#trust me i work in labour & employment law…

[namjoohyuk]

kpop idols need to unionize

[loving-n0t-heyting]

i actually think we tend to see more private property fetishism from the online artist crowd than can be written off to like, anti-ai sentiment alone. art style theft discourse, anti-piracy discourse, and a general tendency to present supporting small businesses as a moral good are very petit bourgie aligned stances. those are also in contrast to like the actual conditions of most waged artists- who are generally made to conform to the stylistic sensibilities of their employers and who aren't necessarily the primary profiteers of their work, also they're kind of contradictory stances to hold from ppl who make their names and careers off of derivative works. like you say, its false consciousness, but i think the online artist archetype has primed a lot of ppl to jump to ip as a first defense against any perceived threat to their career prospects

Mm you make a fair point but I still think this tendency isn’t reducible to petty bougie class striving

First, often the animating concern isn’t even directly economic except in some extended sense. When someone writes “OC DO BOT STEAL” [eta: lol that was a funny typo so I’m leaving it] under their fan character sketch or expresses fear of Literal Nazis using their art, I don’t think their worry is they’re not going to get a cut of the money the proud boys make off their fantroll. It seems more analogous to ppl worrying that ppl who make them uncomfortable will sexually fantasise about them against their will; there’s I think(?) a Lydia xz brown post I can’t find rn that expresses this as horror at acquiring a theory of mind, bc it reveals others’ fundamentally dangerous ability to think of you without your consent. Money does not even have to enter into it in order to fear badwrong representation by ppl you don’t like or trust!

Second, even when the anxiety is economic, it doesn’t have to be petty bourgeois. You can see this clearly w some writers who panic about piracy and exalt ip law as a noble protection of human dignity while frankly acknowledging they are not the ones principally profiting off of their sales. They’ll instead point out, I live and die by contract work from the publishers who actually enjoy the proceeds of my ip, and precisely bc of this they will refuse to keep contracting with me if my work is pirated instead of purchased bc the value to them of the product of my labour is how much it sells for, not how much it gets read. Same for waged artists who treat much of their work as exposure in hopes of getting further hiring offers from it, who again have an economic incentive to resist unattributed “art theft” fully consistent with never expecting more than wage labour as artists. Which seems more analogous to store clerks bristling at shoplifting since they’re threatened with punishment for letting it happen under their nose than it is to the classic image of the independent artisan with aspirations to medium-sized business ownership

[cricketcat9]

I'm NOT AN AMERICAN, and all the above is just horrific to me. I want to address one point on that list above: the retirement at 69.

I lived in Canada at the time, and got laid off a very well paid, very hellish job, at 62, because "austerity measures", and probably also not keeping my mouth shut often enough. After approx. 5 months of looking for a job***, in a city where everyone was getting laid off, I finally saw the light and buggered off to Ecuador.. NOT A MOMENT TOO SOON. I'm now retired for 11 years, and love my life, even with the cuts to my pension, because early retirement and living abroad. I'm in a good shape for my age, and no chronic conditions, but the thought of working until 69? ABSOLUTELY NOT! Given what's expected from the employees in Canada, my health would go down the drain. The body can handle only so many overtime hours, only so much stress and general workplace insanity. IF, for whatever reason, you'd lose your job at an older age (trust me, unless there are laws to prevent it, your employer WILL try to get rid of you) nobody will hire you. The insurance companies and the Social Security will hope that you die promptly and save them money, which, given the circumstances, is likely to happen.

Is there a shortage of labour in the US? If not, then draw your own conclusions...

*** I was still brainwashed into "I have to work more" then.

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for August 24

Morning

“He went out into a solitary place and prayed.”

Mark 1:35-45

Mark 1:35

The Sun of Righteousness was up before the sun. How much must our Lord have loved prayer to renounce his needed rest in sleep, in order to hold converse with his heavenly Father. He was sinless, and yet needed prayer: far be it from us to dream that we can do without it. In private we must, like our Lord, equip ourselves for the public battle of life.

Mark 1:38

Seclusion was not used as a luxury by him, nor did he plead his devotions as an excuse for escaping public duties. He was ready to preach or to pray, according to the demand of the hour. In such readiness for service should all his followers excel.

Mark 1:39 , Mark 1:40

Probably this poor man in his eagerness to be healed had broken the rules which kept him in seclusion, and dared to enter the house where Jesus was, contrary to the law of leprosy. His was a venturesome faith. It was no small confidence which could believe the Lord Jesus to be able to heal a disease so loathsome and incurable. It will be well if we can have the same assurance with regard to our sin.

Mark 1:41

That touch bespoke the sympathy of Jesus. Any one else would have been made unclean by contact with diseased flesh; with him it was otherwise, for his touch and word removed the cause of uncleanness.

Mark 1:42

Time is not wanted for divine cures. One word is enough to blot out all sin, and make the loathsomeness of lust depart. If we can but trust him, Jesus is able to heal.

Mark 1:43-45

The healed leper had better have obeyed his Lord and held his peace, for his grateful declarations hindered the Lord’s work of mercy, and took him away from hundreds who needed him. However generous and natural the promptings of our grateful hearts may be, it is always wisest to do exactly as we are bidden. Lord, heal us, and make us thy servants for ever.

Now, Lord, to whom for help I call,

Thy miracles repeat;

With pitying eye behold me fall

A leper at thy feet.

Loathsome, and foul, and self-abhorr’d,

I sink beneath my sin;

But if thou wilt, a gracious word,

Of thine, can make me clean.

Whene’er the angry passions rise,

And tempt our thoughts or tongues to strife,

To Jesus let us lift our eyes,

Bright pattern of the Christian life.

Oh how benevolent and kind!

How mild, how ready to forgive!

Be this the temper of our mind,

And these the rules by which we live.

To do his heavenly Father’s will,

Was his employment and delight;

Humility and holy zeal

Shone through his life, divinely bright.

Dispensing good where’er he came,

The labours of his life were love:

Oh, if we love the Saviour’s name,

Let his divine example move.

Evening

“The Son of Man is come to save that which is lost.”

Mark 2:1-22

Mark 2:1-3

That man is highly favoured who has godly neighbours labouring for his salvation.

Mark 2:4

Feeling that all they had to do was to bring their sick friend under the eye of Jesus, they did not stick at difficulties. If we loved men’s souls better, we should oftener seek out unusual methods of bringing them to the Saviour.

Mark 2:5

He struck his disease at the root. When sin is forgiven, every other evil is a small matter.

Mark 2:13 , Mark 2:14

This was Matthew, the tax gatherer. The Master’s voice said little, but effected much. Two words are enough to win a man to Jesus if they are attended by the power of the Spirit. As soon as he was converted, Matthew gave a feast, that his former friends might see Jesus.

Mark 2:15-22

Everything should be in harmony. To make babes in grace live in the same manner as aged veterans would be unnatural. Rigid forms no more suit the free spirit of Christianity, than an old skin bottle would suit new, fermenting wine.

From fisher’s net, from fig-tree’s shade,

God gathers whom he will:

Touched by his grace, th’ elect are made

His purpose to fulfil.

O grant us grace, that to thy call

We may obedient be;

And, cheerfully forsaking all,

May follow only thee.

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[wyrdea]

Hot Take; Slavery propagates to this day via the handing down of generational emotional abuse.

The lack of emotional education in our current school systems and the rise of private health care to treat this form of abuse when it is picked up, if ever (ridiculously priced therapy sessions and years-long waiting lists, amirite) only makes this hurdle harder to overcome for the general public, especially with the current financial recessions and rising cost of living.

When people have been exposed to this form of abuse as a child, or even just haven't received any form of emotional acceptance or education and the ignorance is accepted as 'normal'; anyone that has any power over them, (this can range from an employer, a leaseholder of the accommodation they stay in, a trusted older sibling, etc) has the ability to take advantage of their lack of awareness of their unhealed behaviours and encourage them to a point where their sense of agency is reduced to that of a 'slave', or, someone that has no free will, because it is being driven by this abuse of power. The labour of modern day 'slaves' isn't just directly physical because our transaction systems don't always work that simply anymore;

It's financial labour.

It's emotional labour.

It's spiritual labour.

It's giving your time and life direction to something that you don't believe in because you haven't been given a /true/ choice in the matter.

It's human beings /still/ taking advantage of others' weakness and abusing any form of power over them because they're too weak to take responsibility for a part of themselves that they refuse to face, debilitating and even killing others in the process.

And because the abuse of power isn't /directly/ physical, there are no laws in place anywhere in the world (that I can find, anyway; please someone tell me there are some somewhere so I can have a little hope) to defend or help people escape that are caught up in these situations.

C'mon, society. It's 2023. This HAS to change already, we're 'big enough and ugly enough' now, as my Nan used to say, that there's no excuse for "not knowing better" anymore.

Normalise every day emotional education, folks, it saves lives.

[bitchesgetriches]

Hi bitches, I'm a bit nervous to ask this but I'm being genuine I promise. I don't want you to think I'm some biggoted old fool.

Could you please help me understand how sex work isn't exploitative? I hear a lot of people saying "it's just the same as normal work, it's better than my job at Amazon/target/wherever and no one is calling that work exploitative" or "well you wouldn't do YOUR job if you didn't have to either" but like, checkout work IS hella exploitative??? Most work IS hella bullshit that only exists to feed the capitalist machine. I DO fight for a world where work is a choice. I understand why The Right would love onlyfans, but why is The Left lining up to defend it?

Sex work - especially things like onlyfans - is overwhelmingly done by the poor or as a way to escape poverty ("I was being paid shit in my previous job, now I can afford an apartment" is something I hear a lot). But in doing so it transfers all the risks to them, it's essentially turning sex work into the gig/hustle economy, isn't it? You end up on a zero hour contract with no union, health, benefit, maternity protection, in a job that can be hella dangerous and have serious emotional repercussions and requires huge emotional labour and/or disconnect and I don't really understand why we're just cheering this along?

I don't object on moral grounds. Sex is sex. Consenting adults do what you want. People are well within their moral and legal rights to choose to sell sex, (or the emotional labour that comes with it), or photos, or whatever they want - just like they are free to go work for target. I absolutely understand the need to - and support - decriminalisation of sex work, the need to make it safe and secure for sex workers, but I just can't see why ~the world at large~ sees huge numbers of young 18 year old women being herded and encouraged into joining Onlyfans - in several cases with people saying "can't wait for you to turn 18 so you can have an OF" so the patriarchy can pay £3-4 a month to see their tits and people cheer this along? One or two get rich, I'm sure, but who is getting REALLY rich? It's the old white men that own onlyfans and take a 20% cut, as always. It's the patriarchy working as it always has. Allowing one or two women to succeed while holding the rest down for exploitation. Except now it's mixing with the worst bits of 21st C capitalism, too. Surely all OnlyFans is is Uber for Sex work, using the gig economy to de-unionise and isolate workers, strip them of benefits, make them into independent contractors and profit off them?

Sure, it's a step up from kidnapping girls from Romania to have them do porn, but is that really the bar? Can we maybe just stop for a second and imagine a world where rich white men don't get richer off the emotional and physical labour of women? Where the other available work options aren't so shit that a zero-hour career with no employment protections, a limited lifespan, in a dangerous industry doesnt look like heaven in comparison? Sure, you can work for three years, sell your emotional labour, and pay for college. But why are we cheering that instead of asking why this has to happen in the first place? We're fiddling around the edges of the system, giving it a makeover, and rebadging it "female empowerment" instead of actually changing anything fundamental. Poor women sell sex. A few are allowed to break out. Men get to leer at naked women for pennies a year. Rich men get richer. Plus ça change. Not even to mention that because of the ~emotional~ connection that onlyfans gives beyond porn, we're embedding the idea that women are "money in, girlfriend out" machines. I know several girls that won't even *talk* to men in any situation without a minimum $50 fee. And apparently the fact we also have a crisis of men so lonely they're willing to pay this isn't a problem either? Where's our luxury communism dreams bitches?

Bitches, I trust you. What am I missing?

I don’t think you’re a bigoted old fool. Nor a prude! I think you’re incredibly enlightened about the dangers of unfettered capitalism and labor exploitation.

Almost all of the issues you highlight about exploitative sex work can be said about exploitative labor in any industry. Poor people taking shitty jobs that don’t pay enough and enrich capitalist, patriarchal corporate overlords? That happens all over the world in industries from meat packing to clothing sweat shops to, yes, sex work. The exploitation of a person’s body for labor is an ethical stain on our culture at large. It’s why we’re so in favor of labor rights advances including a higher minimum wage, unions, and humane work environments. 

Raising the Minimum Wage Would Make Our Lives Better 

Are Unions Good or Bad? 

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights 

Sex work is not unique in that it opens desperate and poor people up to labor exploitation. It’s not even uniquely dangerous to the bodies of workers--John Oliver did a bit on the US meat packing industry recently that made me faint with body horror. 

