eyes and listened to the sea.

After that fateful afternoon, Adeline was showing up at the fields every few days. And the creek immediately became their mutual meeting point. And on days when she was too busy with her work to venture out, Jasper would swing by, just to see her, have a chat. They lived close enough, and he was always giving excuses after excuses about why he was there. Excuses he thought she saw through with that complicit smile and the twinkle always present in her eyes. Her grandmother was less impressed however, but she never treated him ill, always being ever cordial, receiving him, making tea, working in the corner, muttering to herself in French.

The days blurred into one, and towards the end of that summer, his parents invited the Adeline and her grandmother over for dinner one fine evening. His mother took an immediate liking towards the girl, and his father called her the daughter he always wanted.

It made Jasper feel giddy, that his family loved her so much. He was almost proud.

It would be the best summer he ever had.

They had read Milton, the Odysseus, the Aeneid, Austen, Dickens, and many more.

He was always surprised to see Adeline brimming with so much knowledge at such a young age. He had wondered at the background of her grandfather, but she always deflected the questions with a wistful smile then he learnt not to ask them anymore.

It was perhaps cliche to say, but she really was not like other girls. Adeline was open, she was kind and sincere and more importantly she was the sun herself, a burning beacon, radiating with warmth. One look at her and he found the day’s worth of handwork and fatigue to be nothing.

Jasper knew the implication of his thundering heart. Romance was not something new to him, he’d heard it from fieldworkers, men who were only a few years older than him.

But he had his doubts too.

He saw how the men tried to talk to her, and though she never mentioned it once to him, he heard enough to know about all the confessions and declarations and proposals she received on a regular basis. Her refusals did nothing to quell his disheartened heart. Her suitors ranged from various backgrounds including pretty boys with wealthy backgrounds and ancestors who were founding members of this town even.

What was he? Nothing but a simple farmer boy. How was he to compete with then?

Every time he heard of another refusal, his hope would get a little higher, that perhaps her smiles and her openness were only directed at him. Yet one look at himself and his meagre possessions, and he would lose what little confidence he had.

Even so, even so she never missed a day with him. Never forgot an engagement, never failed to show up.

That she would welcome him warmly each time, with her radiant smile and her gentle words, even if she would ramble on and on about her long and tiring day and her tedious work.

He was failing miserably to quell his beating heart. Some days It was pure agony, other days he would find himself hope against all hope that perhaps, just perhaps that she would reciprocate even a fraction of his feelings.

But his doubts held him back each time, when he was on the brink of a confession. He would be reminded of the string of failed proposals that came before his and he would become afraid and stopped himself short.

Was it better to protect this friendship, this comradeship that they had?

But with each passing summer day, as he got ready for harvest, his heart was becoming more and more heavy.

It was too much.

He didn’t think he could go on like this.

The ravens cawed and she awoke with a start. Standing up immediately, she was dazed to find that she was not in her simple attire of boots and parka anymore. Gone was the sea and the grey horizon; the pines surrounding her were tall and ominous, a light mist was beginning to form around her, obscuring her sight further on. She was in her Sunday best again, the cream coloured dress with those understated embroideries she had seen herself. There was the chain of daisies at the hem of her sleeves and around her collar. She looked around, trying to comprehend her surrounding.

So she was in a dream then.

A nightmare perhaps.

Might as well walk to the very end of it so that she could wake. Though she loathed to think how it would end, hopefully not with her screaming bloody murder again.

Trudging onwards, the claustrophobia was getting more and more intense, the fog thickening and the trees crowding more and more together until there was no distinguishable path that she could follow. She felt suffocated.

Just then, there was a chill around her heart and it began to thump fiercely. Turning her head cautiously towards her back, she was instantly struck by an intense fear.

Run, her instinct was screaming in her ears.

She ran like the frightened bunny that she was. She could hear the laughters of her sisters, and worse of all. The shoutings of her father.

There seemed to be no end. The brambles tore at her dress, tearing the embroideries, the mud splattering all over her apron, the loose branches leaving small open cuts over her hands and face. The laughters behind her never ceased. She was bone chilled and yet she daren’t stop in her tracks. For fear of being caught, for fear of a punishment worse than death.

