#and the involuntary servitude can’t forget that…

[rubylarkspur22]

He is just like me…

And thus, Cynder became Spyro’s ride or die best friend.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Cat in the Cradle: is the witch really going to give up that easily, having been thwarted once by Obi?

Prompts are currently closed while I catch up. I will announce when I am open! :)

A/N: An installment of Our Place in the Stars.Takes place after Nightmares.

Content Warning: This entire series has allusions to ahistory of sex work and involuntary servitude. This chapter is no different.

He wishes he took Miss’s orders to sleep a little lessseriously last night.

For now that his fast has been broken, with so few hoursto boot, he is delirious, disoriented, and dizzy. The motion of his hands andhis mind no longer work in perfect concert with the other, the distancebetween one place and the next is longer than his memory.

But the draught had done it’s duty, lulling him to slumber deeper than he had any right to.

(“Take this,” Miss says, pushing the steaming mug intonumb hands. The brew is black. Nothing good ever came from a medicine that wasbrewed to black. “It will help.”

Eyeing is dubiously, he takes a delicate sniff, thenrears back, nose traveling up his face to escape it. “Can I take it tomorrow?”

“Obi,” she huffs. “You haven’t slept through the night indays. This will help.”

He peers up at her from under the veil of his lashes, ather puffed up cheeks and her tiny body forming a barrier between him and thedoor. Then back down to the drink.

“I’m fine, Miss,” he smiles, every beautiful tooth baredas he holds the cup back towards her. “Our walk was very refreshing. I think Ican sleep just fine without it now.”

She crosses her arms, staring down at him.

Wilting, Obi cradles the mug against his chest. Takes in the potion again. Hecan already taste the bitter that hovers in the air, the particular mix ofherbs meant to numb his brain to something approaching quiet. It looks like ascrying mirror, it is so thick, like something a traveling nomad would brew to tell him that he would soon come into a fortune if he would part ways with just a little bit more gold. 

A little twigthat the strainer didn’t catch floats about its depths.

Oh well. Nothing to be done about it. “Down the hatch,”he mutters, and tilts his head back to take it whole.

Ye gods, what is inthis? He only manages about half the draught before his tongue rebels, throatclosing against it, and then he’s coughing, liquid spraying as the mugdisappears from his hands. Swallowing, he bends over his knees, gasping betweeneach wrack of breath that escapes his body.

Miss is already sitting on the bed next to him. “See?”she tries, patting him on the back as he rubs the moisture from his eyes. “Itwasn’t that bad!”

If he could sit up straight, he tell her with his facewhat he thought. As it is, he has to find his words.

“Au contraire,” he wheezes, wiping off the liquid drippingfrom his chin with the back of his sleeve. “It’s worse.”)

But if his men notice, they don’t say anything. Makiricertainly doesn’t, instructing him in passing to oversee the security for the meetings.

So he does. Just… alone.

(“Are you sure, commander?” Jirou asked, leaning inclose. “I can send one of those idiots to take care of sweeping the meetinghalls.”

Obi thinks of Hiro, with his round, boyish face and hiswide smile. Of Kune, with his new wife and a baby on the way. Of Shinto, hissoft voice and brass laugh. Each and every one of them didn’t sleep for two nights in a row after he told them about his first days in Laxdo.

“I’m sure.” Obi claps his second on the shoulder, smilefirmly in place. “Though if I’m bewitched again, it’s your responsibility getme the best scratching post and only the finest collar.”

Jirou grunts, crossing his hulking arms in disapproval,but he says, “Would you like it to be belled or spiked?”)

It’s not a hard task, not in this city, where a glare ora pointed look is enough to send any busy bodies scrambling. After scatteringthe third anthropologist and the second historian from their hiding places, he thinks that the wingmight be close to ready.

Though, he muses, rounding the corner. He might have totake extra precautions from keeping that biologist from returning to her study spacethat shouldn’t have ever been a study place in the first place.

(“But it’s quiet here! And all the study rooms in thelibrary are taken. I’m working on my thesis,” the woman whines in a way that reminds him too much of Suzu,piling one paper on top of another so slowly that he might tear out his ownhair. “Are you sure I can’t stay? I’m only taking up a corner!”