So we agree that labor exploitation is bad. And it’s something that we should work towards ending in every industry. But I can see why some people would view exploitative sex work to be a different kind of bad. Because sex is sensitive! It can be used to punish and hurt. See revenge porn and the way synonyms for “sex worker” are stigmatized and used as insults throughout society. 

Now, a few clarifications. When I refer to sex work, I’m not just talking about cam work on OnlyFans. There are lots of other outlets for many different kinds of sex work. And I’m also not just talking about women sex workers. People of all gender identities and sexualities do sex work, and we should advocate for fair labor practices and safety for all of them. I am firmly pro- decriminalizing sex work so that the industry can be made safe, regulated, and destigmatized in an effort to reduce exploitation. I want sex workers to have the power of collective bargaining! I want them to be protected by law enforcement and our justice system, instead of targeted by it! I want them to pay taxes and have the privileges associated with all tax paying workers! I want them to have the power and protection of a regulatory industry that will purge abusive and violent clients from their field!

I also disagree with the characterization that choosing sex work freely, even out of desperation, is a “step up from kidnapping a girl from Romania to have them do porn.” Human trafficking is not sex work. It’s slavery and torture. Even when the choice is between making $7.25 an hour working at WalMart and making $7.25 as a cam girl, there’s still a choice involved, even if it’s a shitty one. There’s consent. Trafficking victims have no choice, no consent, only violence. 

I honestly don’t want to start a debate here. We’re all on the same page that labor exploitation is bad. So I’ll just end with this: not all sex work is inherently exploitative. Which I guess is your real question!

I’ve mentioned before that I have friends who are former sex workers. Specifically strippers and a specialty dominatrix. As with any job, they had their ups and downs, their good nights and bad nights. But they all agree that they freely chose the work not out of desperation or a lack of other options. And they even enjoyed the work in some cases. If someone prefers sex work, thrives in giving that emotional labor to others, I’m not going to judge and I’m certainly not going to tell them they’re being exploited. It would frankly be insulting, condescending, to tell someone that their choice of work (when it truly is a choice) is bad for them. 

It’s a fine line, but the line does exist. Sex work CAN BE exploitative. But it is not inherently exploitative, as far as I’m concerned. 

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 4

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics, by Lyrem, everything seems to be going well- their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as good as it seems....

Directory: [chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three]

CW: deadname use, sickness/nausea/vomiting, torture obviously, minor character death.

CHAPTER FOUR: SOMEWHERE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH

Arch’s head lifted slowly from their pillow, in daze, they weren’t exactly certain of where they were, but soon they recognized the cheap wooden panels of their basement bedroom wall and closed their eyes again.

The alarm went off- not one that was programmed into their phone- as it almost never was- but the more reliable one calling their fake name from above.

“I’m up!” Arch’s own voice pained them to hear. Did they sneak drinks from their mom’s vodka stores last night? No, not last night...

Maybe they had caught the flu from somewhere. Thinking back to the previous night, Arch remembered an uneventful evening of low sales and walking home… Nothing amiss. They didn’t even remember catching a chill. They rolled over slowly, the room spinning above them to check their phone. It was 7:10 am. Their bus would be arriving shortly. The feeling of utter dread filled them as usual and then a sudden, unmistakable fear. The adrenaline alone was enough to launch them from their bed, but then Arch’s body fired back with an overwhelming nausea.

They were going to be sick.

Arch reached for the trash can in the corner as they fell with their knees to the floor and missed.

Puking up bile, and heaving, Arch heard the sound of rushing footsteps from above coming down.

“What on earth”-

Arch couldn’t reply, but their mother supplied them with a bucket and pressed a hand onto their back- as if that was supposed to help.

“What were you doing last night that’s got you so sick!?” She touted over them angrily. “Were you drinking? Doing drugs again?”

Arch was caught smoking pot once over a year ago- strange how they would never be able to live that down.

“For Pete’s sake, ----!” The alarm bell had been trilling for a long time. Arch was amazed that they could even hear it any more. “You were out past ten last night. Is it that new job keeping you late? That’s against child labour laws, you know! I’d like to have a word with your employer!”

Burping up an acidic aftertaste, Arch leaned away from the bucket and wiped their mouth slowly. The nausea was gone.

“Food poisoning.” They said breathlessly. “Must’ve been food poisoning.”

“Clean this up and then get back into bed!” Their mother snapped. “I’ll bring you some water, but then I’m going to work. Need to pay the bills here somehow!”

Arch took their mother’s advice, and cleaned up as much of their vomit off the carpet as they could. From the stairs Maleficent stared at the spot with keen interest as Arch looked at the cat with a disgusted sneer.

“You’re a nasty little creature,” they said.

Dropping back into their bed, they were teetering on the edge of a restless sleep when their phone buzzed next to them.

It was Lyrem. It still mildly amazed Arch that he was technologically adept for his age. The message read:

expecting delivery tonight so will be staying late. No need for you to come in if you’d rather catch up on schoolwork.

Ha. Catch up on schoolwork. Arch replied:

sure. much appreciated.

Serendipity was a term rarely used by Arch but in this particular moment, they were certainly thankful for how the universe seemed to be taking care of them. It certainly did a better job than anyone else they knew.

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

The skull glared out from the showcase. The eyeholes seemed a little scratched from where someone had tried to clean it with the wrong instrument and the wrong solution.

Lyrem studied it from every angle he could. He had been at this for hours. The deliverers’ patience began to dwindle, along with that of their security guards. The seller had made it abundantly clear to give Lyrem as much time as he needed to decide how much he’d be willing to pay- so they straightened their back out, nearly forgetting their posture, and dealt with the man who seemed to be too nit-picky for their liking.

“You are sure it’s genuine Mayan?” He asked.

“A sacrifice to Quetzalcoatl himself,” the deliverer replied assuredly. “No others had been recovered in such pristine condition. Guaranteed.”

Lyrem breathed deeply and looked up at the deliverer. “Remove the barrier.” He requested.

The deliverer looked at him strangely. “I’m afraid that is against policy, sir.”

He raised a dark grey brow, his nose wrinkling with a sudden sour distaste that expressed his displeasure playfully.

“Your client knows who I am.” He spoke quietly. “Get them on the phone and explain to them that I will not make an offer until the barrier is removed.”

“Sir”-

“Now.” Lyrem interrupted, steeling his gaze.

The deliverer huffed, pulled out their phone and made the call outside the store. Lyrem watched them through the windows. After several minutes, they returned, shaking their head. He looked at them with a disappointed scowl.

“I don’t make deals on fakes,” he clarified. “Either remove the barrier or I will not make a deal- and I know that your client would love it if I made a deal.”

The deliverer frowned, and their eyes darted from the pedestal and back to Lyrem. He was standing there in the store, confident that they would make the right decision eventually. He approached them, and stared deeply into their blue eyes. His expression had a certain menacing charm.

“Think about the respect you could receive, the promotion, the splendor- if only I can know exactly what is behind this glass- it could all be yours,” he spoke softly.

This one had been broken well, but not well enough.

Retrieving a set of keys, the deliverer began to unscrew the locks from each side of the case; four of them in total.

Lyrem massaged one of his hands with the other as he watched the skull become uncovered. He held high hopes for this one. The security team moved in as he approached the piece, but were stopped by the deliverer in question. They had come this far. At this point, they had no choice but to trust Lyrem’s expert judgment.

The shop-keep closed his eyes, and in an instant, he was engulfed in shadow. The deliverer stepped away instinctively to avoid the darkening fog and watched on in terrified horror.

The shadows entered Lyrem until they were only visible through his eyes. Wisps of the fog slowly leaked from his orifices, and he approached the skull once more. He raised a hand, placing it over the top of the skull and spoke with a voice that belonged not entirely to himself:

“SHOW ME YOUR TRUTH”

The sound rung hollow through the store, as though it had transformed into a cavern for just those few seconds.

It only took a moment before the shadows drifted away, and Lyrem returned to himself. He pulled a napkin from his inside pocket and wiped away a couple drops of ectoplasm from underneath his eyes, and sniffed.

“Tell your client I will give him nothing.”

“What?” Forgetting themselves, the deliverer gasped, enraged by the decision. “I broke rules for you!”

“And aren’t you happy about that? Now you can race back to your little ‘client’ and tell them that the item they tried to sell me was a fake. I will not deal in a fake. I will never deal in fakes.” Lyrem stepped back from the pedestal, welcoming them to screw the locks back into the display. “This skull is Incan, not Mayan, and it’s certainly not a sacrifice- he was a fucking alpaca farmer for crying out loud.”

The deliverer shuddered. They couldn’t go back to their client with news like this, they wouldn’t live to see another day.

“This- this can’t be right.”

“It-it is, I am afraid.” Lyrem mocked ruthlessly. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind getting out. I’ll need to carry on a conversation with a few of my new friends- seeing as I’ve wasted much of my energy with you idiots.”

The stand was covered in a black cloth just as it had come in originally. Lyrem ushered them through the side door of the shop and followed them out, locking the door behind him.

The deliverer muttered to themselves, the confusion that had been dropped before them. Lyrem tutted with a fake sympathy.

“Before you leave,” he added, with just the slightest tinge of genuine wisdom to his voice, “Understand that I have my own bargains to uphold, just as you do. If your client is serious in gaining favour with my client, then cheap attempts to trick me, will not get them what they want. You can tell them that for me, if you wish.”

The deliverer nodded, and entered their black van as the object of interest had been secured into the back. They drove off slowly down the damp alleyway of reflected pools of streetlight. Lyrem turned, and unlocked the door to his storage area. He closed his eyes tightly, held his breath, and stepped over the threshold.

His eyes were opened the moment he heard the door click closed behind him. The darkness was unrelentingly thick. His footsteps sounded dull, and softened against the floor. Clapping his hands twice turned on some lighting from an indiscernible area.

The captives squealed as they hid away from the sudden brightness.

Lyrem smiled as he disturbed them. The shackles jingled heavily against the wall as they straightened out, pressing their backs further in, in the effort to keep away from the strange, looming man.

He looked to each of them fondly. None of them dared to speak. That was good. It meant that he had already left a lasting impression. It meant that they had already tried and failed to scream and be heard from someone outside. But this storage room was soundproof and built to perfection on the border between worlds; a mixture of celestial, earthly, and infernal construction. His absolute favourite style of architecture- besides Manueline, of course.

“Hm.” He hummed, and scratched the back of his head in thought. He only needed one of them to regain what energy he had lost. “Which one of you should I choose first?”

Marcus flinched backward. Lyrem shook his greying head at him.

“Oh, I will have to save you for last. I hope you don’t mind being locked away for weeks on end. In fact, I think I may save you for a more special occasion.”

He switched, turning his gaze onto the boy Kyle and met his eyes. The boy tried and failed to look away from him. His eyes darting back every second just to check if Lyrem was still studying him.

“What’s wrong? Having a bit of trouble speaking up?” Lyrem tutted. He angled his head towards the girl. “What about you? Will you pick up the mantle? Go on, sweety. Show these boys what true bravery is.”

Jess’ eyelashes had begun to fall down her face. Her make up smeared and ran down her cheeks from the constant tears, and was only worsened by Lyrem’s taunting hand, softly wiping them away as he squatted over her. He pouted, mimicking a sympathy that mocked her from head to toe.

“Don’t touch her!”

Lyrem lit up with joy.

“Finally! A winner!”

Jess sobbed as the attention was driven from her to Kyle. “N-no, no, no,” Her voice repeated incessantly. “Please stop- please. I’m so sorry for what we did. I-I promise, it- it won’t happen again.”

Lyrem stopped at Kyle, and moved his lips as he made his decision between them. He looked at Jess. He placed his elbow onto the back of his hand that sat across his upper abdomen. The other hand rested under his chin and it looked more like he was busy judging a piece of artwork, not debating who he would like to kill first.

“You really couldn’t make this decision easy on me, could you? On one hand I would love to make this piece of shit suffer,” He kicked Kyle’s manacled feet around lightly as he regarded Jess with gleeful sadism. “On the other hand, you are so adorable when you’re scared.”

Lyrem took another pause before fully making his decision. Pulling out a blade from his belt around his side, roughly the length of his forearm, he pointed it toward Kyle carefully and knelt down in front of him.

“This is for what you did to my Segovia album.”

Lyrem dragged the blade along the top of the boy’s cheekbone, giving him one smooth slice under his eye several inches long. Kyle whimpered, feeling the sharp sting linger for what seemed like an eternity and began to shout out as the blade continued into the more sensitive skin just underneath his eye. The jingling of chains around his arms and feet grew louder as he tried to ease the pain; too fearful to move his head, lest the point of the knife met his eye. The shouting cries and jingling ceased as Lyrem pulled the blade back.