And just when all hope was lost, there in the distance was an opening!

And out she ran into a field of wheat and barley. Shocked, she looked back cautiously at the edge of the forest she had just dashed through.

The eeriness had gone and it was only just a stretch of low woodland and shrubberies. Her nightmarish forest was gone.

Cocking her head to the side in confusion, Adeline nevertheless continued to trudge on and at the end of the wheat field, a warm inviting cottage stood in its midst.

The smoke gently curled around the chimney, the vines over the walls, the blue cornflowers at the windows.

It was painfully the same as she had remembered.

She quietly opened the latch to the door and stepped inside the threshold.

“You’re back.” As her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, she saw a man in a simple cotton white shirt and dark pants gently settling the white bundle in his arms into a crib. “How was your walk? Refreshing?”

“Yes…” Adeline stuttered. “Jasper?"

“Yes darling?” The man turned with a tender smile towards her, arms opening wide to welcome her. This time she did not hesitate and rushed towards his strong inviting embrace. Breathing in the strong familiar scent, feeling the warmth he radiated. All the while avoiding glancing at the crib she had seen.

“I’m tired.” She murmured. “Take me to bed?” She pleaded.

Jasper only chuckled.

As they finally settled in bed, his calloused hands, overused at the farm, began its motion of combing through her hair slowly, soothingly just like he did all the time when the two were in bed. Adeline closed her eyes and sighed. She didn’t want to wake up from this and back to the icy cold acquaintance that they now shared.

“I had the strangest dream.” She murmured to him, burrowing deeper into his embrace, her ear rested on his chest, and she could hear the strong beating of his beating heart. “I dreamt that I left you. And that it destroyed you so badly that you became something I couldn’t even recognise anymore. And then I hated you so much and you resented me so much for turning you into what you became.”

“Left me…” Jasper repeated to himself, his hand froze momentarily in its motion.

Adeline looked up in desperation. If this was a dream, at least she would keep him happy. This much she could do at the very least.

“It was only just a dream though.” She tried to smile, raising a hand to trace his strong jawline. “I could never leave you.”

He resumed his soothing motion, combing through her hair, massaging her scalp. She hummed and turned to listen to his beating heart again.

“No, because what would happen to us if you actually left?”

Ah… the bundle in the crib.

She imagined a young boy, with golden curls around his temple and warm inviting hazel eyes. Who would call her maman, who she would teach French to, and raise him and teach him well, just as she had done to her handful of brothers and sisters. It would’ve been domestic bliss. It would’ve been what she wanted if she had been human.

She was drifting in and out of consciousness again as she lingered in her impossible dreams.

The soothing motion over her scalp never ceased. In fact it became more and more concrete.

“Adeline…. Adeline…”

There was someone calling to her softly, far away, at the edge of her consciousness. And it was getting nearer and nearer.

Somehow she felt safe, warm and calm. A sense of serenity washed over her.

She was protected.

She felt a light peck over her lips.

A chaste little kiss.

She chastised without opening her eyes, though her lips were slowly pulling into a small smile.

“What are you playing at-” she mumbled in her sleep.

And then she descended into sweet oblivion.

They met in the fields as usual the sun casting its shadow towards the east, amongst the waving barley and the golden wheat. Adeline was chatting animatedly about the latest novel she had been reading.

He cleared his throat when she stopped to take a breath in between.

“I have something to tell you.”

Her brows shot up no doubt finally realising that she had been hogging the conversation table for the last half an hour or so, but she quickly composed herself and gave him a reassuring smile. “What is it? I’m all ears.”

“I’m joining the army.”

“What?”

“I’m joining the Texas cavalry.”

“Why?” She looked bewildered, and there was a frantic look in her eye. “Don’t you have enough to do in the farm? The harvests and the cattle’s and… everything! Have you talked this through with your parents?!”

“I have. They are in full support of it.”

“But why?” She pouted her lips cutely, but her voices sounded betrayed. “I enjoy our time with you here everyday, don’t you? If you join the army, you’ll be working and training everyday. I-” she stopped and looked away, embarrassed, scuffing the sole of her shoe over the ground petulantly.

He chuckled. How to make her understand? That he was doing this exactly because of her.

