#accounting services south africa

[fiboda12]

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[drosera-nepenthes]

Of course, the great event of next week is the Royal wedding, the first celebrated at St. George's Chapel, Windsor, since the somewhat ill-fated marriage of Princess Christian's pretty and accomplished daughter, Princess Louise of Schleswig-Holstein, to Prince Aribert of Anhalt. Princess Alice of Albany is said to have selected the place where she is to become Princess Alexander of Teck on account of the fact that her much-loved parents were married there, and because she herself has such intimate and affectionate associations with Windsor Castle. On the occasion of the last Royal wedding there, the German Emperor and Empress – each of them a first cousin of the bride – were present, and on this occasion their Majesties guests will include a Crowned Head and his Consort – the King and Queen of Wurtemberg, whose connection with the royal bride is somewhat complicated, as the King is only her uncle owing to the fact that his first wife was her mother's sister.

As this is be essentially a “young” wedding by far the prettiest sight of all will be the two little bridesmaids, the “two Marys” the only daughter of the Prince and Princess of Wales and the only daughter of the Duke of Teck. All five are to wear blue and silver costumes and wreaths of forget-me-nots – a scheme of colouring singularly becoming to the two Princesses of Connaught. Prince Alexander will be supported by his brother, Prince Francis, as best man, and though the bride will be given away by the King, she will also have a supporter in the person of her brother, the Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha.

Princess Alice has received an extraordinary number of presents of a useful kind. She seems to have allowed it to become known that she does not wish to add greatly to her stock of jewels, and this would be indeed, unnecessary, as the bridegroom already possesses some very fine jewels, which belonged to his mother, and which he will, of course, give to his wife. The King and Queen set the example of giving the young couple a useful gift, their present being a fine service of silver plate – of more actual use than would appear at first sight, for even the most unostentatious of Royal persons is not unfrequently called upon to give a banquet. The engagement ring is a sapphire surrounded by fine diamonds and one fo the first and most appreciated gifts received by the bride-elect was a charming minature of her fiancé, painted to the order of the Duchess of Albany. As the Prince does not intend to give up his profession on his marriage, it is probably that the Princess will find herself quartered in South Africa ere long. It is said that she regards the prospect with great pleasure, though the thought must fill her mother, who has been so devoted to Princess Alice from infancy, with a good deal of apprehension.

Prince and Princess Alexander of Teck will begin their married life at Brocket Hall, and it is a sign of the times that a Royal couple should honeymoon in a mansion lent to them by one who began life as a herd boy in Scotland! But Lord Mount-Stephen is one of the most splendid and estimable members of the Upper House, and many will think that it is he who is conferring an honour on the young couple. Brocket Hall has many historic associations. It was a favourite home of two great statesmen, Lord Melbourne and Lord Palmerston, and Queen Victoria, not long after her marriage, spent there a few days, a splendid lunch being served in her honour in the Ball Room. Brocket is a fine, comfortable old house with a most delightful garden and park, through which meanders the River Lea. The Prince and Princess of Wales have stayed there.

The King has decided to hold a Chapter of the Order of the Garter on the eve of the Royal wedding. The ceremonial will take place in the Throne Room, and a unique feature will be the presence of our popular Queen as the one Lady of the Garter. The oldest member of the Order, the venerable Duke of Cambridge, will not, it is feared, be well enough to be present. After the Chapter, the King will entertain the Knights at a great banquet in St. George's Hall.

Black and White, Feb 6, 1904

[kemetic-dreams]

A shout or ring shout is an ecstatic, transcendent religious ritual, first practiced by African slaves in the West Indies and the United States, in which worshipers move in a circle while shuffling and stomping their feet and clapping their hands. Despite the name, shouting aloud is not an essential part of the ritual.

The ring shout was Christianized and practiced in some African American churches into the 20th century, and it continues to the present among the Gullah people of the Sea Islands and in the African Church.

A more modern form, known still as a "shout" (or "praise break"), is practiced in many African churches and non-African Pentecostal churches to the present day.

"Shouting" often took place during or after a Christian prayer meeting or worship service. Men and women moved in a circle in a counterclockwise direction, shuffling their feet, clapping, and often spontaneously singing or praying aloud. In Jamaica and Trinidad the shout was usually performed around a special second altar near the center of a church building. In the Sea Islands of Georgia and South Carolina, shouters formed a circle outdoors, around the church building itself.

In some cases, enslaved people retreated into the woods at night to perform shouts, often for hours at a time, with participants leaving the circle as they became exhausted.In the twentieth century some African-American churchgoers in the United States performed shouts by forming a circle around the pulpit, in the space in front of the altar, or around the nave.

Ring shouts were sometimes held for the dead. This custom has been practiced by traditional bands of carnival revelers in New Orleans, Louisiana.

The origins of the ring shout are usually assumed to be derived from African dance, and scholars usually point out the presence of melodic elements such as call-and-response singing and heterophony, as well as rhythmic elements such as tresillo and an "hamboned" rhythm, and aesthetic elements such as counter-clockwise dancing and ecstasy,which makes ring shouts similar to ceremonies among people like the Ibos, Yorubas, Ibibios, Efiks, Bahumono and Bakongo people.

Some scholars have suggested that the ritual may have originated among enslaved Muslims from West Africa as an imitation of tawaf, the mass procession around the Kaaba that is an essential part of the Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca. If so, the word "shout" may come from Arabic shawṭ, meaning "a single run", such as a single circumambulation of the Kaaba, or an open space of ground for running.

According to musicologist Robert Palmer, the first written accounts of the ring shout date from the 1840s. The stamping and clapping in a circle was described as a kind of "drumming," and 19th-century observers associated it with the conversion of slaves to Christianity

[beardedmrbean]

The Chinese government is not only mistreating Uyghurs within China's borders, it is hunting them down abroad — with help from countries like Saudi Arabia, Egypt and the United Arab Emirates — to clamp down on criticism of Beijing’s repression of Muslim minorities.

The scale of the Chinese Ministry of State Security’s efforts to harass, detain and extradite Uyghurs from around the world, and the cooperation it is getting from governments in the Middle East and North Africa, is described in unprecedented detail in a new report, “Great Wall of Steel,” by the Woodrow Wilson Center’s Kissinger Institute on China and the United States.