“You scratched it, so now I scratched you.” Lyrem smiled lightly. “You see?”

Kyle’s eyes opened as blood poured down from one side. Sweat and tears mixed together to add to the stinging pain cut across his face. Lyrem cleaned off his blade onto Kyle’s shirt collar. He gasped as it reached dangerously close to his neck.

Lyrem stood over them again, waving his knife eloquently. His eyes rested on Kyle.

“Now, I do believe I have made my decision.”

Kyle closed his eyes tightly, knowing it would be him- certain of it. He heard a whimper, then a slice, and then gurgling.

He turned his head. Seeing Jess’ neck dripping a steady stream of blood down her blouse, he cried out; his mouth was left gaping as he had no hands available to cover it with.

Lyrem hovered over the body for a while, still gripping the hair that felt like nylon between his fingers. She was still somewhat alive- the expression was clear in her blue eyes that were beginning to look a glassier with each passing moment.

“The whining was already becoming a bit annoying, don’t you think?”

The boys didn’t answer Lyrem. They didn’t say anything as Jess’ spirit left her body. Lyrem licked Jess’ blood off the edge of his knife, grinning.

[v-thinks-on]

Jeeves Gets Sick - Part 1

Next I would be the first to tell you that I’m far from the most chipper fellow in the mornings. It usually takes quite a bit of groaning and blinking to get myself upright at all, and I’m not fit for company until I’ve had my morning restorative in the form of a steaming cup of oolong.

I struggled one eye open, and then the other, and pushed myself in a bit of an upward direction. I had just started to have the presence of mind to begin to fancy a spot of tea, when to my distinct surprise, it did not appear. You may be thinking right now that this is a bit thick, that this Wooster fellow expects, just because he’s thinking of tea, for a cup of the stuff to miraculously appear in hand. But all I can say to that is that you have never employed a man like Jeeves. It’s like a sort of telepathy; as soon as I’m up and conscious enough to be thinking of tea, lo! It appears, and such has been the case since day one of his employment. How I’ll ever manage without the man is beyond me.

Given all that, you can imagine that I was rather put off by the non-appearance of the tea upon that particular m. I was just starting to wonder if I should give it all up as a bad job, go back to sleep, and try again later, or if perhaps my dinner the night before hadn’t been a touch too rich and was giving me strange dreams, when the tea did, at long last, make an appearance. It appeared in a sort of rummy way, however. The tea was there, of course, and Jeeves was there carrying it in, just as usual, but rummy, like the sort of dream where everything is normal, except you’ve forgotten you had a Latin exam the next day and when you go in to take it, it’s all in Greek.

Perhaps I’d do best to illustrate the rumminess of it all with some specifics. Jeeves, as you know, is a silent sort, I don’t mean in speech, though sometimes he can be so taciturn you forget he’s there, but I mean in movement. One moment he’s there, the next he’s not, or vice-versa, and you never hear the coming or going. But on that morning, I could have sworn I heard his footsteps whispering against the carpet as he approached. Or, for another demonstrative example, take Jeeves’s expression; he can give the best stuffed frog impression of the lot, I’m sure he’s won prizes for it at contests, but even when he isn’t wearing the mask, so to speak, there’s always a certain nonchalance to his bearing. I don’t think I’d ever seen a feverish spark dancing in his inky blacks, or seen him glassy-eyed like a fellow after a sleepless night.

I know it wasn’t much to go off of. In all other ways, Jeeves was impeccable as always, with his “Good morning, sir,” and “I hope you slept well, sir.” There was hardly a thing out of place, but between the late appearance and the aforementioned symptoms, I thought I had something of a case.

I was so badly startled by the whole upset to the usual routine that I was mostly coherent even before I’d had my first sip of the oolong. Still, I broached the matter cautiously as I took the cup from his tray, “Jeeves, are you quite all right. You seem a little out of sorts, what?”

“Sir?” Jeeves asked stiffly, with a bit of the air of an offended cat.

“A little peaky, I mean,” I attempted to clarify, “Like you’ve come down with something.”

“Is there something not to your liking, sir?” Jeeves said, as though he’d only heard every other word.

“Not exactly, I just-”

“Will that be all, sir?”

I sipped my tea, defeated. “Right ho, Jeeves.”

“Very good, sir.”

With that, he left the room. I could have sworn I heard him go.

I was not to be so easily contented. I ruminated as I readied for the day. You must understand that in all the years I’d known Jeeves, I had never seen the man so much as falter. He’s something of a paragon, if that’s the word I’m looking for; where other men fail, he invariably prevails. He gives an invulnerable sort of impression, as though nothing could ever knock him down. And yet, here he was, late, unsteady, and feverish. The signs were subtle, but I couldn’t deny their presence.

I didn’t like it. It was awfully feudal of Jeeves to keep a stiff upper lip and soldier on through rain or high seas and what not - or whatever the expression is exactly - but for all that I depend on the chap, I could last a day without his services. It wouldn’t be easy, but I could manage it, and for a cause as good as his speedy recovery from whatever it was that ailed him I would do it with pride. But the thought of Jeeves struck ill by some unknown pestilence shook me to the core. I can hardly begin to say how much I value the man and the thought of him wasting away was more than I could bally well take.

I strode out to give him a piece of my mind over breakfast. But where breakfast ought have been, there was nothing in its place.

I made like the cat in the adage, letting I dare not wait upon I would, as Jeeves would say, for but a moment before barging into the kitchen. There, I found Jeeves, a mere shadow of his usually impressive self. He was sitting down on the job before breakfast was out on the table, and he faltered in getting to his feet as I entered his lair. His eyes were undeniably bright with fever and his brow damp with sweat, a few hairs curled out of place. To be seen in such a state, the man was clearly on his deathbed.

“Sir?” he began.

I silenced him with a wave and cut him off besides. This was more than just one of those arguments that inevitably occur with two stubborn chaps living in close proximity; Jeeves’s very life was on the line and I daren’t falter.

“Not a word, Jeeves. You are plainly ill. Even a fool could see it, and I know you are no fool. Even I can see it.” My voice took on something of a pleading note all on its own accord.

“Sir,” he attempted to protest, but even his words came out weak.

“Dash it all, Jeeves!” I exclaimed, startled by my own vehemence. “I won’t have you working in such a state. Call for a doctor!”

He straightened his posture and seemed to strain against the fever. “That’s very kind of you, sir, but hardly necessary.”

I refused to hear a word against it. “Not another word, Jeeves! I’m going to get a doctor and I expect you to go straight to bed and rest until you’re back to your implacable self.”

“Sir, there is no need to call for a doctor; it’s nothing that a little rest won’t cure.” It pained me to see his resistance failing even as I chipped away at it.

Jeeves’s word is usually taken as law, but this was too serious a thing to trust to his stubborn insistence. “No, Jeeves, rest. I’ll be back with a doctor before you know it.”

Jeeves let out the barest suggestion of a sigh. His breathing seemed laboured. “If you must, sir, then permit me to recommend my family physician. I have his London address.”

I stared at the address Jeeves provided. “Are you sure? I could certainly find you a better man on Harley street.”

“He has my absolute trust, sir. I would see no other.” There was something steely in his manner, even glassy-eyed as he was, that made it clear he would make no further concessions, and I didn’t have time to argue. The man has an iron will when challenged and that I had managed to push him so far as I had was evidence of how far he’d fallen.

“Very good, Jeeves. And you’ll rest while I’m gone? None of this working rot?”

“Yes, sir.” He almost sounded relieved, which only confirmed my darkest fears.

He saw me to the door despite my instance to the contrary. I could see his mask cracking all the while. His air of exhaustion would not have looked out of place on me the morning after a night of revelry, but on Jeeves, it looked horribly wrong. I had half a mind to carry the man to bed myself just to be sure he kept his word, but then I doubtless would have had a revolt on my hands, and so I contented myself with finding him a doctor.

The place was easy enough to find. A shiny new plaque by the door boasted the residence of “Dr. John Watson, M.D.” With a name like that, a fellow can only think of Sherlock Holmes’s pal, but there must be countless men with the name John Watson in the metrop., certainly plenty of them doctors, and all tired of being asked how Sherlock Holmes is doing. For my part, I didn’t very well care if the man was the prince of Persia or a patch-coated street kid like one of the Baker Street Irregulars as long as he had the stuff for Jeeves.

I gave the door a pounding that could have been considered frantic, and a maid soon swung it open and ushered me into a parlour. I believe I managed to impress upon her the urgency of my visit, because it wasn’t long before a doctorly fellow came down to see me. He was a broad-built mustachioed sort, regarding me with the utmost seriousness.

I have been quelled by lesser gazes than his, but I had my mission and didn’t even let him get so far as bidding me a terse good morning before I exclaimed, “It’s Jeeves! He’s ill!”

A glint of recognition struck the fellow’s eyes. “Reginald Jeeves?”

“That’s the one! He said you were his family doctor.”

The doctor smiled a little at that, but quickly turned serious. “Then I expect we have not a moment to waste.”

We hurried back to the flat as fast as feet could fly and wheels could spin.

On the way, Dr. Watson asked, “Am I correct in presuming that you must be Mr. Wooster?”

“Right-o!” I exclaimed. “I mean to say, yes, I’m him.”

The doctor nodded as though everything was just as he expected. “I doubt Jeeves would have sent you to me unless it was something serious.”

I twiddled my fingers a little, suddenly realizing something awkward about my position. “It wasn’t Jeeves who asked for you - well, he said he wouldn’t see anyone else - but I was the one who insisted. You see, he was all out of sorts this morning!”

“What were his symptoms?” Dr. Watson asked, his manner suddenly businesslike.

“Well, to start with, he was late with the tea in the morning, and then I swear I could actually hear him walking around, when, well, you know how he usually appears and disappears here and there. And then when it came time for breakfast, I found him sitting in the kitchen before anything was out on the table, and his eyes looked absolutely feverish!”

I’m afraid I made a muddle of the telling of it, but Dr. Watson nodded along as though it was all clear to him.

It felt like ages, but finally we arrived back at the flat. The place was silent and to all appearances empty. I half expected to find Jeeves collapsed on the floor, overcome by a sudden spell of weakness, but I bravely led the doctor on, through Jeeves’s lair, into his quarters. And there the man was, lying obediently in bed, though I noted with some displeasure that he was already sitting upright when we arrived. Jeeves made to struggle to his feet, but I waved him down with the firmest look I could muster.

So he contented himself with a quiet, “Sir,” and “Dr. Watson,” each accompanied by a respectful nod.

Generally, as you would expect, I spend very little time in my man’s quarters. Therefore, I was a little surprised by the cramped spareness of it all. The fellow constantly rescuing me from all manners of soup deserved rather better than what could have passed for a closet furnished with a cot, some drawers, and some shelves laden with all manner of tomes. But alas that was a problem for another day. For the time being, the three of us crammed in to the best of our ability; Jeeves in bed, of course, Dr. Watson on a chair brought in from the kitchen positioned at the bedside, and I hovering at the foot of the bed by the drawers.

“My apologies Dr. Watson, I am afraid there has been something of a miscommunication,” Jeeves said, somehow projecting the very image of a valet, even though he was abed in his brown dressing gown, looking only a little less feverish than when I left him. “Mr. Wooster’s gentlemanly spirit demanded that my recovery be overseen by a doctor, however I assure you that my condition is not at all serious and I find it to be much improved even after a brief respite.”

“Dr. Watson will be the judge of that!” I insisted, drawing myself up to a considerable height - with Jeeves incapacitated, I was by far the tallest chap in the room.

The doctor glanced between Jeeves and myself, no doubt weighing our words, though the only expression I saw cross his features was the suggestion of a smile. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Wooster. May I have a moment alone with my patient?”

“Oh, certainly! I’ll biff off then, toodle-pip!” I hastily ducked out of the room with a final glance at a less than pleased Jeeves, and settled myself in the sitting room for the long haul.

I lit a gasper to ease my rattled nerves and let the soothing aroma wash over me. You may be asking why I would prefer a gasper when I have Italian and Turkish cigarettes close at hand, and to that I can only point to the fact that Jeeves always smokes gaspers, and so I find them to have a similar reassuring effect when the man himself is absent, though certainly nothing equal to the real article.

I confess, I was rather far gone. I kept glancing back at the door to the kitchen, expecting Dr. Watson to emerge at any moment with news that I could only imagine inevitably got worse with every passing second. I felt rather like those Greek chappies; like Damon wasting away in his cell waiting for his pal Pythias - or rather Pythias racing back to wherever it was, absolutely frantic about Damon wasting away in that cell of his, only hoping he wasn’t too late. Not that I had any illusion that Jeeves saw his mentally negligible young master as anything even approaching his Damon or Pythias.

