#what kind of democracy where the public just has no ability to call for a gen election when the current gov is fucking up THIS BADLY like

[accursedvoid]

CAN WE HAVE A GENERAL ELECTION YET?

[ricekirpsees]

|| A Harvard Undergrad Becomes Delusional and Has Vivid Hallucinations of the American Revolution: Chp 1 ||

Synopsis- a Harvard Undergrad becomes delusional and has vivid hallucinations of the American Revolution

Note- i like. history

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“The American Revolutionary War lasted from 1775 to 1783, whereby the Thirteen Colonies secured their independence from the British Crown and consequently established the United States as the first sovereign nation-state founded on Enlightenment principles of the consent of the governed, constitutionalism and liberal democracy--”

The pages turn.

“In late 1774, in support of Massachusetts, twelve of the thirteen colonies sent delegates to Philadelphia, where they formed the First Continental Congress and began coordinating resistance to Britain's colonial governance--”

The pages flip.

“In the summer of 1776, in a setback for American patriots, the British captured New York City and its strategic harbor. In September 1777, in anticipation of a coordinated attack by the British Army--”

The book slams shut.

Dropping my head against the cool marble table, I shut my eyes and slump. Hours of studying left me with a raging migraine, an empty mind, and one too many paper cuts. I was exhausted in ways only studying could afflict a person and I cursed myself for my ability to blank out when important information was recited to me.

If only I could pay attention during lectures. If only I could focus on the rolling waves of words on the glaring, glossy sheets of textbooks. I breathed out heavily. If only. Sadly the world said “fuck you” and fucked I am.

Peeling my eyes open, I stared blankly at the portrait of Charles C. Pinckney I came to despise seeing day after day and debated whether or not I should call it quits or push through researching for that damned paper. Quickly, I opted for the former. I sighed. Three hours was good enough for today.

The Boston Public Library was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because I have access to all kinds of documents on America’s history. A curse, because I have access to all kinds of documents on America’s history. There was a sort of obligation to write about it, especially since I was at the heart of the Revolution, the home of Hancock and Adams, and also because I assumed it would be far easier than it was.

I dragged my head to look at the shut textbook and felt my heart crumble. This will be the death of me.

But if I can prolong such death, then I shall. I sat up, stretching my cramped bones, and shoved away the awful books before pushing myself up and throwing on my bag, wincing. The weight of my bag crushed the knot of stress on my shoulder blade, sending an aching pain down my back. I groaned rolling my shoulders while wishing I could snap my arm off to give myself relief.

Maybe someone in the library would just walk up to me and rip it off, but until that day comes I’ll settle with endangering myself with exploration. Giving one final stretch, I began to make my way out of the ancient marble library.

---

Boston. Boston, Massachusetts. A place deeply ingrained in good old American history from massacres to floods of molasses and my personal city-wide jail cell. As unfortunate as it is to be trapped, it could’ve been worse. I shudder to think what would’ve happened if I had gotten caught in a Chicago or New York tar trap.

I push through the ornate, metal doors of the library and out onto the streets of Boston, beginning the familiar walk to the apartments. Traversing through streets of old and new, there was a certain sense of deep familiarity. It was another lucky thing about Boston being my jail cell.

I only moved here a few months ago and usually one would be stiff and awkward in a place far, far away from their origins, but seeing those brick buildings and cobblestone roads hidden by those of steel, glass, and concrete, I adjusted unexpectedly easily.

Not that I was an inflexible person in general. I’ve had my fair share of traveling every which way, up and down and across the country, staying in brief intervals with restlessness plaguing my every action. No, this was different. How or why, I’m not entirely sure, but I think it’s nice.

Seeing the park centered on Commonwealth Avenue, I sped up and turned onto my side of the street, working my way around tourists and neighbors and crossing over the bustling traffic. Occasionally I gave a quick, polite smile to someone I accidentally made eye contact with, before continuing onwards.

It’s going to be a quick stop at the apartment, grab my gear, and go back out again just before the sun begins to set. A grin makes its way to my lips and a burst of speed pushes me forward. Danger is my happy place.

I arrive in front of my apartment building and quickly walk in, flying up the stairs, before pushing into my section. Throwing my work bag onto the dingy couch I sped into my room, quickly changing and grabbing my gear, listing them off in my head; pants, shirt, jacket; goggles, respirator, gloves, headphones, charger, cash, first-aid, phone, camera, put them in my bag.

I rush back into the living room and throw on a pair of boots. With a satisfied smile, I threw on my bag feeling the knot easing, and back out the door I went. I passed by another neighbor, giving her a little wave and smile. She smiled back and I flew back down the stairs to the edge of the street to hail a taxi. This is my kind of relaxation.

---

The barn door is ripped open. The hinges cry out, still weary of being used after nearly two centuries of slumber, but they’ll get used to me. They will.

A puff of dust bursts free from the idle inside and breezes past me, some specks brushing against my respirator and goggles. With ease, I waved the dust cloud away with my glove-clad hand, and casually walked inside as though this was my real home.

I discovered the old barn around the time I was brought to Boston when I had attempted to make a break for it.

I just ran. And ran. And ran. Until I came upon this decrepit forgotten beat-up barn in the middle of a field only a couple of miles away from the edge of Boston and it surprised me, I won’t lie, with how praise-heavy of history the city was. You assumed that everything within 100 miles of the city would be tended to with major tender loving care, but that was clearly not the case for my darling broken barn.

And so the only sensible thing to do with such a discovery was claim it as mine! So I did and obsessively explored every single crook and corner to my heart’s content. I had no clue where such adoration for the old building came from, but I didn’t give two shits. It was mine and I was its.

Owner.

Unofficially.

No, I’m not weird.

I made it in the nick of time, arriving just as the sun started to journey its way to the other side of the world to ruin someone else’s sleep. I brought out my stolen 55-dollar flashlight and flicked it on. A good beam of light lit the dusty barn, waking up the sleepy nats that tumbled around in the glow. Time to get cracking.

Throwing on my headphones, I ambled deeper into the barn with a hand trailing lightly on the grooves and ridges of the splintered, ancient planks.

Each step I made was delicate and calculated, feeling each pebble and speck of the uneven ground of dirt and old hay left behind centuries ago. But no matter how much I tried to feel, there was a distance between me and the old barn, easily kept with the heavy protection and gear of my time. And I was far too lazy to take it off; a subconscious fear of accidentally destroying something or something destroying me. Like lead… or traps.

I shook my head, quickly skipping the sad song into punk rock. What the hell was all that moaning and groaning about? I dragged a quick hand over my mask and goggles and picked up the pace to move farther back into the barn, the flashlight staying steady and bright as ever.

I began to berate myself until I saw the ground looking far closer than it should. A shock of panic shot through my chest and I threw my hands in front of me to brace for the brutal impact.

And brutal it was.

I collided onto the jagged gravel and landed with a heavy thud. I could feel the ragged ground scrape against me and I clenched my eyes shut, groaning, the sound muffled by the mask. My arms and stomach ached and burned with a thousand tiny rocks embedded into my clothes and skin scrapes on my knees. I had tripped on… something.

My confidence was hurt the most, not that I had any in the first place, and absolute embarrassment burned fiercely in my chest. Ugh, I felt stupid. Scrambling up from the ground, I dusted off the pebbles and dirt on my now dust-stained jacket, before scooping up my fallen flashlight. I shook my hands loose and adjusted my skewed headphones. Ugh, I felt really stupid.

I pivoted to look back at what damaged my self-esteem, pointing my flashlight at the ground. The light illuminated the drag marks in the dirt from my fall and the hay pushed away from the force and… oh?

A small rusted knob stuck out from the ground, now freed from the years of dirt that built up with the help of my fall. Creeping closer, I crouched down, reached a hand towards it, and began to brush away the rest of the dirt.

Immediately I felt a difference. Below the dirt wasn’t more dirt, it was something else. I placed my flashlight on the floor beside me and a shiver of excitement rushed down my spine.

Adventure.

Brush by brush, I could make out strips of wood that were embedded into the dirt floor, and with one last stroke, a trapdoor was revealed. I leaned back onto my knees, gazing at my discovery in awe. I grinned. Oh, hell yes.

It took far longer and far more strength than I had expected to get the door opened. Shockingly, It was worse than when I tried to pry open the barn door for the first time. All I could imagine was all the grime, mud, and paint stuck deep in the hinges and grooves that mixed themselves into a superglue, refusing to let just anybody in like some dirty glue guardian of secrets.

Luckily, I’m far more unwavering than some false glue and pried that sucker open with pure strength. And a stick. I couldn’t help that swell of pride that blossomed once I was showered in a puff of ancient dust that wooshed freely after being trapped for who knows how long. Hopping on my toes, I nearly leaped into the void of darkness that was the crypt without precaution.

I managed to reel in my enthusiasm and picked up the flashlight before I directed the beam into the hidden cellar. The shining light revealed some highly suspicious-looking steps that led deeper in, all rotted and splintered and utterly unstable.

Immediately, I stepped in and made a quick descent into the basement, ignoring each creak, groan, and shudder from the steps before landing on a dirt floor. I paused my music and pushed down my headphones, gazing in wonder at my discovery.

It was like a pause in time, a portion of history untouched and kept secret. Shifting the flashlight’s beam over the small room, I drag my eyes across every square inch of the cellar. Over every cracked pot, crooked shelf, shattered counter, rickety wooden table littered with old parchment, and every single speck of dust. It was beautiful.

I crept towards the table that sat back against the room, an intense pull of curiosity filling my veins and I stood before the collections of yellowed paper. My heart began to pound the moment I caught a glimpse of the faded stains of ink that swirled on the pages. A long-kept secret for more than 200 years, just inches from my hands.

Fuck yeah. I reached for a page and with the most delicate of touches, lifted it from its dust-framed seat and slowly brought it close.

The thought of accidentally damaging it in some way screaming in my head for brief seconds was not enough to deter me and so, with the flashlight held beneath it, I read the date.

April 1st, 1774--

Suddenly, I was thrown into darkness, pitch black filling my senses. I flinched nearly, dropping the paper and flashlight, as I stumbled back in surprise. What the hell?

I quickly and delicately placed the piece of paper down on what I hoped was the table and frantically shook the short-circuited torch. Mumbling hisses and curses at the thing, I desperately flicked at the switch hoping for something, a flicker of light, anything. I gave it another shake to no avail.

Nothing.

“Oh fuck…” I breathed out, muffled from the labor of my breaths and doused in panic. Fifty-five dollars and it already busted. I paused for a brief moment. That means I was perfectly justified to steal it, I shoved it into the pocket of your bag, it was a scam.

I continued to step back, hesitantly triple-checking each step that was placed. The last thing I wanted to do was trip again in the black void and possibly bust my head open on some rogue stone. Taking a few more steps back, my heel hits the back of what I hoped was the bottom of the stairs and I pivot to face it, leaning forward to lay my hands on the wood plank, before crawling up the stairs on all fours.

I’ll come back. I swear it. But exploring abandoned places with no reliable light source is stupidly dangerous and not the kind of danger that’s relaxing. So much for police-grade utilities, cheap bastards.

Also, the dark is scary.

Each step was a drag and I felt a weight sink in my limbs as I slowly made my way out of the cellar. The darkness was deafening and heavy, weighing down upon you.

Weird, I thought deliriously as I made another slow step up. My eyes started to droop and began to stumble, my head whirling and swooning like I was stuck on a rocket-fueled turn-table ride. I take another leaden step. I was getting closer. And with another step, my head hits the trapdoor.

Sighing, I placed my hands on the door and pushed up.

Instantly I’m blinded, a piercing white light burns into my eyes and I yelp, yanking back into the darkness.

I slapped a palm against my eyes and cursed as a tearing pain streaked across my forehead from the intense light while my ears began to ring. Gritting my teeth, I rub at my burned eyes. What in the world is going on out there, did someone bring floodlights to the barn?!

Squinting my eyes, I climb back out the trapdoor, facing the full force of the light as the ringing grows more shrill. I wince and put a hand out against the radiant beam, finally stepping onto the barn floor.

The ringing ceased. The light faded. Rapidly blinking my burned-out eyes, my vision began to clear and soon what I saw left me thunderstruck.

The barn looked… different. New, as though it was just built from freshly chopped trees, free from any stains, chips, and rot. The musty scent of age was gone, filled with the fresh breeze of newly laid hay. Not only that but it seemed to be smack dab in the middle of the day. The sun’s light breached through the openings between the wood planks and settled its glow in the barn. I furrowed my brows as I looked around the barn I swore I knew. I couldn’t have possibly been in the cellar that long for it to be day.

I swiveled back to look at the opened cellar door and quickly leaned over to shut it, before stepping back and staring at it. Darting my gaze between the trapdoor and the brightly lit new barn, I grew more confused by the second that I pulled off my hood and lifted my goggles to rest on my forehead to get a clearer look at the place. I needed to see I wasn’t losing my mind, and yet the barn still looked new.

Slowly, I nodded and started to accept that maybe I was far more oblivious than I already believed I was and that this barn took it to a whole other level. I waded through the new heaps of haystacks, deciding that I should go back to my apartment and book an appointment with the eye doctor, as soon as possible.

Sliding the barn door open with surprising ease, I tumble out into the open nearly slipping on some mud. A quick leap of my heart made me see the heavens for a split moment before I came back down to face with a horse.

I stared and the horse stared before it tossed its head as it stepped back and to the rest of its fellow equine. To say I had questions would be an understatement. There were never horses nearby, the barn was abandoned. At least that’s what I thought. I needed to go home. Immediately.

Quick as a skittish mouse, I ran down I supposed-to-be familiar path back to the lone tar road that I could follow into Boston. But I paused as I arrived next to the tree that marked its location.

It wasn’t there.

I stared at the wild shrubs and tall grass that covered the unfamiliar land. Why isn’t it there? My gaze darted along each pebble, leaf, and stick. It should be here. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t be here. Slowly, I began to run down what I hoped was the path of the vanished highway only to come across more shifts throughout the area.

Missing roads and metal signs, new wooden fences, narrow dirt roads, far more flora, and a disturbing absence of noise replaced by the deafening sounds of the air and birds. Everything felt different. Everything was wrong.

Every once in a while I would stop and turn in circles trying to find that specific marking on my mental map to find absolutely nothing before continuing to run in what I hoped was headed in the right direction. But as I sped on, it only became more apparent that I must’ve made a wrong turn.

I should at least be able to see the industrial towers and the outskirts of the city line, but nothing. There was nothing. I wasn’t sure how to feel as I slowed down to let my feet mindlessly guide me through the wilderness.

I’m… confused. Which isn’t much of an improvement, but it’s better than nothing. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what happened with the barn. I wished I had something that could conveniently tell me where I was and guide me back with the safest and fastest route it could provide. A heavy pail of realization tipped down onto my head.

Oh, yeah. I have a phone.

I slid my bag to face my front and quickly snatched my phone from the designated phone pocket. The bag fell back and I opened my phone to Google Maps, glancing at the bars. Only one, that’s fine. I looked back at the screen and sighed, seeing it frozen. It’s not fine. I shut off my phone and shoved it into my jacket pocket, trudging on.

And with that, only one little thought circled my mind: I’m lost.

Somehow, some way, I got lost. I had no clue what happened with the barn, no clue where I was, no clue where everything was, and by golly, did I want to drop to the floor and roll around in the grass. But I didn’t. I put one foot in front of the other through the shrubs and the dirt as the sun shone obnoxiously through more trees than I’ve ever seen near a city such as Boston.

One foot forward, the other followed, a part of me refused to acknowledge my situation fully and was perfectly content to walk mindlessly through the foreign world. One then the other, one then the other, a nice smooth walk through the lovely forest that I chose to walk through. One then the other, oh, are those buildings?

Squinting, I peer at the curved silhouettes that stand apart from the natural forms of the flora that scarcely surround them. Have I finally made it back to Boston? They don’t look like those on the outskirts, though. Perhaps I arrived from a different direction. I lift my head and stare at the pale blue skies. Yes, a different direction, at least I’m back home.

Back home, indeed.

Stumbling closer to the buildings, I come across a dirt road I’ve never seen before that seemed to lead into the city. I ignored the tracks of hooves and parallel streaks and walked along the edge, unclipping my respirator to hang from my other ear. Soon, I began to hear the faint hustle and bustle of people being people and the city going on with its busy life. A cool sense of relief washed over me, but I couldn’t help but furrow my brows as I listened closer to the noise. It didn’t sound… right.

A chill trickled down my spine and I stopped. Something isn’t right. I’m not supposed to be…

Suddenly I became aware of the creaks and rattles of metal against wood trembling over the uneven dirt road from behind me at an alarming pace. My eyes popped open in panic and I scrambled away from the road just before I was hit by a gust of wind as something whisked past me. Alarmed I whipped around to see what could have possibly been hurtling down the road only to stop and stare in disbelief.

It was a cart. With horses.

A cart like those that are displayed in the halls of museums, all broken and rotten and barely living in the 21st century. But rather than the cart crumbling at the mere breath of a butterfly, it rolled on, built brand new with fresh wood like the barn, and carrying large wooden crates stacked heavily atop each other.

The wheels were coated thick with mud and pebbles which left behind indents in the dirt, adding to those already printed into the ground. It continued its journey, clearly heading towards the city and oblivious to the pedestrian it nearly hit.

And I could do nothing but follow after it.

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

More Notes- wheeee

[athomeenergylife]

Pharrell in my mind cover

There’s a strong diversity to them, too - some disco, some ’70s horns, some minimalist bang - that’s all part of that bring-the-house vibe that permeates the whole thing.īut as a lyricist, Pharrell is a quite a producer. “Show You How to Hustle,” which is “presented” by Skateboard P for reasons that will never cease to befuddle me, is a similar hip-hop call-to-arms that illustrated Pharrell’s ability to balance inventiveness with banging beats, and how much better he is when he’s not overthinking it. “Raspy Shit” bangs perfectly along on a great effect and a riff on that line from “Drop It Like It’s Hot” and stands among his best beats. There are a few cases where he does do it better than before. We want him to do it well, do it better than he’s done it before, as opposed to shovel large helpings of it down our throats. Yes, he can do hip-hop and yes, he can take a swing at R&B - we know this. But he quickly falls into the solo-debut beartrap of trying to jam as many styles, ideas, thoughts, and lunges for artistic invulnerability as possible he tries to be the walking connection between man and mixtape. Pharrell understandably wants to pack this proper debut with as many of the myriad ideas he’s come up with in the past few years while working on tracks with every rapper on the planet. The rest are that it’s in desperate need of connecting tissue and beset by the sense that Pharrell’s driving all over the road while twiddling with the stereo. That’s a small taste of the problems with Pharrell’s Mind. So, what you’ve got is the nerd who sits with the football players at the lunch table trying to convince his RPG buddies and the ladies he’s still down with them too. Besides, the strict parameters of the brand of hip-hop that Pharrell has invested himself in - that would be the blingy, club-worthy, look-at-me kind - demands he at least spend part of his time reporting how cool he is, while also contributing tracks like the go-get-’em-tiger anthem “You Can Do It Too”. Putting aside the fact that he’s taken to billing himself for some reason as Skateboard P, who no doubt shares a homeroom table with Chris Gaines, Pharrell has in the past few years endeavored to pitch himself as an average schmoe, a N*E*R*D, a guy just like you n’ golly gosh me - he goes far enough to include in the tray art a pint-size pixilated version of himself reporting: “Wealth is of the heart and mind, not of the pocket.” His track record, of course, makes such a proclamation fairly hilarious it’s not like one regularly works with Snoop Dogg to explore the troubled complexity of the human condition. Among the myriad problems of “In My Mind” is Pharrell’s fairly evident identity crisis. That first issue is the most pressing one. In another, more accurate sense, it’s unfocused, overwrought and ultimately kind of boring. In one sense, In My Mind quite literally represents the alignment of some of the best hip-hop talent money can buy (Gwen! Jay-Z! Kanye! Production by Pharrell Williams!). Or, what might have happened is that Pharrell was given more money than God and a blank calendar, and spent his sweet time coming up with what proves to be the aural equivalent of one of those giant-budget explosionpaloozas by, say, Michael Bay. I really didn’t give Interscope a chance to catch up with me in terms of promotion.”

Pharrell Williams’ solo debut, originally scheduled for release in 1948, has been subject to more delays than the year’s first snowstorm night at O’Hare as recently as last week the diminutive Neptune told Billboard of the street-date shuffle: “I was being super artistic, and I wasn’t listening to anybody. (Two words: Chinese F*#!ing Democracy, and frankly I’m not holding my breath about OutKast either). Constant, publicized delays have the same net effect as a studio failing to pre-screen a film for critics: Just hold your nose, put the damn thing out and be done with it. When an artist pushes the release of his record back and back and back again, the implicit pre-verdict is that it’s probably a steaming pile of monkey poop, or else it would have been natural and organic and expeditious and out already.

[magicalsalamander]

Show Me Your Teeth

Pairing: BTS Jimin  ⇆ Reader

Genre: Rottweiler Hybrid | FBI | Fluff | Angst | Eventual Smut |

Summary: Hybrids were common amongst civilians, but monsters lurked, created by the government. H.O.U.N.D, pronounced hound, is Hybrid Operation in United Negotiation of Defense, an allegiance of hybrids and federal officers. They were weapons breed for tactic and war. Special agent Y/L/N came back marked a failure after your secret last mission. Politics involved, you were to be assigned a Hound officer. What happens when the monster, Cerberus, gets assigned to you?    