“Besides, you’re a landowner yourself. I know the land isn’t much, but it should be enough for you right?”

“Adeline.”

“So why would you suddenly decide you want to become a soldier?”

“Adeline.”

“I mean sure I know you’ll excel in it anyways. You’re going to charm you way up. Then you’ll forget little ol me.”

“Adeline.” Jasper finally had to smirk. "You never let people finish what they have to say.”

Adeline huffed in annoyance and crossed her arm. “Fine. By all means!”

What she didn’t expect next was for him to clasp her hand in his.

“You might think that a farmer is well respected enough, but I’m a second son. When my parents die, my brother will inherit the farm. I can help with the farm, but it will never be mine. I’ll never have an income as prosperous as my brother will if I continue to work for him. When I do marry and then someday have children of mine, would I want them to endure the same fate as I have?”

“But if you love her then surely-”

“Would I be able to have better marriage prospect as my brother does? The answer is no. I would never be able to do better than him, I would be at a disadvantage, less likely to get the girl of my dreams. No decent gentleman would marry their own precious daughter to a second son. That is, unless if I make a name for myself in some other way.”

“By joining the army?”

“It was either that or become a priest.”

“There are other ways surely! You can study to be a lawyer or… or a businessman or anything other than joining the army!”

“Don’t you find some of the younger soldiers charming and dashing? I overheard you chatting with-”

“I care about you too much to want to see you get hurt!”

There was a solemnity in her clear blue eyes that betrayed nothing but sincerity and concern. It left him feeling giddy, that gave him a confidence he had been lacking for sometime to carry out what he was about to do that he had psyched himself up to do for weeks now. He couldn’t help but grin.

But it irked her to new heights.

“Stop it, don’t laugh! It’s not a laughing matter!” Adeline pouted again, slapping him in the arm repeatedly, and this time there were angry tears threatening to fall from her beautiful orbs. “I worry about you! Even if you seem no have no care about your own safety!”

“Fine! Go! Go join the bloody army if you love it so much for some bloody girl you think you’ve fallen in love with! See if I care when you get killed off by some stupid I don’t know what!”

She turned around and by the slight tremor in her shoulder and the sniffing he realised with a newfound panic that she was crying. This wasn’t what he had intended to do.

“Adeline.” He soothed, coaxing the girl to turn around to face him. “Are you crying?”

“No I’m not.”

“Hush, then turn around see that I can see you properly.”

When she did turn, he could still see the devastation over her face. The tear trails over the apples of her cheek, those eyes brimmed with unshed tears. But she stared back with great defiance, her chin held haughtily up. He has to suppress a tender sigh, his heart was so heavy with love for this girl, the little treacherous thing thumping against his chest so loudly he was sure she would’ve heard it.

“Adeline, you must know how important this is for me."

She looked away then and feigned boredom. “Why are you telling me this Mr Whitlock? You’re wasting your time on me. Shouldn’t you be looking for your bloody lover to her about this.”

“I really should shouldn’t I? But I need your help and advice.” He studied her closely as she bit her lips so hard it almost drew blood, as she raised a hand to finger her earring in an effort to calm her nerves mo doubt. He slowly reached out a hand to hold her chin and turn her pretty face back to his before delivering the final blow.

“But suppose I’m looking at her already right now as I speak?”

“Looking at her…?”

“Won’t you tell me how do I stop her tears and make her understand that I’m joining the army so that I can have a future with her? So that I can stand on my own and go to her grandmother to ask for permission to court her and marry her?”

He saw the moment the realisation hit her, Adeline’s mouth dropped as she stared mutely at him.

“You… I… I don’t think I understand what you-”

“I’m telling you that I love you Adeline. And I want to marry you.”

He stopped abruptly then to take a deep breath, his heart beating ferociously now, the rush in his ears was almost deafening, he was too fearful of what she would say.

But when her looked into her eyes, there was a newfound vulnerability, one he had never seen before. She wet her trembling lips.

“This isn’t a joke you’re pulling on me is this?”

“I would never joke about this.” He said with resolute.

Bashful, she looked down and sucked at her lips. And if he had looked closely, he would have seen how her cheeks were tinted red, not by the summer heat or the burning sin.