It was difficult not to envision Jeeves like one of those damsels in the pictures, slowly and inevitably wasting away in the sickbed as her family cried around her. I thought I heard a distant cough coming from the other room; the first innocuous symptom before consumption set in. I was just beginning to compose a fitting eulogy for such a great man with a few tears in my eyes when at long last I heard a door swing open and shut, and a steady gait that could only belong to Dr. Watson approached through the kitchen.

I jumped up to greet him, almost as fast as Jeeves when I interrupt him when he’s reading. “Is he…?”

The doctor smiled. “Don’t worry, Jeeves will be all right. He merely has a fever.”

“It’s not consumption?”

“No,” Dr. Watson said gently.

“Right-o!” I exclaimed, significantly braced.

“He should recover completely in a day or two, but I’ve given him an order to rest until then.”

“That’ll be just the thing!”

I hastily bade Dr. Watson take a seat and offered him a drink to toast to Jeeves’s health and what not and the kindly doctor obliged.

I downed my glass perhaps a bit too quickly, but a bracing drink really was the thing to take the edge off of my lingering fears and the jitters of relief.

Just as the need for further conversation began to make itself known - I had some mind to bring it around to Jeeves - the doctor remarked, “Has Jeeves been working himself particularly hard of late?”

“I haven’t been giving him any more work than usual,” I said with some righteous indignation. This chap may have been a friend of Jeeves, but that didn’t give him licence to critique how I ran my household.

“No, I would think not,” Dr. Watson said with just a touch of exasperation. “It is only that I have often had the occasion to observe that when a gentleman is particularly intelligent, he may have difficulty recognizing his own limits and the limits of others.”

“And overwork himself, you mean?” I asked, a bit taken aback.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think Jeeves ever does that. He’s as hardworking a chap as any, of course, but I don’t think he’d over do it.” I hesitated. “Really, he always seems so infallible, like nothing’s too much for him to handle. I don’t think I’ve ever known him to get ill.”

Dr. Watson nodded sagely. “Jeeves has done his best to appear infallible for as long as I’ve known him.”

“You knew him growing up, what?”

“No, Jeeves was a young man by the time I made his acquaintance.”

“Jeeves’s cousin Bunny said he was always particularly intelligent.”

“Yes, he was a very personable young man, but always at something of a distance.” After a moment’s pause, Dr. Watson forced himself to his feet. “I should get on with my rounds, but it was a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Wooster. Jeeves is fortunate to have a friend such as yourself.”

“I say!” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet after him. “You mean it?” I’m usually not met with enthusiastic approval so much as weary disdain by the older element.

“Certainly. Jeeves was a friendless young man, but he seems to have taken a liking to you.”

I may have flushed at his words even as I protested, “What about his cousins? Bunny told me about the games they used to play. I’m just the hapless young master.”

To my surprise, the doctor frowned. “I wouldn’t call them friendly.”

I wanted to protest in Bunny’s defense - he’s not only a cousin of Jeeves’s, but a pal of mine - but then I remembered Jeeves’s cousin Dorian and his airy teasing that had a cruel edge to it, and instead, I asked, “Did Jeeves really say all that?”

“Not in so many words, but I’ve learned to observe a little over the years.”

“Well, I say! It’s really me who’s lucky to have Jeeves, with all he does for me. I only wish I could do enough to repay him.”

“I’m certain that you repay him in your own way.”

If my dubiousness showed, Dr. Watson didn’t comment on it as I showed him to the door. I bid him a cheery “Toodle-pip!” and retired to the sitting room.

Abruptly left to my own devices with no urgent mission at hand, I found myself rather at a loss. I puttered about for a bit, lit another gasper, finished off my s. and b., and even gave the book I had been reading the night before a cursory flip, but all the while my thoughts lingered on Jeeves. The words on the page meant nothing compared to the looming fear of Jeeves’s condition taking a sudden turn for the worse.

Finally, I decided enough was enough.

The floorboards creaked more than they’d ever before had the gall to creak as I toed it through the kitchen, toward Jeeves’s quarters, doing my best not to wake the man from his much needed slumbers. It was only as I stopped at the door, a hand upon the knob, that I realized the bally rumminess of it all. Whether Jeeves had really taken something of a liking to me or not, I couldn’t very well go peeking into my man’s quarters, ill or the very image of health, without a good reason.

And just as I was dithering at the door, my stomach came roaring to the rescue. It wasn’t so much a roar as a gurgle, but it made itself known and the next moment I had a plan of action fully formed. The first order of business was tea. The morning’s oolong had long since gone cold, and so I set about fiddling with the stove.

Perhaps thanks to my Aunt Agatha - that horrible aunt who howls at the moon and drinks the blood of the innocent - you may be under the impression that I have no ability to take care of myself without Jeeves acting as my keeper. That is not entirely true. I am certain I would waste away to nothing without him for a week, but, as I have said, for a day or two with just cause, I can manage. And to whomever has given you the impression that I cannot operate my own stove, I say “tinkerty-tonk.”

That is not to say that I am an expert tea-brewer or have in any way mastered the arts of the home at which Jeeves excels, but I can very well pull together a cup of tea. After a rather lot of prodding and waiting and prodding and waiting again, I emerged with a piping hot cup of just the stuff. It smelled about right, though it was difficult to tell after the steam burned my nostrils. It was with some measure of pride then, that I carried it ho, into Jeeves’s quarters, careful not to spill a drop - I shook some droplets off the saucer for good measure, before gently propping open the door.

Jeeves was, of course, alert and awake upon my arrival, greeting me with an ever formal, “Sir?” his tone just barely beginning to question what I was dashed well doing there.

“What ho, Jeeves!” I proclaimed, gesticulating somewhat more than I ought with the precious cargo in hand - I hastily put a stop to it before all the tea splashed out onto the floor. “Just come with a spot of tea, what?”

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Jeeves said, sounding a little confused, the poor sick lamb.

Once the cargo had been carefully rested upon the bedside table, I took a good look at my man. His state was greatly deteriorated from his usual strength, propped up on a few threadbare pillows, his dark hair in wild disarray, and his eyes drooping. It took him a bit of effort just to push himself far enough upright to have a drink of tea.

I hastily bent over to assist him, but I’m afraid I rather more got in the way.

“Thank you, sir,” Jeeves said softly, giving the cup a tentative sip.

Despite all the chaos around them, his features remained impassive, those dark eyes with their inscrutable infinite depths, regarding me just a foot or so away from my own baby blues - a shiver ran down my spine.

It jolted me into self-awareness and I jumped the rest of the way upright. “Just thought I’d hop by and see how you’re coping, what?”

“Very kind of you, sir.”

“Is there anything else you need, what? A book to read, or any extra blankets or what not?”

“No, sir. As Dr. Watson instructed, all I require now is rest.”

“Oh, yes, right-o then! I’ll let you get back to that, what? I’ll just be popping down to the Drones for lunch then, unless you’d rather I stayed here, that is.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Right-o!”

After bumping into the wall, I backed out the door and closed it behind me before taking a moment to regain my bearings. I had half a mind to wonder where Jeeves kept the cooking sherry, in the hope that it might quell my firing nerves, but thankfully it soon passed, my head righted itself, and I set off for the Drones post haste in search of a more appetizing apéritif.

You may be thinking that being overwhelmed with gratitude when Jeeves miraculously lifts victory from the soup of defeat is one thing, but it doesn’t become a fellow to get all in a tizzy like this over something so simple as bringing his man some tea, but it must be understood that the circs. were rather far out of the ordinary. For one, it was me bringing Jeeves the tea, rather than the other way around. And for another, this was no ordinary man, but Jeeves, the paragon of a valet who had gotten me out of the soup more times than I could count and was an inimitable man besides, and so I dashed well wanted to do right by him in his hour of need, even though it had me well out of my usual depths.

Under the aforementioned circs., it was a somber, serious Bertram Wooster that lunched at the Drones that afternoon. I tossed a bit of bread about with the lads, but my thoughts lingered back in the flat with Jeeves. As I finished my lunch - more picked at rather than devoured, as would have been expected of a Wooster short one breakfast - I asked for some soup to bring back to my indisposed man. As it so happens, the cook at the Drones is acquainted with Jeeves and happily obliged, and so I was sent home bearing his sympathies and a tureen of his own special recipe.

I hurried back to the flat with the precious tureen and carefully ladled out a bowl of still warm soup. With a lot of slow, awkward movements, I managed to maneuver the door to Jeeves’s quarters open, soup in hand, without making a spill, only to find the man himself fast asleep in bed. I felt a small pang of disappointment, shortly overcome by relief that he was finally resting. He looked awfully peaceful; every muscle usually kept at stiff attention, for once allowed to relax. The teacup I had left with him before departing for the Drones now sat empty on the bedside table, and so in its place I put the bowl of soup, ready for whenever he woke.

Just as I was tiptoeing out, I heard Jeeves stirring in the bed behind me. I glanced back to see him hastily drawing himself to attention - as much so as he could manage.

“Thank you, sir,” he said hoarsely.

“Not at all, Jeeves!” I exclaimed, my voice too loud for the sickroom. “Bon appetit, what?” And with that, I stumbled back out into the kitchen.

With nothing more to be done - my bearings quickly regained - I returned to sulk about the sitting room with a gasper in one hand and a glass in the other. I’m not usually a terribly busy chap. I live a life of leisure and I, for one, am content not to be running about at all hours of the day and night, as much as my Aunt Agatha and her ilk may believe I do too little of the former and too much of the latter. No, it’s the quiet life for Bertram W. on all fronts. But on this occasion, I was downright preoccupied and rather wished I had something else to hold up my mind.

I lay about, did a spot of pacing, and lay about some more. I would have poked at the keys of the piano, but if my light tread was enough to awaken Jeeves, the instrument would have been a sure thing. And I couldn’t very well leave the flat in case Jeeves’s condition took a sudden turn for the worse.

I threw myself back down upon the sofa a bit more loudly than I ought and made a half-hearted attempt to reimmerse myself in the mystery that had seemed so captivating the day before. Today, however, each clever remark made me think of Jeeves’s sly, understated wit, each foolish mistake of how he would have doubtless done better, and each description of a corpse inevitably called to mind the image of him huddled beneath the sheets, fighting off death’s icy grasp as I sat reading, whiling away the hours.

I could stand it no longer. I tottered through the kitchen to Jeeves’s quarters just to be certain he was getting his requisite rest and hadn’t been calling out to me, his hoarse voice too quiet to be heard through the walls.

Jeeves lay in bed, to all appearances fast asleep, not at all like a fellow fighting off the icy hand of death. The soup, now lukewarm, sat untouched on the table where I had left it. Jeeves’s eyes fluttered open upon my arrival. 

Met with his sharp gaze, I hastily cast about for an excuse. “I don’t suppose there’s anything else you need, what? Any blankets or water or anything?”

“No, sir.” More gently, Jeeves insisted, “You are very kind, sir, but as you said yourself, what I need now is rest.”

“Oh, right-o.”

“Sir, if you would be more comfortable, I would have no objection to you remaining here.”

“I say! Rather! If that’s all right with you, I mean.”

“Certainly, sir. It would be preferable by far to the current arrangement.”

“Right-o! I’ll just get my book then.”

I dashed back to the sitting room, and in two blinks of an eye, I was back in Jeeves’s quarters, perched on the kitchen chair Dr. Watson had left by the bedside, book in hand. Jeeves regarded me a moment with something approaching a smile, before letting his head fall back upon the pillow and his eyes fall shut.

I sat silent and still, not daring to move lest the noise reach his acute senses and jar him from the dreamless. But I didn’t mind the stillness so much. There was something soothing about the sight of the man, peacefully at rest. I fancied I saw the trace of a smile lingering across his finely chiseled features. Even in sleep, there was something undeniably remarkable about the chap. You could see him gleaming with intelligence from miles away, his head sticking out a little in back just to accommodate all of that grey matter.

His eyelid flickered and I hastily turned my attention to my book.

It was much easier reading with Jeeves there beside me, sleeping soundly. I just made sure to turn the pages quietly and on a few occasions had to bite back exclamations, but on the whole, it was smooth sailing. Whenever a corpse showed up, all I had to do was glance down at Jeeves to be sure he was as life-like as ever, and looking healthier every minute for all the rest he was getting.

I don’t know exactly when I dozed off too, but the next thing I knew, I felt a warm hand on my wrist pulling me back into awareness, my back and neck sore as the dickens from sleeping where I sat, in that dratted uncomfortable kitchen chair.

“You may find a chair in the sitting room more to your liking, sir,” Jeeves remarked.

“You don’t say, Jeeves,” I retorted, still a bit groggy as I rolled out my neck and shoulders, and strained my back.

“Yes, sir.”