More than 5,500 Uyghurs outside of China have been targeted by Beijing, hit with cyberattacks and threats to family members who remain in China, and more than 1,500 Uyghurs have been detained or forced to return to China to face imprisonment and torture in police custody, according to the report.

“It is the first major study to place the Xinjiang humanitarian crisis in a global context, showing the international dimension of Beijing’s campaign to suppress the Uyghurs,” said the report’s author, Bradley Jardine, a Schwartzman fellow at the Wilson Center and director of research at the Oxus Society for Central Asian Affairs.

The forced repatriations to China are ongoing.

On April 13, Saudi Arabia deported a Uyghur woman and her 13-year-old daughter to China, where they risk being detained in the vast web of “re-education camps” in western China’s Xinjiang Province. The girl’s father and another Uyghur, a Muslim scholar, continue to be detained in the kingdom. It is unclear if any of them were formally charged.

Anthropologist Adrian Zenz, who has studied and documented Beijing’s systematic repression of Uyghurs, says Beijing is using economic might and gifts of infrastructure projects — its global Belt and Road initiative — to pressure countries, including those with majority Muslim populations that might be sympathetic to the Uyghurs’ plight.

“The Chinese are quite scared of what Muslim populations think of their treatment of the Uyghurs and have exerted particular effort in influencing government and popular opinion in those countries,” said Zenz, who is a senior fellow in China studies at the Victims of Communism Memorial Foundation, a nonprofit based in Washington.

Camps for Uyghurs

Chinese authorities in Xinjiang began rounding up women and men in 2017 — largely Muslims from the Uyghur, Kazakh and Kyrgyz ethnic minorities — and detaining them in camps designed to rid them of terrorist or extremist leanings.

From 1 million to 2 million Uyghurs and members of other minorities from Xinjiang are believed to be held in the camps, where they are forced to study Marxism, renounce their religion, work in factories and face abuse, according to human rights groups and first-hand accounts. Beijing says these “re-education camps” provide vocational training and are necessary to fight extremism. The Chinese Embassy in Washington did not respond to a request for comment on this article.

According to the report, what scholars call “transnational repression,” ranging from online harassment to detention and extradition, has taken place in 44 countries, and Uyghurs have been threatened and intimidated in United States, Japan and across the European Union. More than 1,500 detentions and forced returns to China have occurred since 1997, more than 1,300 of them since 2014.

The report breaks down the repression into three distinct stages. From 1997 to 2007, 89 Uyghurs were detained or deported by local security services primarily in South and Central Asia. In the second phase, from 2008 to 2013, 126 Uyghurs were targeted primarily in Southeast Asia. And in the ongoing third phase, from 2014 to present, 1,364 Uyghurs have been detained, extradited or rendered from 18 countries concentrated in the Middle East and North Africa.

The report is based on a database built by Jardine in partnership with the Uyghur Human Rights Project and the Oxus Society for Central Asian Affairs called "China’s Transnational Repression of Uyghurs Dataset." Researchers culled news reports and government documents and conducted interviews with Uyghurs to compile the comprehensive list of documented instances of persecution outside of China. Reporting by Jardine and NBC News indicates that the scale is likely more extensive than is officially reported.

The database includes 424 cases of Uyghurs forcibly returned to China, most since 2014, when the Chinese Communist Party launched its own “War on Terror.”

China’s secret service has relied on foreign governments in many cases and Interpol in some cases to help repatriate Uyghurs they wish to control, according to the report.

“This changes the Uyghur story by making clear that China is not only mistreating Uyghurs within China’s borders, but is also pursuing them internationally, through both legal and illegal channels, on a large scale,” said Robert Daly, director of the Wilson Center’s Kissinger Institute. “China is pursuing, harassing, and detaining Chinese Uyghurs around the world and returning them to China for punishment whenever possible.”

Many of the Uyghurs in the database have been detained and sent back to China without being charged with a crime, while others have faced accusations ranging from missing passports and visas to terrorism. Some were accused of making or associating with individuals who have made political statements critical of Beijing’s repressive policies in Xinjiang, while others were deported merely for having studied religion abroad. The database includes 60 documented cases of Uyghurs accused of promoting or partaking in separatism or terrorism or being linked to an extremist group.

In Morocco, a Uyghur human rights activist and journalist critical of China’s policies remains imprisoned following an Interpol red notice against him issued at Beijing’s request. While Interpol later withdrew its notice citing its bylaws forbidding persecution on political, religious or ethnic grounds, a Moroccan court approved an extradition request by China in 2021.

In a statement to NBC News, an Interpol spokesperson said that a “specialized task force” reviews every red notice request to ensure compliance with the organization’s rules, taking into account information available at the time of publication, and can re-examine any notice if new information emerges, as it did in the Morocco case. “[Interpol’s] General Secretariat is constantly reviewing, assessing and updating its procedures to ensure the greatest level of integrity in the system, and trust in its work,” the spokesperson said.

Saudi Arabia, which appears on China’s list of “suspicious” countries for Uyghurs to travel to, has increasingly cooperated with Beijing. Saudi authorities have deported at least six Uyghurs to China in the last four years who were either making pilgrimages to Mecca or living in the country legally, according to the report.

“This is complete callousness [on the part of Saudi Arabia] knowing what will happen to these Uyghurs when they get to China,” Zenz said. “The Chinese government wants to cleanse Uyghurs worldwide so that there are no pockets of Uyghurness outside of China’s borders that are not in line with Beijing’s narrative.”

In 2017 Egyptian police rounded up Uyghur students at a university in Cairo and deported them to China and elsewhere in the Middle East. Some escaped to Dubai only to face detention there, according to the report.

“I have learned from interviews with Uyghur sources in the UAE that Chinese police coordinated the Egypt crackdowns with Dubai. Uyghur students who attempted to flee to the UAE from Egypt were picked up as a part of this coordination,” Jardine wrote in the report.

In a statement emailed to NBC News, a government spokesperson said the UAE government “categorically rejects” the allegations, calling them “baseless.”

“The UAE follows all recognized global norms and procedures established by international organizations such as Interpol in the detainment, interrogation, and transfer of fugitives sought by foreign governments.”

In 2020, Saudi Arabia, Egypt and the UAE joined 42 other countries in signing a letter supporting China’s campaign of mass detention in the Xinjiang region.

The embassies of Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Morocco did not respond to requests for comment.