Obi smiles through grit teeth. “Only if you desire to beturned into a mouse. There’s a Samese witch here, you know.”

Her lips press together in a thoughtful manner, the roundlenses of her glasses making her grey eyes enormous. “I always wondered howtransfiguration affected the body. If it existed, I mean,” she mulls, hands staying upon her task. “Doyou think it is even possible to make something the size of a human intosomething as small as a mouse? I imagine I would have to be turned intosomething of like size, maybe a wolf. There’s so many bones in the human body,though. Do you think they break to condense into a smaller form? Or fusetogether? I wonder if the internal organs mo-”

He really should have known not to give her that option.“Mistress Kazune,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please leave. Now.”)

The room at the end of the hall is the last, and most obnoxious.The carved teak has been primed to shine, the glossy surface of the tablereflecting the centerpiece of evergreens. Circling, he runs his fingers underthe edge, ducking down to check the legs of each chair and each cushion, when asudden blast of cold air sends the curtains of the far wall billowing.

Skin prickling, Obi bristles, crossing over to close thebalcony door. For a city so northward, so obsessed with every burner going at all times,you would think they would only open themselves to the out-of-doors to thespring, but it is a constant battle to explain to his Miss’s maids that doorsand windows lock for a reason-

Clucking his tongue, Obi pushes aside the curtain,grabbing hold of the knob.

“Leave that open, if you will. The air is so stagnant in theserooms. It’s like no one ever uses them.”

Obi has not spoken Samese in years. Has not evenpracticed the syllables on his tongue. But, as Garrack and Shidan and everyscholar he’s ever met is so prone to pointing out, his memory is excellent.

Slowly, he cranes his head, looks over his shoulder. It’snot often that someone is able to sneak up on him, but if anyone were to, itwould have to be-

Them.

Between her two hulking guards, the red of her veils burnagainst gray stone. Her other guard, the giant dog who stands as high as themeeting table, sniffs at the floor. Eyes following, Obi hopes that it is not inspiredto take a piss. It would really be a hassle to put the maids through securityagain on such short notice just because of a little puddle.

“Thank you. It is… refreshing,” she says, hands claspingtogether. Then, with a twist of her head, her voice lowers. Carries authoritywhen she says to her companions, “Leave us.”

Back drawing up straight, Obi’s shoulders go so tightthat it is pain. And her guards don’t so much as answer as grunt, turningtowards the exit. Obi moves to follow.

“No, no.” Something in her voice trembles, sounds amused. “Not you.”

It’s nothing short of an order, though, and while he hasnot been- been that since he was aboy, his joints lock up, rooting him to place and staring helplessly as thedoors close behind the two behemoths. And he wishes, just once, that Miss washere. Or Jirou. Or even Makiri. That someone was present that would rescue him,too.

The touch of a wet nose to the back of his hand bringshim back to himself, eyes coming back to focus on two brown eyes and a lollingtongue staring up at him.

“And what about him?” he asks, voice as dry as a two daytrek across a desert.

The dog licks its great maw, tail giving two quickshakes, and then it- it licks at hishand. Like a connoisseur of flesh. Like it’s testing if he is going to need a little seasoning before enjoying a mid-day snack of escaped-slave a-la-mode.

“Her,” the witch corrects. “What’s wrong? Does the littlekitten not like the big dog?”

She laughs, pleased with herself and Obi’s jaw ticks asher pet nuzzles at him, sliding its nose underneath his palm.

“Come now, it’s a joke,” she tsks, patting her leg, andhis assailant is immediately called away. “I’m very funny.”

Subtly turning his hand towards his trousers, he rubs offthe lingering sensation. “As you say.”

She hums, floating towards him, and his heart gives threeloud bangs inside the cavern of his chest.

“Don’t.”

Obi pauses, blinking, and he- he takes stock of himself,tries to figure out what he has done, and-

His left hand flexes around steel, the tip of his pinkytouching leather behind his back. His heart still races, though, his mind stillscreaming danger! so he lets themlinger, lets them hold that reassuring cold of tempered metal still tucked awayin his belt.