I rubbed open my eyes, still struggling in the bright light of day. Jeeves was still there in the bed beside me - not that I was so lucky as to have slept in the bed; I having been consigned to that dashed uncomfortable chair. He looked well, less feverish, I mean, his eyes back to their usual luster and what not, though he still seemed a little worse for the wear, tired and worn.

“Sleep well, what?” I asked.

“Yes, very well. Thank you, sir.” He certainly seemed refreshed.

Jeeves regarded me with a sort of rummy soft expression, if you get my meaning, nothing bad, just unusual for the chap, like he was amused by something, but without the amusement, or like I had somehow caught him off his guard, but with none of the startled look of having been caught.

“Feeling back to your old self, what?”

“Yes, sir.” Jeeves pushed himself upright, looking like he was about to get out of bed.

I hastily gestured him back down.

“Sir, your concern is gratifying, but I assure you that it is unnecessary.”

“Not necessary? Now see here Jeeves, you’ll get as much rest as Dr. Watson said if you know what’s good for you! I won’t very well have you suffering a re- what is it, Jeeves?’

“A relapse, sir?”

“I won’t have you suffering a relapse just because you’re fool enough to go back to work before you’re properly recovered and I’m fool enough to let you. And that’s final,” I added, seeing an argumentative glint in his eyes.

“Very good, sir,” Jeeves relented at last.

I was feeling rather pleased with my latest victory and it was with a bit of a Jeevesian flourish that I asked, “Now, is there anything I can get for you?”

“If you will not permit me to get it for myself, I believe a spoon for the soup would be called for, sir.”

“Oh! Yes, of course! Right on it, Jeeves!”

I hopped over to the kitchen, rummaged around a bit, and hopped back with the called for utensil.

I lingered by Jeeves’s sickbed for a few ticks longer, chewing the fat and what not, before finally biffing off to the Drones for dinner and leaving my man to his belated meal - the soup had gone cold, but he stubbornly refused my every offer to reheat it for him on the stove. Dinner was much like lunch; quiet and brief, occupied with thoughts of Jeeves. I saw Bingo and some of the other fellows, but I didn’t have the heart for more than a round or two, before hastening back home.

The flat was quieter than I had left it - silent, in fact - but the mouth-watering smell of something cooking wafted in from the kitchen. However, I found nothing simmering on the stove and, as far as I could discern, not a thing had been touched since I left for the Drones. Jeeves was awake, but not upright when I slipped into his quarters, looking still fitter than when I had left him mere hours before. I noted that the dishes on the bedside table were gone without a trace.

I beamed at the chap and proclaimed, “What ho, Jeeves!”

“Good evening, sir,” he answered with some suggestion of a smile.

“Rested and comfortable, what?”

“Yes, sir. I take it that your dinner at the Drones was satisfactory?”

“Rather!” Back in Jeeves’s company, everything took on a rosier tint, even my hasty supper. “But it’s good to be home, what?”

“Indeed, sir.”

Outside of Jeeves’s cozy little room, the sky was rapidly darkening. It wasn’t nearly a late enough hour for Bertram W. to consider calling it a night under usual circs., but these were hardly the usual circs. I was feeling a bit drowsy myself and I thought I saw Jeeves’s eyes beginning to droop. The chap needed all the rest he could get to make a full recovery.

“Do you need anything for the night?” I asked on a bit of a delay. “I can bring over some blankets from the spare bedroom. Or I could put up another pot of tea.”

After a moment’s consideration, Jeeves replied, “An additional blanket would not be unwelcome, sir.”

“Right-o!”

I yanked the blanket off the bed in the spare bedroom, gave it a quick fold, and carried it proudly back to Jeeves. It was a bit of a joint effort getting the blanket all set up and making sure Jeeves was comfortable for the night. I popped back into the kitchen to bring him a glass of water, and then I lingered, hovering by the bedside, unsure what else to do, but reluctant to leave the man’s side.

“Need anything else, what?”

“No, sir. Thank you sir.” He looked up at me, his usually keen or alternatively empty gaze again strangely soft and earnest, a gentle smile playing across his features.

I could only beam back. I had half an impulse to bend down and brush a stray hair from his forehead, which I hastily restrained, pocketing my hands to keep them from acting of their own accord as they are wont to do.

All was quiet, the square outside the window dark and still. We seemed to be very much alone in the world.

“Good night then, Jeeves,” I said at last.

“Good night, sir.”

“‘Till tomorrow, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good night, then,” I said again, and bumped into the door frame on my way out into the kitchen.

I paced about the flat a bit, picking things up, putting them back down, and what not, feeling rather at a loss - what Jeeves does in the evenings after seeing me to bed is one of life’s great mysteries. But the trials of the day were enough to wear down even the Wooster spirit, and so, with a great yawn, I retreated back into my own bedroom and hastened to bed, hoping the next day would herald a return to normalcy in the Wooster abode.

Part of The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves

[fuckyeahdialectics]

Speech by David Lammy, Labour MP

I am here, because you were there.

We are here, because you were there.

My ancestors were British subjects. But they were not British subjects because they came to Britain. They were British subjects because Britain came to them, took them across the Atlantic, colonised them, sold them into slavery, profited from their labour and made them British subjects. That is why I am here. That is why the Windrush generation are here.

I quote Martin Luther King, who himself quoted St Augustine, when he said that an unjust law is no law at all. So I say to the Minister: warm words mean nothing. Guarantee these rights and enshrine them in law.

And 230 years after the Abolitionist movement wore their medallions, I stand here as a Caribbean, Black, British citizen and I ask the Minister on behalf of thousands of Windrush citizens:

Am I Not a Man and a Brother?

My speech from the debate on the Windrush petition today:

I am proud to stand here on behalf of the 178,000 people who signed this petition.

I am proud to stand here on behalf of the 492 British citizens who arrived on HMT Empire Windrush from Jamaica 70 years ago.

I am proud to stand here on behalf of the 172,000 British citizens who arrived on these shores between the passage of the 1948 Nationality Act and the 1962 Commonwealth Immigrants Act, including my own father who arrived from Guyana in 1956.

But it is a very dark episode in our nation’s history that this petition was even required.

It is a very dark day indeed that we are here in Parliament having to stand up for the rights for people who have always given so much to this country and expected so little in return. 

We need to remember our history. In Britain when we talk about slavery we tend to just talk about its abolition.

The Windrush story does not begin in 1948. The Windrush story begins in the 17th century, when British slave traders stole 12 millions Africans from their homes, took them to the Caribbean, sold them into slavery to work on plantations.

The wealth of this country was built on the backs of the Windrush generation’s ancestors.

We are here, because you were there.

My ancestors were British subjects. But they were not British subjects because they came to Britain. They were British subjects because Britain came to them, took them across the Atlantic, colonised them, sold them into slavery, profited from their labour and made them British subjects. That is why I am here. That is why the Windrush generation are here.

There is no British history without the history of the Empire.

As Stuart Hall put it: “I am the sugar at the bottom of the English cup of tea.”

And then 70 years ago as Britain lay in ruins after the Second World War the call went out to the colonies from the Mother Country. Britain asked the Windrush generation to come and rebuild the country. Work in our National Health Service. Work on the buses and the trains and as cleaners and security guards. So once again, labour was used.

They faced down the No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish signs. They did the jobs nobody else would do. They got spat on in the street. Assaulted by the Teddy Boys, the skinheads, the National Front. Spat at in the street. Lived 5 to a room in Rachmanite squalor. They were called and they served but my God did they suffer for the privilege of coming to Britain.

And yet my God they triumphed too. Sir Trevor McDonald. Frank Bruno. Sir Lenny Henry. Jessica-Ennis Hill. National treasures.

Knights of the realm. Heavyweight champions of the world and Olympic champions wrapped in the British flag. Sons and daughters of the Windrush generation, as British as they come.

And after all of this the Government wants to send us back across the ocean. They want to make life “hostile” for the Windrush children. They strip them of their rights, they deny them healthcare, they kick them out of jobs, they make them homeless, they stop their benefits.

And they are imprisoned in their own country. Centuries after their ancestors were shackled and taken across the ocean in slave ships, pensioners are imprisoned in their own country.

It is a disgrace. And it happened here because we don’t remember our history.

Last week the Prime Minister at Prime Minister’s Questions the Prime Minister said: “We owe it to them and the British people”.

The Home Secretary said that the Windrush generation should be considered British. That they should be able to get their British citizenship if they so choose.

This is the point the Government simply still do not understand. The Windrush generation ARE the British people. They ARE British citizens. They came here as citizens. That is the precise reason why this is such an injustice. Their British citizenship is, and has always been, theirs by right. It is not something that the Government is now choosing to grant them.

Can I remind the Government of Chapter 56 of the 1948 British Nationality Act.

Every person who under this Act is a citizen of the United Kingdom and Colonies shall by virtue of that citizenship have the status of a British subject.

The Bill uses the term British nationality by virtue of citizenship.

I read this Bill again last week when reading over the case notes of my constituents caught up in the Windrush crisis.

Patrick Henry. A British citizen. Arrived in Britain in 1959. A teaching assistant who told me “I feel like a prisoner who has committed no crime” because he is being denied citizenship.

Clive Smith. A British citizen. Arrived here in 1964, showed the Home Office his school reports and still threatened with deportation.

Rosario Wilson. A British citizen. No right to be here because St Lucia became independent in 1979.

Wilberforce Sullivan. A British citizen. Paid taxes for 40 years. He was told in 2011 he was no longer able to work.

Dennis Laidley. A British citizen. Tax records going back to the 1960s. Denied a passport and unable to visit his sick mother.

Jeffrey Greaves. A British citizen. Arrived here in 1964. Threatened with deportation by the Home Office.

Cecile Laurencin. A British citizen. 44 years of National Insurance contribution letters, payslips and bank account details. Application for naturalisation rejected.

Huthley Sealey. A British citizen. Unable to claim benefits or access healthcare.

Mark Balfourth. A British citizen. Arrived here in 1962 aged 7. Refused access to benefits.

The Windrush generation have waited for too long for the rights that are theirs. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over. There comes a time when the burden of living like a criminal in your own country becomes too heavy to bear any longer. That is what we have seen in the last few weeks – an outpouring of pain and grief built up over many years.

And yet Government Ministers have tried to conflate this issue with illegal immigration.

On Thursday the Home Secretary said “I am personally committed to tackling illegal migration”, “making it difficult for illegal migrants to live here and removing people who are here illegally”.

Indeed, during her statement last Thursday the Home Secretary said “illegal” 23 times but did not even once say the word “citizen”.

This is not about illegal immigration. This is about British citizens. And frankly it is deeply offensive to conflate the Windrush generation with illegal immigrants to try to distract from the Windrush crisis.

This is about a hostile environment policy that blurs the lines between illegal immigrants and people who are here legally and even British citizens. This is about a hostile environment not just for illegal immigrants that but for anybody who looks like they could be an immigrant.

This is about a hostile environment that has turned employers, doctors, landlords and social workers into border guards.

The hostile environment is not about illegal immigration.

Increasing Leave to Remain fees by 238% in 4 years is not about illegal immigration.

The Home Office making profits of 800% on standard applicants is not about illegal immigration.

The Home Office sending back documents unrecorded in second class post so passports, birth certificates and education certificates get lost is not about illegal immigration.

Charging teenagers £2,033 for limited leave to remain every 30 months is not about illegal immigration.

Charging someone £10,521 in limited leave to remain fees before they can even apply for indefinite leave to remain is not about illegal immigration.

Banning refugees and asylum seekers from working and preventing them from accessing public funds is not about illegal immigration.

Sending 9 immigration enforcement staff to arrest my constituent because the Home Office lost his documents is not about illegal immigration.

Locking my constituent up in Yarl’s Wood so she missed her Midwifery exams is not about illegal immigration.

Denying legal aid to migrants who are here legally is not about illegal immigration.

Changing the terms of young asylum seekers’ “immigration bail” so they cannot study is not about illegal immigration.

Sending immigration enforcement staff to a church in my constituency serving soup to refugees is not about illegal immigration.

The Home Secretary and the Prime Minister have promised compensation. They have promised that no enforcement action will be taken. They have promised that the “burden of proof” will be lowered when the taskforce is assessing Windrush cases.

The Windrush citizens don’t trust the Home Office and I don’t blame them. After so much injustice they need justice.

I quote Martin Luther King, who himself quoted St Augustine, when he said that an unjust law is no law at all. So I say to the Minister: warm words mean nothing. Guarantee these rights and enshrine them in law.

And 230 years after the Abolitionist movement wore their medallions, I stand here as a Caribbean, Black, British citizen and I ask the Minister on behalf of thousands of Windrush citizens:

Am I Not a Man and a Brother?

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How to Manifest a New Job Using the Law of Attraction

https://ift.tt/3d0rBfJ

How to Manifest a New Job

How to manifest a new job is a question that many people ask each and every day.