Word: 11.6K

Rating: Mature; Explicit themes, mentions of guns, PTSD episode, possessive behavior, gunshot wounds, cruel behavior, torture, abuse, bullying, crude and discriminatory language. If I’ve missed any tags let me know.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I’ve been working on this for a few weeks and I hope you enjoy it. Originally a oneshot, now a twoshot. Lightly edited, please be kind.  

| Masterlist | Final

Lowering your hand from your brow you waited until you were signaled to ease. The hardened expression of the Director followed from the crumpled document on his desk to you, he gestured silently for you to sit. Carefully maneuvering your left arm as you sat down in one of the leather seats in front of his oversized desk. The mahogany desk was in a state of semi-cluttered, several stacks of papers yet the items closets to you were impeccable. His gold plaque with his name proudly written was polished as it gleamed.

Politics, the size was compensating for something.

The dark pigment under his baggy eyes shadowed deeper as his neutral expression wavered as he held your gaze. You were glad he couldn't hear your heartbeat, but it was near deafening in your ears. He folded his hands on top of his desk, cinching the shoulders of his black suit that was normally starched beyond movement. The amount of medals on the left breast had him wiggling his left arm in adjustment until he settled. The sheer amount of medals he's collected since his service to his time as the Director of the FBI was quite obnoxious.

You sat perched near the edge of your seat, you already had an idea of what was going to happen. As soon as you got off the plane you were escorted to headquarters, duffle bag still packed. In the steady voice, "Agent Y/L/N reporting back from Victiz. Sir, you requested my audience?"

He reached into his desk, medals clanking, and pulled out a thick manilla folder at least a hundred pages thick. Papers slid out of it as he let gravity take over and slammed it onto his desk. You didn't dare break eye contact with him focusing on the tip of his bulbous nose. The silence was eerie as he flipped it open, he pulled out a thick packet and placed it facing you. Quickly glancing down you read the title then back up, it was your report you had submitted.

"Y/L/N in your recent mission to Victiz, we've," clearing his throat, "come to realize that you require assistance."

Domestics was your playing field, but upon special request, you answered the call to duty, even if it lied overseas. You'd always say yes to the Director—at least, you used to. Loyalty ran deep in your veins as it was empathy, and pretense to serve him. Without him you wouldn't be here today, but…three months, three months had your eyes wavering in darkness.

You took in a deep breath; one you've been holding in for the last three months. You sharply gritted your teeth before you calmed yourself on the discrete exhale. You knew why he had called you and it wasn't because of your "lack of ability". It was his lack of ability to save his ass. Three months, you spent three months amongst a revolution to come home and be told you required assistance. You swallowed your pride in front of your commander. "Sir, I had no choice."

He arched a brow, "No choice?" He tilted his head in condescendence, "There is no excuse for weakness or mistakes Agent Y/L/N. Our country depends on you. I depend on you. We can't afford that type of mistake again—the world may be splitting because you couldn't prevent it. Do you understand Agent?"

Correction, his mistake. This was all diversion from the real problem. You became a special agent going through hell, fighting and outcompeting the rest to prove you were worthy. Seeing the other agents assigned a Hound used to put a smirk on your face. The Director even smirking alongside you as he praised you. With the vendetta you worked hard for five years to get where you are now, to earn his praise, assigned top-secret missions by the Director, without the help of a hound. You raised from the soil, trudged through the mud to stand where you are now—on your own.

Quickly your loyalty was turning to sludge and embolic. You fought to keep yourself empathetic and loyal. He was like a father after all to you. The eyes that once looked at you with pride and adoration turned to hate and bitterness.

You gritted your teeth, "Yes, Sir."

Adjusting himself to sit upright by smoothing out the lapels of his coat, "Every elite agent has a H.O.U.N.D and you are the last without one. The government specially created and trained these…monsters, so things like that won't happen. They never miss a target."

You were aware of them; you had seen agents with their own as the government began initiating the integration two years ago. H.O.U.N.D, pronounced hound, was Hybrid Operation in United Negotiation of Defense. A specialized unit of canine hybrids that were bred for war, ruthless in the way they fought like their animal counterpart. Although they were human in resemblance except for the dog tail and ears. You didn't know much about them besides the occasion you saw other agents with their officer in passing. However, you heard tales of limbs being snapped by jaws, their extended fangs, and their bloodthirst. Rumor or not, you wouldn't question their ability—they are hell hounds as they were breed for.

"Agent, you were shot and held captive." He chuckled but it held no humor, it was condescending. "It was supposed to be easy for you, yet here you are injured. I never thought you'd disappoint me so greatly Y/L/N."

You bit the inside of your cheek taming your tongue behind your teeth. Your mind flashes back to three months ago when you sat down in the same office in the dead of night. There was a state of emergency in Victiz, the country was in an uproar over the tyranny as the public demanded a democracy. Your countries ambassador in Victiz was kidnapped by an extremist guerilla group trying to reestablish tyranny. The Victiz government did not want to be involved in the recovery of your representative.

The Director was right, it was supposed to be a simple rescue. You've run through drills of disarming and recovery a million times.

It was supposed to be.

Sneaking in through a slip in the wall you stuck to the wall as you navigated the warehouse. You hid behind crates as you glanced around the corner. The target was sitting alone in a foldable chair. A single overhead light that illuminated the isles intervalley shadowed his silhouette as he was hunched forward. Assessing your position you quietly loaded your hand with a knife. The sound of footsteps filled your ears. The world paused as you listened in catching a glance around, still in the shadows. Emerging from the shadows the footsteps took on a presence of a tall silhouette to a masked male figure.

You watched as the man raised a gun and pointed it directly at the target. "It'll all be over soon." He flicked his index over the pull trigger.

Switching your blade for your gun you stood up and sidestepped out. Pointing your gun at the captor, "Freeze!"

The man cocked a thick brow then pointed the gun at you. "Oh, we have visitors?"

The man chuckled, nudging the barrel against the ambassador's shoulder. "Your people here to rescue you. Looks like they just sent one, you must not be as important as you say you are."

The ambassador stood up from his chair and your heart skipped a beat as he stood up with a smirk and tucked his hands in his pockets. The pit of your stomach fell and rose to your throat with revolting ad nauseam. Your skin rolled in waves of goosebumps. Immediately you began calculating things in your mind as the man with the gun took a step forward towards you the ambassador stopped him with a raised hand. The ambassador took the gun from the man and pointed it directly at you. "The war begins tonight. Long live the tyrant."

He punctuated each last word, then he pulled the trigger.

Blinking away the memory, you looked up to your commander. "Director, I don—."

He cut you off with a hand held in the air. "Agent, I understand, but we are implementing the change whether you like it or not. You're getting a hound. He will be directly working alongside you and you are to take responsibility for him."

You tried once again, "Director—."

"A hybrid life is disposable but yours isn't Agent."

Fumes tickled in your stomach, yet, you sat with your tongue still; venomous words sitting at the tip of it for him. You—you still were loyal. You knew he was being harsh because of how all this had made him look. How this blunder in the ambassador's double nature had made him look incompetent, the FBI incompetent—and it rested all on your shoulders. Over the pain, blacking out for the most of it, you remember mostly darkness, the itchy blindfold, yet the patriotism you held tightly behind your clenched teeth stayed there.

You were loyal and always will be.

By implementing a hound, it would boost the false security that the forces were incomparable and fearful as whispered about in foreign lands. It was all politics. You were the punching bag while he shined with the glory of strengthening the nation in a time where the rest of the world is grasping for glory. He was making sure agents are strong and safe. In the shadow of glory, you were powerless and under his command to obey.

A soldier's duty to obey.

You were loyal and always would be.

He fished through the folder as he spoke, his voice taking on a harsh tone. "If you had one it wouldn't have happened Agent. I really trusted and believed in you, but I now know your skills. Certainly, it will never compare to a hound's. Don't ever forget you are representing me when you're out on the field." He snorted smugly under his breath, "Maybe you need a whole team of hounds."

You felt his words cutting deep, the bullet shards in your arm somehow burying deeper. His words hurt. This is where you open your mouth. "Director, I do not need a hound. I'm capable of handling myself."

He cleared his throat and sighed, "I'm not changing my mind Y/L/N."

Flipping through the folder again and pulled out a paper putting it over your report. Standing up from his desk he straightened out his jacket and rounded his desk. Glancing down at the application form a picture in the left corner showcases a picture of a man—no, a hybrid, a hound. The hybrid's face was handsome at first glance, but you didn't get to look more than that.

"This is H.O.U.N.D Officer Park, rottweiler, and top of his class. A real monster with a count. Got the impact of a truck when he strikes, and a good shot with a 364 score. The H.O.U.N.D has never seen anything like him. A true beast of a machine."

You read off the same stats that the general was giving to you. His list of awards and achievements trailed off to the second page you didn't bother to turn to. He was good, no he was great, but still…you didn't want the hound.

The Director cleared his throat and in a booming voice, "Officer Park, enter."

You heard the doorknob clink as it twists and heavily boots thumped rhythmically on the wooden floor. You twist around in your seat and came to face the rottweiler. His tall, lean figure filled out his pressed clothes. His white shirt was taunt as it alluded to the idea of the refined muscles underneath; silver tags hung from his neck and clanked softly as he marched until he paused a few feet from you. His black cargo pants that were tight around his thighs were tucked neatly into his polished, black combat boots that gleamed as he snapped his heels together to stand at attention as he saluted.

You finally took in his face, his features were handsome, silky dark hair carefully parted and pushed back, and full lips. Black, floppy ears equally as polished blended in with his dark hair. All hounds you had met so far had a more rugged appearance, scared and tattered from the action, yet he had none. You don't know why but that unsettled you. When your gaze finally reached his eyes you found the familiar rugged tension as they were boring forward and technical in tension. His gaze peeled from the Director's to yours as he finally lowered his salute.

The General stepped forth patting him on the shoulder, "Y/L/N I want to introduce you to Officer Park. He's under your care now."

You meet his eyes, the dark brown orbs, carefully analyze you as you are sure you portray the same tone. You held his eyes as you stood up, and soon it was clear he towered over you. You felt the need to state your presence. You took his extended hand and the callouses and thick fingers nearly engulfed your hand.

"Do you have your belongings Officer Park?"

He pulled his hand back and folded them behind his back lacing with his other, "Yes, Sir."

The Director turned to you and smiled, "Goodbye, Agent Y/L/N."

Your mouth was left clenched as you politely gestured and began walking out of the door assuming he would follow you. You heard the heavy boots trail after you as the door shut behind him.

This…this wasn't how you expected things to go.

Pushing open the front door with a bit of a huff, stepping inside you flicked on the light switch. When the Director said he would be under your care you didn't think literally. You thought he'd be at his barracks and he would just be present during work hours. You had realized quickly that he was meant literally under your care, under your household, you were in charge…of his care. You glanced over your shoulder and saw him walking tight-lipped from the driveway with his duffle bag. He walked as if he was marching, legs stiff and hair barely bouncing. His gaze was the most daunting, sharp and cold. Shaking the thought you shifted topics mentally. You couldn't be afraid of him. He was your hound. You'd have to go back tomorrow probably to collect the rest of his stuff.

You hooked your keys on the key rack. Stepping inside holding the door open for him you hurriedly defend your home. "I haven't been home in a few months, so I'm sorry for the dust and the mess."

He nodded in a curt motion. You toed off your shoes and placed them on their rack. He stood politely not too far from you awaiting direction. You weren't sure how this was going to work. You had a guest room, but it was mostly unused office space. With the door closed, it was quiet, you could only hear your awkward breathing. The tension in the atmosphere was heavy as you didn't know really what to do next. You rounded him nearly flattening yourself against the wall avoiding touching him as he nearly took up the whole entryway. "Uhm, will you…will you give me a minute? Just make yourself at home." You sped off before you had a chance to see his reaction.

Quickly you dropped your stuff off in your room and stood there for a moment. Your bed was made just like you left it, your robe was still draped over the bench at the end of your bed. Everything was as it seemed, but it didn't feel—nothing felt normal. You rubbed over your left arm and the soreness responded. Yes, this was real. You…you had a hound. Retreating you crossed the hall to the guest bedroom. You flicked on the lights and the room was nearly bare, furnished from your college budget. There was a full bed only a plain white sheet over it to protect the mattress. The end table, desk, and dresser were all covered in a fine layer of dust. The walls were bare, but the rest of your house was similar. Ever since you've moved in you've spent more time at headquarters or on missions. This was more of a hotel than a home.

You pulled the sheet off and speed across the hall and tossed it in the washing machine, then you dug into the cupboard. Do you even have any other sheets that are full size? Your bed is a king. Maybe you should just use the sheet you put in the wash. No, what if he wanted to rest? Finding another white sheet, you hopped to pull it off the top of the stack. You hissed as you reached up straining your injury as it burned to remind you of its existence.

A hand was placed gently on your back preventing you from tipping backward. Gasping under your breath you turned your head as he reached for the sheet you were attempting to grab. He was nearly pressed up against you, but the notion dissolved before you had time to register it happened. He held it out to you as you thanked him. Quietly he followed you to the room. Again you unfolded it but haphazardly flapped it about as your arm throbbed. Cautiously and silently he took it from you seeing you struggle again. He began making the bed.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you could handle it. You really could. You nodded rubbing your hand over your forearm. It felt odd. All of this was so sudden. Heading back to the cupboard you were able to pull the extra comforter out. It was a fluffy, white down nearly engulfing you as it was meant for your bed. You went into your room and took a pillow off your bed. You stood at the door as he tucked in the last corner of the bed and he stood at attention heels pressed. You carefully set the pillow and comforter on top of the bed and began unfolding it. Easily he helped as he finished the last few tugs.

You stood there staring at the down, as he awaited you. You were used to being in charge, you fell into the role of leadership easily, but this, this was a different kind of responsibility. Something caught your eye for a split second, you were sure you caught his tail wagging behind him before it stilled just as fast. "There is a bathroom right next door for you to use. The kitchen is free for you to use and eat anything you like."

He nodded.

It was an odd pause as you waited for him to fill the silence, say something, but he was a statue.

Pursing your lips you spoke, "Officer Park, I don't know the first thing about hybrids or hounds. If you're uncomfortable here, we can always get you your place, eventually, I'm sure you will want to anyways. For the time being, let's," you held your hand out to him, "get along."

His expression tightened if possible. He looked from your hand to your face and stepped forward taking your outstretched hand in a curt shake. You pulled the hand clutching it and nodded, "That's settled then." Slowly you began backing out. "I'll let you get settled in. Good night."

He nodded standing there still as you backed out and went into your room. Closing the door behind you you slumped against your door.

How did you end up here?

You rotated your shoulder dispelling the tension from sleeping. As you rounded the corner into your living room you paused in your steps as you made eye contact with Park. Yes. It took you a moment to remember. You were in charge of another being. He was sitting on the couch fully dressed, as he was wearing the same clothing he was yesterday. Your mind was still awakening from the haze of sleep. Didn't he bring a duffle bag with him? How long had he been awake? You squinted at the clock on the wall as it read out 7:30 am. You were still in your sweats and long sleeve pajamas. You felt underdressed in your own home. Slightly nodding towards him as a form of greeting he returned the gesture stiffly. You moved to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge and it was stark clean. It was as if you had just purchased it. You searched the cupboards and it was the same, except for a single random can of beans.

You came back out and stood at the entrance of the kitchen. "Officer Park."

He stood up hearing his name and hovered by the edge of the couch.

"I don't have any food here. I'm going to call for delivery," you paused suddenly remembering, "later, we can pick up the rest of your things from the barracks while we are out."

"I have everything I own with me, Miss."

Hearing his voice was jarring as the only time you remember hearing it was yesterday when you first met. His voice was softer and melodic in comparison to his exterior. For a rottweiler, his ears were more Doberman like as they were perked. Belatedly you then realize they were docked, probably for safety purposes.

Everything? You refrained shifting your expression, the last thing he needed was pity. You carefully prodded. "Park, is that your only change of clothes?"

He nodded confidently. "Yes, Miss."

His only pair of clothing? You anticipated that he'd have more at least a personal blanket, a trinket, something. The Director's words echoed in your ear from last night. "Hybrid's lives are disposable, yours isn't."

Anger fills you as you process it all. You'd expect the government to treat them well, yet they treated them like they were--disposable. Rubbing your left arm, you paused soaking in your thoughts at the small realization. If he only had one pair of clothes, exactly how was he living before?

He sensed your unease. His eyebrows knitted in confusion. Did his lack of items upset you? He didn't know how he could correct his error.

Licking your lips, you moved forward to head back down towards the hallway. "Let me get dressed I'll be right back."

He nodded and stood there with the same blank expression. Seeing the lack of response, you smartened up and turned on the T.V and handed him the remote. "Watch something while I'm gone, I shouldn't be too long. Food will be here soon."

He analyzed the control as if it was something alien. You slipped behind the wall over the hallway. Making a motion you pointed behind you, "I'll be back."

He stared up from his standing position, his knee jerked until he straightened it to place. "Yes, Miss."

------

You spent longer in the shower than you had anticipated. The warmth of the water was soothing, and you felt the painful kinks leave you. Before you got in the shower you called the café and placed an order. After your shower, you dressed for the day. The doorbell rang as you were toweling off your hair. You grabbed your wallet and headed towards the door. As you rounded towards the door, Park was crouching and hoovering by the front door. Before you could move further Park growled viciously, and it sent a chill down your spine. "Miss, stay back! Intruder."

You quirked a brow before you understood what was going on. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath before you smothered it. "Park, step down."

He tensed, hesitant on obeying your command. You repeated yourself, but it was followed by a breathy chuckle. He couldn't understand why you laughed; this was serious. An unfamiliar person was on the other side of the door! He had to protect!

You pushed past his blockade, but he was hot on your trail, body tense and ready the second something goes wrong. You opened the door a scrawny teen held a large plastic bag. His voice cracked as he held out the receipt, "Whoa, dude, ugh—de-delivery for Y/n."

You smiled ignoring his other commentary. "That's me." You gave him the money and a tip as you exchanged the bag from the kid. You waved ensuring he got back to his car safely as the teen practically ran back to his car. Shrugging you turning around in to get a face full of a hardened chest that was flexing as he heaved with each rumble. Your eyes widened as you jumped back nearly tripping. His fangs were out and you realized they started high up in his gums. His ears were perked forward and eyes were darkened as he looked feral. You finally realized why the teen's hand was trembling, the stuttering, and practically running back to his car. His being sent another chill down your spine when he looked down at you, but you gulped it back. You couldn't be afraid of your officer.

Putting on a smile you reassured him, "It's okay, it's just the delivery guy."

As you closed the door his neck was nearly stretched, veins protruding in his neck as he watched the beat-up Honda Civic drive off before you shut the door.

He encroached the door and stared out the small window. Yes, just moments ago you were spooked, but then it hit you. He was kind of silly, he was acting like a real guard dog. Especially when his shoulders slightly jumped as you could tell he was building up a bark that left in quiet huffs. You couldn't help biting your lip to suppress the laugh again. For someone who looked like a mafia boss, he was being fussy about a delivery boy. You did a double-take as you realized there was a small nub that was slightly wagging within his pants. He had a tail? You tilted your head watching it wag before you realized you were staring at his butt. Which was plump, but that wasn't the point! How could you stare! You quickly looked away and began your trek to the living room.

Cooling down the flush that had begun to creep up your neck, you called him, "Park, he's gone, it's okay." You crouched down as you set the bag of food on the coffee table. Fishing out the trays you went into the kitchen to grab some drinks. Looking over your shoulder Park still stood frozen in the entryway halfway between leaning to you and glancing out the window. This time you couldn't contain your laughter, yup, he was kind of silly. "Come on, eat."

His brows raised at the tinkling sound of your laugh. His ears twitched at the soft sound, it almost quelled him completely as the sound danced around in his chest. He…liked that sound. However, he wasn't one to forget his role. Glancing back at the door once, he carefully walked over to you robotically. Standing there you pointed to the couch, "Sit." As soon as the words left your mouth you realized that sounded like a command for an actual dog you changed your wording. "Please take a seat. I don't know what you like, so I just got you the same thing that I get. It's good I promise." It struck you, you spun in your spot, "Do you have any food allergies?"

His eyes were wide as saucers, "No, Miss."

Sighing in relief you handed him a tray that he took graciously with two hands. "Bon appetit."

You sat comfortably on the floor and opened your tray revealing the savory breakfast bagel sandwich. This was one of the first things you had wanted ever since you came back. Bringing it to your mouth you were in heaven as you took the first bite, savoring all the breakfast essentials.

Park was staring at you the whole time, watching the way you casually ate.

You turned to him and realized he still hadn't opened his food. Your smile fell, "What's wrong, is it not what you like?"

His ears perked up, eyes wide as he shook his head, "No, It's alright, Miss." He slid down onto the floor next to you. You watched as he finally popped open as you took a bite of your sandwich. The tip of his pink tongue peeked out as he picked up the sandwich. He looked at you, then he took a small bite before he paused as if he was paralyzed. The flavors danced on his tongue and it was near euphoria. He had never tasted something so flavorful and delicious. The only thing he had ever been fed back in the labs was supplemental meals in pellets or slop that was just an off shade of brown.

You watched his expression carefully, afraid he would hate it, but who could hate breakfast sandwiches? Suddenly his eyes gleamed as the edges creased in an eye smile. He ravenously began devouring the sandwich in large bites noisily. His hands were empty within seconds except for crumbs as he sucked on his thumbs getting all the savory oil. His tail was wagging fast as his pants made soft rustling sounds. You couldn't help it, a giggle spilled as you watched his reaction. A hot blush covered his cheeks as he stared at you with a finger in his mouth. The sound again that was like a call to something internal within him beckoned him to look at you. That sound…he couldn't understand why you were laughing. Nothing funny had happened.

He looked gentile for the first time since his arrival as his eyes sparkled wide. You wondered how he could do that go from looking so terrifying to so gentle you couldn't believe he'd hurt a fly.