“No one has ever said that to me.” Her eyes were brimming with tears again though her lips were slowly, but surely drawing up into a smile. “I think… I love you too Jasper Whitlock.”

And that was the straw for him.

He stepped forward to close the gap between them, long arms stretching out to hold her tightly. Her arms slowly wound themselves around his neck, their face inches apart, looking straight into each other’s eyes.

“Don’t you think we’re a little too close for propriety’s sake, Mr Whitlock?” The corner of her lips tugging up playfully.

“Hush”. He thought his heart was going to burst. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

And under the setting Texan sun, amongst a golden burning world, they shared their first ever kiss, two hearts beating as one.

The thick clouds above were for once finally dispersing and the radiant sunbeams filtered in between, producing a luminous effect as it struck his skin.

The motion in his hand never ceasing, gently combing through Adeline’s hair as she herself laid on his chest, breathing in and out calmly. Without the hostility and the jitteriness, Jasper was almost fooled into believing that this Adeline was the same Adeline from his past.

But she was not.

Jasper sighed again, his heart so full of emotions it was painful.

He had wandered out after she left the house and subconsciously, or perhaps guided by a vengeful angel, he had stumbled across her, in the midst of a nightmare, curling into herself, whimpering. He acted on his natural instincts to soothe away the frown, and it mystified him that the moment he laid his hand on her head did the whimpering stopped. He couldn’t resist stealing a light kiss from those plump lips.

Looking down at Adeline’s serene sleeping face, Jasper wished he didn’t have to hide himself like this, that he could’ve held her when she was awake, her radiant smile guided towards him and himself only. Not like this, not when she wouldn’t even know that it was him who had comforted her and held her in her sleep, had warded away her nightmares, even if just for a few moments only.

Oh but he couldn’t let her know.

Every small movement now would send him into caution, to extricate himself from her before she woke, lest she would run away, lest he would startle her, deepen this gulf between them.

He surveyed their immediate surrounding, there was Adeline’s cassette player, the tiny thing’s battery had long since stopped running. He made a remark to ask her about the mixtape she had been listening to. The emptied coffee flask, the burnt cigarette butts. And there lying open with its cover up, its spine breaking right in the middle, was Rosalie’s old battered copy of To the Lighthouse. He remembered watching her going all out just to hide it behind the shelf.

It’s too painful. She had finally confessed one rainy day. But I can’t bear to throw it away. It’s like a mirror you hold up to juxtapose it with your own life.

He never read it, not in depth anyways.

He reached out to grab it and randomly flipped through it, scanning the words as he did so.

‘To want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain. And then to want and not to have- to want and want- how that wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again!’

“What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”

#jasper hale x you #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x oc #jasper hale imagine #jasperhale #twilight angst #twilight imagine

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mediaevalmusereads · 3 years ago

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The True Story of Pocahontas: The Other Side of History. By Dr. Linwood “Little Bear’ Custalow and Angela L. Daniel “Silver Star.” Golden, Colorado: Fulcrum Publishing, 2007.

Rating: 4/5 stars

Genre: non-fiction, history

Part of a Series? No.

Summary: The True Story of Pocahontas is the first public publication of the Powhatan perspective that has been maintained and passed down from generation to generation within the Mattaponi Tribe, and the first written history of Pocahontas by her own people.

Content Warnings: references to genocide, kidnapping/abduction, rape, violence

Since this book is non-fiction, my review is going to be formatted differently than usual.

I picked up this book after seeing some discourse online about Disney’s Pocahontas and the difference between the European version of events and Indigenous oral histories. Someone recommended this book, so I gave it a go. Whether or not you will appreciate this book will largely depend on whether or not you understand how oral and literary history works; I’ve seen a lot of reviews that complain about “bias” and “hostility” towards the European versions of Pocahontas and the founding of the Virginia Colony, and to be honest, I feel like most of those reactions stem from the assumption that the European versions are (to some extent) objective, while the Indigenous version is “folklore.” In reality, all accounts are going to have a bias, but what makes the Indigenous oral history valuable is the way it sheds light on events from the perspective of the people who were negatively affected.