“You,” she sighs, dipping her head to catch his eyes. Heturns them further away. “You’re one of ours, aren’t you?”

His lip curls, fingers wrapping around a hilt. “Never.”

Arms crossing, she straightens herself and he can feelthe weight of her glare like a physical touch. “No need to hiss, kitten. I knowyou belong to her.”

Blinking, Obi forgets himself, head snapping in herdirection, but she’s moving away, looking towards the window at the snowfallblanketing Lyrias.

“Still, though,” she comments, voice distant. “You are a brave little one, living so closeto the border. It would just take the wrong set of eyes and a greedy hand tocarry you back.”

A cold sheen of sweat spreads across his face, and it’snot like- not like he didn’t know that. Not like he didn’t weigh thepossibilities when he followed his Mistress from the safety of the south to theuncertainty of the north, but still- It’s been years since the wars. Yearssince someone has seen another with a face like his in these lands, and- “Noone here knows.”

“Kitten,” she looks her shoulder at him, and he’s madebreathless, the light striking through the material of her veils just so he cansee the white of her eyes. “Everyone knows.”

The cold sickly feeling spreads, eyes watering as ifpunched straight to the nose. “Then why? Why,” he swallows, words battling fordominance between the world he was born to and the world his mistress insistedwas reality. But, despite Miss’s insistence, her tempered demands that he believeher and not them, he can think of no better word. “Why enchant me?”

“Ah, that… embarrassment.” She sighs, rolling hershoulders. “That was not meant for you.”

Obi stares, lost, then whispers, “Then why her?”

She hums, and fabric ripples as she moves, as she comescloser. “She makes herself too small. Like you.”

He’s not expecting it, though he should. He’s far too outof practice, unable to stand still any longer as those above him take him into appraisal, holding hisjaw between forefinger and thumb, turning his head one way then the next,prying back lips to check teeth and pressing on the skin below his eyes tocheck for yellowing. So when her hand appears, still gloved in that thickfabric and so near to his face, he roots himself to the ground. And waits.

After several breaths, his eyes slowly flutter open – hehadn’t even known he closed them – and he- stares at her. At the way her handhovers between them.

“Your witch,” she says slowly, carefully. “She treats youright?”

Obi rears back. “My mistress,”he hisses, “is only kind. Even if I were to deserve-”

He cuts himself off, biting his tongue. But it’s toolate. He’s revealed too much. Stirred up too many memories of that day in theforest, of how she bowed to his failure, asked him to fail her again-

Her hand lowers. “And why would you deserve it?”

Brows furrowing, he blinks at her, trying to figure outwhat she’s about, why should would ask him to state the obvious. “I’m cursed.”

She tsks, breath strong enough to move her veil. “Nowthat’s some lie.”

He stares at her. “But- in Wati-”

“Wati.” Shespits out the name like it’s a blasphemy, drawing herself up while he shrinks.Even though she is no taller than Miss, he is like a boy before her. “Thatcountry of heretics? Why would you go to such a place?”

Gaping, he stumbles over his words, “It wasn’tintentional. I just crossed the steppes and-”

A noise, not unlike the grumble of an aggrieved camel,vibrates from beneath the veils. “What gives warmth to this world?” she clips.

It’s a struggle to remain standing, to not follow the urge to sit at her feet,to retain and recite like the schoolboy he used to watch through open windows in the summer, but that’s not what she wants. He doesn’t think so, atleast. Obi’s lips part and, for once in his life, he is unsure of whether tospeak.

Palms smacking together, she raises her voice. “I askedyou a question, kitten. What gives warmth to this world?”

His mind, the sure thing that it is, goes perfectlyblank. “The, ah, sun?”

“Yes!”

Obi jolts at her enthusiasm, the way she claps her glovedhands in praise instead of as a method for drawing his attention. And issomewhat shamed with that pleased little warmth that blooms in his chest.

“The sun gives light to this world,” she says, her voice softening.“Grows the plants that the animals eat. Melts the snow at the end of winter.And what color is this sun?”