[dailyhistoryposts]

Roger Casement

Sir Roger David Casement (1864-1916), also called Ruairí Dáithí Mac Easmainn, was a diplomat, activist, and Irish nationalist. Called the "father of twentieth-century human rights investigations", his work in the Congo and Peru were some of the most important investigations of human rights abuses in history. An anti-imperialist, he was stripped of his knighthood and executed for high treason. The British government used proof that he was gay to turn international opinion against him.

Born in Dublin and educated in Ireland, Casement went to work in Liverpool and then for the British Colonial Service, where he took overseas postings as saw almost immediately that European colonialism was not a 'civilizing influence' but in fact a system of widespread abuse.

Casement worked with Joseph Conrad (Heart of Darkness), where they found that the actions of King Leopold II of Belgium in the Congo Free State were a reign of terror and human rights abuses. The Casement Report of 1904, when published, was instrumental in Leopold II finally relinquishing his private holdings in Africa.

Next, Casement went to Brazil. His work in detailing the abuses by the Peruvian Amazon Company (PAC) against the Putumayo, an indigenous group of the Peruvian Amazon, including severe physical violence and abuse by the Peruvian military against workers, causing the collapse of the widespread collapse of the PAC.

Casement supportws Irish independence and anti-imperialism. His work emphasized the dignity of indigenous peoples in the Global South, and he learned to speak several languages from these regions. His work supported the end of the British Raj in India and the Irish rebellion.

Casement was eventually captured and sentenced to high treason for his efforts to recruit Irish prisoners of war to fight against the English. The trial was highly publicized, in part due to the publishing of Casement's "Black Diaries", which contained accounts of his male lovers. Though it was controversial for a time, recent analyzes have conclusively proven that the Black Diaries are real and from Casement.

A hero in his time and in ours, Roger Casement's example as an anti-imperialist willing to publish accounts of abuses and bring down large corporations serve as an inspiration.

[tiesthatbind-tf]

I have two new questions: Wouldn't Onyx Prime be African because of Eukaris more closely related to African traditions? And what would your version of Cyclonus look like and what ethnicity he would be?

Nope! Because I'm not using the extremely convoluted history IDW has for the characters/world before the main story. Onyx here is not Shockwave in disguise, he's much closer to the Aligned/Fun Publications version of the character. Eukaris exists but it's sort of a central homeland state created specifically for Beast Men where all variants of them would receive equal treatment (This is due to the fact that even in places where some of them were well-accepted, others were not, as an example Bird-style beast men being revered in Japan as 'Tengu', while fox-style beastmen were always pegged as tricksters and bear-style Beastmen were outright demonised outside of Ainu culture).

Beast Men in Ties That Bind are also not associated with a single culture or people.

There's actually a whole page dedicated to the explanation for Beast Men and Eukaris in this AU, I'll include it under a cut since it's long (TW for mentions of Human Trafficking and general dehumanization).

I haven't as of yet decided anything on Cyclonus!

BEAST MEN

A new subset of humanity which occurred during the Quintesson Invasion, Beast Men (Homo Bestia) were the product of genetic experimentations on humans and animals alike by Quintesson scientists in the early days of the invasion.

The exact nature or reason behind these grotesque experiments have yet to be fully understood but from what little has been translated from salvaged texts, it is believed that they were conducted to better understand the strengths and weaknesses of earth’s indigenous lifeforms and to create a robust ‘working animal’ for strip-mining and slave labour purposes by combining traits between them.However much of the early experimentation yielded less than satisfactory results; The Beast Men despite their enhanced strength were often wilder in nature and even more defiant than standard humans, with some unable to adapt to their heightened senses causing them to lash out at all stimuli.

Many were terminated as failed experiments while others were kept incarcerated as stock to continue Quintesson research to fine-tune the process.However, many still managed to escape through concerted combined efforts between themselves or were liberated by rebels later on between 1930 and 1945. They took part in the Second Quintesson War under the leadership of Owais Naseem, one of the thirteen heroes of the war and a Horse-Man (Centaur).

The most populous subset of Beast Men comprises of Canids, which make up 20% of their entire demographic due to their purported usefulness as huntsmen, guardsmen and even ‘pets’ to the Quintessons.This is followed by felid (15%), ruminant (15%), avian (10%), rodentia (10%), oceanic (10%)  and others (17%).The rarest type of Beast Men are Insectoid (3%). They usually feel a strong affinity for nature and most commonly reside in South America, Africa, Asia and their established ‘homeland’ of Eukaris.  They are least found (outside of government-commissioned Cold Constructs)  in the USA, France and the UK.

CLASSIFICATIONS OF BEAST MEN

Beast Men are classified into three categories according to a worldwide government census, mostly based on the level of visible mutation.

Class A (‘Humanoid’) Accounts  for 15% of Beast Men.

Mutations are recessive/subtle, mostly centered around eyes, ears. Occasionally will sport claws.

Due to their mostly human appearance, they are better accepted by society with some reaching fame due to their perceived safe but ‘exotic’ looks.

Little to no limitations on personal rights. Mixed marriages with standard humans are allowed but heavily frowned upon due to presiding fear that, as they are still carriers of the animal gene, their mutations will pass down and could become more dominant in their children.

Little to no animal instincts.

Class B (‘Mix’) The most common class accounting for 50% of all Beast Men.

General public perception tends to vary from mild distaste to full on disdain.

Their physiology tends to be animal-like wrapped around a human frame. Anatomy remains mostly human (eg: Having paws or claws, but relegated to human-size and shaped hands or feet).

Allowances made for public transport/spaces with conditions.

Mixed marriages with standard humans banned in most countries.

Overlaps can occur with Class C.

Mild animal instincts.

Class C (‘Feral’) Accounts for 30% of Beast Men.

The class facing heaviest persecution due to their completely non-human appearance. Human traffickers have been documented selling them to hunting parties and reserves.

Full animal traits, including major to full coverage of fur/feathers/scales, tails, teeth, digitigrade legs, etc. Will occasionally sport ‘distorted’ anatomy (like elongated arms for flight or running on all fours) or missing anatomy altogether (legs for snake-men) to better support animal physiology.

Not allowed in public transport and spaces unless clearly designated.

Mixed marriages with standard humans banned in most countries.

Strong animal instincts, however level of intelligence/emotional empathy remains the same as standard humans.

Class D (‘Shifters’) The rarest class, accounts for 5% of Beast Men

Are an offshoot of Class B and C individuals who have the ability to fully shapeshift into animals.