That being said, oral history is part history, part storytelling. The introduction to this book tells us that much of the content is derived from interviews, and the authors/editors preserved the account of Pocahontas as it was related to them (that is, without altering the wording). While I love that the book contains such a faithful transcription, the written format means that we lack the performative aspects of oral storytelling; we can’t easily detect tone or emphasis or other things that might impact the way we interpret the text. If you’re going to engage with this book, I think that drawback is worth keeping in mind, and I think doing a little research into oral performance would help enhance your appreciation for oral histories and storytelling.

But as it stands, there’s nothing wrong with the actual content. To my knowledge, the information given to us in this book fall more in line with the history of Pocahontas than John Smith’s supposed “objective” romance. At times, the content can be hard to read, but it’s important that the authors/editors not downplay or water down what happened between the Powhatan Nation and the colonists.

If I had any criticism, it would be that I would have liked to see more supplementary materials. While this book contains a helpful introduction and afterward, as well as a few maps and a bibliography/notes, I would have liked to see a more robust introduction, especially since this book is supposed to reach non-Native readers. But that’s admittedly a lot of work, and maybe I’m being too picky.

TL;DR: The True Story of Pocahontas is a valuable source of Indigenous history and makes room for marginalized voices in the telling of the colonization of the Americas. While readers will probably get more out of this book if they understand how historical writing and oral history work, it’s accessible enough that any interested reader can find historical and literary value in the story.

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kimyoonmiauthor · 3 years ago

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Abortion and Adoption and PoC Impacts.

‘cause newspapers prefer to pay attention to Adopters, not adoptees, and look at white impacts over PoC impacts (Though everyone knows PoCs are most affected) and ignore the whole of adoption history. And pay white writers to talk to PoCs about their impacts rather than hire a PoC writer. Fine whatever. Hire the least qualified with the least amount of impact. So...

There is a twitter thread, but in order to be fair to the person and not do the twitter thing of crying and then ignoring the lead in, and then acting looking for approval from my group, and then trying to crucify the person for making a single misstep, I’m going to start it from the beginning and break it down. Since I’m using a tumblr post to be reasonable... let me do a bit of introduction here: I’ve worked in minor Adoptee right advocacy here and there and am generally quietly connected to the community. I have a degree in Anthropology I concentrated in Systems such as socio-economics, race, disability, etc. I have spent time talking to foster parents, Former Foster Youth, Birth parents, adoptees of different kinds and of course Adoptive Parents. I also have the history of adoption in my head with references to history over time, because I needed people to see that their beliefs about adoption was often rooted in a specific history they were’t aware of. This is not a term paper, so I’ve cut the references for the sake of brevity, but I can pull them if challenged. So let’s get into the postings.

Per the usual, I’m not encouraging anyone to attack the individual in question *at all* I’m very against this. The question is to talk about ideas in long form.

I would copy-paste the text, but it seems they did a general ban on everyone. Kinda odd for a journalist... but I’ll continue on since I made no malicious moves against her nor replied directly to her in any capacity. I took screenshots, though, of the posts before the general ban, so I’ll quote lines, retyped for that.

Edit: They replied But I’m cutting the name so it’s harder to hunt them.

To be fair, posting the general context.

“It is about babies, but it's not about keeping those babies with their mothers. It's about giving those babies to evangelical Christian mothers.“

I generally agree with this. It’s more like latent genocide per the UN if one were to put it into more direct, but harsher words. See Indigenous American adoption in Canada and US.

Person continues with Amy Coney Barrett. Fair point. No adoptees like Amy Coney Barett.

I disagree that the core of many Republican policies are harvesting babies for Christian families.

Republicans, like liberals, are varied, and after talking to people who are anti-abortion, etc they come in shades. Because advocacy rule I put up is that the enemy is is not a dragon, and to stop making it a dragon.

Baby-collecting is why Reublicans put immigrant children in cages.

Half true. Again, I talked to the opposing side on this and got into a (friendly) debate about it--the reasons are varied.

One person who was an immigrant said he thought it was OK, because they were crossing illegally. I did not try to defeat him, but challenged him, and asked him why. (Too long for this)

Another person was generally against immigrants. I asked about Migrant workers and berries, etc and pointed to nuances. I pointed also to US people being Migrant workers. They expressed anti-black views, despite being a PoC themselves.