Looking for a new job shows there is little or no satisfaction with the actual circumstances and sometimes we feel we need to start “a new life on a new town”.

But we have to be aware if the need of a new job is due to a lack of personal satisfaction, a poor vision of the future or simply the need to hide away.

Why is it important? Because the Law of Attraction asks you to thank what you have as a first step. Yes, you have to be thankful for your actual job.

If you do not have any, things become easier.

    Manifest Job Meditation

Even you have a job or not, the first step on how to manifest a new job is practicing gratitude.

Gratitude for your actual job (if you have one), gratitude for your personal skills, gratitude for your abilities and for what you can give through a job.

Yes, we need to set an intention and we have to focus on what we can give to other people through our job.  How can we help an organization, our coworkers and the customers?

That way we start vibrating at the right frequency.  Remember, what you give is what you receive.

So doing this, you start manifesting a new job with the right foot.

    Manifestation Is All About Your Energy

The meaning of materializing is to acquire the energy of what it is that you desire to really feel, and afterwards being, living and counting on that experience so that you can allow that experience to become your reality.

The crucial to manifesting is to really feel the energy of what you intend to experience.

The Universe is always bringing you experiences that match your power– whether you are mindful of it or not.

When you’re sending out low-vibe power right into deep space, you’ll draw in negative outcomes.

But when you send out high-vibe energy right into the Cosmos, you’ll draw in the outcomes you prefer.

Without exception, the World will certainly supply you the individuals, experiences, as well as results that match your vibrational regularity.

So it is essential to be familiar with your power as well as assumed in all times so you can remain aligned with the Cosmos.

    How to Manifest a Job Quickly

With all that being said, there is a 5 step technique to manifest a new job I priorize.

It is really powerful if you apply it correctly.  I said before that the first thing needed is the right sense of gratitude, the right intention and the right vibration.

In this way you will begin to put into practice the law of attraction properly aligned.

Your mental images will be in perfect harmony with your feelings, sensations, intentions and desires, which makes you vibrate at the appropriate frequency for your manifestation.

How to manifest a new job is a question of control of your senses, your thoughts and your emotions, like any other type of manifestation.

Now, you must remember that trying to manifest something starting from the feeling of lack is the worst thing you can do.That is why it is so important to establish a clear intention of what you can contribute to your manifestation and generate that feeling of gratitude and joy for what you are about to do.

It is not about fooling the Universe or worse, fooling ourselves.

You must be sincere and honest with yourself. It is understood that you want a new job to improve your income, your personal satisfaction and your lifestyle.

But you know well that this will be given in addition. Your goal is happiness so, from now on, create that happiness in advance.

    How To Manifest A New Job Using These 5 Simple Steps

Now you are ready to start your manifestation labour.

Everything is in the right place.  You feel the joy, you imagine all the good things you can offer to your new job and you are ready to start.

So here are the 5 steps to use on how to manifest a new job.

  Decide what you desire

The initial step to manifest your dream job is deciding what you want.

It’s difficult to reach your goal if you do not have one. Start with your ” why. ” Why do you intend to make a career change?

What is it concerning your existing job that you don’t like? Shift your viewpoint as well as open yourself approximately new possibilities.

Brainstorm options so you can locate the intersection of what you appreciate as well as are excellent at.

This might be an excellent time to discover an advisor or coach to support you and hold you answerable.

Think of what you would certainly like your life to be like five or 10 years into the future.

Test out professions by offering, signing up with a board, or beginning a side hustle.

When you have actually determined your goal, compose it down, and share it with the individuals close to you.

There is a solid correlation between pronouncing our goals and also completing them.

  Think extra deliberately

Manifesting your dream work making use of the Law of Attraction needs deliberate thought.

As opposed to just responding to your current situation, become more purposeful regarding what you think and also really feel.

Once you’ve determined your goal, technique envisioning how you’ll really feel when you’ve reached it.

For instance, if your dream job is to end up being an expert writer, imagine just how it will feel to finish that initial manuscript, authorize your very first publication offer or make the New york city Times bestseller listing.

These positive ideas will certainly aid you to create your future instead than stay embeded the here and now.

  Emphasis on the future

To discover your dream task, you ‘ll need to concentrate on what you desire instead than what you don’t want.

When you dread your work life, it’s simple to be taken in with ideas like, “I actually dislike my job, ” “Why am I wasting my time at this firm? ” or “I actually wish to leave this harmful work setting.”

By concentrating on what you do not desire, you are actually enhancing your present circumstance.

Instead, focus on your ultimate goal. Change those negative photos with positive ones like, “I like my work, ” “I ‘m enjoying every minute at this company, ” or “I like working in such a supportive work setting.”

If you can move your thinking, you will be much more likely to manifest the future you prefer.

  Construct a scene

A short mini-scene that might only take place if you’ve obtained your brand-new task.

You might jump out ahead into the future, and claim that you have actually been called by the employer to train the brand-new recruits since your work is remarkable.

As well as he wants more employees like you.

Or you could see on your own in your chair, enjoying yourself while doing what you enjoy. Maintain the scene brief so you don’t obtain shed in thought.

Either rest or relax, close your eyes, take a breath deep, luxurious breaths, enabling your body to relax.

Do it over and also over, on a loop, up until it begins to really feel actual.

Really feel the emotions, consist of all the senses you can, sight, odor, sound, taste, feel. Whatever relates to your scene.

Replay the scene till it starts to really feel so actual. You’ll know you’ve done this properly, when you appear of it as well as are shocked to find yourself still where you were physically.

  Release

When you appear of it, allow go. You have actually done your component.

Let it go and enable the seed you have grown to take origin as well as expand in its very own method, as well as its very own time.

This is vital. It doesn’t matter exactly how much time passes. Time as well as room are nothing to the imagination.

So there ya go. Currently you understand exactly how to materialize a brand-new job.

    Law of attraction job success stories

Back then when I dabbled in freelance screenwriting, I keep in mind someday, after an extended period of writing nothing,

I was unexpectedly gotten rid of with the desire to create. I had no concept what I was misting likely to blog about.

Only that it would certainly be something dark, abrasive, single place, marginal cast.

I stood there. Sure I really felt the suggestion take a hold of me. Indeed I really felt the enjoyment of having actually written something like that.

Moments later, I got a phone call from a customer, who had actually gotten my number off a person else who really did not also like my job.

Her words to me were “I need something dark, sandy, one area, just 3 personalities.”

Nearly exactly what I had claimed! Plus, the customer liked the ended up work.

It can be that very easy. As very easy as enjoying your wish when it turns up, knowing it’s done. I have had numerous experiences where I produced a brand-new gig on the area, or switched over tasks.

So you can trust me on this. I understand what I’m speaking about. Often it’s split second. Various other times it takes “time.” Yet one thing is specific whenever, this jobs.

Not real. I most certainly did. Keep in mind; I let the concept take a hold of my mind.

In my mind’s eye, I was already writing. I was delighting in the feeling of being associated with such a project.

I did all that with MY CREATIVITY.

Now you know how to manifest a new job using the Law of Attraction.  Go get it now!

    How to Manifest a New Job FAQ

How to manifest a new job with the Law of Attraction?

Just how To Use The Law Of Attraction In Your Job Browse Believe favorably.

Deep down favorably not simply externally. …

Rely on you. Do not allow others bring you down. …

Align what you think and also what you do to what you want. …

Know you are going to get a work. …

List what your perfect job is. …

Visualize doing that task. …

Do not allow yourself to end up being dissuaded.

Can you actually show up anything you desire?

” The simplest means to show up anything is to be clear about what you desire. Don’t offer the universe combined signals … as well as act. Pursuing your goals is essential.”

You ought to additionally stay receptive. Ask the universe wherefore you desire and also watch out for signs of accomplishment or success.

Just how do I ask the universe for a work?

7 Actions You Definitely MUST Take Whenever You Ask The Universe For Something

Action 1– Make Sure, Be Specific. …

Step 2– Ask And Let It Go. …

Action 3– Be Patient. …

Step 4– Expect Indicators. …

Action 5– Trust That Deep Space Knows Ideal. …

Step 6– Send Reminders Now And Then. …

Action 7– Be Thankful.

    Resources:

If you are serious about the Law of Attraction  and you want to manifest a better life of yours, download our free manifestation guide.

After reading the guide, I will send you information and exercises I never share on public.

Download Visualization for Manifestation Free Guide

  Comment & Share

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If you liked it, I would really appreciate it if you can share it using one of the social sharing icons.

Also, leave me a comment and let me know what you thought – I love talking to the readers, so hopefully will talk to you in the comments below.

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[friend-clarity]

Why work during the coronavirus crisis when you can earn as much — or even more — staying home?

The modern Left despises the work ethic. Unions (inevitably run by Leftists) are encouraging  workers to stay home to be parasitic on taxpayers and to claim a free lunch like candy, rather than working in safe workplaces. That is bread of shame that will cause massive deficits to obtain selfish benefits now -- but will cost future generations. Is this moral?

Howard Levitt: There is now a powerful incentive to not work and employers are having great difficulty retaining their employees

Howard Levitt, Financial Post, April 17, 2020

One of my employer clients recently received a letter from its union stating, “With the launch of the Canada Emergency Response Benefit (CERB), the incentive for healthy workers to stay away from work has become a concern. In particular, our members — especially those who are part-time and those seeing reduced hours — want to know why they would go to work if the CERB payments would effectively provide them more money to stay home.”

The union is right. There is now a powerful incentive to not work and employers are having great difficulty retaining their employees, however safe they maintain their workplaces.

This same client had their workers abandon their jobs to take CERB instead.

Incidentally, more than half of Canadians killed to date by COVID-19 have been in seniors’ homes, with many linked to their employees abandoning their jobs.

When residents of Pinecrest Nursing Home in Bobcaygeon, Ont., became ill, the entire shift of employees failed to report. When public health officials arrived at Residence Herron in Dorval, Que., they found hungry and thirsty residents in soiled beds with the nurses and other staff having largely abandoned the building.

Those frontline and often lower paid workers — whatever their obligations — might have grounds for concern as they are required to work in close quarters with the ill, sometimes without adequate personal protective equipment. But the same is not true of many who are choosing not to attend work and applying for CERB instead.

People are confusing the government’s aspirational statements about the importance of Canadians staying home with the employment law obligations to attend, as required, at safe workplaces.

But what is a safe workplace?

If employers implement social distancing, maintain adequate cleanliness and hand sanitization stations, do not permit anyone who is ill or has COVID-19 symptoms to enter the premises and discipline employees who breach these guidelines, then employees asked to attend must do so or risk dismissal.

Employees can still game the system by claiming that they are not feeling well, particularly since new legislation in Ontario prohibits employers from obtaining medical certificates to verify such claims.

The process of determining whether an employee has to attend based on safety concerns is clear. If an employee has reason to believe that a workplace is unsafe, they can demand sufficient protections. If the employer and employee disagree as to the workplace’s safety, either can call a Ministry of Labour Health and Safety inspector who can declare whether a workplace is safe or requires modifications to make it safe.

Inspectors spend their careers analyzing safety issues, including now the risks from COVID-19, and their rulings are binding.

But some unions and employees are using safety guidelines as a political battering ram.

On Wednesday, after the Ministry of Labour inspector ruled the Toronto Transit Commission workplace to be safe, many workers still refused to return to work.

On Newstalk 1010 station, I said that, following such a ruling, such drivers should be suspended and then fired if they still refuse to work.

Responding to my remarks, the union president challenged the expertise of MOL inspectors, suggesting that its drivers presumably knew better than they did.

Once the lockdown restrictions ease, companies that are permitted to operate will have to begin functioning again to survive. The welfare of all of us depends upon their success.

Employees have a right to a safe workplace, but they have to be motivated to work. Plans such as CERB must be reserved for those laid off, not for those who choose to stay home when safety is not at issue.

Employees can��t simply quit to collect the CERB — or technically they can, because the benefit is handed out like candy, but based on the criteria they would be ineligible and thus defrauding the government by wrongfully collecting it. If they are audited, they would have to pay it back, which could be a financially devastating result for someone whose regular income is so minimal that they would opt to take the CERB for financial reasons.

With these weekly ruminations, here are some of the common questions and answers I received this week.

Q: Are there exceptions to obtaining CERB for people who live with seniors with compromised immune systems? I work at Superstore as a cashier and my fear is being in the line of fire and bringing the virus home to my 80-year-old diabetic mother.

A: Unfortunately, there are no exceptions for workers living with individuals in high-risk groups — in her current situation, she cannot collect the CERB.

Q: Some people have to stay home because their kids aren’t in school and they need to apply for CERB. Kids are able to stay home alone at a certain age, but what would that age be?