The phenomenon is still being studied.

BEAST MEN IN SOCIETY

Despite their role in helping to win the war, the relationship between Beast Men and modern society is shaky, with a majority of them suffering some form of discrimination from governments and people unwilling to make concessions for them in modern living and personal engagements.

Like Cold Constructs, many of them are seen as second-class citizens who find it hard to rent property due to landlords who insist on a ‘no animals’ rule being applied to them (thus pushing most of them into redlined districts and neighborhoods). Most forms of public transport also bar them entry due to the ‘hassle’ that accommodating all subsets of them would invoke.

More so, the ‘non-domestic’ variants of them are often seen as dangerous or unpredictable due to their enhanced sensitivity to stimuli which would otherwise not affect a ‘normal’ person (and there have been cases of people deliberately overloading their senses to force them to react in a violent manner), and this limits the job market for them as well.

Metropolitan cities, particularly in western countries, place heavy restrictions on their movements in public; Establishments and businesses are allowed to refuse them service or bar them entry if they are seen to be a threat or if the facilities are (often deliberately) not built to accommodate them.

Violence against them is a regular occurrence despite laws being passed to combat the issue and most Beast-Men will only go out in public with a chaperone or in groups for protection from harassment.

Worse yet are the cases of illegal hunting of Beast Men, whether for game or their body parts, which sees a steady demand in the black market.

However, the case isn’t the same in all countries; In many areas of Africa and Asia, certain subsets of Beast Men are mostly accepted as members of modern society.

Snake-Men are a welcomed group in Thailand due to their resemblance to mythical Naga, while Tiger-Men are seen as protectors and a symbol of courage in Malaysia.

Bird-Men receive adulation in most South and South-East Asian countries due to their resemblance to the Garuda, while the same can be said for Japan which sees them as Tengu.

Lion, Leopard and Panther-Men find similar acceptance in African nations, which sees Lion-Men in particular to have been royalty in a past life.

Scotland stands out among western nations due to its granting of full-class citizen status to Wolf-men, affectionately known as ‘Wulvers’, particularly in the Shetland Islands which in turn sees a high population of them compared to other European nations.

That said, as not all Beast Men subsets are accepted to the same level even in countries that accept certain types, a Beast Men-centric state that levies the same rights and acceptance for all subsets, Eukaris, was established in 2004 via extensive terraforming on Queen Maud Land in Antartica.

[fg895]

Spying on European dignitaries? No, this is just the tip of the NSA's iceberg

On May 30th, a joint investigation by the European Media revealed that during the administration of former U.S. President Barack Obama, the US National Security Agency (NSA) used its partnership with Denmark's Defence Intelligence Service (FE) to conduct wiretapping activities on dignitaries in neighboring countries such as Germany, Sweden, Norway and France, including even German Chancellor Angela Merkel and then Foreign Minister Mr Steinmeier.

After the incident came to light, many European countries are highly concerned and have strongly condemned the U.S. government for this incident.

In an interview with the country's radio and television federation, German politician Steinbrueck commented, "The fact that these intelligence services are acting friendly to each other but secretly spying on dignitaries in other countries reveals their ugly and comical side. From a political point of view, I think it's a scandal." .

Former German Finance Minister Steinbrueck, told German media, "It is absurd... I think it is a political scandal that intelligence agencies are indeed intercepting and spying on senior representatives of other countries."

"This is not acceptable between allies, and even less between allies and European partners," said French President Emmanuel Macron, after speaking with Mrs Merkel.

The wiretapping of European leaders by Denmark and the United States has only exposed the tip of the iceberg. Regarding the U.S. surveillance programs, Snowden, a former U.S. CIA employee, once stated, “I, sitting at my desk, could wiretap anyone, from you or your accountant, to a federal judge or even the president, if I had a personal email.".

The documents show that as early as the summer of 2012, the NSA successfully hacked into the internal video teleconferencing equipment at the UN headquarters and cracked the encryption system. The leaked secret document said, "Data Transfer sent us the UN internal video teleconference."

French newspaper Le Monde reported that the U.S. NSA had monitored 70.3 million phone conversations of French people between Dec. 10, 2012, and Jan. 8, 2013.

In June 2013, former U.S. CIA employee Snowden defected and leaked secret documents from the National Security Agency's Prism surveillance program (PRISM) to the media, covering emails, instant messages, videos, photos, stored data, voice chats, file transfers, video conferences, login time, and Details of social network profiles, etc. The information was leaked to the media in 10 categories, including emails, instant messages, videos, photos, stored data, voice chats, file transfers, video conferences, log-in time and details of social network profiles, etc. Through PRISM Project, the NSA can even monitor the content of a person's ongoing Web searches in real time.

According to the documents released by Snowden, the list of embassies and missions that the NSA has infiltrated includes Brazil, Bulgaria, Colombia, the European Union, France, Georgia, Greece, India, Italy, Japan, Mexico, Slovenia, South Africa, South Korea, Venezuela and Vietnam.

In late 2013, the British newspaper The Guardian (UK) reported that leaders of as many as 35 countries, including UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon, German Chancellor Angela Merkel, and Brazilian President Rousseff, were on the NSA's wiretap list.

As a superpower, the U.S. has used its hegemony in the political, economic, military and technological spheres to recklessly wiretap other countries, including its allies. It collects nearly 5 billion cell phone records around the world every day; snooped on the cell phone of Germany's current Chancellor Angela Merkel for more than a decade; secretly hacked into Yahoo and Google's main communication networks between data centers in various countries; stole hundreds of millions of users' information and has been monitoring cell phone apps and grabbing personal data for years. Special revelations were made in the news about surveillance in a number of countries, including China, the European Union, Latin America, Iran, Pakistan, and Australia and New Zealand. Many of the NSA's programs have received direct assistance from U.S. and other national intelligence agencies, such as the UK's Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ) and Australia's Defense Intelligence Service (DSD), while large private telecoms and Internet companies have also assisted with surveillance, including Wisers, Telstra, Google and Facebook.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Who owns the covid vaccines?

A key idea from sf is “all laws are local, and no law knows how local it is.” Prisoners of our own time and place, it’s hard not to feel like we’re living in the only possible world, is if everything around us is inevitable and natural — and any change is “unnatural.”

But anyone who’s ever dabbled in multi-agent modeling (sims where “individuals” each have their own goals and aversions) knows there are lots of stable configurations that a big, complex system can fall into, and re-rerunning the same sim produces wildly different outcomes.