You had the great idea of getting extra; you took the empty tray and replaced it with the empty tray. He shook his head trying to place it back, "No, I'm fine Miss."

You placed it back in his lap, "Please, I got more than enough. Eat."

You turned back to your meal and the TV finally paying attention to what was on. He looked back and forth between you and the tray, squirming in his seat. He wanted to eat, but it was too much. His stomach believed otherwise, but he would be fine if he ignored it like he usually did. It was more than he's ever been offered. Were you testing him? Yet, you weren't turning around. Your body language wasn't tense. Carefully he popped the tray open, he gazed at you, waiting for a reaction, but you kept chewing. He picked up the sandwich and began eating, a little faster than necessary in case you changed your mind at any point. He'd deal with the consequences later. Eating so fast he began choking as he swallowed nearly the whole sandwich down.

Rapidly you poured him a glass of water and handed him the glass, "Here drink this!"

He took it and drank the whole glass, sighing in relief as he cleared his throat. When he finally was all right he couldn't look you in the eye, embarrassed with himself. He waited for his punishment, tensing his body for the hit.

You smiled, realizing his tray was empty again. You looked at the tray and realized he was clenching his fist until they were turning white. A sadness overcame you that had him whining as he scented the shift in you. You reached into the bag and pulled out yet another sandwich. You gently replaced the empty one with another, his fist still tight. Softly you assured him, "You don't have to eat so fast; no one is going to steal your food. I won't ever keep food from you."

Although it felt odd to say it, you wanted to assure him. You wanted him to be comfortable. This was going to be your life from now on. Park was going to always be a part of your life whether you liked it or not. He was your hound.

He was your hound.

On a sigh, you spoke words you never thought you'd be saying. "This is your home too." You brushed your still slightly wet hair from your face when he remained stoic, face recessing back into a neutral blank.

As you rustled your hair your sweet scent filled the air. He realized how sweet it was as you rustled back as it filtered the air erasing the small sadness that was there before. It was intoxicating as he waited for it to be ruined by a foul scent that usually accompanied lying. Yet, it stayed sweet, it had been since he had met you.

You licked your lips and nodded assuming that was the end of the conversation. If there was one thing you learned through your training as an agent is patience. He'd speak when he'd want to. You knew space and you'd want the same. Just as this has been a lot for you, you can only imagine how stressful this must have been for him. Maybe you needed the silence to answer more than you could want words from him.

He stared at the cardboard top of the tray. He rubbed his thumbs over the paper feeling the small ridges. This was real. He blinked as he couldn't place the feeling. He had never felt something like this before. It made him squint his eyes, it bothered him he couldn't understand the feeling.

"Okay, Miss."

You were surprised at the sound of his voice that came almost too quiet. You offered him a smile to let him know you heard him. He stared at you with eyes that were swirling with emotions as his ears swiveled slightly. Clearing your throat, there was a lot you had to learn. Oddly, you settled into a comfortable relaxation. You forgot about your arm. You forgot about why Park was being sprung into your life. The failure, the politics, it all.

A halo of light glows around you as he found himself staring at you. He reached up and rubbed over his chest, that odd feeling had been swirling around for a while now. It was probably the need to protect you. Protect…his…home now. This…was…his—his thoughts were cut off by the sound of your laughter again as you laughed at something on T.V. He followed your line of sight and to your face as your face scrunched up as you lingered in whatever was funny.

He clutched the tray in his hands. Yes, that must be what he's feeling. It must be that. He will protect you.

You somehow fell asleep somewhere between the episodes of some sitcom you didn't know the name of played. You woke up on the couch and Park was still sitting on the floor watching whatever was on TV. Lightly blushing, he must've placed you on the couch. Not dwelling on that fact, you wiped the sleep out of your eye as you looked at the clock and it was just a bit past noon.

You sat up straight and Park turned around to look at you hearing the rustling.

You joked, "Hello." He nodded his head.

"Sorry for falling asleep." He shook his head to disagree.

The coffee table had been cleaned. You thanked him for it and his tail wagged again before he tempered it. Getting up and stretching you winced and hissed when you realize you had been sleeping on your left arm.

He stood up immediately, "Miss are you okay?"

You waved it off, "I must've slept funny, that's all." Rotating your arm, you released the tension in your shoulder, but it was sore still as you lowered it.

He didn't believe you. He noticed you were awkward with your left arm as you always were caressing and cradling it. Before he could comment you moved past him. You sighed internally realizing that you needed to head to the store for groceries. You couldn't keep ordering take out. In the kitchen, you dug in your junk drawer and got out a notebook and began writing a list. Knocking the pen against your chin you tried to think of anything you're missing after jotting down the basics. You went back to the living room, sitting down on the floor again and letting the notepad rest on the coffee table. "Park, what do you need at the store?"

He shook his head.

You quirked a brow, "Please, tell me what you need. I want you to be comfortable."

He hung his head low, in a whisper you barely caught onto, "There's hybrid soap that's unscented. That's it."

You raised a brow, "That's it?"

He nodded.

"Okay." You ripped the page out and stuffed the list into your purse. Slipping on your shoes, "I'll be right back. I'll just be a bit."

He stood up immediately alarmed. "I will go with you. I need to stay with you."

You raised a brow, crossing your arms across your chest, "It's just shopping. I can handle myself." He was poking at a sore spot. You could handle yourself. You can handle yourself. He stood chest puffed in full seriousness. The same assurance he had before with the delivery boy returned.

"I'm okay on my own."

"I will go."

Realizing you were arguing with the wall you swallowed your pride. This. This was something you were going to have to learn to deal with. You were going to learn how to be a "team" and work with another. Chanting to yourself, you reminded yourself this was a learning process. "Fine, come on."

Quickly he slipped his boots on and you unhooked your keys and closed the door behind him.

Putting the car into park it struck you. The whole car ride he had been quiet, the soft hum of music playing from the radio had filled the silence. Before getting out of the car you turned to him, "Hey, are you okay going around shopping?"

He turned to you, "Yes, Miss."

You cringed internally at the formality he had been calling you Miss this whole time. But you respected it, it would probably feel more awkward using first names.

It felt stupid but you felt the need to remind him, "Please don't growl at anyone, unless they're a real threat okay?" You wanted to let him know, "If it ever is too much, let me know. We can leave at any point."

He nodded, lips slightly pouting, and you both got out of the car.

Stepping into the store you carefully side-eyed Park and his eyes were telling a different story as he was searching nearly everyone for threat. You decided to let him do whatever made him comfortable, even if it was glaring at everyone. You pulled out a shopping cart and picked up everything off your list including some things that weren't. More things weren't on your list than were, but who were you to deny your love for the good stuff. You watched Park if he took an interest in anything, but he was natural and bleak about it all.

You stopped in the hybrid section. Scattered through the store there had been a few, but truly you noticed other hybrids with their owners in this section. There were all types of rabbits, feline or canine hybrids. Before yesterday you never really noticed them, it all was normalcy, now with Park, you felt more aware. When you passed them with Park you noticed them freeze and divert their eyes from him. The rabbit hybrid nearly tugged its owner out of the aisle. You felt bad for them, but you both had the right to be there just as much as everyone else. Some other canines dared to stare at him before they were yanked away. Okay, maybe Park wasn't the one you should be worried about. He hovered over you, shoulders back and chest puffed. You called to Park, distracting him momentarily from staring down others. "Choose whatever you need."

The selection was near bare, except for the essentials. He glanced back frequently as he selected his soap. You watched other owners with heir hybrids, they were selecting more than just bar soap. When he came back with a bar that was in a basic box you smiled at him, wanting to be sure to always encourage this behavior of making his own choice. "Are you sure?" He nodded and he immediately reverted to his guard stance. You asked him to place it in the cart and then you walked over to where the other hybrids and their owners just were and began picking the scarcest products off the shelf. It must mean they're good and popular.

"Miss?"

"Yes?" You placed a bottle down as the side was dented and picked up one in better condition.

He looked between you and the products. "What are you doing, Miss?"

You glanced at him, "Do you like," you popped open the lid of the shampoo refreshed by the clean scent, "this one?"

He took it from you and placed it back on the shelf. "I'm fine."

You picked up the shampoo back and placed it in the cart and carried on. He sighed and followed along as you kept picking up things like a brush, fur shine conditioner, vitamin tablets, a loofah, and a toothbrush. He had remained quiet the whole time and as rounded the corner there was a very small selection of basic clothing. You recalled back to his confession earlier and the idea saddens you at your ignorance. It struck you that last night he must've slept in the same clothes he was in now. You held up sweats and a shirt up to him he stiffened as your hands were nearly touching him. You hummed when you were content with the sizing before you picked up more and placed them in the cart. Pointing to underwear and socks, "You can pick those yourself." He fidgeted on the spot as if he was glued. You decided to pinch a little, "Or do you want me to pick them?" He unglued himself from his spot and he tossed in a package of each reluctantly. You smiled at him at your small victory. This would have to do, for now, you'd order things online later.

He still stood protectively over you, but at some point, you had ignored the feeling of his hovering. You could feel how uncomfortable he was. Your hand itched to reach out and settle him, but you weren't sure how comfortable he would be with that either.

"You can have things to Park." You turned to him, with a softness that had him relaxing, "I'm happy to get it for you. I want to do this for you."

His tail wagged as you began carting away.

Opening up your mailbox you pulled out the mail then shoved open the door with bags and mail in your hand. Waddling to the kitchen with the bags you set them down as Park came just behind you with his arms full of the remaining bags. The top of his head barely peeking above the bags. Your eyes widened as you helped him place the rest of the bags down. You could handle heavyweight, but you didn't want to accelerate joint pain and destroy the recovery you've made so far. He seemed completely unaffected though.

He stood patiently again as you turned to him, realizing he was awaiting a command. You cleared your throat as you grabbed bags. You found the bags holding his products. You handed them off to him. He hesitated as he nearly set the bags down, "Let me help. Tell me what to do."

You waved him away, "It's alright, I got it. Why don't you take a shower? I'm sure you feel gross after a long day. Do you need help figuring that out?"

Again, he found himself conflicted. He couldn't sense the duplicity in your tone. He waited for you to yell at him. Waited for you to shout commands, punish him for being useless, something, yet you stood up and stared at him with eyes that nearly smiled on their own. He was stunned at the way you looked at him. Gently you picked up his bags and handed it to him, "You can put your stuff away and the clothing you got on now put them in the wash. You remember from yesterday right? You can pick out just an outfit then the rest can go in the wash."

You shooed him off when he stood there dumbfounded. Taking your statement as final he picked up his bags and disappeared around the corner.

You sighed a bit in relief, an ache left in its wake. You hadn't realized how tense you were all day. Taking care of someone else was exhausting. The way he was looking at you was confusing. It was like he was expecting something, but you weren't sure what. Instead of dwelling on the what-ifs, you sorted all the groceries. It was odd seeing your home full of food. You never had this much food before. You always made instant food when it was just yourself. You folded all the plastic bags into one and placed them in a bin by the front door. Coming back you glanced around the kitchen, then picked up the mail.

You shifted through it as the majority of it was junk mail with a few exceptions of bills. Stuffing it into the wall rack for your mail you were cautious to separate the bills from junk.

Your phone begins vibrating in your pocket. You read the caller ID, 000, and your face hardened. You answered and a distorted voice spoke, "Report tomorrow at 0700 for a new assignment." There was a click and the call was over. Sighing heavily you tossed your phone on the counter uncaring if it cracked the screen. You leaned on the counter, elbowed supporting your head as you run your fingers through your hair. You clutched your head, breathing through your nose.

He came out of the corner, his hair slightly dripping wet as he toweled off his ears. His face scrunched up in disgust, it smelled sour. It was from you, clutching the towel he rounded the corner as you were standing back up. Your face was slightly flushed, and your eyes held this look of exhaustion. The smile had disappeared from you. He dropped his towel as he marched over to you, "Miss, is everything alright? Did I do something wrong? I knew I should've helped you. I'm—."

Your eyes widen in surprise as he nearly rushed you. Realizing your position you laughed it off, and quiet his resolve, although your voice isn't as strong as you wish it could've been. "No, I'm fine, It's fine." He didn't believe you as he carefully looked over your face.

You realized his hair was dripping. You picked up the towel from the floor and tiptoed slightly as you rustled the towel over his hair. "Don't walk around with wet hair, it's cold out. You can't be catching a cold." You were careful of his ears.

He froze on the spot.

When you pulled away, your smile had returned. He was staring directly at you, nearly inches apart, eyes wide. Your heart skipped a beat. You took in his jawline, tawny skin that was slowly turning rosy and his pupils dilating. Realizing your position and what you had done you dropping the towel and it draped over him like a ghost. He whined as you laughed going towards the fridge. You try to cover your embarrassment by acting normal, "Dry your hair with the dryer next time." You opened up the fridge, "Let's eat."

One ear popping out he pulled the towel back he stepped forward, "Let me help Miss." His cheeks were rosy, and you sure yours was too.

Surrendering to his eagerness your cave, "Okay."

Surprisingly Park was a great cook. You gave him simple instructions to cut vegetables and they were sliced and diced neatly. You thanked him as you slid them off into the pan. The house filled with the smell of stir fry and just in time the rice cooker jingled as you turned off the burner.

"Can you get some plates, please? It's in the left cabinet."

He nodded and set two plates beside you. With your good hand, you scooped food onto the plates. When they were filled, he took them to the table without propagation. You fished inside the fridge for some cold water and the drawers for utensils and brought that to the table with you.

Looking at the table with steaming plates Jimin stood by the table waiting for you. You set the water down and utensils and sat down. Your eyes glowed as you stared at the food. You picked up your fork and began poking at your food and shoved it in your mouth. You're a few bites in before you realized he was sitting across the table food untouched. He picked up his fork and began eating after you had taken your first bites.

You wanted to know more, you wanted to understand why. The report the Director gave was bare-bones, but you could inquire enough. You had been on a mission before countless times, analyzed war criminals, and more, but this felt out of reach. If you were going to keep Park then you wanted to know more. There was no better way of getting information than just asking. You swallowed your food then asked, "Park, may I ask you something?"

His body tensed slightly as he swallowed and answered formally, "Yes, Miss."

While shopping today you did your shallow research as you watched those with hybrids of their own. All hybrids had something around their necks, collars, like chokers around their neck. You casually inquired, "Do hybrids wear…collars?"

"It's a sign of identification and ownership."

You quirked your brow, "Do you have one."

He pulled out from his shirt dog tags on a silver ball chain. You nodded at it and kept poking at your food. The biggest question sitting at the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't ask it. Instead, you choose to look him over. "Do you like your new clothes? Do they fit right?"

He nodded rapidly, "Yes, Miss."

They looked comfortable as they fit him a bit oversized, but it would give him wiggle room.

He finished his meal and stood from the table taking it to the sink. You followed shortly after with your dish. He fidgeted on the spot before he thanked you for the meal. Shutting off the water and drying your hands on the towel rack you leaned against the counter.

"Park."

He paused and robotically turned and stood at attention at the entrance of the kitchen. You looked down then back up at him, "New assignment—for us, meeting tomorrow at headquarters. Be up early."

His posture stiffens. As his hands began clutching at his sweatpants. He nodded then rounded about the corner slipping into his room.

You flicked off the kitchen light as you signed, why did that feel so heavy? You massaged your arm as you walked to your room. That night you laid in bed doing a bit of research on hybrid things. You browsed for a few hours shopping for things that others recommended. You bought clothes varying from dark in color to light unsure of where his palate was. You guess the size going for the larger size for safety and it possibly shrinking in the dryer. You'd rather him be comfortable than enclosed in his clothes. Checking out you bought a list full of things, but you don't spend your paycheck on yourself, so you placed it in your cart without a second thought. He deserved it.

You shut your laptop and thought about the hound sleeping in the next room over. Was he sleeping alright? You heavily sigh allowing your body to sink into your bed. You were going to have a long day tomorrow and you needed your sleep. Closing your eyes you had a million thoughts going, but the main one was of the hound in the room over.

You just had to hold out for tomorrow.

"Your next mission agent is to be the personal guard the governor on his trip to the capitol from the airport. He will be arriving from the capital after receiving an acknowledgment from the president and we expect a lot of eyes to be on him."

Your blood boiled internally. This was a job meant for a mid-rank agent, not you. Yet, you tried to sound eager, "Yes, Sir."

He smiled, it felt so greasy. "Your mission starts in three months upon his arrival."

"Understood, Sir."

He looked towards Jimin who stood at the edge of the room at attention. The Director smiled, "Park, is Y/l/n treating you well?"

"I'm content Sir."

The Director looked at you, "I knew this was a great idea. You are much better off with him."

He stood up and you followed along clenching your jaw. "Thank you, Sir."

As you were walking away. "Agent Y/L/N."

You turned on your heel completely facing him. "No more mistakes."

Your face was hard set, yet pleasant enough. Park noticed your fist clenching as you crossed them behind your back.

"Understood Sir."

Park followed along silently. He could smell the change in your scent—it was ruining the sweetness. You stood in front of the elevators and pressed the down button. Park waited behind you, standing tall. He had no idea why you were uncomfortable. He found the Director behavior odd. What had he meant by making a mistake?

When the elevator opened you stepped in and immediately into the floor panel you punched in the code 45730 harder than necessary. For a second the elevator stalled, then it began dropping down. The elevator went beyond the parking garage basement as it continued to drop. Jimin's eyes watched, internally reading himself for anything.

Without saying anything you stepped out of the elevator he followed you to an internal door. You scanned your ID before you stamped your finger to go inside. Jimin scanned his dog tags and was allowed inside behind you.

As the door whorled open with an electrical buzzer sounding off, a sudden bang introduced you both to the gym. Flashes of light caught his attention as he looked into glass rooms. The rooms each were unique and technical as digital screens were projected in the air with stats while within the room holographic simulations of hostile scenarios played as agents trained. You kept marching like you were running to a fire. He only caught glimpses of the intense training going on, monitoring their movements in those split seconds. The arena opened up and agents were firing off in succession as they shot down the range. Seeing rows of stations, he realized you had brought him to a gun range.

You rotated your left shoulder. You stepped up to a station and placed your hand on top of the glass desk. The monitor glowed blue as a digital screen popped up. "Put your hand on the glass Park." He followed along, and the desk expanded into a dual station. His information appeared on the screen alongside yours. Selection of weapons appeared next, "Pick what you want to use."

He went through and selected a handgun like yourself. The proper wear appeared on the right wall of the station. The guns were simultaneously present from the walls.

After having the debriefing, you found yourself feeling wound up. You wanted to prove yourself again, prove you were good enough. The drudging task he gave you, protecting the newly elected governor, was for the rookies. Grabbing it you inspected it thoroughly. You shook out your left hand. The guns weren't typical, although they recoil, sound and weighed as much as a real one, they weren't.

You didn't meet eyes with Park as you spoke, "I'm sure you've done this before."

He had. Too many times to count. He had spent a lot of time in ranges, less modern than this. He remembers when he was a young pup and he stood at the other end of the rage facing the abysmal barrel. Officers commanded the older hounds with real guns. It was a miss and survive. A test for all.

He was brought to the present when the holographic screen began changing as infographics and widgets displayed difficulty levels, strategy, and intensity. Selecting a random high-performance program you reached over and pressed the approval for his side of the dual station to fully expand to accommodate you both. His eyes followed the station walls as they moved and widened a few feet. Your eye twitched as you brought your arms up finger away from the trigger as you tightened your hips.

"Ready yourself, Park."

Selecting random the widget flipped through until it stopped on the hostage situation. A short debriefing appeared on the screen, entailing the scenario. Your shoulders tightened, a thing you learned to never due, and the motion caused you to wince as you felt the muscle tug around your injury. You were fine. You were fine.

Situation: A bank robbery and the civilians inside and employees are being held, hostage. Save the hostages.

As soon as the countdown began on the screen from three, two, one, the bank doors opened, and fake comrades joined you both as you enter. Five criminals circulate the main lobby as they surround hostages piled in the middle. The simulation was interactive, and it expected you to act accordingly. Slipping into your roll you commanded, "Drop the weapons and get down!"

Park held his position as his gun was raised defensively mirroring your stance.

The criminals laughed simulated jargon of them arguing and they refused to place down their weapons. You repeated your commands and they still refused. You scanned the room again, analyzing the exits, windows, and corners, there weren't many options, but the desk offered refuge. Counting the seven hostages surrounded by the five criminals, the odds of getting the robbers away were slim. But the margin of possibility was where you thrived.

"Park, on my mark."

Just like you had predicted the robber facing you reacted hotly by grabbing a hostage and holding a gun to their temple. "I'll do it! I'll do it!"

You continued, "Release the hostage, no one has to get hurt. Put down your weapons!" You slightly nodded but Park had caught it as the mark.

The robber's hand trembled with anger before he threw the hostage and began unleashed rounds at you. Screams and sounds of chaos erupted. The other criminals began targeting the other commanders. Your eyes worked a million miles an hour as you dodged bullets moving forward behind the wall. Park was opposite of you, finding a shield in the opposing wall.

When the sound of gunshots paused you took the chance and shot at the criminals.

"Park, right!"

He let a few rounds out, both successful as they land their targets. The hostages scream and run towards you but disappeared as they simulate running past you.

A robber appeared next to you as you fired at their extremities. Death is never the goal, inebriation is. Assassination isn't a solution. The bank begins shifting into the warehouse as you panted, breathing faster and faster. Seeing the lone chair and a man with a gun pointed at you took form. A slow smirk built on their face as their finger shifted to be over the trigger and they pulled. You had been so lost in thought you forget what was going on. Suddenly you were pushed back as he stood in front of you. His side of the screen flashed red. He had been shot, kill shot to the chest

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped. "PARK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, "Protecting you."