A: The legislation is silent, but there is no reason to believe that a child’s age determines their parent’s eligibility for CERB. The relevant question is whether the child genuinely requires care and supervision at home due to the closure of their school or care facilities as a result of COVID-19, that requires the parent to stay home.

So far, much of the COVID-19 benefits regime operates on an honour system, and this aspect is no different. Parents should use their own judgment to determine whether their circumstances qualify them, keeping in mind their child’s degree of independence and considering whether another parent or other trusted adult is available to offer some supervision.

Q: Is there an end date for the four-month CERB benefits? If someone is laid off, say, on June 1, would their four months start then, or would they have missed out on the first three months? A: The CERB program is scheduled to end on October 3, 2020. An eligible applicant can receive the benefit for a maximum of 16 weeks in the period between March 15 to October 3.

Q: My son has asthma but his company of 70 employees has been deemed an essential work place. He does not feel safe working there right now. Is there any recourse for him? A: Based on the information you provided, he may have legal recourse in his right to refuse unsafe work under the Occupational Health and Safety Act if it can be proven that the workplace is objectively unsafe.

Another strategy is to ask his doctor if it is safe for him to return to work. If it’s not, he may be able to get a doctor’s note stating he cannot attend work due to the asthma and COVID-19, and be able to access the CERB.

On a related note, the person could request an accommodation for his disability and invoke the protection of the Human Rights Code. While he may not succeed in being placed on either paid or unpaid leave which would theoretically qualify him for the CERB, he may be able to negotiate for safer working conditions.

I will be answering other questions each Saturday if you write me at levitt@levittllp.com.

Howard Levitt is senior partner of Levitt LLP, employment and labour lawyers. He practises employment law in eight provinces. He is the author of six books including the Law of Dismissal in Canada.

[bangkokjacknews]

Thai cops having sex with hookers to 'prove' prostitution charges

Though no Thai government has ever conducted a formal survey, in 2014 UNAIDS estimated that some 123,530 sex workers operate in #Thailand, with sex industry contributing to 10 per cent of the revenue that the country generates from tourists.

Another study in 2003 estimated that Thailand’s sex industry generates an annual US$4.3 billion dollars. While sex work is evidently a pillar of the country’s economy and touches the lives of a great number of people, sex work remains outlawed in Thailand. This contradiction drives sex workers into precarity: they are excluded from government welfare and have no legal recourse if exploited by law enforcers or clients. In this investigative report, Prachatai spoke with sex workers, government officials and NGO representatives to find out how sex workers navigate their grey status under the law. How do they maintain dignity in a society that attributes little value to their work and lives? “Prostitutes just sell themselves” ‘Prostitutes sell only themselves, but wicked women sell the nation,’ a famous Thai Rat newspaper cartoonist once tweeted — as if the business of sex workers merely involves sleeping with clients and reaping the money. Such a prejudiced view overlooks the fact that sex workers who work the market best rely on well-practiced skills like any good businessmen, be that in negotiating, bargaining or advertising themselves well. All these factors are crucial in enticing customers to return. In this industry, standing out is crucial. For most sex workers, most clients come from low-income backgrounds such as taxi drivers, labourers, and young adults. One session may reap only 500-800 baht. Making a living then relies on being able to win multiple clients. Some sex workers operate in multiple locations to maximize client numbers, for example by wandering tourist spots when their usual base is quiet. Kam, a 24-year old independent sex worker, usually waits for clients at her usual spot in Bangkok from early evening until 3 AM. On a good day, she makes between 3000-4000 baht a night. But on a quiet evening where she has only one or two clients — or none at all — Kam turns to advertising her services online. Young and beautiful, Kam could likely find steady employment at a ‘massage’ parlour or even a high-class bar. But she explains that operating as an independent sex worker provides freedom. “It’s liberating. If on any given day I’m busy, or I’m on my period, or if I’m feeling lazy, I just won’t come. I don’t have to ask anyone for leaving. I don’t have to have my pay cut. Nobody else is directing my life. I keep every single baht that I make from clients. Nobody else gets a cut.” But with this freedom comes certain instabilities, least of all the risks of encountering authorities. https://bangkokjack.com/2018/11/04/truth-about-thai-prostitutes/ While images of police officers raiding brothels have repeatedly made headlines in Thai media, officials usually do not obstruct the industry. But at irregular intervals each year, public pressure on the police to show the fruits of their work escalates crackdowns on sex workers. Sex workers themselves have no way of knowing when these periods of heightened surveillance will come — that is, when they may inadvertently appear on front page news. Another inescapable risk in sex work comes in the form of undesirable clients. Sometimes a client may be intoxicated, refuse to use protection, or refuse to pay the fee. In dealing with these situations, workers sometimes risk physical danger. Without legal protections, the best sex workers can do is spread warnings of such individuals by word of mouth. In the face of the risks of working independently, many sex workers trade their freedom for the relative safety that comes with fixed employment in businesses such as ‘karaoke’ bars, ‘massage’ parlours or brothels. Though sex workers with fixed employment can be safe from undesirable clients as there is security staff in their workplace, the threat from state authorities still exists. Illegal trade and ‘legal’ operation So-called ‘karaoke bars’ commonly feature karaoke machines as décor, even though few or no customers visit such venues to sing, but rather to buy sex service. Why the farce? While prostitution is prohibited under Thai law, ‘karaoke bars’ and ‘massage parlours’ can be legally registered as normal businesses. When arrests of sex workers occur at such premises, authorities usually treat the act of prostitution as an exchange between the sex worker and the client — an exchange to which the owner of the premise was not a party. Even so, cases of clients being charged are few and far between, giving rise to the popular quip that, ‘employing sex workers is legal, being a sex worker is illegal, clients get off scot-free.’ Brothel operators are only accused of crimes when simultaneously breaking other laws, such as the employment of underage workers or illegal migrants. In June 2016, an undercover police investigation into a Huai Kwang district massage parlour, “Nataree’, resulted in the arrest of 119 employees, seven of whom were underage (of this seven, six were Burmese migrant workers). While the employees were accused of engaging in prostitution, the brothel owner was accused of crimes related to human trafficking. Undercover police investigations, where officers may pose as customers, have drawn criticisms for being hypocritical, if not themselves instances of illegal behaviour. Questionable behaviour has included the inviting of media to photograph sex workers during sting operations, and officials themselves persuading sex workers to engage in intercourse. Decha Kittwitthayanon, a lawyer and academic, has documented cases where officers have utilised the services of sex workers, before using the discharge and condoms filled with semen as evidence of illegal activity. “The Supreme Court reasoned that having intercourse with sex workers was a necessary and appropriate action for finding evidence of the activities of criminals. They pointed out that officials had no other choice but to use such measures.” Chantawipa Apisuk, the director of Empower Foundation, an organisation that has promoted the rights of sex workers in Thailand for more than 30 years, points out both the cruelty and lack of reasoning behind sting operations. “I don’t think sting operations should happen because things that were used to protect yourself from diseases become instead things that result in your arrest. They simply become wrongdoers.” “But officials say that if they don’t , they won’t be able to make arrests. But that makes me ask, why do they need to be arrested? Everybody has sex. I have sex. So why is having sex for work wrong?” Jet (pseudonym), a former ‘bar girl’ turned volunteer at Empower Foundation, tells a harrowing story where one official went as far as to solicit an underage sex worker. “Once a police officer posed as a client and asked a brothel owner whether there were any workers under the age of 18. When the owner said there weren’t any, the officer asked them to find one, and the owner did so. At first, the girl didn’t dare to go , not because she was afraid of the police, but of meeting a nasty client. “But the officer persisted, kept flirting, acted sweet to befriend the girl until finally, she began to trust him — began to feel that, ‘This guy is a good person. He probably wouldn’t hurt me’. Simply, she grew fond of the officer. In the end, when she agreed to go with the officer, she was arrested. “But do you know the saddest part? The officer that she trusted was the one who interrogated her. He took notes on the interrogation right to the girl’s face.” Unfortunately, arrests of sex workers can have far-reaching complications for their careers. Jet reports that most sex workers who are implicated in sting operations choose to leave the industry. Those who desire to keep working struggle to find work, since employers fear they will draw the attention of authorities. Jet added that sting operations at brothels have increased in frequency ever since the Trafficked in Persons 2016 report ranked Thailand as among those countries with the highest incidents of human trafficking. She also warns the government against blurring sex workers who voluntarily enter the industry with victims of human trafficking. Chantawipa argues that if the junta was committed to ending human trafficking, it would invest funds into exposing the networks of influential people and even state officials who benefit from the market — rather than chasing and arresting petty actors who may not even be victims of human trafficking, but rather voluntarily sell sex. However, the Thai Royal Police have proved unresponsive to criticisms of their sting operations against sex workers. During a meeting with the UN Committee on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), a representative of the Royal Thai Police went as far as to deny the issue’s existence. “In the case of sting operations, I insist that the Office of the Royal Thai Police has never included them in official policy, and has never supported officers to use such measures,” claimed Maj Gen Kraibun Suadsong. This article was first published in Thai on Prachatai and translated into English by Catherine Yen. – You can follow BangkokJack on Instagram, Twitter & Reddit. Or join the free mailing list (top right) Please help us continue to bring the REAL NEWS - PayPal Read the full article

[xxomalley]

( self para. mal. 001 )

who: delwyn jones (legal representative), mr townsend (owner of the warehouse). what: to use a cliche, delwyn makes an offer mr townsend can’t refuse. im yellin. when: two months ago, following james frank silver telling malavita carabosse of the news about a friend of his who got injured at work, their wages being kept from them -- all because they are isle kids. the precursor to mal’s vengeance.

+ some quick info/recap of event timeline at the end 

Delwyn Jones sat in a cushy waiting room at Townsend & Lodge and waited for his meeting with Mr Townsend himself. Mr Lodge, he had been told, had passed on several years earlier; this was not good news, as he had also heard Mr Lodge had been the more reasonable and professional of the pair, while Mr Townsend was a sleaze of a man who still sported oily, slicked back hair and a gold chain on his chest. But Delwyn was sure that, if he pushed the right buttons, the man could be convinced of the proposal Hank had told him to pass on: give the Isle kids their wages, or else.

He was not alone in his waiting. Two men sat in chairs on either side of him – protection, they were meant to be. Whenever Delwyn was given a job by Hank, men always travelled with him but they were never the same pair. At a job, Delwyn would usually go it alone, for professional courtesy, but he guessed the direness of the situation called for some visual hostility.  

He had been given a vague idea of what was happening: Isle kids were being forced into labour, their wages kept from them while employees from Auradon were treated with more consideration. There were five of them here, but he had not been given their names. When he entered the warehouse, however, passing the assembly line on the way to the office, it was easy enough to pick them up. A boy with a cyborg arm. A girl with strange markings around her head.  Delwyn counted only four until he remembered one of them had been injured. Yes, their arm had been crushed with faulty machinery and subsequently fired.

Delwyn had also counted a foreman, an accountant in his own office, peeping through Venetian blinds, and two men in the break room who he guessed weren’t just on their break. They looked exactly like Mr Townsend did in photos: dark hair, big chins. Family, he suspected.

Fifteen minutes after he was admitted into the office, Mr Townsend finally agreed to see him. The two men in charge of watching over Delwyn remained in the waiting room.

Delwyn came directly to the point. That he was here on behalf of Mr Bennett, the boy whose arm had been crushed in the course of his employment. That the boy was to be compensated. That all the other workers from the Isle were to be given their wages in full with interest. That the figure Delwyn represented expected full cooperation from Mr Townsend, in return for a hefty sum of money and the opportunity of favours.

“Favours?” Mr Townsend snorted. “And who’s this figure you’re representing, eh? Couldn’t come here himself?”

“I’m afraid that’s not how they work,” said Delwyn. “They prefer to keep their name anonymous, and trust me to manage situations for them.”

“So now I’m in a situation?”

“I assure you, Mr Townsend, my employer understands the stress and expectation you must be under. In fact, they admire your family-run business. We understand you pack and supply products all over Auradon, and my employer is interested in starting up a business relationship should we come to an agreement.”

Mr Townsend paused, narrowing beady eyes at Delwyn. “The agreement that…I give all those kids their money?”

“Yes. Along with the interest accumulated over the weeks. Plus, compensation for the injured boy. And for you to rescind his contract termination.”

“I gotta hire him again? That’s all I have to do? To get that money you got for me? How much money was that again?”

Delwyn repeated the sum.

Mr Townsend let out a low whistle.

“Well…that’s some offer.” He leaned back in his chair and there was a loud creaking sound. Delwyn stopped himself from cringing. Mr Townsend rubbed his chin, looking up at the ceiling. He looked down, smiling at Delwyn like an adult humouring the fantasies of a child. “All this for some Isle kids, eh? Some VKs? Brats from across the way?”

Delwyn dug his nails into the worn leather of the armrest, but he kept his expression composed, nodding once. “It’s just business. My employer acts on a favour-by-favour basis.”