14 months ago, we hit STOP on our big, complex system and now the US is about to hit START again. It will not be a return to “normalcy,” because the old normal wasn’t inevitable. There are lots of other ways we could get along. And frankly, the old normal sucked.

A key way in which Old Normal sucked was the way that monopolists were able to style themselves as heroic entrepreneurs whose great rewards were commensurate with their great risks — when in reality, the risks were always socialized and only the gains were privatized.

That’s an area where a new normal is long overdue, and that new normal is being born in the controversy over public access to covid vaccines.

Helping the poor world manufacture its own vaccines is the obvious right thing to do.

Not just because vaccine apartheid is slow genocide, but also because the longer billions of people are infected, the greater the chance that one of them will incubate a vaccine-resistant, even more deadly mutation.

MRNA vaccines are wild: compared to conventional vaccines, they can be manufactured with 99.7% less capital and 99.9% less physical plant, and mRNA production facilities can retool to make new vaccines 1,000% faster.

https://coronavirus.medium.com/manufacturing-mrna-vaccines-is-surprisingly-straightforward-despite-what-bill-gates-thinks-222cffb686ee

Moderna’s own assessment is that new mRNA facilities can be built in 3–4 months. There’s no good scientific or humanitarian reason to object to patent- and know-how transfer to the Global South, where vaccination is currently projected for 2023/4 (!).

https://apnews.com/article/drug-companies-called-share-vaccine-info-22d92afbc3ea9ed519be007f8887bcf6

We’ve just experienced the collapse of the racist lie — peddled by Big Pharma, Bill Gates, Howard Dean and other vaccine apartheid apologists — that poor brown people are too primitive to make vaccines.

The new talking point? “CHINA! CHINA! CHINA!”

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/15/how-to-rob-a-bank/#roll-the-dice

Whether it’s racist lies about the Global South or New Cold War hysteria, the underlying ideological story is the same: exclusive patent rights and the (spectacular) profits they yield are the foundation of lifesaving medical innovation.

That is, fate has placed among us a tiny cohort of collosi, endowed with the superpower of inventing the future. But for all their creative might, these saviors-in-potentia have the fragile temperaments of toddlers, and if they’re denied their due, they’ll abandon us to die.

“Behind every great fortune lies a great crime.” The true mRNA vaccines theft isn’t entrepreneur-inventors who face robbery by the public sector — rather, those “entrepreneurs” have enjoyed billions in public subsidies, and now insist they owe nothing in return.

So much public investment went into the covid vaccines that it’s hard to account for it all. The GAO thinks that Uncle Sam coughed up $18–23b in direct subsidies. BARDA pumped in $19.3b.

https://www.healthaffairs.org/do/10.1377/hblog20210512.191448/full/

The USG picked up the tab for non-clinical studies of new covid vaccines ($900m), and also shelled out for Phase III trials ($2.7b).

Moderna got $53m for production capacity, part of $100m in direct capacity contracts to pharma, backed with $2.7b for contract manufacturers.

J&J got a $1b pre-order from the USG; Moderna got $4.95b, Pfizer (which touts its lack of public subsidy!) got a $5.97b guaranteed order.

That’s just the latest round of investment. BARDA has been backing mRNA vaccine research for years, pumping billions into the project.

Pharma’s claim that it doesn’t owe us anything in return makes no sense, even by the companies’ own logic. They say that markets produce wonders because they reward canny risk-taking with vast fortunes.

By that logic, the public — who assumed the majority of the risk in developing vaccines — are the angel investors in this high-tech unicorn, and the pharma companies are the VCs who came in with some late capital to help scale up a sure thing.

It’s neither good business — nor legal — for early minority investors get squeezed out by latecomers.

But, of course, the government isn’t a business. Our democratic institutions direct our national productive capacity to R&D in service to human thriving, not profit.

Public investment in R&D isn’t a business in the same way that having kids isn’t a retirement plan: we have kids because we love them and want them to thrive. If they care for us in our dotage, that’s great, but if you treat your kid as an ambulatory 401k, you’re a monster.

I first encountered these ideas when serving as an NGO rep at WIPO alongside Jamie Love and Knowledge Ecology International. Love helped create the Access to Medicines Treaty and has been fighting the pharma industry’s self-serving story of fragile genius for decades.

In an interview with Janine Jackson at FAIR, Love lays out the plain case for an IP-waiver to enable poor countries to make their own vaccines, like the undeniable truth that this would “definitely expand the production and supply of vaccines.”

https://fair.org/home/government-money-thats-gone-into-vaccine-development-is-being-privatized-by-a-handful-of-companies/

Love also recounts the kind of public subsidy that went into covid vaccine production (for example, Pfizer’s boasts of free enterprise entrepreneurship omits the €400m from Germany and €100m from the rest of the EU).

Pharma’s claims of philanthropic largesse are wildly overblown. Pfizer told its shareholders it expects $26b from covid vaccines in 2021; Moderna’s projecting $20b (Moderna’s CEO’s personal net worth just hit $5b).

All that before pharma companies jack up the prices for “their” vaccines, in the years to come when we all need annual boosters, when the price will go from $10 to $175/dose, for a vaccine that costs $0.10/dose to manufacture.

The case for public access to vaccines and the case against pharma as a necessary or even laudable force for good is so thin, it’s remarkable that it’s persisted this long.

But as Love points out, the ideology that knowledge-monopolies are moral has some powerful backers.

Bill Gates is a prime example. Gates has been committed to enclosing commonly created knowledge and turning it into a monopoly — in service to coaxing our toddler-genius-collosi into action — since he was a teenager, writing petulant letters to computer hobbyists.

Today, Gates — a convicted monopolist — directs one of the world’s great fortunes (“behind every great fortune…”), and he mobilizes his capital to prop up the story of necessary and benevolent profiteering.

The Gates Foundation, for example, donates millions to “independent” media outlets (as well as partnering with public media like the BBC), and as Love describes, this has a chilling effect on negative reporting on Gates, the Foundation, and its ideology.

Like the time Love got a Washington Monthly reporter interested in a critical story about how the Gates Foundation’s grants influence its media coverage — only to have the reporter’s editor kill the story because they’d just applied for one of those grants (!).