You gazed at him, shock filtered, again those words ring clear in your ears: hounds are disposable. Bile built in your throat. If this was real, he would've been dead. You failed Park. You…failed, again.

Panic filled your heart creeping like an icy cold grip and your hand began to tremble. Your face was stone cold, but inside a storm was brewing.

Boisterous laughter filtered through and broke you from your beginning hysteria. They snorted at the end of their sinister laughter, bringing their hand up to cover their mouth. You pulled your trembling hand behind you as you turned and Jimin looked over your shoulder.

Eyeing you up and down and then Park a snarky smirk plastered on her lips as they stride closer to you both. "Ah, Y/L/N, you finally got one." Her eyes stared at Park for a moment longer than necessary. Subtly you shifted yourself in front of him. "I see the Director finally recognized that you weren't perfect." Her lips pulled higher. Agent Smith had been in the federation longer than you have. Her father was from the same fraternity as the Deputy Director. She let everyone know proudly where she came from and how she knew people in high places. Instantly you were rivals after she opened her mouth. However, during training, she was one of your main motives for climbing the ladder. You were better than some rich girl with connections. Proudly you climbed to your position on your own, no family, no friends, just you.

It's always been that way anyway.

Finding yourself on steady grounds, pushing nausea aside, you smirked back sweetly. Setting your gun down, "I'm glad your back safe Smith. Your last mission was watching that rich girl from Montenegro, right? How was it playing a shopping assistant?"

Her smirk didn't deter. "Assistant? Please. At least I didn't fail. Daddy told me all about how the Director said you were a failure. You couldn't handle a simple rescue mission. Makes me concerned for the rest of us."

She cut deep and quick. Park next to you listened to it all, quickly glancing at you. He hadn't heard of this. He wasn't told why he was now your hound. He could feel you change though. It was unsettling him.

Quick on your feet, "The only concern you should have is if Daddy is going to buy you another spot on a mission. How much did your Daddy pay for your last mission?" It was petty. This was petty, out of character. Today wasn't your day.

Her face blistered with anger. "You bitch! I wish they left you in Victiz to die in that cell."

Park growled, a rolling growl. Her eyes widened in surprise like yours. Park's eyes were jet black, he appeared like a feral beast encroaching over you with his presence. His fangs were exposed as his lips pulled back. He made no motion forward, but Smith knew if she moved offensively, he would act. Realizing she was out of her reach, Smith flinched as she corrected herself rolling her eyes pretending it didn't bother her. You hadn't realized her hound was behind her. Stomping away she picked a station leaving you standing there with Park.

You hadn't realized her hound had been with her as he stared at you both with wide eyes.

"Cerberus." The name came shakily out of the hound, their doe eyes staring, body frozen. "Yo-you're alive." The word came out as a whisper. The hound didn't get say more as Smith snapped calling the hounds attention. Without another word, the hound booked it, tail between his legs.

Park watched the hound with careful eyes. Your mind was elsewhere, desperately swallowing anger. You turned back to the monitor as it blared out "Mission Failed." You were too embarrassed to look at him. You were ashamed of yourself. You had never acted that way. You never let her get under your skin. The last comment stung like a slap across your face. Who was this person you've become? You shut it down quickly, setting all things back appropriately.

"We're leaving." You commanded stiffly.

He watched you for a few moments as you held your left arm as you walked away. Setting his gear down he began after you.

The house was dark, yet you didn't bother flicking on the lights as you took off your shoes in the entryway. The quiet ride home had let your though mull over. You were so disappointed with yourself. Words from the director, Smith, you could handle hers, but…Park, when he took the bullet for you—it was all too much. You were fatigued, your arm was ebbing in pain. "I'm going to sleep." Without further explanation, you rounded the corner and went into your room.

He stood there in the entryway, the darkness feeling suffocating as you walked away. He couldn't understand why you were so upset. He couldn't understand why you screamed at him when he took the bullet for you. Why was that woman yelling at you, he couldn't control it when she said you should die in that cell. He was going to protect you. You would never die as long as he was around. Where did he go wrong? If his ears could flatten, they would. If his tail could hide between his legs, it would be. He messed up, again.

He found his feet moving before he was aware of it. He wanted to reach out. His feet were moving fast until he felt a surging pain followed by a crunch on the hardwood floor. Retracting back he realized it was your ID. Picking it up he stared at it, the person in the ID looked so cold, so frigid, similar to how you looked now. It made his insides itch uncomfortably, it felt wrong. That you felt wrong.

Clutching it in his fist he walked through the darkness, eyes adjusted for it, and he stood in front of your door. He could hear your soft breathes, but your heart was beating fast. The tainted scent that was normally sweet was nearly rolling from under your door like smoke. He clutched your ID in his hand tight enough that the edge of the plastic badge dug into his skin.

Soft knocks rapped at your door. It took you a moment before you answered. Park was standing at the door staring at you directly. It felt like time had slowed before his fist unclenched and he held out your ID. You took it from him staring down at it. All your energy had been sapped from you and in barely a whisper, "Thank you."

His tongue poked through his thick lips as he opened his mouth but he clamped it shut quickly. He began turning on his heel heading back to his room.

"Park." Guilt ate at you.

He paused and turned robotically.

Clenching your ID. "I don't want you to ever take a bullet for me." His eyebrows perked. "You are not disposable, especially not because of me." You knew he had heard everything Smith had said. "I'm sorry you're in this mess. I'm sorry you're tied to me. Again, let me know if you want to leave, I'd understand."

You closed the door unaware of the sullen look on his face. The mask breaking for a crescent fallen expression. He moved at the speed of light catching the door before you closed it. The fire in his eyes raged like rumbling lava. He pulled it open fully as you stood there shocked. His posture was strong as the muscles bulged from underneath his shirt.

"Do you want me to leave?" Your mouth fell agape, caught off guard. Vulnerability bled through his words, yet it still sounded scripted, like a duty. But a part of you wanted to believe it wasn't just his duty. It was too quiet and panic began to fill Park's chest replacing the itch. "Please, don't make me leave. Please…I don't want to –I'm going to protect you until the end I promise, please, don't make me leave."

Your heart broke as you fought back tears. The harshness of his words hit you, especially as he punctuated the last three words. Although you had only been with him shortly, you didn't hate him. You had forgotten, selfishly belatedly realized how your behavior had a profound effect on him.

"Stay." You cleared your throat and spoke clearly, "You can stay."

It was silent between you both. He was trembling. His hands felt itchy again, that odd feeling he had of wanting to reach out instead he reverted to comfort. He resumed attention stance, "Yes, Miss."

"Y/n. Call me y/n. Don't call me Miss anymore."

His pupils dilated hearing your name for the first time. He had never called anyone by their first name before. He felt almost like he was committing treason, but he tested it anyway. "Y/n."

You smiled and nodded. That smile, that smile was now making his stomach itch again.

He fidgeted in his place, muttering, "Jimin…my name is Jimin."

The man, who often looked like he could crush iron with his fist, and gaze destroy a city with a blink, he looked like a puppy in front of you. You smiled. Without even realizing what you were doing you reached up and ruffled his hair.

His eyes were so wide. You pulled your hand back and retreated with a blush on your face after you realized what you had done. Your hands seemed to have a mind of their own. Quickly you sputtered out, "Sorry. Good night Jimin."

He wished you hadn't stopped. His tail was wagging a million miles per hour.

"Good night Y/n."

| Masterlist | Final

Copyright 2020 © by magicalsalamander. All rights reserved. 

[rrameyguerrero]

Worldbuilding: Countries and Governments

A fantasy world needs countries and governments. To create governments, some research must be done. The best way to create believable governments is to mimic world governments. This can be done by either choosing a government as a model or creating a new one from scratch.

To make a new government, it is important to know some basic information. Historically, there have been many forms of government like monarchy, aristocracy, timocracy, oligarchy, democracy, theocracy, and tyranny. There are two main ways power is passed down. Either the ruler(s) are elected or they inherit power. More recently, the different types of governments that we see are direct democracy, representative democracy, socialism, communism, monarchy, oligarchy, and autocracy.

Types of Governments alphabetically:

Anarchy: this is when a state, society, or country is without government or law. This is often seen as a negative, but in your fantasy world this can be a positive thing. Research anarchist philosophies. (Not on your work computer!)

Aristocracy: This is a government ruled by the elite, privileged upper class, nobility, or a “superior” group. This can be because of education, magical or physical ability, or wealth. Or a combination of these things. Have fun with it.

Authoritarian: This is a government where individual freedom is restricted by the power of the government. That government is not accountable to its people. I see this used a lot for dystopian governments where the government forbids all forms of expression and individual freedoms.

Autocracy: This is a government where one person is the unlimited authority, power, or influence. To create an autocracy, research despotic governments.

Capitalism: This is actually an economic system, so you will still need a type of government. It is an economic system where people invest in and own their own businesses and property. Wealth is made by private individuals and corporations.

Communism: This is a classless society where private ownership is abolished and the means of production and provisions for survival belong to the community.

Confederation: This is an economic or political union of sovereign states in which membership of each state is voluntary. A modern example of this is the European Union. A historical example of this is the Confederacy during the United States Civil War.

Democracy: This is a form of government where the supreme power is in the hands of the people or by their elected agents under a free electoral system.

Empire: this is a group of peoples ruled over by an emperor, empress, or other sovereign, established usually through coercion.

Federation: This is a union of partially self-governing states or regions united by a federal government.

Feudalism: This is where the land in a kingdom belonged to the king, who gave some land to lords or nobles that served him. The lord or nobles gave some of their land to vassals, who served the lords. This is the political, military, and social system in the Middle Ages.

Libertarian: This is a government that advocates the freedom of thought, expression, and free will and protects it people from coercion and violence.

Monarchy: This is a form of government where the supreme authority is vested in a single (usually a hereditary figure) ruler like a king. There are different types of monarchies like: absolute monarchy, constitutional monarchy, diarchy, elective monarchy, emirate, and federal monarchy.

Oligarchy: This is a form of government where power is divided among a few persons. These people are usually wealthy, powerful, or influential. Some types of oligarchic governments are: ergatocracy, kritarchy, plutocracy, stratocracy, and theocracy.

Polyarchy: This is a form of government where power is divided between three or more persons. This could be a triarchy, tetrarchy, or more.

Republic: This is a form of government where power rests in the body of citizens who are entitled to vote for representatives to exercise the will of the people. Some types of republics are: constitutional republic, democratic republic, parliamentary republic, federal republic, and a socialist republic.

Socialism: This is an economic system where the production and distribution of goods are controlled by the government rather than by private enterprise. There are many kinds of socialism, and some even tolerate capitalism. This is different from communism in that all communists are socialist, but not all socialists are communist.

Timocracy: This is a government where possession of property is required to hold office.

Totalitarian: This is a government that does not tolerate differing opinion and that regulates nearly every aspect of public and private life.

 The key to deciding this is who is in power, how they got there, and what powers do they have. There are other unofficial types of governments like if a mob or terrorist group controlled a country.

Alternately, a strategy for creating fictional governments, is choosing an actual country and period. For example, France in revolutionary periods vs Nazi occupation. For actual information on the government during French Revolution, check out https://www.history.com/topics/france/french-revolution. It’s really fascinating.

I chose many governments during times of revolution in countries like France, The U.S., Sudan, and Egypt as inspiration for the type of government conditions I want in my story for several main countries. I used other governments, and I created my own for the other countries. Many of my countries are

I liked the idea of having a ruling Council of Elders, with a judge-type ruler for my MC’s home. These people are moving away from socialism and into a capitalistic society. They are mostly democratically ruled, but a judge acts as a deciding factor.

This is going to vary greatly, depending upon the story you are writing. But a well-defined world should have a decent mixture of government systems. A lot of time in traditional fantasy, I see monarchies and autocracies. While I think they have their place in a fantasy world, I think simply relying on them as the only represented government lacks creativity. One trend I’ve noticed is the use of representative democracies in fantasy. I love this trend.  

When I went about creating countries for my fictional world (which I literally call World), I first listed my races. (See my post on creating fantasy races for information about the races I will list.) Each race will be sporadically spread through World.

I knew I wanted my main group of Lowasii to live on the northern island. That is where they will originate before branching out into the world. I created four countries for Lowasii. They did not assimilate into other cultures. I placed countries on the northern island, the desert on the main continent, and the northern mountains on the main continent, and a southern island.

For Trolls, Goblins, Riverfolk, and Boulders, I mapped out territories. I wanted most of them to be nomadic that follow migratory patterns of various prey. I gave them a capitol for each race, but mostly they control one large region each.

Humans spread out over the whole continent of World. They each have their own name for the planet, just like earthlings do. I wanted humans to live in every terrain and region. Their cities tend to clump together sometimes, and some are less concentrated. I also needed my countries to vary in size from one another. In the U.S. and other places, smaller cities tend to cluster around larger ones- so that’s what I did.

Lastly, I created the Underground, where the Underlings live. I wanted their ruler to have conquest on their mind. Because of this, there is only one underground country. That country has begun conquering surface-world cities one by one. These surface cities must become “night cities” to allow the Underlings to avoid sunlight.

When I planned all of these cities, I put them on my world map, and I listed them in a Word document. To me, both are important. If I am trying to determine the proximity of place A to place B, I refer to my main map. Otherwise, I refer to my Word document for details about this place.

Naming these cities was a fun process. I looked at our world map and tried to mimic sounds. For example, I saw the Icelandic capitol of Reykjavik, and I wanted one of my northern mountain cities to have a similar name. I called the Lowasii city, Nagdjik.

Another way I named cities was by brainstorming natural resources that surround the city. More will come on that in another post. So for example, there is a city in the U.S. called Salt Lake City, named after the Salt Lake.

It is totally possible to create a world and only define one city, working your way out as needed. It would still be a good idea to know who that city’s allies, trade partners, and enemies are and where they are on your map. You can really fill in the rest later. Or never, if that’s not important to your process. It’s kinda like Reese’s- there’s no wrong way to make a world. Just have fun with it.

 Resources:

https://www.nationalgeographic.org/maps/forms-government-2018/#:~:text=Some%20of%20the%20different%20types,an%20oligarchy%2C%20and%20an%20autocracy.

Blogs I found with more information:

https://springhole.net/writing/things-to-know-when-creating-fictional-governments.htm

https://goteenwriters.com/2013/09/24/storyworld-building-creating-the-government/

https://myliteraryquest.wordpress.com/2010/10/01/creating-a-fictional-government/

[reading-writing-revolution]

Heather Cox Richardson:

November 28, 2020 (Saturday)

It seems as if Trump and President-Elect Joe Biden are in a contest to see who can will their vision of the future into life.

Trump continues to maintain that he won the 2020 election. Wedded to this alternative reality, his supporters are circulating articles wondering how Biden--who was ahead by significant numbers in all pre-election polls-- could possibly have won the election… against a president who, for the first time since modern polling began, never cracked a 50% approval rating.

In their fury, they are turning against election officials, including committed right-wing Republicans like Georgia’s Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger, whom Trump has called “an enemy of the people” for defending the actual results of the election and refusing to make up reasons to throw out Democratic ballots. Raffensperger and his wife have been getting death threats, while Republican leaders refuse to stand up for him.

Many of Trump’s supporters believe him when he downplays coronavirus, which just passed the landmark of causing at least 200,000 cases in a single day. Today NBC reporter Dasha Burns echoed the words of South Dakota nurse Jodi Doering two weeks ago, saying that three days in Appalachian hospitals had revealed a world in which “hard-hit communities still don’t believe COVID is real. Misinformation is rampant.” Burns told of patients who, according to nurses, “don’t believe they have COVID until they’re in critical condition.”

Burns goes on to say: “Ultimately, politicization and misinformation around COVID are having tragic real-world consequences.” Health care workers “are watching neighbors die because they were told by leaders they trust that this virus is a hoax.”

Trump’s vision is destroying faith in our electoral system and spreading death. It is destabilizing our democracy, an outcome that helps those who are eager to see America’s influence in the world decline.

In contrast, Biden is trying to will into existence a country in which we can accomplish anything, saving ourselves from the ravages of coronavirus, rebuilding the economy, and joining those countries eager to defend equality before the law.

To that end, his nominations for key positions are experts who believe in making the government work for ordinary Americans. Rather than tweeting frequently about conspiracy theories, he tweets sparingly words of encouragement: “I’ve always believed we can define America in one word: Possibilities. We’re going to build an America where everyone has the opportunity to go as far as their dreams and God-given ability will take them” and “We have to come together as a nation and unite around our shared goal: defeating this virus.”

These two visions are in a fight to control our government.

The reality is that Biden was elected president in 2020. He has won more votes than any president in American history, over 6 million votes more than Trump and 306 Electoral College votes to Trump's 232. This is not close. Trump has challenged this election in a number of court cases; he has lost all but one of them, giving him a record of 1-39.

Yesterday, a federal appeals court made up of Republican-appointed judges rejected Trump’s attempt to overturn Pennsylvania’s certification of its election results. Judge Stephanos Bibas, a Trump appointee, wrote the opinion, which said the campaign’s challenge had “no merit.” “Charges of unfairness are serious. But calling an election unfair does not make it so. Charges require specific allegations and then proof. We have neither here,” the opinion said. “Voters, not lawyers, choose the President. Ballots, not briefs, decide elections.”

But Trump continues to tell his supporters that he has been cheated.

At some level, it is clear he cannot handle the reality that he has lost the election. On Thanksgiving, Trump finally spoke to reporters for the first time since the election, sitting at a comically small desk that has become fodder for comedians. He was not in a good mood. When a reporter asked if he would concede the election if the Electoral College votes for Biden, he exploded: “Don’t talk to me that way. I’m the president of the United States, don’t ever talk to the president that way.”

But Trump is also fundraising off his insistence that the election was stolen. The small print of fundraising emails reveals that donated money goes either to Trump’s political organizations or to the Republican National Committee. Today, rumors surfaced that Trump is considering holding a 2024 election rally on Biden’s Inauguration Day, a move that would help Trump feel important while it also would bring in money.

To rebuild the government, Biden is choosing officials who are institutionalists and experts. Today, for example, he announced more members of the Transition COVID-19 Advisory Board, adding a mental health nurse, the Executive Director at Navajo Nation Department of Health, and an epidemiologist who worked as Assistant Secretary of Labor for Occupational Safety and Health (OSHA).

But Trump is trying to rush through regulations and pack positions with loyalists before he leaves office.

Biden has been clear that he would like to return the nation to its cooperative multilateral approach to foreign affairs. He hopes to elevate diplomacy and reduce the influence of the military in our foreign policy.

His national security adviser, Jake Sullivan, centers his understanding of foreign policy on a belief that echoes that of Republican Dwight Eisenhower a half-century ago: that American strength lies in the health of its middle class, which transnational threats are undermining. His initial focus will be health policy and China. He wants to send a “very clear message to China that the United States and the rest of the world will not accept a circumstance in which we do not have an effective public health surveillance system, with an international dimension, in China and across the world going forward.”

Sullivan believes the U.S. can rally other nations to fight corruption and authoritarianism, and to set up a “rules-based system.” But observers note that the Biden team will be working against the “shattered glass” of the Trump administration, which dumped treaties and tried to take on the world alone.

In the last days of his term, Trump seems eager to limit Biden’s ability to recover multilateral agreements, especially the 2015 Iran agreement, the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA), which limited the amount of enriched uranium Iran could hold. Trump withdrew from that treaty in 2018, and inspectors recently reported that Iran now has many times the amount of uranium it could have held had the deal remained in force. Trump responded by asking his advisers if he could strike against Iran’s nuclear center. They talked him out of a military strike, saying that such a strike could lead to an escalating crisis.

Yesterday, gunmen likely associated with Israel assassinated the leader of Iran’s nuclear program, Mohsen Fakhrizadeh, in an ambush outside Tehran. Experts note that the assassination might spark retaliation, and thus might well have destroyed Biden’s ability to rejoin the Iran nuclear deal, as he has pledged to do. It seems more likely to undermine diplomacy than Iran’s nuclear ambitions.

Finally, while Biden has pledged science-based policies and protection of civil rights, Trump’s Supreme Court appointees on Wednesday indicated they will defend religion. Trump-appointed Justice Amy Barrett cast the deciding vote to strike down restrictions on religious services to combat the spread of Covid-19. In two similar cases in the past, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s vote had swung the court the other way. The decision claimed that secular businesses had received preference over religious gatherings; the dissenters pointed out that the distinction was not the nature of the gathering, but rather its chances of spreading a deadly disease.

Justices Sonia Sotomayor and Elena Kagan said the majority was being reckless. “Justices of this court play a deadly game,” they said, “in second-guessing the expert judgment of health officials about the environments in which a contagious virus, now infecting a million Americans each week, spreads most easily.”

While the majority on the court claimed to be speaking for religious interests, on Thursday, Pope Francis published an op-ed in the New York Times that seemed to side with Biden. He noted that most governments have tried to protect their people from the coronavirus, but “some governments… shrugged off the painful evidence of mounting deaths, with inevitable, grievous consequences.” He scoffed at those who refused to accept public health restrictions, “as if measures that governments must impose for the good of their people constitute some kind of political assault on autonomy or personal freedom!”

He called for a fairer economic system, a political system that gives voice to marginalized people, and protection for the environment.

According to Pope Francis, “This is a moment to dream big, to rethink our priorities — what we value, what we want, what we seek — and to commit to act in our daily life on what we have dreamed of.”