“I- Uhm.”

“What color are your eyes, kitten?”

Swallowing, Obi shakes his head, backs a few steps awayand- and this can’t be happening. This has to be some sort of dream. Some sortof new nightmare. She can’t be serious.

“You have eyes like a leopard that are the color of thesun,” she says earnestly, closing the distance he creates. “Why would that becursed?”

His mouth parts to answer, so sure, so very sure that sheis wrong. That he is right. But he can’t. Not before a Red Witch, of all people.

“My- my Master. When I was a boy. He kept me hidden, toldme I would only do harm if I left his house.” Not that it stopped him fromtrying. The marks that etch up and down his calves are proof enough of that. “BeforeI- I left, he said I was damned. That’s why the temples wouldn’t have me.”

“Sit, boy.”

He stares at her, so lost, so disbelieving. “But-“

“I said sit.”

It’s been years since he was so easily beckoned, but hedoes what she wills, tumbling to the ground, legs barely crossed, and she- she joins him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes try to latch on to anything but the color ofred.

“Look.”

There is nothing else to latch onto, so he does.

“I feel warm just looking at you. Blessed,”she says, so simply. Like she isn’t tearing down and putting back together hisentire world. “Just like when I stand next to your witch. Though I am starting to see why the two ofyou found the other.”

His mind rebels. Screeches and spits. No matter what she said, he still has his memories. He knows the way people’s eyes fell from his when he looked upon him is the truth. The way the others scurried from his path is not a lie. It isn’t his imagination that remembers the whispers into ears and the exchange of coin - the goldthe same color, they said, as his eyes. 

Whata lucky find, they murmur, touching his chin to tilt his head back. Hewill bring so much more of it.

“But my Master-”

“He lied to you,” she interrupts. And her words arefinal. Law. Touched with the heat of anger. “He was selfish. Kept you from oursight. All of them did.”

He shifts, uncomfortable, until the slippery slide of herglove touches his face and he jolts, staring straight into the veil.

“If we had known-” She clucks her tongue, thumb smoothingdown his cheek, and he’s been a man for years – years longer than he shouldhave been – but it takes every last bit of his will not to bow forward, to not buryhis face in her lap and let her soothe whatever hurt she could find. “If we hadknown, you would have been brought to the coven, been given a true Mistress.And oh, how we would have spoiled such a face as yours.”

His shakes, and- this room is cold, suddenly. So cold.“But I-”

“Hush,” she commands, a single finger to his mouth. “You would have beeneducated and dressed well, never knowing cold save when you went outside toplay. Been given a bed of your own alongside the other little boys blessed justlike you. And we would have protected you, little one. We would have made sureyou were safe.”

“I-” His voice chokes out and he shakes his head to clearit. “That sounds… nice.”

“It’s the will of the gods that we witches shelter you,”she says, so certain. Like she didn’t lay every single dream of his since he wastaken from his parents at his feet. “That a foreign one found you that is proofenough, hmm?”

To his everlasting horror, his eyes blur, leaking withouthis will, but he can’t look away. So he simply nods.

“So lucky,” shemurmurs, almost to herself as she runs her fingers through his hair. He’s followsthe touch, helpless. “That’s the reason your Master kept you like he did,child. He was trying to keep that luck for himself.”

He weak, so weak. And it’s that weakness that makes himask, “But how can I be lucky if I can’t-” Heat prickles his face, the beginningof a blush more mortifying than him purring like a housecat on his mistresseslap, but he pushes forward. “I can’t- be touched. Even by those that I want totouch me.”

The snort, he is not expecting. “Spirits,” she mutters, headtilting towards the ceiling and the boreholes of stones above them. “You sendme here to find an unimaginable treasure in this desolate place and it is ashorny as a young buck in the spring.”

His lips twitch, but then he flattens them, mustering upsomething like a glare that only makes her laugh more.

“Kitten,” she sighs, moving closer. “You don’t seem to becomplaining right now. Are you sure you can’t stand to be touched?”