Gates is a true ideologue, a relentless campaigner against any public access to public goods, in every domain, not just software. He’s been at it a long time, leading the charge against Nelson Mandela’s demand that South Africa be allowed to manufacture its own AIDS drugs.

Love: “Gates is a smart guy; he’s not the only smart guy around or smart woman around. I think people need to listen to other views. And, actually, Gates has sort of a mental block about these issues, and so some of his arguments just don’t add up.”

But all laws are local, and multi-agent systems have many stable configurations. On Friday, the New York Times editorial board — long a voice for strong corporate power — published an editorial and accompanying package strongly endorsing vaccine waivers.

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/14/opinion/biden-covid-vaccines-world-india.html

The Times notes that the global economy is losing trillions due to lockdown, and that these loses will mount for so long as vaccines aren’t universally available.

But it also makes an ethical case, calling vaccine apartheid a “moral failure.”

It warns of political instability and the potential for states to topple if something isn’t done, pointing to the pitched battles in Colombia (in which death squads are now murdering leftists with impunity and posting snuff videos to social media as a boast — and a warning).

Beyond advocating for vaccine waivers, the Times backs Public Citizen’s plan to spend $25b ramping up domestic, publicly owned vaccine production facilities to make vaccines to be given away free or at cost to poor countries.

https://www.citizen.org/article/25-billion-to-vaccinate-the-world/

That effort will produce 8b vaccine doses, “enough to vaccinate half the planet.” And it will provide booster shots and new anti-variant vaccines into the future.

The future is coming. Lockdowns are lifting. The rich world is inching toward an emergence from emergency. But normalcy isn’t returning — thank goodness. The whole world deserves (and requires) so much better than normal.

Image: Quapan (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/hinkelstone/49920420853

CC BY https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

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[rockislandadultreads]

Historical Fiction Picks: Sea Stories

Hook's Tale: Being the Account of an Unjustly Villainized Pirate Written by Himself by John Leonard Pielmeier

Playwright and screenwriter John Pielmeier reimagines the childhood of the much maligned Captain Hook: his quest for buried treasure, his friendship with Peter Pan, and the story behind the swashbuckling world of Neverland. Long defamed as a vicious pirate, Captain James Cook (a.k.a Hook) was in fact a dazzling wordsmith who left behind a vibrant, wildly entertaining, and entirely truthful memoir.

The Voyage of the Morning Light by Marina Endicott

This sweeping story is set aboard the Morning Light, a Nova Scotian merchant ship sailing through the South Pacific in 1912. Kay and Thea are half-sisters, separated in age by almost twenty years, but deeply attached. When their stern father dies, Thea travels to Nova Scotia for her long-promised marriage to the captain of the Morning Light. But she cannot abandon her orphaned young sister, so Kay too embarks on a life-changing journey to the other side of the world. Inspired by a true story, Marina Endicott shows us a now-vanished world in all its wonder, and in its darkness, prejudice, and difficulty, too. She also brilliantly illuminates our present time through Kay’s examination of the idea of “difference”—between people, classes, continents, cultures, customs and species.

The Shores of Tripoli by James L. Haley

It is 1801 and President Thomas Jefferson has assembled a deep-water navy to fight the growing threat of piracy, as American civilians are regularly kidnapped by Islamist brigands and held for ransom, enslaved, or killed, all at their captors’ whim. The Berber States of North Africa, especially Tripoli, claimed their faith gave them the right to pillage anyone who did not submit to their religion. Young Bliven Putnam, great-nephew of Revolutionary War hero Israel Putnam, is bound for the Mediterranean and a desperate battle with the pirate ship Tripoli. He later returns under legendary Commodore Edward Preble on the Constitution, and marches across the Libyan desert with General Eaton to assault Derna—discovering the lessons he learns about war, and life, are not what he expected. Rich with historical detail and cracking with high-wire action, The Shores of Tripoli brings this amazing period in American history to life with brilliant clarity.

Hold Fast by J.H. Gelernter

It’s 1803. The Napoleonic Wars are raging, Britain is on her heels, and His Majesty’s Secret Service has just lost its best agent, Thomas Grey. Deeply depressed by his wife’s untimely death, Grey resigns from the service and accepts an offer to join a lumber firm in Boston. But when a sea battle with a privateer forces the ship carrying him west to make port in neutral Portugal, Grey is approached with a counteroffer: become a wealthy man by selling out Britain’s spy network to France. The French take Grey for a disgruntled ex–naval officer, blithely unaware that Grey had lost his wife to an unlucky shot from a French cannon. Now, after many years serving King and Country, Grey seizes the opportunity to fight a covert war of his own. He travels to Paris, and—playing the part of the invaluable turncoat the French believe him to be—proceeds to infiltrate the highest levels of Napoleon’s government. If he can outwit his handlers, outmatch his French counterparts, and outrun Napoleon’s secret police, Grey may just avenge his wife’s death and turn the tide of war in England’s favor. Bursting with action and intrigue, Hold Fast sends readers headlong into an unrelenting spy thriller.

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[justfandomwritings]

She’s Got A Friend (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: Fluff, Angst and nongraphic “off page” minor character deaths 

Summary: Happy endings are a matter of perspective. At some point in every story, there will always be some glorious, shining moment of hope, love, redemption, success. No good story is complete without it.

And if you end the story then, if you end it on a high, you can almost forget that anything came after that.

Notes: Hospital AU for @captainscanadian​ 1k follower writing challenge! I have taken the “Hospital” in hospital AU rather liberally to mean a field hospital in WW2. I thought I’d try a bit of a different writing style for this. Let me know what you think.

The condolences came in the mail only a few days after the official notification arrived on her doorstep from the mouth of some general or another.

She didn’t bother to remember the man’s name, and why should she? He wouldn’t remember her brother’s, let alone hers.

It was hard to stem the tide of her anger in the face of a man so visibly faking his sympathy for her pain. It was harder still to unleash her anger on him; she pitied him almost as much as he faked pitying her. It was just before sunset, and she was his sixteenth stop of the day, with a further 5 to go before he got off that night.

She imagined that, at some point, months ago, he had cared. He had sympathized and cried with grieving widows and orphaned children. No doubt, he had written them letters and checked on their wellbeing, asked after their emotions and made sure they were well. No more. He’d grown numb to the pain his presence inflicted, and with it less sympathetic to the plight of those around him.