[brain-jarred]

Prologue, part 2

BREAKING NEWS Interview with Justice of the Meteor Brigade October 24, 1992

 I was lucky enough to catch Justice after the Meteor Brigade’s battle with a mutant bear today, and I kept him long enough to ask for an interview with him about life as a superhero and some questions all of us want to hear answered. You’ve all seen the news lately, and now, it’s time for it to be confirmed. Sitting down in the top floor of an apartment building, I conducted the interview everyone has been waiting for. Here is a sitdown interview with Justice, the leader of the Meteor Brigade. 

Interviewer: Good afternoon, Justice. Thank you for agreeing to this interview—really, it’s more of an honor than I could ever express. Is it difficult leading the Meteor Brigade? With all the monsters you have to fight all the time, I imagine it must be tiring.

 Justice: It’s not as tiring as you’d think! Really, I enjoy it. I get to hang out with my best buds all the time, and really, it’s great! Keeping you guys out of danger is what we live to do.

 Interviewer: I see. I’m glad you all don’t see it as too much of a burden. Have you ever worried you all will fail to defeat the mutant creatures? They look terrifying. 

Justice: There have definitely been some times where I was worried things weren’t going to go as planned, but with that sort of thing, you have to keep your head up and act like nothing bad is going on. The team and I all have our superpowers for a reason, and we’re going to use them. We’re here to protect everyone. That’s our responsibility. 

Interviewer: Scientists as of lately have done more research on the mutant monsters, and they’ve found connections to meteorites that came from space. The properties in the creatures’ blood seems to match those of the meteorites. Would you happen to know anything about this? 

Justice: I do, actually. That’s something Vrain has told us about. Vrain is an alien from outer space, you know. Those meteorites are very powerful, actually. They’re what gave the Meteor Brigade superheroes our superpowers, and they’re also, unfortunately, what’s mutating these creatures. I

Interviewer: A double-edged sword. We were very lucky that you all had your own encounters with the meteorites, or else our city would probably be destroyed.

 Justice: I don’t like to imagine that! I’m very grateful that the team and I found the meteorites, too. Protecting you guys may be a full-time job, but it’s very rewarding, and the team has all learned so much since we formed three years ago. Learned enough that I’m able to be here with you answering questions. 

Interviewer: It is a privilege. You all have been named public heroes, celebrated in the streets, spoken to schools and at conferences…we’re all very lucky you encountered those meteorites. Do you think the power of those meteorites could be harnessed by other humans like you all? Except for Vrain, of course. 

Justice: Well…I don’t doubt it could be…

------

BREAKING NEWS Billionaire Investments Allow for Anyone to be a Superhero November 29, 1993 

Due to recent groundbreaking developments, contributions from a local billionaire and a team of eager scientists have led to a new possibility that will let the Meteor Brigade fight alone no longer— harnessing the power of the mysterious powerful meteorites that gave the Meteor Brigade members their power, scientists have created a way for anyone to become a superhero, no matter who you are. 

“It really is an incredible feat,” the man in charge of it all, who chose to remain anonymous, told me when I asked for comment. “Upon the formation of the Meteor Brigade, I was asking myself the question. Why? Where did they come from? Why are they so powerful? I’ve been following the team closely, learning all I can about them, and now I understand. Those mysterious meteorites contain DNA-altering molecules that empower anything they touch, and it works most effectively on humanesque creatures. 

That’s the reason why all of these mutant animals keep attacking our city. Those molecules work differently on those animals. They’re not like us humans. And now, any human that wants to be as powerful as a member of the Meteor Brigade can become one at little cost. Anyone can be a superhero! It’s a child’s dream come true.” The billionaire’s dream has already produced results. I’ve seen people jumping abnormally high, super-climbers, and more running around the city. They even help fight against the mutants that try to attack. I watched the Meteor Brigade attack a mutant cat recently with the help of at least five new heroes—they all looked like civilians, but they had super abilities. 

I could see that the Meteor Brigade seemed to be faltering a little bit. Understandably, they must be stunned by the new additions to their protection of the city. After the battle, when the large, mutated cat was lying on the ground, defeated, I saw the heroes all descend to flat ground. The new heroes all gave each other high-fives and laughed gleefully, looking very prideful in their assistance with the battle. The Meteor Brigade, however, all huddled together in one big clump, all eyeing the new heroes closely. We haven’t heard much from the Meteor Brigade about the new research and heroes, so I took this opportunity to try to find their thoughts.

 I tried to request commentary from Justice after the battle, but, unfortunately, he leapt away from me rapidly after giving me a strange look. I wouldn’t be surprised if soon, every single person in the city has superpowers. Perhaps we all could become a new era of the Meteor Brigade ourselves with these new, incredible abilities, and it’s all thanks to the billionaire and his investments in such a complex field of research. With the new heroes, the world will have even more protection against the strange, mutated creatures that plague our city. Now, any human, regardless of where they came from, can be the hero they dreamed of being when they were a child. Let’s all save the world together, but this time, as superheroes.

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

BREAKING NEWS President Ruthson, dead! A tragedy befalls the nation. January 1st, 1994.

It is with a heavy heart we must announce the death of our nation’s leader, President John Ruthson. He was murdered last night, at exactly midnight. The new superheroes that had helped the meteor brigade have betrayed us, led by the no longer anonymous Billionaire beneficiary, Lincoln Little.  What's worse, they are being headed by their own leader, who has sought to call himself “Superego.” This real life super villain broke into our office early this morning, and demanded an interview be published, or else our brave reporters would be killed. Viewer’s discretion is advised in the following interview.

Interviewer: So why? Why did you murder the president? Superego: It wasn't a murder. It was an execution. But I will tell you the reason he had to die. I will tell you now. Our goal as the utopians is to usher in well...a utopia. *Chuckles* It's simple, really. The president, and his cabinet, the jury, every secretary, every government worker, and their allies, are standing in the way of that. Interviewer: So you…”executed” them.

Superego: Yes. Interviewer: Just what kind of utopia are you trying to create? Superego: democracy is a sham. It works well enough on a small scale, but on a national level? No. It's too slow, too inefficient. It only serves to stop the natural course of evolution. To put it bluntly, and perhaps in a way that fails to capture its beauty, we seek totalitarianism. One ruler, who knows what to do, what best course of action to take the nation. Now, a normal human has flaws, they make mistakes. But a superhuman? Well- A superhuman would make the perfect leader. If we can just find out how to give one the perfect combination of powers, a perfect leader could be born, and would lead our species into the next step of evolution. Interviewer: (it was at this point i was too horrified to say anything.) Superego: I will be taking my leave then. (I was disturbed at how gently he said these words, almost shamefully)

And with that the interview ended. I will leave you all with one final warning. If you are a politician, seek shelter immediately, the goals of the utopians are no doubt to take over the world, and their first step is the murder of every single goverment worker and politician.

And for everyone else...be safe, and may god be with us all.

-----

BREAKING NEWS Thousands dead! January 27th, 1994

Over the past month, thousands of politicians, government officials, and workers have turned up dead. From small town mayors, to the supreme court. Every official who has worked at the white house is dead, killed by the 10 superhumans who make up the utopians. The meteor brigade has tried to protect them, but unfortunately, they failed to save them. A dark age has descended upon the USA, and other countries are reporting their politicians dead as well. We had no time to conduct a full interview with the meteor brigade, as they are busy protecting who is left, but we did manage to get a few words from justice. “Everyone...everything is looking dark right now. And I know it all seems hopeless, but we are going to get through this. We may have failed to protect those who have died, we may have our backs against the wall, but I can see that the utopians are getting reckless. They think that you, the people, are weak. They think they can just push you around. They can't. I know that even if their plan succeeds, even if they manage to take over the world, you will not stand by. You will not watch as they slaughter freedom. You will fight back, even without powers. Because, because everyone is a hero, and everyone has the power to save the world.” Thank you Justice. 

Thank you meteor brigade. We must have hope.

BREAKING NEWS

Justice has died.

January 30th, 1994 Justice, also known as Quincey James Vonyant, died yesterday at the age of twenty four years. 

There are no words to describe the light that we as the people have lost. No words can describe how utterly horrific his death was. He was murdered by Superego, and his body was found under rubble, headless and mangled. He died saving the mayor of Wichita, kansas. His twin sister, Clairity, who has revealed her civilian identity to be Clair Lily Vonyant, gave a few words at his funeral today. She asked that they not be printed, to which we obliged. Quincey’s funeral was short, for fear that it would be attacked by the utopians. He now rests in Southwillow graveyard. 

Quincey Vonyant was a bright young man, full of life, full of bravery and courage. He was saddled with the duty of protecting the world at only 19 years old, barely an adult. And yet despite his young age, managed to do it with grace and with a smile. He gave up his pursuit of going to college and becoming a doctor in order to be a hero fulltime. 

He had a beautiful heart, and loved kids. He often read to them at public libraries across the world. But despite all these good traits, it is important to remember that despite all his powers, his public image, and his heart, he was human, like us. He wasn't just a perfect person with no flaws or sorrows, he had them. I knew him well, speaking to him and interviewing him often has that effect. I lost a friend. And the world has lost a hero.

But we must remember his last words given to the press, and words he said often. Anyone can be a hero. And it's at times like this, we must rise to the challenge that the world has thrown at us. We can't give into despair, we must honor his memory, and hold onto hope.

BREAKING NEWS: Superego and utopians defeated, and the end of the meteor brigade.

February 17th

In a field out in Nebraska, Clarity avenged her brother and the thousands of people that superego killed. There was snow on the ground as I looked on at the catatonic body of Superego. He was not killed, but his brain was utterly shattered. I think we can all safely say good riddance. He will never use his mind to hurt others again.

[aakanchha]

*Debunking Corporate Art Style*

In this entry, I will examine the critical question(s): What is the importance of multiculturalism and representation in today’s society? Why is it important to distinguish between representation and tokenization? What truth does this artifact promote or ignore? How is it productive or counterproductive to society? 

To investigate these questions, I examined a video called “Why do ‘Corporate Art Styles’ Feel Fake?” which breaks down the new trendy corporate art style which has been quickly adopted by huge corporations. This artifact fails to achieve the goal of multiculturalism as it leans more towards tokenization rather than representation. In doing so it is counterproductive to society as it fails to promote any characteristics of the people it is trying to represent. 

Corporate art style which was initially called Alegria was designed by a design firm named Buck in 2017 for facebook. It is a vector-based art style which adopts minimalist, flat designs which are easy to recreate and appears inclusive. As the main design consists of non representational skin color like pink, blue or purple with drastically disproportionate people. Although initially designed for facebook, big corporations like Google, Uber, Hinge were quick to jump on the trend because of its simplistic and non offensive style. 

Goldzwig in his article cites Cornel West where he defines multiculturalism as, “Principally consists of forging solid and reliable alliances of people of color and white progressives guided by a moral and political vision of greater democracy and individual freedom in communities, states, and transnational enterprises such as corporations and information and communications conglomerates”(Goldzwig,1998). He talks about the importance for us as a society to study multiculturalism to truly understand the world we live in. While focusing on concepts like cultural localism to be able to properly study different cultures rather than making assumptions with no basis. To enable us to make adjustments to our educational pedagogy in accordance to the changing environment. 

Firstly,  the images being used are an array of different people not particularly doing anything or conveying any message. Even in the example picture clipped in this article, you can see someone scribbling, some on their laptop and some people just holding different geometric shapes. Although it appears like an innocent artwork not communicating a specific message it speaks a whole lot if someone actually takes the time to think about it. Initially, when created companies approved of this art style as they thought it appeared inclusive. Which means that the message that the company is trying to promote by using this art style on their websites and advertising campaigns is to show that they are diverse as a company. However, since it isn’t actual people being shown in the artifact, this particular art style has made it easier for corporations to appear diverse even though that might not be the reality. Creating an opportunity for tokenization of certain counter publics without having to take accountability for the messages they are promoting. Instead, if they were using actual people instead of an art style to promote this message then they would have to think about how and what they were communicating. 

Secondly, to achieve the goal of inclusivity companies have opted to use non representational skin color like pink, purple or blue. The video used to examine the artifact shows websites where the description of this art style is stated as, “help them instantly achieve a universal feel”  and further adds “we loved creating this batch of animations that celebrate diversity and highlight global cultural events”. Showing us their main intention for the artwork which is inclusivity. However, by using non representational skin color the company is failing to represent anyone. The tactic being used by the corporations to be non offensive or safe has completely taken away from the whole idea of multiculturalism and diversity. Goldwiz theory of cultural localism is all about being able to study cultures in a proper manner so they are not being misrepresented. This is so when other people read about a particular community they are getting proper information. However, this takes the culture, race, gender, sexuality away by not representing anyone. The elements and symbols people use to identify themselves have been stripped down to flat, purple cartoon characters. 

Furthermore, using art style like this instead of using real people for diversity and representation takes away the emotion and people’s ability to empathize and connect to the message that is being communicated. As people find it much easier to empathize or relate to when they can put a face or connect someone’s face to a story. To examine this a little further we can look into the black lives matter movement. Even though there are plenty of lives being lost everyday just hearing the numbers on the news has made people feel disconnected from the reality of the situation. After the news of George Floyd being murdered broke out people were able to connect a person to the news they heard, empathize for the victim and his family which gave a huge momentum to the black lives matter movement. The idea of representation and multiculturalism is about understanding the diverse world we live in as it influences our present and future. Marginalized people wanting to see more representation is to see their truth being spoken and heard by the public. Especially in a world where we are so quick to put people in different boxes and succumb to stereotypes. Multiculturalism and cultural localism is supposed to help break those stereotypes. Help put down the ethnocentric lens and learn about people from a community different than our own. So, multi million dollars corporations having just cartoon characters represent different people takes away from their story and the goal of why we seek representation and diversity. 

Furthermore, as the video states, the characters that appear in this particular art style are “aggressively happy” completely disconnected from the reality we live in. This particular art style visualizes an utopia where issues regarding race, gender, sexuality are not prevalent. It ignores the culture war we are currently facing with black lives matter and blue lives matter. So corporations who have a huge budget for marketing and research making a choice of using just “safe, inclusive” art style are very counter productive to society. As Burke states, “Human is the symbol-using animal”(Burke,1989). This artifact plastered all over social media acts as a symbol in today’s society where social media is so prevalent in our lives. Huge social media corporations like facebook and search engines like google where people have now started getting their daily news should be held accountable for what they are promoting. Or in the case of this artifact their failure to promote the message of diversity by playing safe. 

Lastly it is important that corporations aren’t using art style that gives them a free pass where they can appear to be diverse. In the article by Sara Ahmed, it talks about the distinction between companies just trying to meet the requirements for diversity instead of fulfilling the requirements. It states, “ Because compliance does sound very much like a kind of minimalist tick box approach, look over your shoulder; see whether you can be done for not doing something as it were” (Ahmed, 2007). This artifact exactly represents what Sara talks about when they are “doing diversity”. As by using this art style people are just trying to fulfill the requirements of diversity and ticking the box by appearing diverse rather than actually trying to be diverse and promote it. It is being used in a purely commercial way to benefit the corporation and overall give this big arching view about the company to appear good in papers. 

During a critical time where conversations about inequality and injustice are so prevalent. Big corporations should be invested in trying to shine light on these issues. Instead we have this art style big corporations have opted to promote which does not represent any group or culture just to check off their diversity box. Not just playing it safe for themselves but giving many other companies the opportunity to do the same by setting an example which is why this artifact is unproductive to the society. 

Steven R. Goldzwig (1998) Multiculturalism, rhetoric and the twenty‐first century, Southern Communication Journal, 63:4, 273-290, DOI: 10.1080/10417949809373102

“Why Do ‘Corporate Art Styles’ Feel Fake?” YouTube, 6 Feb.2021, youtu.be/lFb7BOI_QFc. 

Sara Ahmed (2007) ‘You end up doing the document rather than doing the doing’: Diversity, race equality and the politics of documentation, Ethnic and Racial Studies, 30:4, 590-609, DOI: 10.1080/01419870701356015

Gusfield, Joseph R. Kenneth Burke on Symbols and Society. The University of Chicago Press, 1989

[kimp772]

An Austrian Affair to Remember 

The Affair

Heinz Christian-Strache is the vice-chancellor of Austria and leader of the Freedom Party of Austria (FPÖ) at this time. In July of 2017, just months before he was elected vice-chancellor in a coalition government with conservative Austrian People’s Party Chancellor Sebastian Kurz. A secret recording showed Heinz Christian-Strache and deputy leader of the Freedom Party of Austria, Johann Gudenus offering lucrative business deals to a woman posing as a Russian oligarch’s niece. This took place in a luxury resort in Ibiza where the Russian women expressed interest in buying blocks of shares of Austria’s largest newspaper, the Kronen Zeitung. Strache suggested he could offer government contracts in exchange for FPÖ campaign support in the upcoming 2017 election in Austria. (The Guardian, 2019). Strache and Gudenus also discussed corrupt political practices. The women wanted to invest in Austria and that she could accomplish it by funneling her illegal Russian money to his party through back channels, skirting Austria campaign finance laws. Or that she could simply donate the money to a "charitable foundation" that would then channel the cash to the party. Both of these practices are highly illegal and implied that these had been performed before by the FPÖ as well as other wealthy people in Europe. (Deutsche Welle, 2019). This meeting in Ibiza was secretly recorded and broke into the news on May 15th, 2019 when it was published by two German media outlets Süddeutsche Zeitung (SZ) newspaper and Der Spiegel magazine. 

Context 

 The coalition was able to be successful because of the direction that Kurz and Strache shared especially, on the issue of immigration. One of the factors that lead to the coalition and the FPÖ in power was their ability to pick up cheap protest votes with xenophobic slogans such as ‘Daham [home] instead of Islam.(Obermaier and Obermayer, 2019, pg.4-5). This relates to the academic reading by Manucci that populist parties can obtain electoral success because they can set the agenda or they can exploit the media agenda. The media also extensively covered the issues such as immigration and crime which are the core issues of right-wing populist parties.( Manucci, 2017). This coalition government that paired mainstream parties with populist parties changed the political landscape. 

The Divorce 

Following the publication of the video, Heinz Christian-Strache resigned on May 16th, 2019 as the vice-chancellor and the leader of the Freedom Party of Austria. Strache said in a statement to the press that it was a “dumb, irresponsible mistake but that it was also a carefully planned political assassination”.( POLITICO.EU, 2019). On Monday, May 18th, 2019 Austria’s Chancellor Sebastian Kurz announced “enough is enough” and ended the coalition government between the Freedom Party and the People’s Party of Austria. Kurz also initiated to remove Herbert Kickl who is the country’s interior minister and Freedom Party politician that was in charge of financial conduct at the time the video was recorded. Kurz stated he wanted “total transparency and a completely unbiased investigation”.(Associated Press, 2019). Legislative elections would take place in September following the direction of President Alexander Van der Bellen. 

Why It Matters

The scandal shows the importance of media freedom, including diverse ownership. The ability of independent media to work freely in Austria is what lead to the reporting and ultimate downfall of Strache and the FPÖ. The media to be able to report the story also prompted Austrians to take to the streets to protest, calling for new elections. At this time, media freedom in the European Union is under severe threat especially, in the country of Hungary. (Human Rights Watch, 2019). In the recording Strache made the striking remark, “We’d like to create the same kind of media landscape as Orbán”.(Obermaier and Obermayer, 2019, pg.20). Orbán has been dismantling Hungary’s democracy bit by bit for years. In Chapter 5 of Mudde and Kaltwasser, they discerned this unique situation in Hungary where Orbán can count on parliamentary majority enabling him to change the constitution without any impedimentary action by the opposition. Orbán is also able to undermine key democratic features like freedom of the press even though the country is integrated with a strong democratic network, the EU.(Mudde and Kaltwasser, 2017, pg.94). Hungary is a stark example of what could happen in the future and the urgency to protect media freedom. This scandal not only brought media freedom to the forefront but an earthquake that crumbled the government of Austria.

[thegldngwy]

“Eh di wow! Ikaw na-”

(*This expression doesn’t have a correct translation, but is usually mentioned in a condescending tone, downplaying a smart statement when an opposition has nothing left to say)

Consumers of Philippine media are a conundrum of themselves: they boast about their sons and daughters finishing as lawyers and doctors, but when presented with facts with well-backed claims, they balk and say, "I'm right because I saw this on Facebook."

The Philippines isn't either the safest place in the world for journalists these days - things are now easier to look up online, so what's the use of them? Some could even claim to be disenchanted by the news, so much because of the influx of fake news spread by internet trolls. Otherwise, maybe your own grandmother thinks it's best to eat garlic everyday to ward off, not only spirits, but also the Covid-19 virus.

    One might ask even why? Why is there a distrust of our own media? Why does such distrust exist when media and all its influences and networking gives us so many chances to be in-the-know, save lives and be informed about matters of the state?

    We have to review once more about how the internet has allowed us free rein over information/content creation. Because of this development, news also had to adapt to a digital platform in order to keep up with the latest trends. This has also allowed more jobs for journalists, especially in the field of investigation and in depth stories. But then, the faster it was to create content, the faster it was to pave the way for fake news.

    Since social media gave huge contributions in news dissemination, it raised an awareness, not only for the common reader but to the journalists as well. Take the Twitter application for example: with just one click, you can find any information just about anything through it. The faster you tweet, the longer it remains to be important. This results into journalists having to rethink how they exactly will be delivering their reports but now basing on the fact that its contents are reviewed "with only half an eye." We are losing quality as fast as we are trying to tweet something just to be updated. This often results into sloppy news-making, considering the need for haste and "what you hear is what you get" kind of mindset.

    Now, back on the Philippines and the resident "chismosas."

    Every alleyway has them, but now with Covid-19 restrictions and quarantines, they are more lively as ever online. These personalities aren't quite labeled as the usual internet troll, but often than not are people who have such a strong entitlement to their own opinions, and perhaps to some others whom they believe in.