But generally, when I challenged them, they were ALL against the idea of using the children for adoption, and were mixed about the separation part. Oddly the person *most* for punishing the children for the action of their parents was a South American immigrant (Yes, I do know his previous country, but protect your sources).

Activism means listening to the opposing side. You don’t have to agree to understand. Making them not a one-headed dragon to defeat makes the problem easier to break apart.

“This is the thing. Evangelicals want more babies.

They were willing to steal those babies from immigrant mothers at the border, but then Trump lost power and that supply of stolen children ended.”

It was one Justice’s opinion--Alito--from the Supreme court, to be fair. (And notice I’m arguing for nuances.) Trump tried and failed, per the Washington Post to use the supply of children for Christians, but was exposed and had to stop halfway through.

Half-truth.

[Generally more about making Republicans and Evangelicals into a one-headed monster to attack like George and the Dragon.]

Yeah... except that not all Republicans are Evangelicals or even Christian. In order to attack this problem the right move isn’t to make them one headed beast. The right way is to collect their opinions, find out the root causes, personal and systemic, and then challenge them bit by bit. Nuance isn’t Twitter’s forte... I get that.

“I think this should be clear but: Adoption itself is not bad.

It must--MUST be approached ethically and with extraordinary care or the child and birth mother as well as the adopting families.

And the focus should be on finding homes for all children, not just babies.”

This is where it gets dicey. To be fair, prior and after this, she did include adoptee voices along the way and adjust.

Adoption in of itself is a problem. The Adoption Industry complex has always been symptoms of a society that will not take care of itself. This dates back to the Palo Alto Indians and the Spanish in California. That was the symptoms of sexism, racism, and Christian conversion in one go. The first forced adoptions I can find on record start here.

Adoption always absorbs the ills of society that society doesn’t want to handle. It’s the garbage/industrial waste dump, tried to be made pretty with urban housing on top of it. Adoption and Foster care are--as I’ve said many times--the Band-aids on the broken bones of society. (About 99.98% of the time.)

It was made this way by Victorian England, though there were systems in the past that had adoption and clearly genocide, like the Palo Alto Indian situation, but it absorbed the hatred of the poor, racism, and sexism mostly from this era while industrializing it. (This isn’t hard to find resources for.) Industrial interfamily plenary adoption is never going to be clean. This is a fact that adoptees know well. There *are* cases where adoption, in general, is ethical, such as with say Yapese adopting adults so their system of land ownership works. But notice, that’s consenting adults, and has nothing to do with Industrial interfamily plenary adoption.

Intrafamily adoption is sticky in places, but this isn’t the type of adoption on the table at the moment.

The majority of adoptions taking place are from poor and usually PoC families, with blacks at the top of the separation pile within the US (Since we’re talking US). Black children in the system are also the least likely to be adopted (Both facts according to MEPA’s report).

Adoption, in general, does cause trauma for the adoptee in question, even in intrafamily adoption cases. The highest cases of mood and learning disabilities with adoptees is on the transracially adopted PoCs. (Plenty of studies and reports about this.) International adoption was shown, independently of race to also make this slightly higher.

As an adoptee adopted older myself, I think it’s fairer to actually want and need to think carefully and put the ducks in a row. I *get* from talking to and listening to other adoptees that it’s not always tidy. You need to fix all the ills of society in order for adoption to stop being a dumping ground.

But the order should be:

- support communities to keep their children and educate them after disasters about adoption scams. - support birth nuclear family. - support the extended birth family. - support governments to keep children so they stay in the country. - If that’s been exhausted to every ability, then look at international adoption.

The top reason, as I said, is poverty. So one should be focusing on how to make the intersection of poor and PoC not a crime. One is invisiblity, and the other is visibility.

The problem is that often adoption brings money to countries and there are disaster chasers who are asking, “What is in it for me?”

Less than about 0.01% of adoption is done where a mother looks for adoptive parents because they are older, have a bunch of children, didn’t want an abortion, and doesn’t want to “raise this one.” Those people also exist, BUT and strong BUT the separation will still cause problems for the child in question and still put them at risk of mood disorders and learning disabilities.