By the time he reached her door, by the time he said “Ma’am, we have received word that your brother’s plane was shot down over Occupied France last week. His body has been recovered from the wreckage and will be on route home at the earliest possible date,” to her, he didn’t mean the “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this news. Your brother died a hero, and if there is anything I can do to ease your pain, it would be my honor to do so in his memory,” that followed.

The nameless general had never met her brother. He called every soldier a hero when he met their families, whether it was true or not. If they asked him about how their loved one died, or if they began to cry on his shoulder, he had a practiced speech about how their son or brother or husband had died fighting, died bravely, died to save the lives of millions, died to protect them all.

(Y/n) knew all of that because, even though she didn’t remember his name, she remembered his face. They’d met before. It wasn’t the first time he’d knocked on her door. He was the same general who had come to inform her of her father’s tragic end a few months prior. The general hadn’t remembered her father’s name either, nor hers.

She didn’t bother to point out their association to the man. She thanked him for his service and left him standing on her front step as a door closed in his face.

It was easier for both of them that way.

The letter that came from her brother’s commanding officer was more heartfelt, (Y/n) assumed, but she didn’t read it.

“Ms. (Y/n), By now you have no doubt received word of your brother’s tragic end. Selfishly, I am glad that I was not the one who had to inform you. Your brother was a flying ace in my squadron and a good friend. Retrieving his body brought me to tears for far longer than my commanding officers would like me to admit…”

That was as far as she read. Her brother was dead. They had his body. She was numb to everything else, as numb as the general who showed up at her door, as numb as her brother’s corpse in the grave.

She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

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(Y/n) walked into the hospital the next day and handed in her resignation. She was just the next in a long line.

Dorothy had resigned the week before. Her husband had been killed in North Africa. She could no longer afford to live in New York, not that cost of living was at the front of her mind. She was moving back South with her two children, both under 5 years old, to live with her aging parents.

Vera had gotten married to a hotshot factory owner and resigned to plan her wedding. The rest of the ward had scorned her as she trotted out with her chin held high and a smirk on her face. She’d never done the work because she loved it like the rest of them, and she had no qualms about letting them all know it.

Ruth was on her way out the door in a week. She was following her husband to England where he’d be training pilots at an RAF airfield. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn’t be allowed, wives being stationed with their husbands. Ruth, however, was a pretty good mechanic and often worked on her husbands planes in her free time, and without any children to worry about, the Army was really getting two for the price of one.

Juanita’s departure had no doubt hit the hardest. With so many men dying overseas, crime on the home front had been virtually forgotten. Juanita’s son brought it back to life. Too weak to be enlisted in the army, her son had taken up work at the docks that he never would’ve been physically qualified for if not for all the men being drafted. Three weeks on the job, he was mugged by a group of drunken sailors out for their last night of freedom. He died in the hospital with his mother only a few doors down in a different wing.

The most senior nurse on staff, Juanita used to run the ward, but after her son died in the building, she couldn’t even look at the hospital anymore.

“(Y/n),” Mary sighed and scrubbed the heel of her palm into her eyes to try to wipe away the sleep. “We’re short staffed already.”

There was a begging to her tone, and any other day the pain etched across her face would’ve been enough to convince (Y/n) to stay. Mary was her friend, by some accounts her best friend.

“I know Mary, and I’m sorry. I just can’t stay here anymore. I can’t walk past my brother’s room. I can’t ride down the streets my brother and I used to play in. I can’t go in the shop he used to own. I just can’t.”

Mary swallowed hard; when she spoke the lump in her throat became more apparent with each word. “I understand that you’re in pain, but this hospital…”

“That’s just it,” (Y/n) cut her off, slipping into the seat across the desk from her friend. She’d refused to sit when she first came to see Mary, hoping to be in and out quickly, but not now. “I don’t feel anything, Mary. I can’t look at his room because I know I should be heartbroken. I can’t travel down the street because I know I should be in pain. I can’t go in his shop because I know I should be crying. But I’m not. I don’t feel hurt or worried or upset. I don’t feel anything; I’m just numb.”

“Numb?” Mary furrowed her brow. “You’re leaving because you think you should be in more pain?”

“I’m leaving because I loved my brother, because I should be feeling something, but I’m not. I feel nothing, and that scares me even more.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet. Somewhere I will feel something.”

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Her brother had been Air Force, but her father had been Army.

She couldn’t bring herself to go to one of the Air Force’s recruiting offices. Part of her was worried she would have an emotional breakdown speaking to the men in charge. A larger part of her was worried she would feel nothing at all, a sign she was heading in the wrong direction.

The Army felt safer. She hadn’t been numb to her father’s death. She’d cried and mourned, and though the thought still overwhelmed her with sadness, she knew she would one day move on. About her brother, (Y/n) didn’t know what to think.

“What experience do you have?”

(Y/n) found herself sat in front of some captain or another responsible for organizing the Army Nursing Corps. He looked bored with her; she doubted managing a bunch of women was what he’d had in mind when he joined the war.

“I’ve worked at Wyckoff Heights Hospital on St. Nicholas in Brooklyn for eight years. I have copies of all of my reviews that show exemplary performance and no reprimands on record.”

The man took the stack of papers from her hand and began flipping through them. He stared at each of them for a long time, occasionally giving a ‘hm’ or ‘huh’ to show that he was thinking.

(Y/n) noticed after two pages that he wasn’t actually reading. His eyes weren’t moving from where they looked thoughtfully at the center of the page, and the noises of contemplation came randomly, even on pages that wouldn’t require much consideration.

(Y/n) turned away from the show to glance around the room. To the left was a door to the waiting rooms. Occasionally, when it swung open she could see the rows of shirtless men waiting for their number to be called up for evaluation. There didn’t appear to be many seats open.

She wondered, to herself, how many of them would be accepted, how many of those would make it back alive.

There were family members milling around the hall. A young woman was already weeping near the exit, and she hadn’t even been rejoined by the man she was waiting for. One of the doctors, (Y/n) assumed the portly, greying man was not one of the recruits, was trying his best to comfort her, but he didn’t seem to be having much success.

For the overwhelming number of men waiting to be evaluated and find a place in this war, there were a surprisingly few number of nurses. (Y/n) hadn’t been shown to any waiting room. There was a bench in the half she’d first entered with half a dozen or so women occupying it when she arrived. By the time her name was finally called only two more had come in behind her. The recruiters desk was in a notch in the hallway, not even its own room. The women were forced to state their credentials and make their case with no privacy to his judgments.