He stares at her, uncomprehending, but then her handmoves again, carding through the bristles of his hair and he- his eyes pulsewide, mouth falling slack.

“All wounds can be healed, little one,” she cooes, thesilk of her gloves brushing his temples, smoothing down his neck.

He stares. “But-”

“Your woundscan be healed.”

Obi shakes his head, the whole world trembling beneathhim. “That’s not- it’s not-“

“That doesn’t mean they go away,” she whispers, takinghis hands between hers, thumbs rubbing along the lines of his knuckles. Across the memory of pain. “Woundsscar. Especially ones that have been left to fester. But that doesn’t mean theywill never close. You just have to stop picking at them.”

His mouth opens and shut, unsure of how to work. Unsurehow to pass the enormity of what he’s feeling, so he says, “You’re not going todrug me again, are you?”

All at once, she sags, the weight of her palm heavy inhis lap as she slaps the other to her forehead, but his chest- it feels lighter. He thinks he just made her laugh. Hehopes he did.

“That enchantment wasn’t meant for you,” she says, flat.“But the spirits work in mysterious ways.”

His lip twitches. “Is that a no or-”

If he could see her face now, he is certain he would haveearned himself a full glare. It’s a wonder that this knowledge doesn’t terrify him.That he finds himself breathing so easily when it would be nothing for her tostrike him down. “I don’t think either of us would survive that humiliationshould it happen again.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but then he remembers whatit had felt like, waking up on his mistress’s lap, how warm she had been, howsoft and giving, and the exact way that his heart had shattered with the simpleknowledge that he could not bear it.

“Unless you would like more gifts of catnip. I heard that it can be particularly daunting to keep the stockrooms in the pharmacy stocked in the winter. Really, your King should learn how to better manage his roads-“

Flushing, he bites back, “Point taken.”

Humming, she says, “Glad to know we’re on the same page, then.”

He eyes her, words carefully chosen. “It may be one ofthe few places that we are.”

Her hand clasps his, fingers wrapping the back of hishand and she squeezes. Hard. “Come early tonight. To the ritual. I will haveyour brothers show you what should have been yours.”

Before he can answer, he has a face full of dog, it’sgiant paws crawling up his thighs and great pink tongue lapping at his cheek sosuddenly he nearly topples over. It’s the shock of the door banging open thatkeeps him upright, that keeps him from scrambling away from the cumbersome thing,and he turns his head, wide eyed and shocked to find Lady Haki and Lord Makiri staringat him.

The great dumb creature, having done its duty ofembarrassing him further, leaves him, barking twice at the newcomers as ittrots up to the Arleon heirs.

“Ah,” the witch says, clapping her hands together. “Excellenttiming. I was just about to teach your young kitten here the secrets of uswitches. I’m glad you stopped me.”

“We are eager to continue the exchange.” Mistress Haki’sface is cool, composed, but he sees himself reflected in the tail of her gaze,the look she casts over him concerned. “When we heard you came early, it wasdecided that we need not wait.”

“Very good, very good,” The witch hums, a pleased noise,smacking her lap and levering herself up. “No need to waste any more precioustime.”

[ericleo108]

05/26/2023 Click here for Spotify, Apple Music, or Youtube. “John Wick” is my 45th official release. This song is edutainment, or educational entertainment which is music that teaches you. The song is intellectually stimulating but dark and contains an all to common story of what those who are trafficked experience. The song was self-recorded, and mixed and mastered by Keyano. The beat is from Retro Beatz, and the cover art is made by Zain from Fiverr.

This is a remake from ‘The Chalice Mixtape’ I made in 2017. I have more songs from the mixtape and demos from SoundCloud on the way. The theme of ‘The Chalice Mixtape’ was gender equality which human trafficking broadly falls under. We all have that feeling of wanting to stop evildoers but the truth is this the solution is simpler, being as trafficking will probably continue to prosper until we legalize prostitution.

As the song enunciates, pimps entrap girls from a young age and the practice of prostitution is illegal so they can’t get assistance from the state, they’re seen as criminals. Then due to their criminal status they’re not able to get a job and are tapped in a life controlled by a pimp. This means the current law gives power and economic control to usually male abusers in an unregulated market.