BTW, the reason the “supply” slowed down, is because generally the birth rate worldwide is falling as more and more countries industrialize and move towards educating the populations in question, particularly women. (Covered in my Cultural Geography class). Korea, which used to have one of the highest birth rates, after industrialization fell to one of the lowest birthrates worldwide. Also the general cost to have and keep children with a rise in people being aware that human population is really high, has more and more people opting out in general. Governments aren’t doing a lot to make raising children easier, but countries like Russia, Korea, China, Japan, US, are mostly legislating in other directions, making the birth rate drop further. And generally, on a national level, children are considered the most precious commodity for a society to continue to function. But then I’m getting into Cultural Geography...

Making this shorter, but nuances should matter. Listening will move people forwards. And people have to realize adoption should not be societies’ dumping ground.

#adoption #abortion #nuance #social justice

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doshmanziari · 4 years ago

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Musical Offerings for the New Year || What is “Radical Music” in 2021?

Near the end of 2020, a bunch of musicians populating a chatroom, including myself, each submitted ten minutes’ worth of our work to another musician, Chimeratio, who generously compiled it all into a set totaling nearly ten hours.¹ The work didn’t need to be new; just what we thought might best represent our abilities/style(s) and/or perhaps what we were especially pleased with. The set premiered in late January. Since I have some tentative plans for reorienting Brick By Brick this year, while not overriding its emphases, I wanted to share that music with anyone who’s interested.

I compiled the four videos into a playlist, although you can also access them individually: here (1), here (2), here (3), and here (4). If you care to, and are on a computer, you can also view the accompanying chatlog and read people’s responses from when they were listening to the live broadcast.

The compulsion for this project was sparked by excited discussions over and usage of the term “digital fusion”, most helpfully propagated by Aivi Tran, designating a computer-based body of work that for years lacked the rooftop of a commonly agreed upon genre-name. While describing my music has never been a big concern, even if it’s usually felt impossible (what, for example, is this? or this? I dunno!), I’ve appreciated how the spread and application of this term has brought together people who may have felt isolated.²

As “digital fusion” gained designative traction, I witnessed the activity in the aforementioned chatroom explode over the course of a few days. Before, a day’s discussion might’ve been a few dozen messages; now, there were dozens of messages every half-minute. This had positive and negative ramifications, the negative being that conversations often proceeded at a pace of rapidity which precluded concentrated thought. Eventually, I bowed out because the rapidity exceeded my threshold for meaningful interaction; but I was glad that significant invigoration was going on.

I wanted to share this music also because it intersects with thoughts and talks I’ve been having stemming from the question, “What is ‘radical music’ in 2021?” This was stimulated by a 2014 talk given by the writer Mark Fisher, wherein he contends that, were we to play prominent “cutting edge” music from now to people twenty years ago, very nearly none of it would be aesthetically shocking, bizarre, or revelatory (think of playing house music to an audience in the early 1960s!). Fisher also observes a trend of returning to music which once was seen as the future -- as if, deprived of a shared prograde vision, imaginations turn hazily retrograde; ergo, genres such as synthwave or albums like Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories.

It isn’t my goal here to argue about the “end of history.” Fisher’s time-travel hypothetical, however, rings loud and true to me. Visible musical radicalism has, for at least a decade, been strictly extra-musical, in the sense of songs like “This is America” or “WAP”, where one’s response is primarily to the spectacle of the music video, the performer’s identistic markers, and/or the manner in which the lyrics intersect with (mostly US-centric) ideological hotspots. Musically, there is really nothing radical here. Any vociferous condemnations or defenses of a song like “WAP” deal in moralizing reactions to semantics or imagery: how progressive or regressive is the political aspect? how propelled or repelled are we by the word “pussy”?

It would be a mistake, and simply wrong, to assert that the only music one can enjoy escapes the parameters outlined above; and my inability to coherently categorize some of my own music hardly raises that portion to the status of radicality. But the question here pertains to what is being made, and I think that if we’re going to seriously consider the nature of truly radical music today, we do need to question if such a quality can prominently exist when our hyper-fast consumerist cycle seems to forbid not just sustained, lifelong relationships to artwork but also the local, unhurried nourishment of creative gestation. Now, in my opinion, there are good, even great, examples of radical music still being made in deep Internet-burrows, and for evidence of that I would offer some of the material contained in the linked playlists. Moreover, I’d say that this quality can exist in part because these little artistic communities are so buried.