    As Barbie Zelizer puts it, individuals have their own personalized bubble of information. This is where they curate the information that they want to "see" themselves. In exposure to the diversity of information presented to them, they form their own opinion- and firmly believe that they are correct no matter what.

    Journalists have been called the Watchdogs, of the state, of the government, of the people. Media had been called up on multiple times to present accurate information wherein what news they present are all backed by substantial evidence. Media also became the voice of the people, the strong symbol of democracy, accountability and public relations.

    To reiterate, the Philippines isn't the safest place for journalists. Counting between the years 1992 and the present day 2020, over 86 journalists were killed in the Philippines alone, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists. Although it's saddening to think that journalism is a dangerous course to take, the fact that these deaths and discrediting even more journalists are making it look like people are being more afraid of finding out what they truly believe in is disputable, especially when it threatens to pop their bubble of personalized information, to be undermined, to lose control of what you know- and perhaps, being the receiving end of a dominating and irrefutable claim.

    Public distrust is one of the many problems that journalism is facing right now, especially when in order to achieve recognition and legitimacy as a journalist, the latter places themselves in a position to be the arbiter between truth and democracy.

People, despite their aversion towards "nosy" reporters, need these same people in democratic discourse, since these civil debates make each participant known and acknowledged without having to discredit whatever belief or information that they know.

    Despite Philippine media being placed under this skeptical and scrutinizing eye, it still remains a key concept into achieving a well-functioning democracy due to their learned abilities and boundaries to find and produce something newsworthy. What we are always trying to present are facts and timely truths that has the potential to unite us as a whole.

    With journalists, it's not a compliment for anyone to be told, "Eh di wow, ikaw na magaling," rather, "Ikaw na ang matiyaga."

(Published on: 12/13/2020 - Writing Assignment)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic: 26 Mar 2020 (EFF's videoconferencing backgrounds, the ideology of economics, LoC plugs Little Brother, Canada nationalizes covid patents, Exponential Thread, Sanders on GOP stimulus cruelty, record wind power growth, social distancing and other diseases, Badger Masks)

Today's links

EFF's videoconferencing backgrounds: With a deep cut from the NSA's secret listening post.

The ideology of economics: Economics doesn't have "laws" it has "policies."

LoC plugs Little Brother: Open access FTW.

Canada nationalizes covid patents: An Act respecting certain measures in response to COVID-19.

Exponential Threat: Trump threatened to sue media outlets that aired this spot.

Sanders on GOP stimulus cruelty: "Millions for plutes, but not one cent for workers."

Record wind-power growth: Covid stimulus could start a Green New Deal.

Social distancing and other diseases: Do we trust IoT thermometer companies, though?

Badger Masks: UW Madison's open facemask design.

This day in history: 2005, 2010, 2015, 2019

Colophon: Recent publications, upcoming appearances, current writing projects, current reading

EFF's videoconferencing backgrounds (permalink)

Telework is a quiet reminder that we live, in some sense, in an age of wonders. As terrible as lockdown is, imagine it without any way to videoconference with your peers and colleagues.

But it's also a moment where we tremble on the precipice of cyberpunk dystopia, when calls for mass surveillance – both for epidemiology and stabilizing states that are bruised and reeling – meet a world where everything is online and amenable to "collection" by spooks.

This is, basically, the moment that EFF has been warning about for 30 years: the moment when the "digital world" and the "real world" fully merge, and where the distinction between "tech policy" and "policy" dissolves.

One way you can help keep this in your colleagues' minds is to use EFF's amazing, free/open graphics as your videoconferencing background (most of these are the creation of the brilliant Hugh D'Andrade).

Now, those are all great, but this one is Room 641A at AT&T's Folsom Street center, where the whistleblower Mark Klein was ordered to build a secret room so the NSA could illegally spy on all US internet traffic.

The ideology of economics (permalink)

Thomas Piketty's "Capital in the 21st Century" advanced a simple, data-supported hypothesis: that markets left to their own will cause capital to grow faster than the economy as a whole, so over time, the rich always get richer.

https://boingboing.net/2014/06/24/thomas-pikettys-capital-in-t.html

He's followed up Capital with the 1000-page "Capital and Ideology" – whose thesis is that the "laws" of economics are actually policies, created to "justify a society's inequalities," providing a rationale to convince poor people not to start building guillotines.

The first ideology of capital was the "trifunctional" system of monarchist France, dividing society into "those who pray," "those who fight," and "those who work."

After the French revolution, we enter the capitalist phase, then social democracies, and now, "meritocracies."

"Meritocracies" invest markets with the mystical power to identify and elevate the worthy, in a kind of tautology: those who have the most are worth the most. You can tell they're worth the most because they have the most.

("That makes me smart" -D. Trump)

In Piketty's conception, "Inequality is neither economic nor technological. It's ideological and political," where "ideology" "refers to a set of a priori plausible ideas describing how society should be structured" (think: Overton Window).

https://bostonreview.net/class-inequality/marshall-steinbaum-thomas-piketty-takes-ideology-inequality

The major part of the book seeks to explain how the post-war social democracies gave way to the grifter meritocracies of today, pulling together threads from across the whole world to tell the tale.

On the way, he described alternatives that were obliterated, and others that were never tried, and shows how "meritocracy" gave us Trump, xenophobia, Brexit, and the Current Situation.

In particular, he's interested in why working class people stopped voting (spoiler: they no longer perceive that elites will pay attention to them irrespective of how they vote) — and what it would take to mobilize them again.

The elites' indifference to working people is grounded in an alliance between the Brahmin Left (educated, well-paid liberals) and the Merchant Right (the finance sector). Notionally leftist parties, like the Democrats, are dominated by the Brahmin Left.

But more than any other, Macron epitomizes this alliance: proclaiming his liberal values while slashing taxes on the wealthy — punishing poor people for driving cars, exempting private jets from his "climate" bill.

Life in a "meritocracy" is especially cruel for poor people, because meritocracies, uniquely among ideologies, blame poor people for poverty. It's right there in the name. French kings didn't think God was punishing peons, rather, that the Lord had put them there to serve.

"The broadly social-democratic redistributive coalitions of the mid-twentieth century were not just electoral or institutional or party coalitions but also intellectual and ideological. The battle was fought and won above all on the battleground of ideas."

As Marshall Steinbaum writes in his excellent review, Piketty's work doesn't just highlight new ideas in economics: it highlights the intellectual poverty of the economics profession and its tunnel vision.

"Economists cannot be allowed to be the arbiters of the intensely political concerns Piketty takes up in the book, and the good news is that there is reason to believe they won't be."

LoC plugs Little Brother (permalink)

Honored and pleased to have my book Little Brother included on the Library of Congress's excellent collection of open-access ebooks in its collection, which you can always access gratis but which may be of especial interest during the lockdown.

https://blogs.loc.gov/thesignal/2020/03/more-open-ebooks-routinizing-open-access-ebook-workflows/

If you enjoyed Little Brother and its sequel Homeland, you might be interested in the third Little Brother book, Attack Surface, which Tor is publishing on Oct 12.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531

If you're looking for more topical reading, Infodocket's carefully curated list of coronavirus resources is here for you:

https://www.infodocket.com/2020/01/31/2019-novel-coronavirus-resources/

Canada nationalizes covid patents (permalink)

Canada's Parliament has passed Bill C13, "An Act respecting certain measures in response to COVID-19," amending patent law to create automatic compulsory licenses for any inventionused to fight covid, including diagnostics, vaccines, therapies or PPE.

https://www.parl.ca/DocumentViewer/en/43-1/bill/C-13/third-reading

As E Richard Gold writes, it's an "important signal that Canada will not support IP delays…While most firms are helping find solutions, this will prevent those who try to take advantage-by raising prices or limiting supply-or those who cannot deliver to block what is needed."

Exponential Threat (permalink)

"Exponential Threat" is a remarkable – and factual – political ad, one that contrasts Trump's statements on coronavirus with the spread of the disease in America.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bkMwvmJLnc0

More remarkable: Trump has threatened to sue the media for airing it, which is a totally cool and normal thing for someone who has sworn a solemn oath to uphold the Constitution and the Bill of Rights to do.

https://assets.donaldjtrump.com/2017/web/hero_images/Redacted_PUSA_Letter.pdf

"In case you needed more, here's an (admittedly incomplete) list of Trump statements on the novel coronavirus and COID-19"

http://www.joeydevilla.com/2020/03/25/exponential-threat-the-covid-19-themed-ad-that-the-trump-pence-campaign-doesnt-want-you-to-see/

Jan. 22: "We have it totally under control. It's one person coming in from China."

Feb. 2: "We pretty much shut it down coming in from China. It's going to be fine."

Feb. 25: "CDC & my administration are doing a GREAT job of handling Coronavirus."

Feb. 25: "I think that's a problem that's going to go away. They have studied it. They know very much. In fact, we're very close to a vaccine." [White House | New York Post]

Feb. 26: "We're going very substantially down, not up."

Feb. 27: "One day it's like a miracle, it will disappear."

Feb. 28: "We're ordering a lot of supplies. We're ordering a lot of, uh, elements that frankly we wouldn't be ordering unless it was something like this. But we're ordering a lot of different elements of medical."

March 2: "You take a solid flu vaccine, you don't think that could have an impact, or much of an impact, on corona?"

March 2: "A lot of things are happening, a lot of very exciting things are happening and they're happening very rapidly."

March 4: "If we have thousands of people that get better just by, you know, sitting around and even going to work – some of them go to work, but they get better."

March 5: "I never said people that are feeling sick should go to work."

March 6: "I think we're doing a really good job in this country at keeping it down… a tremendous job at keeping it down."

March 6: "Anybody right now, and yesterday, anybody that needs a test gets a test. And the tests are beautiful. They are perfect just like the letter was perfect. The transcription was perfect. Right? This was not as perfect as that but pretty good."

March 6: "I like this stuff. I really get it. People are surprised that I understand it. Every one of these doctors said, 'How do you know so much about this?' Maybe I have a natural ability. Maybe I should have done that instead of running for president."

March 6: "I don't need to have the numbers double because of one ship that wasn't our fault."

March 8: "We have a perfectly coordinated and fine tuned plan at the White House for our attack on Coronavirus."

March 9: "The Fake News media & their partner, the Democrat Party, is doing everything within its semi-considerable power to inflame the Coronavirus situation."

March 10: "It will go away. Just stay calm. It will go away."

March 13: National Emergency Declaration.

March 17: "I felt it was a pandemic long before it was called a pandemic."

Sanders on GOP stimulus cruelty (permalink)

This Bernie Sanders floor speech in the Senate on the GOP's relentless attempts to punish poor people in the covid relief package is a must-watch

https://www.reddit.com/r/SandersForPresident/comments/fp3my0/bernie_goes_full_sanders_on_the_republicans_for/

tldr: GOP Senators are freaking out because some people in line to get the pittances they're doling out actually earn EVEN LESS than $1k-2k/month, and so they might get a raise in the form of covid relief.

That is, rather than taking the fact that this bare-minimum subsidy package exceeds "normal" income as a wakeup call to raise the minimum wage for the first time since 2009, the GOP is calling for cuts to aid to the most vulnerable Americans.

As Sanders points out, these same Senators had no problem with the Tax Scam, which poured trillions into the accounts of the richest Americans, directly and indirectly through stock-buybacks, which also left US business vulnerable and in need of trillions more today.

Now those bailed-out plutes want workers to risk death to "restart the economy," and the GOP will ensure they'll starve if they don't.

As ever, The Onion nails it:

https://politics.theonion.com/gop-urges-end-of-quarantine-for-lifeless-bipedal-automa-1842461351

"GOP Urges End Of Quarantine For Lifeless Bipedal Automatons That Make Economy Go"

Record wind-power growth (permalink)

As the world's wind-generation capacity increases, you'd expect annual growth to fall proportionately (it's easier to double a very small number than a very big one!), but this year should see the largest proportional growth ever, a 20% increase!

https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2020/mar/25/worlds-wind-power-capacity-up-by-fifth-after-record-year

That number is uncertain (hello, coronavirus), but on the other hand, there's a massive stimulus package in the offing that could be used to restart the economy by saving the planet with renewable energy.

The non-adjusted, pre-virus projection for this year's total growth in wind power was an additional 76GW (to meet climate projections, that number has to rise to 100GW/year, and then to 200GW/year).

Social distancing and other diseases (permalink)

Though the evidence is a little shaky, it appears that social distancing has dramatically reduced the spread of other infectious diseases, like flu.

https://qz.com/1824020/social-distancing-slowing-not-only-covid-19-but-other-diseases-too/

The data comes from an Internet of Shit "connected thermometer" company that (allegedly) anonymizes its data and uses it for health surveillance; they report a massive drop-off in high temps relative to other years and pre-distancing levels.

The claims are plausible, but they're also an ad for an IoT company that sells a product no one needs, so take them with a grain of salt.

I'd be interested in STI transmission after weeks/months of government-recommended masturbation-over-hookups:

https://www1.nyc.gov/assets/doh/downloads/pdf/imm/covid-sex-guidance.pdf

Badger Masks (permalink)

A local hospital asked researchers at the UW Madison Engineering Design Innovation Lab to design them a field-expedient face-shield that could be mass-manufactured to protect its staff from coming cases.

https://www.wired.com/story/tinkerers-created-face-shield-being-used-hospitals/

Using hardware-store parts, the UW makerspace, and teleconferencing with self-isolating collaborators, the team designed an excellent mask, the Badger Shield:

https://making.engr.wisc.edu/shield/

They've manufactured and delivered 1,000 Badger Masks to the hospital and a Ford plant in MI is making 75,000 more this week for Detroit-area hospitals. Here's a technical spec you can follow if you have access to equipment and parts:

https://www.delve.com/assets/documents/OPEN-SOURCE-FACE-SHIELD-DRAWING-v1.PDF

It involves just 3 pieces: polyethylene sheets (laser- or die-cut), an elastic headband, and a 1" thick strip of self-adhesive polyurethane foam. For initial production, Midwest Prototyping used office-supply-store electric staplers for assembly.

The design process started with a teardown of an existing, approved mask, and the project lead, Lennon Rodgers, worked with collaborators to replicate it, sanity-checking successive designs with his wife, an anaesthesiologist.

They started hand-delivering prototypes to the hospital, who refined the design further, swapping in latex-free elastic and lengthening the shield. Tim Osswald from UW used his polymer engineering expertise to find a supplier who could create a custom die.

Now, more than 1M Badger Masks have been sought, with manufacturers like St Paul's Summit Medical tooling up to meet demand.

Other designs are popping up across America. San Francisco's Exploratorium is making 200+ shields/day using its own makerspace.

This day in history (permalink)

#15yrsago If the Constitution was a EULA https://web.archive.org/web/20050330012000/http://slate.msn.com/id/2115254/

#10yrsgo Discarded photocopier hard drives stuffed full of corporate secrets https://www.thestar.com/news/gta/2010/03/18/hightech_copy_machines_a_gold_mine_for_data_thieves.html

#5yrsago TPP leak: states give companies the right to repeal nations' laws https://wikileaks.org/tpp-investment/press.html

#5yrsago Woman medicated in a psychiatric ward until she said Obama didn't follow her on Twitter https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/woman-held-in-psychiatric-ward-after-correctly-saying-obama-follows-her-on-twitter-10132662.html

#5yrsago Sandwars: the mafias whose illegal sand mines make whole islands vanish https://www.wired.com/2015/03/illegal-sand-mining/

#5yrsago Australia outlaws warrant canaries https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2015/03/australian-government-minister-dodge-new-data-retention-law-like-this/

#5yrsago As crypto wars begin, FBI silently removes sensible advice to encrypt your devices https://www.techdirt.com/articles/20150325/17430330432/fbi-quietly-removes-recommendation-to-encrypt-your-phone-as-fbi-director-warns-how-encryption-will-lead-to-tears.shtml

#1yrago Article 13 will wreck the internet because Swedish MEPs accidentally pushed the wrong voting button https://medium.com/@emanuelkarlsten/sweden-democrats-swedish-social-democrats-defeat-motion-to-amend-articles-11-13-731d3c0fbf30

#1yrago EU's Parliament Signs Off on Disastrous Internet Law: What Happens Next? https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/03/eus-parliament-signs-disastrous-internet-law-what-happens-next

Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources: Slashdot (https://slashdot.org/), Naked Capitalism (https://nakedcapitalism.com/), Late Stage Capitalism (https://www.reddit.com/r/LateStageCapitalism/).

Currently writing: I'm getting geared up to start work my next novel, "The Lost Cause," a post-GND novel about truth and reconciliation.

Currently reading: Just started Lauren Beukes's forthcoming Afterland: it's Y the Last Man plus plus, and two chapters in, it's amazeballs. Last month, I finished Andrea Bernstein's "American Oligarchs"; it's a magnificent history of the Kushner and Trump families, showing how they cheated, stole and lied their way into power. I'm getting really into Anna Weiner's memoir about tech, "Uncanny Valley." I just loaded Matt Stoller's "Goliath" onto my underwater MP3 player and I'm listening to it as I swim laps.

Latest podcast: Data – the new oil, or potential for a toxic oil spill? https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/23/data-the-new-oil-or-potential-for-a-toxic-oil-spill/

Upcoming appearances:

Quarantine Book Club, April 1, 3PM Pacific https://www.eventbrite.com/e/quarantine-book-club-cory-doctorow-tickets-100931360416

Museums and the Web, April 2, 12PM-3PM Pacific https://mw20.museweb.net/

Upcoming books: "Poesy the Monster Slayer" (Jul 2020), a picture book about monsters, bedtime, gender, and kicking ass. Pre-order here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627?utm_source=socialmedia&utm_medium=socialpost&utm_term=na-poesycorypreorder&utm_content=na-preorder-buynow&utm_campaign=9781626723627

(we're having a launch for it in Burbank on July 11 at Dark Delicacies and you can get me AND Poesy to sign it and Dark Del will ship it to the monster kids in your life in time for the release date).

"Attack Surface": The third Little Brother book, Oct 20, 2020. https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531

"Little Brother/Homeland": A reissue omnibus edition with a new introduction by Edward Snowden: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250774583

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When live gives you SARS, you make sarsaparilla -Joey "Accordion Guy" DeVilla

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Welcome to FiveThirtyEight’s politics chat. The transcript below has been lightly edited.

sarah (Sarah Frostenson, politics editor): On Sunday, The Washington Post published leaked audio of an hour-long conversation President Trump had with Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger, where he urged the Republican to “find” enough votes to overturn the result in Georgia and declare him the winner.

This story has captured headlines, as it is by far Trump’s most brazen attempt to overturn November’s results, although it is hardly his first time trying to do so. Trump has repeatedly tried to cast doubt on the election results since Biden was declared the winner on Nov. 7, citing false claims of voter fraud and launching countless futile lawsuits to try and overturn the election. And now as Congress prepares to vote on Jan. 6 to certify the election results in what should be a largely ceremonial, low-key affair, a faction of GOP senators plans to mount a protest vote, even though it is destined to fail.

There is no question that this is bad for democracy — polls have found a record number of Americans distrust the election results — but let’s talk through some of the biggest consequences of this push to delegitimize the results, in addition to whether this jeopardizes Trump’s role as the de facto party leader once he’s left the presidency.

To start, what do you view as the biggest consequence of all this?

perry (Perry Bacon Jr., senior writer): I think the biggest potential danger is that in any election where the Republicans earn fewer votes, they will make unfounded and exaggerated claims of voting irregularities and fraud and try to toss out or overturn the results. No election is conducted perfectly, but using minor problems as a pretext for invalidating the outcome is a huge problem. You can’t have a democracy if one of the main parties can’t admit defeat.

I am really worried about this in the context of these Georgia Senate runoff races. If Jon Ossoff and Raphael Warnock both win their races, that would give Democrats total control of Congress. So will Republicans be able to accept losing these races if they do? Or will there be an endless stream of lawsuits trying to prevent Ossoff and Warnock from being seated?

julia_azari (Julia Azari, political science professor at Marquette University and FiveThirtyEight contributor): Biggest consequence: This splits the GOP and deepens the dilemma for Republicans (and possibly Democrats) about how to deal with the other party. Namely, can they continue to thread the needle in arguing that the other party’s constitutional and political views are illegitimate, but the processes are legitimate and thus they sometimes win? Or will the other party’s victories, as Perry suggests, not be tolerated?

I don’t want to “both sides” this — obviously, the Democrats are not the ones creating the current situation, but I think this creates potential dilemmas for them, too, regarding the way they treat the idea of legitimate opposition.

sarah: What are some of the dilemmas you think Democrats face as a result of this, Julia?

julia_azari: Well, take the debate happening over how Democrats should react to this news. There’s a question of whether the House should consider impeachment, which I’m guessing they probably won’t do. On the one hand, I’m not sure impeachment would have much public support, and there’s plenty of other issues that Congress needs to work on. But on the other hand, it does sort of leave the impression that these kinds of norm violations are sort of begrudgingly tolerated.

This will linger after Trump leaves office, too, I think. You’ll have Democrats who want to move on and not ratchet up the stakes of partisan disagreement. And you’ll have others who want to seek accountability for some of the laws that they think were broken by the last administration.

sarah: That’s a really good point, Julia. One thing we saw after the 2016 election was a big drop in the share of Democrats who thought the election was fair and accurate, but it’s nowhere near as big as the drop we’ve seen among Republicans here in 2020. That’s why what you and Perry are hitting on — how the parties handle loss and what that means for voters’ trust in democracy — is the biggest consequence of all this to me.