Pimping/illegal prostitution is all driven by money. If you take away the money you take away the motivation and agency. This is why I support legal brothels. The current economic model of prostitution depends on pimps that have no competition, don’t pay taxes or payroll, and are violent against women. How is this capitalism? I support legalizing prostitution because its the only way to put human trafficker’s out of business.

Prostitution is natural.   Prostitution is the oldest known profession. When you introduce money to monkeys the rich ones will pay for sex. We are denying people’s humanity by making prostitution illegal. Sex work is work and women deserve to be paid well for their work in a safe environment just like any other worker. In America if you pay for sex, it’s illegal, unless you film it, then it’s porn and legal. If you would like to help victims of human trafficking you can donate to wearethorn.com

You can see me talk about this blog post from last Sunday Update here:

Lyrics:

A threat to justice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere

Ain't shit changed since the days of slavery

Still got the modern-day slave trade functioning every day

Low risk, high profitability 

More slaves today than ever before in history 

Girls get taken, 

Liam Nelson don't save um 

We look to Ashton Kutcher to search for their placement

I'm just telling you cuz I want Thorn paid big

Human trafficking, a fact you see

A tragedy in the vicinity 

Forced prostitution, involuntary servitude

Tell me bought your conscience, and what it really do for you

Millions oppressed

In a life of regret  

Under duress 

Exploited for sex 

Seventy percent women

Most are children 

Man I’d be god damn if I don’t stop the villain

Batman wouldn’t kill, put another murderer in the world 

But forget it I’m a kill 'em, I’d rather save the little girl 

Being a victim is like falling asleep

And having Freddy Krueger stuck in your dreams

I’mma go hard, change the laws, and stop this

Like someone stole my car and killed my dawg, John Wick

Being a victim is like falling asleep

And having Freddy Krueger stuck in your dreams

I’mma go hard, change the laws, and stop this

Like someone stole my car and killed my dawg, John Wick

A daughter at play 

She gets taken away 

Is forced to obey 

Becomes mentally estranged 

While the world ignores this

She gets sexually exploited

Addicted to the endorphins 

She got forced in

Feed drugs so she’s addicted

Does anything for her fix again 

She don’t know who the victim is

Cuz she’s been in it since she’s a kid 

Prey are the vulnerable

Children who run from home 

Kids from foster care

That get lost and no one cares

Needs money to survive 

Trapped in this life 

Coerced for prostitution 

Soon enough, what she do is 

Gets caught, at fault

For breaking the law 

Spends years in a vault

While her pimp gets to walk

Being a victim is like falling asleep

And having Freddy Krueger stuck in your dreams

I’mma go hard, change the laws, and stop this

Like someone stole my car and killed my dawg, John Wick

Being a victim is like falling asleep

And having Freddy Krueger stuck in your dreams

I’mma go hard, change the laws, and stop this

Like someone stole my car and killed my dawg, John Wick

You can get mad at me 

Not understand these things 

But I’m here for you girl we’re family

Thirty three billion in traffic 

Where’s that money from the taxes? 

I’m for legal brothels 

So we protect what we got there

Oldest job in history, it’s called employment 

Look I know your business, I’mma force you to quit

I wonder what would happen 

If we gave Philip Defranco a gat then

Told him in three states it’s legal to track down 

Petafiles, sex offenders, you can kill’um if you act now

I’d be with Phil laughin, admiring his passion 

After we beat them senseless

Tortured their senses 

Broke their mentals 

And cut off their genitals, 

But for real all my real friends kill on the weekend 

Pop a beer, eat the heart out of the deceased then

Hang’um from a tree, peel the skin off, disembowel them 

I’m really thinking of you pimps and how it all will end 

Human skin has the texture of pig flesh 

What you gonna do when I want it from you next 

Who crazy, who knew, I have schizophrenia fool

And I just want you to know that I’m thinking of you 

Being a victim is like falling asleep

And having Freddy Krueger stuck in your dreams

I’mma go hard, change the laws, and stop this

Like someone stole my car and killed my dawg, John Wick

Being a victim is like falling asleep

And having Freddy Krueger stuck in your dreams

I’mma go hard, change the laws, and stop this

Like someone stole my car and killed my dawg, John Wick

[tragicbooks]

'13th' wasn't around to watch in your history class. 13 reasons to watch it now.