“Ah, right, that favours things. And exactly what kind of favours can your employer do for me?”

Delwyn cleared his throat. “We understand you’ve been having trouble meeting demand, and also with your attempts at expanding your services outside of Auradon. Specifically, the one trade law with Arendelle that seems to have put a damper on your –”

“Yeah, fine, I get it. So what are you going to do?”

“My employer has connections in Arendelle that could make the process of achieving your certification faster. Easier.”

Mr Townsend asked more about kind of favours Delwyn’s employer could do, and Delwyn answered to the best of his ability (which is to say, as vaguely as possible). But after almost an hour of talk, the older man seemed convinced. After a paper was signed and hands were shaken, Delwyn left Townsend & Lodge, his two bodyguards at his heels, with a pleasant outlook. The deal was made. Hank would be pleased. He had even winked at the boy with the cyborg arm as he left: Delwyn’s promise that things would get better.

And they would get better. As long as Mr Townsend kept his end of the bargain. 

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

recap:

james frank and four other VKs work at townsend & lodge. this was organised by bernadette bernard. their employment started off fairly and then only got worse bc mr townsend realised he could exploit these kids.

james frank, feeling that he can’t tell bernie or anyone else, tells mal because he hears she started something here. she agrees to help, no return-favours needed (delwyn says to mr townsend that his ‘employer’ is only doing it for a favour but that’s a lie).

mal sends delwyn jones, a friend of hank’s and a lawyer, to deal with mr townsend. 

delwyn organises an agreement between him and mr townsend. townsend signs papers, promises to do a lot of things, but ultimately will not do anything asked of him. he just wanted to money. 

some time will pass and mal will find out that things have not gotten any better.

there are five people at townsend & lodge who will be mal’s victims: mr townsend, the foreman, the accountant, and two other men.

note:

the blacktower’s underground business has been in operation for almost half a year. but the club was just opened a few weeks ago.

[labourpress]

Labour calls on the Government to address the injustice and damage caused by their unlawful Employment Tribunal Fees policy

Richard Burgon MP, Labour's Shadow Justice Secretary has written to David Lidington MP, Secretary of State for Justice, following Unison's Supreme Court victory, where the Employment Tribunal Fees introduced by the Conservative and Liberal Democrat coalition were declared unlawful, to call on the Government to make sure that all those who were treated unfairly are now able to access the justice they deserve.

In the letter, Burgon condemns the Government’s shameful decision to unlawfully restrict access to justice for its own citizens, and calls for answers on how much public money was wasted defending their unjust policy, as well as a Government commissioned independent review of the effects on access to justice of the fees in other Courts and Tribunals.

Full text of the letter

Dear Secretary of State,

I’m writing to you following the Supreme Court’s Judgment yesterday that the Employment Tribunal Fees introduced by the Conservative / Liberal Democrat Coalition in 2013 are unlawful and impede access to justice.

This means the Ministry of Justice has been operating unlawfully for four years. Given this, it is now vital that you take urgent steps to address the injustice, unfairness and damage caused by your unlawful policy.

Your junior Minister Dominic Raab MP had no other option than to concede that the Government will have to “take immediate steps to stop charging fees in employment tribunals and put in place those who have paid”.

Please could you inform me:

• How much money from the public purse your Government has spent defending its unlawful and unjust policy?

• When the Government will be issuing a full and unequivocal apology to working people and their families for deliberately and unlawfully blocking their access to justice?

• When the Government will be issuing a full and unequivocal apology to people and families who had to undertake disclosure of their personal financial circumstances in an intrusive and even humiliating level of detail as part of the Government’s failed ‘Fee Remission’ Scheme for Employment Tribunals?  

• By what date the Government will have fully reimbursed all those who were unlawfully required to pay Employment Tribunal Issue Fees and Employment Tribunal Hearing Fees?

• Whether your Government will be setting up a scheme, system or arrangements to ensure that all those who were unlawfully treated by their employers but didn’t issue an Employment Tribunal case because of the applicable Issue Fee, or didn’t proceed to the Employment Tribunal Hearing because of the applicable Hearing Fee, are restored to the position in which they would have been had it not been for your Government’s unlawful policy?    

• Given the Supreme Court’s Judgment states that “In order for the fees to be lawful, they have to be set at a level that everyone can afford, taking into account the availability of full or partial remission”, will your Government now commission an independent review of the effects on access to justice of the fees in other Courts and Tribunals? Given your Government’s record of denial in relation to your unlawful Employment Tribunal Fees, it is clear that your Government cannot be trusted to carry out this review itself.

Congratulations are due to Unison for righting this wrong at the Supreme Court. It is just a shame that the Government did not listen to the trade unions, the legal community, the Labour Party or myself. If the Government had done so, it would not have found itself in the shameful position it now does – found to have unlawfully restricted access to justice for its own citizens.

Given the level of public interest in this matter, I have made this letter public. I believe it would also be in the public interest for your reply to be made public.

Yours sincerely,

Richard Burgon MP

Shadow Secretary of State for Justice & Shadow Lord Chancellor

[todaybharatnews]

via Today Bharat On August 28, Peddulu was reunited with his family in Jagtial district of Telangana. As the airplane took off the tarmac at Dubai international airport and the seat-belt sign went off, 35-year-old Jangili Peddulu heaved a sigh of relief. He was ecstatic, thankful to his fate, even as a montage of troubling images from the last five years flashed before his eyes. At last, he was going to meet his family in a few hours. Five days earlier, on August 21, he was stopped by immigration officials at the same airport and prevented from flying out of the country, for he had only an emergency certificate or temporary passport and not the UAE administration’s exit permit to leave. Without wasting time, as soon as the airplane took off, he requested his co-passenger at the window seat for a few aerial photographs and video of “the impossible city”, a city where an individual like him, as he believed, could have become someone through sheer hard work. He is not sure if he could ever return even if he wished to. On August 28, Peddulu was reunited with his family in Jagtial district of Telangana. Now in the comforts of his residence, by the side of his wife, aging father, and schoolgoing children, Peddulu advises friends and acquaintances to never do what he had done. “I want to ask everyone to travel to the Gulf only after securing valid employment and travel documents, and never trust an agent,” Thanks to an ongoing amnesty scheme that was rolled out by the UAE administration in the wake of rising coronavirus cases, allowing all foreign nationals with VISA expired before March 1 to leave the country without a penalty or prosecution. The short-term amnesty that began on May 18 and was to end on August 18 has now been further extended till November 17. “Since May, I have been trying to come back home. Ever since the coronavirus pandemic struck Dubai, thousands of people like me had been out of work. It was a complete shutdown,” says Peddulu. He says during this period he had to borrow Rs 25,000 from home and another Rs 60,000 from a friend to clear personal dues before returning home. In Bur Dubai, Jytha Narayana, a social worker who also hails from Jagtial district of Telangana, has been running from pillar to post to help irregular migrants like Peddulu safely return home. Irregular migrants, in human rights parlance, refer to those who have been overstaying in a country. Speaking to indianexpress.com over the telephone, he says he is working currently with at least 40 migrants who had “accidentally” crossed over to Dubai from Muscat and are waiting to return home by making use of the amnesty. Most people do not have a single document to prove even their nationality, he says. “When we go to the Indian Consulate in Dubai, we should at least have documents to prove their Indian nationality. We need to get a clearance certificate from the police station concerned stating there are no active criminal cases against the applicant. In Peddulu’s case, it took three full months before he could get an emergency outpass,” says Narayana. A majority of such migrants wishing to return home are from Telangana and Andhra Pradesh, he says. Swadesh Parkipandla, a resident of Jagtial and the president of Pravasi Mithra Labour Union, said in the case of such irregular migrants, a certificate is required from the district collector of the applicant’s native district in India to prove his/her nationality. In a similar case recently, the wife of another man stranded in Dubai after having crossed over from Oman four years ago appealed to the Jagtial district administration to coordinate with the Centre and the Indian Consulate in Dubai to facilitate his safe return. On August 8, along with the volunteers of the Union, Mulkala Jyothi pleaded that her husband Sathyam be brought back home. Sathyam has been working in Dubai as an irregular migrant worker and wished to return home in wake of the pandemic. According to Parkipandla, there are hundreds of irregular migrants, like Sathyam, wishing to return home. Hyderabad-Mumbai-Muscat and then Dubai Peddulu’s trysts with the Gulf started in 2010 when he first travelled to Saudi Arabia in search of a job but had to return a month. As a tractor driver in Jagtial, he was earning around Rs 6000 a month. But dreams of a better standard of living for his family once again prompted him to travel to Dubai in 2011. This time, he stayed in Bur Dubai along with several others from Telangana, did painting, welding, gardening, and everything that came his way. As a houseboy he was earning a monthly income of around Rs 60,000, six times higher than what he used to earn back home, and managed to send home nearly half of that. Later, according to him, it was when he wanted to visit his family back home that he realised that his VISA had long expired. By then, after running away from his original sponsor he had been overstaying in the country for 18 months. He was sent to jail for three days and then deported with a hefty penalty. For him, return to the village was merely physical as his mind stayed back in Dubai. The jobs back at home were no match to Dubai, in terms of the remuneration. At the same time, having been deported there was no way he could go back. Even after returning, Peddulu was in touch with people in Dubai. As time passed, his desperation was felt by some who offered to help. In 2015, he managed a visit-visa stamp for Muscat on his passport. The Oman capital was hardly the destination. “I was in touch with friends in Dubai who put me in touch with a local agent in Jagtial who, in turn, connected me to a few men from Kerala in Muscat,” he said. “It was a total package of travel from Jagtial to Dubai. I paid around Rs 1.10 lakh without enquiring about the entire details.” When he reached Muscat, the Keralites took his original passport and gave him another passport with a Muslim identity. Along with 10 others, Peddulu says he was put up in a room for the next 15 days. As it was the month of Ramzan, they mostly stayed indoors. In groups of two or three, they were shifted to Dubai in vegetable vans. “We took the highway. At the border, when the armed guards checked the vehicle and spoke to the driver in Arabic we knew anything could have happened.” It was a relief once the vehicle reached Dubai. He had already lived in Dubai for three years. He worked as a “houseboy” in several houses, worked odd-jobs making a decent living for his family back home till the pandemic struck the city. Risking life for better livelihood According to Mandha Bheem Reddy, a senior migrant rights activist and the president of Emigrants Welfare Forum, while many are cheated by organised criminals, many migrant workers have died at the Oman-UAE border when the military on either side opened fire at them. In May 2012, Durgam Bheemaiah of Velagatoor in Jagtial district was allegedly shot dead by Oman’s border security forces while he was crossing the border from Muscat to Dubai. He had gone to the Gulf in search of livelihood and ran away from his sponsor in Dubai to Oman. “He was an irregular migrant in Oman, and he was unable to pay the heavy penalty. So he chose the desert way to come back to India via Dubai,” says Bheem Reddy, adding that for over eight years the family has been awaiting an ex gratia amount from the government, but in vain. “Whether these migrants are taking this path knowingly or unknowingly, it is certain that the motive is to earn a better living for their families,” says Bheem Reddy pointing out that nearly 90 per cent of those who opt this route are senior migrants who have already lived and worked in Dubai for several years. In many cases, workers run away from their sponsors in search of better remuneration, become overstayers in that country, and face a “life ban” for violating local laws while returning to their home country. “The government will take their biometrics and deport them permanently. It is usually these immigration deportees who crossover from Oman to Dubai to rejoin their once gainful employment or even work as part-time as houseboys, car washers, etc which are quite lucrative.” Forgery, Impersonation and illegal use of passport On his return to Mumbai, Peddulu was briefly detained and questioned by the immigration officials at Mumbai International Airport based on a lookout circular issued against him. Days after he had traveled to Muscat in 2015, the Dabolim Airport Police Station in Goa arrested a 31-year-old man named Syed Baseer Ahmed, a native of Tamil Nadu, on charges of forgery, impersonation and utilising the genuine passport issued to Peddulu, by replacing the photograph. According to a summons notice from the Goa police dated September 14, 2015, Peddulu is a witness in the case. According to another notice, dated 26 July, 2016, the Regional Passport Officer-Hyderabad, had sought a written explanation from Peddulu regarding his passport found being used by another person. Failure to explain could result in action against him under the Passport Act, 1967. “At the airport, he was served a notice under Section 41 CrPC directing him to cooperate in the investigation and released on a personal bond. He is suspected of having sold his passport. In this case, it was another Indian who returned or else it could have been anyone. That is a threat to national security,” said Bheem Reddy. Migrants rights activists have been voicing out against organised human trafficking of workers who end up in a foreign country as ‘irregular migrants’ without any access to health or justice. They urged the government to thoroughly investigate such cases so as to prevent it.