But maybe you all disagree? Should Democrats be digging into Trump’s behavior more for the reason Julia cited — that this behavior otherwise seems begrudgingly tolerated?

julia_azari: Well, the fact that COVID-19 continues to pose a very real challenge for the country, creates a bit of a problem for Democrats, because if they look like they’re focusing too much time on investigating the Trump administration, they look like they’re ignoring the pandemic and its consequences. But if Democrats try to take this on in a less high-profile way — subpoenaing lower-level officials, etc. — then maybe they’re accused of not being transparent enough.

The impact of this norm-breaking administration isn’t just that it violates these unwritten rules, but that it behaves in ways that make the whole system of usual practices not work. That makes things extra challenging for Democrats.

perry: Questions about what the Biden Department of Justice, congressional Democrats and state attorneys generals do about Trump’s conduct are all still very much up in the air. If there was some criminal activity, he should not be above the law. Perhaps there are some congressional hearings — and maybe even charges filed by the DOJ and/or attorneys generals — involving some Trump associates and maybe Trump himself. I don’t expect Biden to talk about Trump that much, but other actors might weigh in.

sarah: What is the end game here for Trump and Republicans? Trump admitted on the call to Raffensperger that, “I know this phone call is going nowhere.” I know we can’t speak to the president’s state of mind, but what can we point to for why refusing to concede the election has become Trump’s defining stance?

julia_azari: Well, it fits in well into this idea that “grievance politics” have turned into a somewhat successful brand — especially in a place like Georgia, where a history of racist voter suppression informs the context, and where Democratic victories are especially tied to the mobilization of Black voters.

However, I don’t see how having this kind of split within congressional Republicans is helpful to the GOP in the long term.

perry: Trump has lied and cheated in a lot of different venues in his life. That is just the truth. So him insisting that he won an election that he lost is nothing new. He likes to push and push people and see if they will uphold their ethics or bend to his will. For the Republican Party, part of this is just the trajectory they were on anyway, even without Trump at the helm. When you are writing voter laws targeting Black people with “surgical precision” (North Carolina Republicans), making it harder for felons who served their time to vote (Florida Republicans) and gerrymandering in a way that almost makes a mockery of majority rule (Wisconsin Republicans), then unfounded voter fraud charges that aim to disqualify the votes of Black people in particular are just a more aggressive step in an anti-democratic direction.

But part of this is directly tied to Trump. Elected and aspiring Republican officials know he is very connected to the party base, so aligning with Trump is aligning with the party base. So that is why you see Georgia Sen. David Perdue, in light of this phone call, attacking the secretary of state for leaking it, and not Trump for what he said.

2/ “To have a state-wide elected official, regardless of party, tape unknowing – to tape without disclosing a conversation – private conversation of the President of the United States and then leaking it to the press is disgusting,” Perdue told Fox.

— Jake Tapper (@jaketapper) January 4, 2021

julia_azari: I think the intersection of what Perry and I have said is this: “The future of the Republican Party is the division between those who say the quiet part out loud and those who don’t.”

One key difference is that Republicans used to win national majorities with the quiet part. That’s no longer the case. Per Rep. Thomas Massie, who along with six Republican colleagues authored a letter that pointed out the necessity of preserving ‘s comments on the Electoral College, the bullhorn can occasionally at least win a plurality. Matt Glassman, who studies Congress as a senior fellow at Georgetown University, on it:

The Senate vote on the objections will be lopsided—at a minimum 70-75 votes against, probably more like 80-85—and also starkly split the GOP caucus.

It may feel like the end, but this is really the beginning of the party fight over the meaning and future of Trumpism. https://t.co/8E9AW9GJul

— Matt Glassman (@MattGlassman312) January 4, 2021

sarah: If Glassman’s whip count is right, though, we’re still talking about a smallish wing of the GOP, right? In other words, it’s possible that the battle over Trumpism splinters the party, but that maybe the movement loses power?

Calling the integrity of the election results into question has clearly become a litmus test or demonstration of fealty for those in the GOP, but some senators like Ben Sasse and Mitt Romney are speaking out against it. Do you think it’s possible that Trump is ruining his ability to be the party’s leader post-presidency?

julia_azari: Well, our readers should stay tuned for my upcoming piece where I address that question!

But to give you a sneak peak: I think political scientists would frame this question as, “Can populism, on the right, be compatible with participation in a pluralistic, multi-ethnic democracy in which you sometimes lose even when you claim to truly represent the Constitution and the people?” The issue is that a wing of the Republican Party has skirted answering that question for decades now.

perry: Having covered the GOP in the era of Trump for the last six years, I will always bet on the more extreme wing of the party carrying the day. The fact that Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell would not acknowledge Biden’s win until mid-December was extraordinary. If I had told anyone that in 2015, they would have thought I was crazy.

The moderate voices in the Republican Party are not well organized, not connected to the party base and have no real compelling leaders, whereas the more extreme voices in the party have Fox News, Newsmax, One America News Network, Rush Limbaugh, Tucker Carlson and Trump. I see very little chance that the Republican Party changes its general direction, even if Trump himself recedes.

Would you bet on Sasse winning a battle over the soul of the Republican Party against anyone whose last name is Trump?

julia_azari: I would probably bet a small amount that it is possible, Perry, especially since Sasse seems like a fairly skilled politician and the Trump kids do not.

That said, I generally do not disagree, but I wonder about the sustainability of it all. I think I have some questions on what counts as “moderate” — specifically, considering the GOP, as political scientist and Bloomberg View columnist Jonathan Bernstein has been saying for quite some time, is post-policy.

perry: When I say moderate, I mean people like Romney or Sasse, who are quite conservative on policy but generally avoid white identity politics-style moves (attacking Black Lives Matter or immigration reform) and are full-throated in favor of democratic norms and values. Republicans who are moderate on policy, like Susan Collins and Larry Hogan, are basically nonexistent among top Republicans now.

sarah: That’s largely what FiveThirtyEight contributor Lee Drutman outlined in his piece on why there are so few moderate Republicans left, Perry.

Given how favorable the down-ballot results were for Republicans, however, one of my takeaways from the 2020 election was that a lot of voters rejected Trump but not necessarily the Republican Party, making it a little harder for me to understand the extent to which the GOP has lost moderate voters.

At the same time, it’s hard for me to see a Romney, Hogan or Sasse winning the 2024 Republican nomination, given the current dynamics we’re seeing play out in the GOP — a largely ceremonial, non-headline grabbing vote on certifying the results of the Electoral College, for instance, has now become this big-stakes issue. That said, I’m not sure we can know at this point the success of Trumpism moving forward. I think, for instance, Democrats will face some real tests in the next four years on whether they can keep their big umbrella coalition of both moderates and very liberal voters happy, and that might create opportunities for more middle of the road or moderate Republicans.

perry: I am not confident who will win the 2024 nomination. I have no idea. I do think in the short term, though, that Trump will remain highly influential in the GOP, as will his style of politics.

I just don’t see an easy path for the Republicans to get off that ramp.

julia_azari: This is a bit of a cop-out but I’d need to think more about the costs and benefits for various Republicans. I’m gonna hold off on 2024 predictions until I get a feel for what politics in the Biden administration looks like. And per my earlier comment about how Trumpism has changed the unwritten rules for everyone, I feel a lot more uncertain about what this will look like now once Trump is gone than I have in previous administrations.

sarah: A lot probably hinges on how the Senate runoffs shake out tomorrow, and like you’ve both said, I really don’t have a sense of how “Trumpism” plays out now. It’s unclear to me, for instance, whether Trump is doing a lot of harm … or if he’s the future of conservatism in the U.S.

But at the very least, can we agree that the lasting consequence of this might be an escalation in how the parties oppose each other when an outcome is in dispute?

I’d argue we’ve seen a ramping up of this in the last decade, but it’s largely been over more procedural things, like the Senate changing rules around judicial appointments, and making it a more partisan affair. But now we have this extreme example — contesting a free and fair election. That ups the ante, no? And it seems as if partisan infighting could get much worse.

perry: I’m not sure I’d say we’ll see an escalation in how the parties oppose each other, at least not yet. I think it’s a change on the Republican side. I don’t expect Biden, for instance, to be fighting his defeat for two months if he clearly lost by a wide electoral margin (not one state by 500 votes) in 2024.

julia_azari: I agree with that, Perry. But I think it’s possible that Democrats will start to feel pressure to both uphold norms and be “reasonable” while also responding to norm violations more forcefully.

perry: I am wary of suggesting we are seeing escalation on both sides, though, as I think we are really only seeing big escalations on the GOP side. And I worry things could get worse. If Republicans controlled the House right now, I would be really worried about this election certification issue, for example.

julia_azari: For me, it comes down to a question of sustainability, and of possible splits among Democrats on this issue. But to be clear, I don’t see any of them supporting the scenario you described, Perry. But I could start to see them play a bit more “constitutional hardball.”

sarah: Yeah, I think Julia is getting at what I meant. I definitely don’t want to “both sides” this. But I do think what Julia touched on earlier, about the mechanisms for expressing legitimate opposition being brushed aside, leaves Democrats in an awkward position, as Trump’s brand of politics has challenged how the whole system works.

julia_azari: My main point here is that the parties are not self-contained, and I don’t think the Democrats have really figured out answers to some of the questions posed by Republicans’ norm-violating behavior (which again, is a situation Democrats did not create).

perry: Julia is getting at an important and complicated question here, and one we kind of saw play out around whether Democrats should add justices to the Supreme Court given Republicans’ rush to nominate Amy Coney Barrett before the election.

Biden was clearly uncomfortable with it, but the party activists really pushed him on the issue. So what does Biden/the Democrats do about what we have seen over the last two months?

Biden, in this pre-inauguration period, is basically ignoring Trump and suggesting Republicans will work with him. And I can’t tell if he is 1) pretending, 2) clueless, or 3) Republicans will actually work with him. But Biden’s theory of the case and how other Democrats approach this issue, not to mention how the two parties interact on this, will be interesting. I truly do not know the answer to this question.

sarah: Exactly. It will be interesting to see how Biden and the Democrats work to address this — or whether Trump’s brand of politics has upended everything.

[thinkingimages]

‘A Cellar Dive in the Bend’, c.1895, by Richard Hoe Lawrence and Henry G. Piffard

A short history of flash photography

Flash gets a bad press for its invasiveness – yet it brings a form of democracy to the material world

All photography requires light, but the light used in flash photography is unique — shocking, intrusive and abrupt. It’s quite unlike the light that comes from the sun, or even from ambient illumination. It explodes, suddenly, into darkness.

The history of flash goes right back to the challenges faced by early photographers who wanted to use their cameras in places where there was insufficient light — indoors, at night, in caves. The first flash photograph was probably a daguerreotype of a fossil, taken in 1839 by burning limelight. For the next 50 years, photographers experimented with limelight, which was familiar from theatre illumination, with portable battery-driven lights — which Nadar used in his well-known photos of the Paris catacombs — and with magnesium. Magnesium was available in pulverised form and blown through a flame, or ignited in lengths of wire, or mixed into various unstable, if brightly explosive compounds.

Then, in 1887, as magnesium extraction suddenly became much cheaper, a composite flash powder was invented by the German chemists Adolf Miethe and Johannes Gaedicke. They called it ‘Blitzlichtpulver’, or ‘lightning light powder’, borrowing associations of awe, grandeur and sublimity from naturally occurring flashes of electrical energy. This powder could be exploded in ‘flash guns’ — some even looked like pistols, adding to the atmosphere of panic that often attended early flash explosions — or ignited on a tray. It was available for do-it-yourself mixing; supplied on impregnated sheets or made into small explosive devices rather like tea bags.

In its early days, a sense of quasi-divine revelation was invoked by some flash photographers, especially when documenting deplorable social conditions. Jacob Riis, for example, working in New York in the late 1880s, used transcendental language to help underscore flash’s significance as an instrument of intervention and purgation. But it’s in relation to documentary photography that we encounter most starkly flash’s singular, and contradictory, aspects. It makes visible that which would otherwise remain in darkness; but it is often associated with unwelcome intrusion, a rupturing of private lives and interiors.

Yet flash brings a form of democracy to the material world. Many details take on unplanned prominence, as we see in the work of those Farm Security Administration photographers who used flash in the 1930s and laid bare the reality of poverty during the Depression. A sudden flare of light reveals each dent on a kitchen utensil and the label on each carefully stored can; each photograph on the mantel; each cherished ornament; each little heap of waste paper or discarded rag; each piece of polished furniture or stained floor or accumulation of dust; each wrinkle. Flash can make plain, bring out of obscurity, the appearance of things that may never before have been seen with such clarity.

These FSA photographers used flash bulbs, not powder. Pioneered in the late 1920s, these bulbs became generally available around 1930, their ease and portability transforming the abilities of press photographers as well as documentarians. Police photographers, too, could now record crimes committed under the cover of darkness. No one more famously brought flash and crime together than the figure of Weegee, recording murders, accidents, arrests: his self-publicity was synonymous with the Speed Graphic camera and his Graflex flash synchronizer — to the extent that he once photo-montaged himself into a flashbulb. This combination also found its way into detective fiction and film, as with George Harmon Coxe’s hard-bitten character ‘Flash Casey, Crime Photographer’.

However, and nothwithstanding its usefulness, flash continues to be disliked, even despised, because of its invasiveness. Nowhere has this been more apparent than in the work of paparazzi. The popping of flash bulbs has become visual shorthand for the achievement of fame, or notoriety. The firing off of a barrage of light may be represented as a terrifying onslaught, as when King Kong, displayed on the New York stage, is startled into destructive rage by news-paper photographers. From the early 1960s onwards, paparazzi flashes have become synonymous with unwelcome exposure.

Flash does not belong just to the world of the professional photographer. The earliest cheap cameras with synchronised flash date from about 1940, and then after the second world war a line stretches from little peanut-sized flash bulbs, to flash cubes, to the electronic flash that is now a commonplace of consumer cameras, and the bright light that can flare out of a mobile phone. These developments overlapped, and there are many variants to be found within flash’s technology. What remains constant is its connection — in advice manuals, in specialist publications, in advertising — to the modern; to, indeed, the flashy. ‘It’s new, it’s now, it’s — Flashcube!’ proclaims a TV commercial from the 1960s, linking it to the dance floor and the sounds of the Swinging Sixties. Until very recent developments in light-sensitive microchip technology, flash — and the red eyes and startled, bleached expressions that go with it — has been almost ubiquitous in everyday photography.

But the history of flash photography is about speed as well as about light. The word ‘flash’ is commonly used in all kinds of contexts to indicate the extremely short, or transitory, or spontaneous — as in ‘flash mobs’ and ‘flash floods’ and ‘flash fiction’. The two connotations — speed and light — converge in high-speed photography. Fox Talbot, in 1851, first patented the use of a spark to capture a moving object on a negative — an experiment allegedly suggested by the way in which a lightning flash at night seems to freeze drops of rain or the water playing in a fountain. Sadly, there’s no visual evidence for this: we have to wait until the work of Arthur Worthington, in the late 19th century, and then, and most notably, the beautiful images produced by the American Harold Edgerton in the mid-20th century. His high-speed images, enabled by very high-speed bursts of light from electrically controlled neon tubes, created the illusion of stopped motion: bullets piercing playing cards or balloons; golfers and tennis players swinging at balls. The ordinary became strange, and beautiful, through stroboscopic flash.

Despite its practical attributes, flash photography often remains an intrusive irritant. But in contemporary photography, flash’s reputation is being remade. This can take the form, say, of Martin Parr’s use of ring flash to heighten colour saturation in his works of affectionately satirical commentary — or it can take on a strong self-referential presence. Cindy Sherman and Viktoria Binschtok have experimented with the sudden glare of paparazzi exposure. Sarah Pickering, in her ‘Celestial Objects’ series, photographs a revolver’s bullet fired in the complete dark. In her use of darkness, flame, blurs of light and the white-hot core of gunpowder’s ignition, she returns flash photography to the unpredictable and thrilling category of the sublime. Likewise, Hiroshi Sugimoto captures electrical discharges that look like streaks of lightning branching off from an incandescent spinal core.

These examples challenge the bad press that flash photography has received over the century and a half since its invention. Certainly, flash has its destructive and damaging associations: think of the illumination of lynched bodies, or the atomic bomb, producing the biggest flash of all. Nonetheless, flash remains a creative as well as a practical tool. Sudden and surprising light continues to be imaginatively deployed by inventive photographers, once again making luminous something of the original wonder that attended flash.

Flash!: Photography, Writing and Surprising Illumination, by Kate Flint, is published by Oxford University Press.

[7r0773r]

Begin Again: James Baldwin’s America and Its Urgent Lessons for Our Own by Eddie S. Glaude Jr.

Baldwin’s understanding of the American condition cohered around a set of practices that, taken together, constitute something I will refer to throughout this book as the lie. The idea of facing the lie was always at the heart of Jimmy’s witness, because he thought that it, as opposed to our claim to the shining city on a hill, was what made America truly exceptional. The lie is more properly several sets of lies with a single purpose. If what I have called the “value gap” is the idea that in America white lives have always mattered more than the lives of others, then the lie is a broad and powerful architecture of false assumptions by which the value gap is maintained. These are the narrative assumptions that support the everyday order of American life, which means we breathe them like air. We count them as truths. We absorb them into our character. (p. 7)

***

These, then, are the twined purposes at the heart of Baldwin’s poetic vision. He is not only motivated to transform the stuff of experience into the beauty of art; as a  poet he also bears witness to what he sees and what we have forgotten, calling our attention to the enduring legacies of slavery in our lives; to the impact of systemic discrimination throughout the country that has denied generations of black people access to the so-called American dream; to the willful blindness of so many white Americans to the violence that sustains it all. He laments the suffering that results from our evasions and refusals and passes judgment on what we have done and not done in order to release ourselves into the possibility of becoming different and better people. He bears witness for those who cannot because they did not survive, and he bears witness for those who survived it all, wounded and broken. (p. 40)

***

In the end, we cannot escape our beginnings: The scars on our backs and the white-knuckled grip of the lash that put them there remain in dim outline across generations and in the way we cautiously or not so cautiously move around one another. This legacy of trauma is an inheritance of sorts, an inheritance of sin that undergirds much of what we do in this country. (p. 46)

***

When we memorialize the Confederacy with monuments to Robert E. Lee and “Stonewall” Jackson, what exactly are we commending? It’s never simply the military genius of a general. . . . The Confederate monuments are memorials to a way of life and a particular set of values associated with that way of life. To suggest they are not is just dishonest. The students at Princeton asked a similar question about Woodrow Wilson: What does the university’s uncritical celebration of him commend to us? Again, who and what we celebrate reflects who and what we value. This is why in moments of revolution or profound cultural shifts one of the first things people remove are symbols of the old values. Lenin’s and Stalin’s statues, for example, had to fall, but it is telling that Robert E. Lee continues to stand tall in parks across the United States—even in Charlottesville, Virginia, where Heather Heyer died. (p. 79)

***

An honest confrontation with the past had everything to do with the kinds of persons we understood ourselves to be and the kinds of people we aspired to become. Baldwin’s demand was a decidedly moral one: He wanted to free us from the shackles of a particular national story in order that we might create ourselves anew. For this to happen, white America needed to shatter the myths that secured its innocence. This required discarding the histories that trapped us in the categories of race. “People who imagine that history flatters them,” he wrote in Ebony, “are impaled on their history like a butterfly on a pin and become incapable of seeing or changing themselves, or the world.” (p. 82)

***

Even though Baldwin understood Black Power, its condemnation of white America, and its insistence on black self-determination as a reasonable and, in some ways, wholly justifiable response to the country’s betrayal of the civil rights movement, he never rejected the idea, found in this formulation, that we are much more than the categories that bind our feet. We, too, must never forget this insight.

“Color,” as he wrote in 1963, “is not a human or personal reality; it is a political reality.” Color does not say, once and for all, who we are and who we will forever be, nor does it accord anyone a different moral standing because they happen to be one color as opposed to another. But, again, Baldwin is not naïve. He understands history’s hold and the politics that make it so. As he wrote in The Fire Next Time, “as long as we in the West place on color the value that we do, we make it impossible for the great unwashed to consolidate themselves according to any other principle.” It makes all the sense in the world, then, that black people would look to the fact of their blackness as a key source of solidarity and liberation. White people make black identity politics necessary. But if we are to survive, we cannot get trapped there. (pp. 101-02)

***

Baldwin came to understand that there were some white people in America who refused to give up their commitment to the value gap. For him, we could not predicate our politics on changing their minds and souls. They had to do that for themselves. In our after times, our task, then, is not to save Trump voters—it isn’t to convince them to give up their views that white people ought to matter more than others. Our task is to build a world where such a view has no place or quarter to breathe. I am aware that this is a radical, some may even say, dangerous claim. It amounts to “throwing away” a large portion of the country, many of whom are willing to defend their positions with violence. But we cannot give in to these people. We know what the result will be, and I cannot watch another generation of black children bear the burden of that choice. (pp. 112-13)

***

To understand this is to see why the desire to distance oneself from Trump fits perfectly with the American refusal to see ourselves as we actually are. We evade historical wounds, the individual pain, and the lasting effects of it all. The lynched relative; the buried son or daughter killed at the hands of the police; the millions locked away to rot in prisons; the children languishing in failed schools; the smothering, concentrated poverty passed down from generation to generation; and the indifference to lives lived in the shadows of the American dream are generally understood as exceptions to the American story, not the rule. Blasphemous facts must be banished from view by a host of public rituals and incantations. Our gaze averted, we then congratulate ourselves on how far we have come and ruthlessly blame those in the shadows for their plight in life. Gratitude is expected. Having secured our innocence, we feel no guilt in enjoying what we have earned by our own merit, in defending our right to educate our children in the best schools and in demanding that we be judged by our ability alone. To maintain this illusion, Trump has to be seen as singular, aberrant. Otherwise, he reveals something terrible about us. But not to see yourself in Trump is to continue to lie. (pp. 173-74)

***

I have taken the title of this book from a passage in James Baldwin's last novel, Just Above My Head. In light of the collapse of the civil rights movement and the consolidation of the after times with the election of Ronald Reagan, Baldwin offered these words for those who desperately sought to imagine a way forward: “Not everything is lost. Responsibility cannot be lost, it can only be abdicated. If one refuses abdication, one begins again.” Begin again is shorthand for something Baldwin commended to the country in the latter part of his career: that we reexamine the fundamental values and commitments that shape our self-understanding, and that we look back to those beginnings not to reaffirm our greatness or to double down on myths that secure our innocence, but to see where we went wrong and how we might reimagine or re-create ourselves in light of who we initially set out to be. This requires an unflinching encounter with the lie at the heart of our history, the kind of encounter that cannot be avoided at places like the Legacy Museum. 