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If you see only one Oscar-nominated film this year, make it "13th."

Directed by Ava DuVernay, the stirring documentary explores America's long history of overpolicing and imprisoning black and brown people since the passing of the 13th Amendment. DuVernay sat down with scholars, educators, elected leaders, authors, and activists to tell this troubling but necessary story.

DuVernay (left) interviews scholar and activist Angela Davis for "13th." Image via Netflix.

While these issues are difficult, we need to talk about them and, better yet, do something about them. "13th" truly couldn't have come at a better time.

Here are 13 lessons everyone should learn from this from powerful must-see film.

1. The 13th Amendment had so much promise ... almost.

Section 1 of the 13th Amendment reads:

"Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction."

The clause, "except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted," was included so farmers and landowners could essentially continue a form of slavery to support their businesses — so long as the black men and women were deemed criminals. There's no such thing as a throwaway clause in the Constitution. This is an intentional legal loophole.

A political cartoon from 1865 featuring President Lincoln and an amended U.S. constitution. Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images.

2. The legal loophole in the 13th Amendment led to mass arrests and incarceration during the late 19th century.

It was the United States' first prison boom.

Black people were arrested en masse for petty crimes, like loitering or vagrancy, and incarcerated. Once labeled criminals, landowners and farmers could "lease" convicts from the state in exchange for full control of their lives.

These convicts were leased to harvest timber. Photo circa 1915, via World Digital Library/State Library and Archives of Florida.

3. While black men filled prisons, popular culture stoked fears.

Black men were portrayed in films as menacing, evil, and in relentless pursuit of white women.

In the 1915 film, "Birth of a Nation," which is essentially three hours of racist propaganda masking as a historical film, a white woman throws herself off a rocky cliff to save herself from being assaulted by a black man. Critics raved, drowning out mounting protests.

As a result of the popular film, membership in the Ku Klux Klan boomed.

Still image from "Birth of a Nation," (1915). Image via "Birth of a Nation"/Wikimedia Commons.

4. As the KKK grew, black people were terrorized and murdered.

Lynchings were used to reinforce white supremacy while traumatizing and terrorizing black people. There was a disgusting entertainment aspect to it, as mobs of white people — including elected officials and community leaders — gathered to watch victims get beaten, shot, and tortured. Picture postcards were made of the swinging, mutilated bodies.

More than 4,000 lynchings occurred between 1877 and 1950 across Texas and the American South.

A large crowd watches the lynching of 18-year-old Jesse Washington in Waco, Texas. Photo via Library of Congress.

5. The murder of Emmett Till kickstarted the Civil Rights movement.

14-year-old Emmett Till was brutally beaten and murdered by a group of white men for allegedly whistling at and flirting with a white woman in 1955. (The woman recently admitted she fabricated at least part of her testimony.) Photos from his open casket funeral and the face of Till's weeping mother sent shockwaves around the country, galvanizing black people and their allies in the fight for equality.

6. But then the War on Drugs started an unrelenting wave of mass incarceration.

Crime started to increase in the early 1960s, and many in power quickly blamed the uptick on the end of segregation. Before long, the word "crime" was a stand-in for the word "race."

Nixon appealed to southern Democrats with thinly-veiled racism and promises to clean up the streets. His rhetorical "War on Drugs" became very real in the 1980s under President Reagan, who threw money, resources, and the full weight of the executive branch behind the issue. A wide swath of an entire generation was essentially removed from the narrative.

President Ronald Reagan and his wife Nancy wave to supporters in November 1984. Photo by Don Rypka/AFP/Getty Images.

7. The numbers are astonishing. Full stop.

In 1970, there were 196,429 sentenced prisoners in state and federal prisons. In 1980, there were 329,821 people in state and federal prisons, and by 1990, that number more than doubled to 771,243.