Let me share a quote that another person shared with me recently:

For culture to shift, you need pockets of isolated humanity. Since all pockets of humanity (outside of the perpetually isolated indigenous people in remote wilderness) are connected in instantaneous fashion, independent ideas aren’t allowed to ferment on their own. When you cook a meal, you have to bring ingredients together that have had time to grow, ferment, or decompose separately. A cucumber starts out as a seed, then you mix it with the soil, water and sunlight. You can’t bring the seed, soil, water and sunlight to the kitchen from the get-go. When you throw those things in to the mixture without letting them mature, the flavor cannot stand out on its own. Same thing with art and fashion. A kid in Russia can come up with a new way to dance, gets filmed on a phone, it goes viral quickly but gets lost in the morass of all of the other multitudinous forms of dance. Sure it spread far and wide, but it gets forgotten in a week. In the past, his new art form would have been confined locally, nurtured, honed, then spread geographically, creating a distinct new cultural idiosyncrasy with a strong support base. By the time it was big enough to be presented globally, it was already a cultural phenomenon locally. This isn’t possible anymore. We’re consuming too many unripened fruits.

The main impression I have here is that radical music today will, and must be, folk music. Our common idea of folkiness might be the scrappy singer strumming a guitar, but my interpretive reference rather has to do with the idea of a music being written, first of all, for one’s self, and then shared with a small-scale community, which in turn helps the artist grow at their own pace. This transcends a dependence upon image, the primacy of acoustic instrumentation, or the signaling of sincerity versus insincerity. It is a return to the valuation of outsider art, so rare nowadays. As someone who I was recently in dialogue with wrote, “Where can you find new genuine folk music? Pretty much just with your friends, imo. Even then, the global world is so influential and seeps into any crack it can find. I think vaporwave was radical and folk for a while. Grant Forbes made that music way before the world knew about it.”

Sometimes, a lot of fuss is made over what’s seen as “gatekeeping” within certain communities. It can be, depending on the context, justifiable to question and critique this behavior. At other times, the effort of maintaining a level of exclusivity, of retaining an idiosyncratic shapeliness to the communal organism, can be a legitimate attempt to protect the personal, interpersonal, and cultural aspects from the flattening effect of monoculture. Hypothetically, I welcome the Castlevania TV series and Super Smash Bros. Ultimate having introduced new and younger demographics to Castlevania. In actuality, stuff like “wholesome sad gay himbo Alucard”, image macros, and neurotic “stan” fanfiction being what’s now first associated with the series makes me want to put as much distance as possible between my interests and those latecoming impositions.

The group-terminology David Chapman uses in his essay “Geeks, MOPs, and Sociopaths in Subculture Evolution” is kinda cringey, but some of the cultural/behavioral patterns he lays out are relevant to the topic. Give it a look. If we cross his belief that “[subcultures] are no longer the primary drivers of cultural development” with our contemporary consume-and-dispose customs, we’re left with the predicament of it’s even worth attempting to bring radical/outsider art beyond its rhizomatic habitat. This is troubling, because it would mean that artistic radicality no longer might not only refuse to but cannot encompass cultural upheaval. It would be like if dance music were invented and -- instead of progressively permeating nightlife, stimulating countercultural trends, and ultimately being adapted as the basis for pop music globally -- only were listened to via headphones by a few thousand people on their own, stimulated a group meeting once a year or two, and never affected music beyond a niche-within-a-niche. That’s a very sad picture to me.

⁂

¹ Chimeratio has also maintained an excellent blog on here dedicated to looking at videogame music written in irregular time signatures, far preceding higher-profile examinations like 8-bit Music Theory’s video on the same topic.

² For myself, creative isolation has had its uses, because it has led me down routes that are highly personalized. The isolation can be dispiriting too. Although a lot of my music is videogame-music-adjacent, almost none of it uses “authentic” technology, such as PSG synthesizers or FM synthesis; and the identification of those sounds is fairly important for recognition.

#music analysis #radicalism #digital fusion

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