Irony abounds. The National Memorial for Peace and Justice opened in 2018, in the middle of Donald Trump’s first term. As I have argued, Trump's election represents our after times; all that he stands for reasserts the lie in the face of demographic shifts and political change represented by Obama’s election and the activism of Black Lives Matter. Every day Trump insists on the belief that white people matter more than others in this country. He has tossed aside any pretense of a commitment to a multiracial democracy. He has attacked congressmen and women of color, even telling four congresswomen “to go back to the countries they came from”; scapegoated people seeking a better life at our borders; and appealed explicitly to white resentment. On top of the racist rhetoric, his judicial appointments and his policies around voting rights, healthcare, environmental regulations, immigration law, and education disproportionately harm communities of color. In every way imaginable, Trump has intensified the cold civil war that engulfs the country. 

But to view Trump in the light of the lynching memorial in Alabama is to understand him in the grand sweep of American history: He and his ideas are not exceptional. He and the people who support him are just the latest examples of the country's ongoing betrayal, our version of “the apostles of forgetfulness” When we make Trump exceptional, we let ourselves off the hook, for he is us just as surely as the slave-owning Founding Fathers were us; as surely as Lincoln, with his talk of sending black people to Liberia, was us; as surely as Reagan was us, with his welfare queens. When we are surprised to see the reemergence of Klansmen, neo-Nazis, and other white nationalists, we reveal our willful ignorance about how our own choices make them possible. The memorial confronts both Trumpism and those who would never imagine themselves in sympathy with it, with the truth and trauma of American history. It exposes the lie for what it is and makes plain our collective complicity in reinforcing it. 

In his introduction to his 1985 collection of essays, The Price of the Ticket, Baldwin noted that America had become quick to congratulate itself on the progress it had made with regards to race, and that the country's self-congratulation came with the expectation of black gratitude. (This was particularly the case with the election of the country's first black president.) As Baldwin wrote, “People who have opted to be white congratulate themselves on their generous ability to return to the slave that freedom which they never had any right to endanger, much less take away. For this dubious effort . . . they congratulate themselves and expect to be congratulated.” The expectation was that he should feel “gratitude not only that my burden is . . . being made lighter but my joy that white people are improving.” 

Baldwin viewed this demand for gratitude from the vantage point of someone who had lived through and was deeply wounded by the betrayal of the black freedom movement, someone whose recollection or remembrance of that moment involved trauma. In 1979, on the eve of the election of Ronald Reagan, for example, in a short piece for Freedomways, Baldwin wrote of the difficulty of recalling the past. “Let us say that we all live through more than we can say or see. A life, in retrospect, can seem like the torrent of water opening or closing over one’s head and, in retrospect, is blurred, swift, kaleidoscopic like that. One does not wish to remember—one is perhaps not able to remember—the holding of one’s breath under water, the miracle of rising up far enough to breathe, and then, the going under again. . . .” Here Baldwin captures beautifully the cycles of the after times that illustrate how horrific the white expectation of gratitude is. 

Baldwin believed the after times required that we look back in order to understand the choices we’ve made that have brought us to the moment of crisis. We don’t begin again as if there is nothing behind us or underneath our feet. We carry that history with us. In the introduction to The Price of the Ticket, Baldwin formulated his point about beginning again a bit differently. “In the church I come from,” he wrote, “we were counselled, from time to time, to do our first works over.” Here Baldwin invokes Revelations 2:5: “Consider how far you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place.” In the mode of poet-prophet, Baldwin called the nation, in his after times, to confront the lie of its own self-understanding and to get about the work of building a country truly based on democratic principles. As he wrote: 

To do your first works over means to reexamine everything. Go back to where you started, or as far back as you can, examine all of it, travel your road again and tell the truth about it. Sing or shout or testify or keep it to yourself: but know whence you came. 

 America in the generality, he argued, refused to do such a thing because the exploration itself would reveal that the price of the ticket to be here in the United States was in fact to leave behind the particulars of Europe and become white. That transformation “choked many a human being to death,” because to become white meant the subjugation of others, an act that disfigured the soul by closing off the ability to see oneself in others, and to see them in oneself. Our task, Baldwin maintained, was to understand the history of how that disfiguring of the soul happened and, in doing so, to free oneself and the country from the insidious hold of whiteness in order to become a different kind of creation—a different way of being in the world. (pp. 193-97)

[uk-news-talking-politics]

America enters the abyss

By Ian Dunt

What we're seeing in America today is not just a disaster for the left, or moderates, or liberals, or whoever would naturally oppose this Republican administration. It is a disaster for those who believe in democracy.

Donald Trump is trying to rig the election. He emerged this morning, in a carefully coordinated media statement surrounded by cheering supporters, and insisted he had already won, even though votes are still being counted. He then demanded that voting cease where he thought he could lose. "We want all voting to stop," he said. It was a clear and explicit attempt to destroy people's democractic rights.

This would be alarming enough on its own. But it did not just happen today. It was clear from the very beginning that this was a tactic Trump would pursue. He worked to discredit mail-in votes during a pandemic on a baseless accusation of fraud. The reason early ballots haven't been counted in certain key states was because the Republicans changed the law to ban it. Trump then emerged this morning to insist they were not counted.

Call this what it is: an orchestrated attempt to subvert American democracy.

Trump's effort to undermine this election was explicit. It was obvious. Over and over again he refused to confirm that he would allow a peaceful transfer of power. He has been planning this right out there in public. And now it is happening.

There will always be would-be tyrants. Democracy is a robust obstacle to their emergence, but it cannot eradicate the threat. What is troubling here is not so much Trump's attempt to destroy American democracy, which we have priced in for some time. It's the fact that he was obviously going to do this and millions of people voted for him anyway. And that is the terrifying thing. That is the thing that sends a shiver through the spine.

Democracy cannot survive without people who believe in it. It cannot prevail if those who live under it support those who try to destroy it. It cannot endure if voters are so misguided, so lacking in trust in the media and the electoral system, that they believe the president's lies.

The rot is not just in the democratic process, but in its purpose. Voting is not just an expression of consent in government. It is also a protective shield. It is supposed to ensure that no leader can inflict damage on the public.

People don't vote for famine. That makes democracy qualitatively different from dictatorships, like Stalin's Russia, where man-made famines could be imposed on people because they had no opportunity to overthrow the government.

Except this time, it's different. People are voting for famine. Trump's track record on coronavirus is a full-scale intellectual, moral and operational failure. It is an act of criminal neglect, with a death toll of nearly a quarter of a million people. And this was not an act of God. It was the result of a man who suggested people inject themselves with bleach, who wouldn't support masks, who attacked scientific advisers, who encouraged the view that it was some sort of made-up Democratic party hoax, who encouraged baseless conspiracy theories.

Democracy is supposed to protect the public from precisely this outcome. This is exactly the kind of situation it provides safeguards for, by formalising the public's ability to replace governments which undermine their rights and put them in harm's way. But instead, millions have turned out to support the attack.

Those who secretly support Trump but daren't say so in polite company, or, more commonly, who approve of the global nationalist wave while perhaps finding him somewhat uncouth, will call this sort of analysis hysterical. It is not. You must have the confidence to observe the reality of events as they transpire. The reality is plain and simple and must be stated outright: We are witnessing the attempted overthrow of American democracy. And millions of people appear willing to go along with it.

[scripttorture]

How much do you know about torture apologia at a government level? Like people who are actually paid to torture terrorist? I feel like that is a government-approved thing unless I’m mistaken. How can they not see they’re getting no information or just plain wrong information? And these ‘professionals’ are hiding their mental health problems? Or is the FBI torturing terrorists for information not as real as we are lead to believe? I’ve got a story idea about a victim mistakenly accused.

Thisis a pretty broad question. And it also sounds like it’s trying tostart a debate over getting writing advice. I’m going to give itthe benefit of the doubt and take it at face value as a writingquestion.

Ithink the short answer is essentially: read Rejali. He covers this inconsiderable depth, it’s the last third of his book. I’ll do mybest to summarise his points but I can’t produce 300+ pages ofevidence plus sources on a blog like this.

O’Maraalso talks about it a fair bit and Cobain’s entire book is aboutthe links between torture and the British government. Granted Cobaindoesn’t know a thing about torture but the pattern of legalwrangling and political apathy he records is incredibly valuable.

Thereare a couple of points I think are important going forward.

Thefirst is that although information is often the justification givenfor torture it’s rarely the point.

Somethingcan be justified, ignored or tolerated in someparts of a government and stringently punished in other areas.

Inlarge enough organisations leaders can be genuinely unaware what somemembers are doing.

Sogiven those points let’s start with the second question becauseit’s easiest.

Inmodern democracies people are notpaid to torture. That is not their official role. They are hired asguards, soldiers, teachers, care takers, nurses, doctors, police anda handful of other professions.

Thatis they are being paid for.And it’s not what they’re doing.

Whetherwhat they’re actually doing (torture) is condoned by anyone furtherup the chain of command then their immediate superiors is reallydependant on the circumstances. And very difficult to prove.

Governmentapproval of torture in modern states rarelylooks like top officials saying ‘We torture people!’

Here’sthe kind of phrasing it looks like instead:

‘These particular set of abuses are not torture because-’

‘This isn’t really painful’

False equivalence such as ‘Well I diet voluntarily so starving someone can’t be harmful’

Outright denial ‘Our troops could never do that!’

Ouright denial Part 2 ‘Well no one told us that was happening!’

Shifting the blame ‘Those people are lying to get into the country/get money/get attention etc-’

Shifting the blame Part 2 ‘Those people deserve it because they’re mentally ill/an ethnic minority/poor/violent/look like trouble etc-’

‘Obviously we don’t torture people but we should because it would work!’

‘We need strong measures in these desperate times!’

The sort of political/cultural outlook that links efficiency to ‘toughness’ and sees kindness and compromise as weak

Tortureapologia on the government level thrives on plausible deniability andredefining terms until they’re unrecognisable.

Forthe purposes of your story I think you’d probably be better offstepping back from the FBI.

WhatI mean by that is- if you’ve been looking for sources specificto the FBI that’s why you’re so confused. Those sources arepoorly collated, poorly studied and (personal opinion) deliberatelyconfusing.

Awellstudiedwell recorded example of torture as unofficial-government-policywould be the Franco-Algerian war. And this is alsobeset by confusion because a lotof the sources from the French side were written by torturers tojustify their actions after the event.

Onceagain I’d recommend reading Rejali and for greater context on whathe says Alleg’s TheQuestionand Fanon’s appendices to TheWretched of the Earth.

Yestorture continues because of governmental positions. But that doesn’tnecessarily mean outright orders to torture.

Itcan mean a lack of political will to eradicate torture, ie no one islooking for it. It can mean officials being aware of torture andchoosing to ignore it.

Myimpression is that apathyrather than malice at the top levels is the key. In the worst cases,yes there was outright malice from some individuals within a largergovernment. But it’s the apathy of the majority that allowed forabuse.

Governmentapproval doesn’tlook like a high level official ordering troops to torture.

Itlooks like the state Governor seeing that most of the police in theirstate probably use torture and sitting down to do this calculation:‘Am I more electable next year if I try to tackle this or if Iignore it?’

Italso looks like a Commissioner seeing that a person arrested for anemotive crime like terrorism has been complaining of ill-treatmentand doing this calculation: ‘Do I look better in the public eye ifI seem like I’m standing up for a person from a hated minority whois accused of doing something awful?’

WhatI’m driving at here is that- the reality is a lot more nebulousthen what you seem to be thinking of. Tacit acceptance, differentpriorities, cowardice- are all much more likely then the kind ofscenario where the elites explicitly order abuse.

Ithink I should move on to the third question which is just as tricky,before I get bogged down in labouring the point.

Howdo organisations not realise the information they get from torture iswrong?

Theshort answer is that by using torture they destroy the systems thatallow them to double check information. Because they can’t doublecheck anything they don’t realise that they’re working withincorrect information.

Iwilltell you how that happens but let’s have an analogy first to giveyou an idea of how skewed this makes the base information.

Imagineyou’re looking for information on the internet about something youhaven’t seen but you can’t use wikipedia, any popular searchengines or any official sites. You are going entirelyby searching tumblr. And you can only access the first piece ofinformation that comes up with any tag you search.

Picka popular fandom and imagine the kind of screwed up view you’d getof a character if you tried to find information about them like this.I am picturing the Flash fandom and Captain Cold and imagining justhow easy it would be to walk away with the impression that thecharacter was a main character not a bit part.

Nowlet me show you how including torture in an investigation is theequivalent of blocking yourself from everything but a hellsite with abroken search algorithm.

Sothe first thing to appreciate is that torture breakstrustwith the public. If torture is common place then no matter how‘secret’ an organisation tries to keep it the groups who areeffected find out.

Wenotice when people around us go missing. We pay attention when thereare stories of people ‘like us’ being hurt.

Andwe lose trust in authority. We stop reporting crimes. We stopvolunteering information.

Whichcuts an organisation off from the mainsource of accurate information they can get: voluntary reporting bymembers of the public.

Wedon’t report strange things our family or friends have done if wethink it might get them tortured. We don’t mention that we saw atall ginger man leave a back pack on that street near where the bombwent off.

Frompersonal experience- sometimes you stop reporting things even whenyou’re completely outside the context that taught you organisationscan’t be trusted. I’ve been assaulted in the UK and genuinely didnot consider calling the police. Because I learnt young that policeexist to ‘make people disappear’ and the habit is hard to break.

Thesecond point is that torture produces a lotof lies and human beings generally are terrible at telling whensomeone is lying.

Sotorturers don’t have access to the biggest source of accurateinformation but they dohear a lot of lies.

Thethird point is that when torture becomes part of an organisation thenpeople spend lesstimeconducting genuine investigations and fact checking.

Torturerstend to be pretty arrogant and they usually report looking down onpeople in their organisation who don’ttorture. Basically they seeing doing the hard work of a genuineinvestigation as boring and beneath them.

Thisworks togetherwith the first two factors to make it almost impossible to fact checkthings.

Imaginea group of 50 people tasked with investigating a particular incident.Five of them are torturers, so they’re not actually investigatinganything. This takes our number down to 45.

Thenwe remember that the torturers are generating information, even ifit’s false. Which the other members are investigating.

Let’sgo with low estimates. Let’s suggest each torturer has one victim aday (this is unlikely, real numbers are probably much higher) and outof those they get an average of two ‘possible leads’ each day(this would vary a lot, some victims would say nothing, some mightthrow out as many as twenty names in a day). Let’s also pretendthat a potential lead can be investigated by one person (this isinaccurate, I’d generally expect at least 2-3 people for each new‘lead’.).

We’vejust got rid of ten more people on the first day.

Let’spretend that it takes three days to investigate a lead. This is alsoa very low estimate, properly following up a lead can take weeks.

Withour low-estimate fictional organisation we’ve reduced the amount ofpeople doing useful work to 15 in the first three days.

Fifteenpeople trying to do the work of 50, while the torturers keepgenerating lies that are wasting the time of everyone else.

Thiscripples the organisation’s ability to work as all the time andenergy is going into investigating lies.

Andwhilethis is going on the torturers are still torturing. And they’reassumingthat their information is correct.

Sothey’re generating morelies that supportthe previous lies.

Letme give an example of what I mean.

Saya torturer takes in a random person. This first victim knows nothingabout the terrorist group but if they don’t give a name thenthey’re going to keep being tortured.

Sothey tell the torturer Wednesday Adams is definitely the leader ofthe terrorists in this area.

Nowa genuine investigator is wasting time looking for Wednesday Adams.May be they come back in a week and say that no such person exists.

Bythat point the torturer has been asking a lot of people aboutWednesday Adams. And some of them will have sworn they saw WednesdayAdams, that Wednesday Adams was behind that attack and that she haslinks to this other organisation and also that thing I saw on thenews once and- So on.

Itspirals.

Maybe it gets to the point where the torturer finally accepts there’sno ‘Wednesday Adams’ on the census. But by that point they’vestacked a lot of their personal reputation on the existence of thisshadowy leader.

Sorather than admit they’re just wrong, they assume ‘WednesdayAdams’ is a pseudonym and now they’re asking everyone what herreal name is. Now they have six different possible ‘realidentities’ for Wednesday Adams.

Andthis is how organisations can fail to notice that torture doesn’twork.

Becausethe scale of misinformation is just so huge. Because the amount oftime it takes to provethe information is wrong gives the torturers more time to embellishthe lie.

Becausesuperiors who are genuinely unaware torture is going on in theirorganisations might well look at this torturer, who keeps coming upwith new information, and these ten genuine investigators who comeback with nothing but dead ends, and decide that the tortureris the only one ‘getting things done’.

Itdoesn’t matter that they’re wrong. Because it takes months,years, to prove that they areand everyone in these organisations is under huge pressure to haveanswers now.

OKlet’s move on to question four; mental health problems intorturers.

Firstoff, I have yet to meet a mentally ill person who hasn’ttried to hide their mental health problems at some point. The worldis not very accepting of mental health problems whatever the context.The pressure to hide them is immense. In some places people are atreal risk of violence and abuse if their mental health problems arenoticed as mental health problems.

Inthat context- it isn’t surprising that torturers do try to hidetheir symptoms.

Thetoxic sub-culture torturers tend to produce is- It’s incrediblymacho. It tends to rely on ideas about how the torturers are ‘toughand strong’. It equates violence and lack of mercy with strength.

Itviews mental illness as weak.

Andbecause the people within these groups are violent, because they havea tendency to turn on each other, there’s a huge pressure to hidemental health problems. That’s way before you bring the widerorganisation into the picture.

Manyof the organisations torturers are typically part of actively try toscreen out mentally ill people. Being obviously mentally ill can meanlosing the job.

SoI don’tthink it’s particularly unusual that torturers try to hide mentalhealth problems.

Howsuccessfulthey are at hiding them is a different question and it’s difficultto answer.

Becausea lot of people are moved or dismissed on mental health grounds andthis does notmean they were involved in anything abusive.

Tortureis difficult to prove. Most torturers are not charged. Their crimesare not recorded as part of their record. They are not hired astorturers.

Accordingto the WHO around 10% of the global population has a mental health problem.

Howdo you tell the difference between the people who are just mentallyill, the people who developed mental illnesses because of ‘ordinary’job stress and the people who developed mental illnesses because theyabused others?

Withoutaccurate, fair recording of torture accusations itis impossible to tell.

Personally?I think it’s highly likely that a lot of torturers can’t hidetheir mental health problems well. That they reach a point and have abreakdown on the job. Then they lose their job.

Butall of that can happen with no record of abuse.

Weneed more research on torturers. Desperately.

Andanswering these questions about the circumstances around how peoplestop is incredibly important. It can help us spot them, it can helpus spot people who might be targeted for recruitment by torturers. Itcan help us stop torture.

Andright now there are frustratingly few answers.

Whichleaves the final question- Are the FBI torturers?

Honestly-I have no idea. I am not particularly interested in America orAmerican history. I am not American. I do not go out of my way toread things about the FBI and could tell you very little about whatthey do.

WhatI can tell you is that organisations likethe FBI have usually tortured at some point in their history. Thatglobally the United States has developed a reputation for doublestandards.

ButI can not make a definitive statement on a group I know next tonothing about.

Inorganisations likethe FBI iftorture is going on it’s often not in the entire organisation. Itis often particular branches, particular units, particular areasrather than the whole country-wide organisation.

It’seasy to make broad statements like ‘the Chicago police torturedpeople in 70s’. And that’s not untrue.

Butif we’re being specificit would be more accurate to say ‘there was a cell of torturersoperating within the Chicago police force in the 70s and the widergroup failed to stop them.’

Wasthe entire Chicago police force responsible for the abuses? I wouldsay yesbecause it was literally their job to stop these abuses and they didnot. However they were notall torturers. They were not all actively engaged in torture and Ithink it’s extremely likely that many people at the time simplydidn’t realise what was going on.

Incompetence,not necessarily active abuse.

I’vewritten an awful lot. It should be a start at answering some of yourquestions. But all of these questions are complex and difficult.

Idon’t think, in this case, you can take my answer as a substitutefor wider reading.

Onceagain, Rejali.O’Maraas well.

Allegfor the survivor’s perspective on what both describe.

Cobain,to be taken with a pinch of salt and read afterRejali because Cobain is not a scientist and falls for apologia quitea lot.

You’vechosen to tackle a story that’s going to be a lot of work. Try notto be discouraged by that.

Theseare important stories. And they deserve to be told properly.

Ihope that helps. :)

Edited for typos

Edit 2: @dude1818 That is really not funny and I don’t appreciate you trying to turn discussion of a serious crime into a joke. 

I’m aware of the formatting problem and I’ve been trying to fix it for some time. I’m going to try another fix this week but I can’t actually test whether any of my attempts work because I don’t have a mobile phone. 

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