Today, the American criminal justice system holds 2.3 million people. This is not normal. It is not OK.

Data from the Bureau of Justice Statistics; graph via Smallman12q/Wikimedia Commons.

8. Republicans are not solely to blame for this crisis. President Clinton did his part too.

In the wake of President Reagan and President George H.W. Bush, appearing "soft on crime" wasn't an option for President Bill Clinton. In 1994, he signed the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act. It expanded the list of death penalty eligible offenses and included a "three strikes" provision, which meant mandatory life sentences for people convicted of their third felony. It also funded new prisons and provided the budget for 100,000 police officers.

President Bill Clinton. Photo by Paul Richards/AFP/Getty Images.

9. Sadly, there's a lot of money to be made off mass incarceration.

Private correctional facilities made a reported $629 million in profits in 2014, and that's just scratching the surface. From the corporations building and maintaining prison facilities, to the food vendors, health care providers, and equipment and textile manufacturers who keep them running, many companies have a lot to gain from maintaining the status quo.

An inmate stands with handcuffs in San Quentin State Prison. Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

10. As mass incarceration starts to get a bad rap, the winds are shifting — and not necessarily for the better.

As mass incarceration and America's prison problem take center stage, legislators and businesses are looking for new ways to redefine the narrative while still making money. What does that look like? For starters, monetizing bail, probation, parole, and house arrest.

Photo by iStock.

11. We can't forget the people and families caught in the struggle.

In 2010, 16-year-old Kalief Browder was arrested for a robbery he insisted he did not commit. Browder was thrown into an adult correctional facility where he would spend nearly three years awaiting trial and almost two years in solitary confinement. In 2013, the district attorney dismissed the case against Browder, and he went home a free — but forever changed — young man.

After many attempts, Browder died by suicide in May 2015.

Browder's story is far too common. Many poor people, especially poor people of color, are locked up for years either awaiting trial or because they cannot afford bail.

ABC News' Juju Chang, Venida Browder, mother of Kalief Browder, and civil rights attorney Paul V. Prestia discuss Kalief Browder's life and death. Photo by Slaven Vlasic/Getty Images.

12. American prisons are intended to punish, but former felons continue to suffer after they have served their time.

Former felons are stripped of voting rights, have difficulty securing employment, applying for aid, and finding housing.

"Ban the box" campaigns that seek to end asking about felony convictions on job and aid applications are popping up across the country, and for many, these initiatives can't come soon enough.

Outreach materials at a press conference for a Ban the Box Petition Delivery to The White House in 2015. Photo by Larry French/Getty Images for ColorOfChange.org.

13. As President Trump settles into office, many are worried about his next moves — and rightfully so.

He repeatedly refers to parts of Chicago as lawless, dangerous, and worse than parts of the war-torn Middle East. He's threatened the city with federal intervention to get the "carnage" under control. His repeated calls to arrest and deport undocumented immigrants tend to include gross mischaracterizations of immigrants as gang members, rapists, or drug dealers.

His "law and order" catchphrase is the same dog whistle Nixon used to kickstart the War on Drugs. His comments about Chicago and other inner cities are stoking fears and playing to the imaginations of his base, much like the horrifying scenes in "Birth of a Nation."

Photo by Mario Tama/Getty Images.

These facts are alarming, but here's what you can do about it.

Use your privilege for good. Pass the mic to voices that may go unheard. Help others register to vote. Support Ban the Box initiatives and organizations that help people with criminal records land on their feet.

Ask to see the numbers. Plenty of police data is publicly available. Check out the numbers in your community. Look at the demographics of people being stopped, arrested, or convicted. Numbers don't lie. Hold your leaders accountable and make them answer for racial disparities.

Stay active in schools. Overpolicing and the criminalization of black people doesn't begin and end with police officers. Black children are nearly four times as likely to be suspended as white children. Ask tough questions of your child's teachers and administrators. Attend school board meetings.

Photo by iStock.

This is no ordinary crisis and it will require extraordinary solutions.

Watch the film, do your part. Let's get to work.

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