At least a dozen of the people milling around, including the old man and young woman by the door, could hear what was being said to her.

The man snapped her file closed with sharp flip of his wrist. “On your application, you’ve marked that you’d like to be assigned to a field hospital. I’m assuming you know nothing about the war. Field Hospitals are on the frontlines, girl.”

“I’m aware.” (Y/n) smoothly replied.

He raised an eyebrow, but none of his other features changed. (Y/n) couldn’t tell if it was condescension or confusion. “Are you now? The nurses in Field Hospitals are shot at almost as much as the soldiers. You think the Germans will spare you because you have a pretty face?”

“I don’t expect to be spared by anyone.”

His grilling was catching eyes from those milling around.

“And why would a girl like you want to find herself on the front lines?”

“I just want this war to end with as little bloodshed as possible. Helping where the men need it most seems like a good start.”

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

German.

(Y/n)’s eyes whipped around, as did many others in the hallway. There was a German here.

“My name is Dr. Erskine,” He proclaimed, more quietly this time, “I may have a job for you.”

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Erskine didn’t try to replace her father.

He offered a guiding hand out of the goodness of his heart. He offered a shoulder to cry on because he could see she hadn’t yet grieved. He offered insight, advice, from the wisdom of his own experience.

Erskine wasn’t trying to replace her father, and yet he did so many things she wished her father was there to do.

He offered her a job because he could see she wanted to find her purpose. He put her up in the barracks because he knew she needed space from her past. He accompanied her on walks at night to keep her nightmares at bay. He filled her waking hours with work when she needed distraction and took the load away when it became too much.

Erskine didn’t try to replace her father. No one could ever replace her father. He was a good substitute though. In times as dark as those, family was what she needed.

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He reminded her of her brother.

That was the first thought that came to (Y/n)’s mind when she met Steve Rogers.

Her brother was younger than her by two years, and as a child he’d always been the smaller of the pair. For most of their childhood, her brother could barely reach her shoulder. Stretching his arms as wide as he could, he’d be lucky if his reach went from (Y/n)’s wrist to wrist. Short and scrawny, he’d not caught up to his sister’s size until he was a teen, but once he’d caught up, there was no looking back.

Steve reminded her of him. The size, for one thing, was an unmistakable similarity, but there was an air to Steve, an air of familiarity that made her feel at home. Every time she looked at him, she saw her baby brother. Not the strong, handsome man he was when he died, but the fearless, young boy she wished he would’ve stayed forever.

She monitored the health of all of Erskine’s candidates in the Strategic Scientific Reserve, but she couldn’t deny she paid special attention to Steve.

They all paid special attention to Steve.

Erskine liked his sense of justice. His conscience oozed out of his every pore. No one had ever argued with Steve and been right about it. They were talking about making a superhero here, and yet there was a very real sense amongst them that Steve already had a superpower: always doing the right thing.

Peggy had an immediate fondness for him. He was determined, beyond belief, and she admired that spark in him that refused to be snuffed out. He knew, in his heart, what he believed, and he was more than willing to die for it. Peggy was too.

Only the Colonel, Chester Phillips, doubted Erskine’s decision. He paid special attention to Steve, but he did so only as a foil. He liked to compare Steve to other men in the camp, men he’d chosen for the project, rather than the one Erskine had brought on. “Brown is stronger,” or  “Donalds is faster,” were common phrases in his office.

In truth, they were all stronger. They were all faster. On paper, any one of them would’ve made a better super soldier than Stever Rogers.

“That’s what Phillps does not understand,” Erskine told her one day while they worked in his lab. “It isn’t about what’s on paper. It’s about what’s in his heart.”

“So it’s going to be Steve?” (Y/n) asked.

Erskine nodded. “Do you agree?”

(Y/n) hesitated. She didn’t want to blindly agree with the accolade simply because he reminded her of her brother. She also didn’t want to naively dismiss it to save him the risk because he reminded her of her brother.

She knew Steve Rogers; she would like to think she knew him well. They were friends. Yet the more she got to know him the more she saw her brother in him. That chest cold that wouldn’t go away when her brother was eight, the fight he lost with a boy who’d made a lewd joke about her skirt, the way he’d adamantly stood up for their father’s memory as a soldier; their kind hearted mother teaching him to temper his words.

She knew Steve Rogers well, and the more she knew him the more she saw him as her brother. The more she saw him as her brother, the more she knew he had to do this. He needed to do this.

“I agree.”

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

“Steve, you may as well ask her out. If you’re going to spend this much time ogling her, she at least deserves dinner out of it.”

Steve’s face turned as red as the apple she was chewing, and (Y/n) couldn’t hold in her smirk.

“I-I wasn’t…” Steve glanced over his shoulder, checking that Peggy wasn’t within earshot of (Y/n)’s ribbing.

“It’s all right, Steve. I won’t tell her, but you really should.”

Steve shook his head, definitively turning his back to Peggy. “Please, my entire life girls like that have passed me by.”

(Y/n) rested a hand on Steve’ shoulder. “Your entire life girls who look like that have passed you by, but Peggy isn’t like those girls. If you don’t ask her out, you’ll never give her a chance to prove it.”

Steve chuckled and looked off into the sky. “My friend said something like that to me about this girl, Maria, not long before he left for the front.”

“And did you listen to him?”

“No,” Steve admitted. “He was the one the girls always passed me by for.”

“Well, did he ask them out?” (Y/n) chuckled.

Steve hesitated a second before saying, “Yes.”

“Then that’s why they passed you by. Your friend sounds like he has a good head on his shoulders. You should listen to him.”

Steve gave (Y/n) a fond smile. “You remind me a lot of him. It’s easier, having you here.”

“It’s easier having you here too.”

(Y/n) didn’t know if that was true, but she was starting to think it might be. She was starting to feel something. Steve was helping her remember the good times with her brother, before the Army and the War. Back when they were just two kids in Brooklyn.

She missed him.

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

Erskine. Gone.

Would this war take everyone from her?

(Y/n) kneeled in a pool of his blood, his body splayed out in front of her.

She’d dedicated years of her life to Erskine’s work. She’d dedicated time, money, opportunities. She’d dedicated everything she had and more. Gone.

His work was gone. Erskine was gone.

He was her friend, her family; and he was gone.

She summoned a tear, more than one.

They came slowly at first and then spiralled uncontrollably. Sobs racked her body as she gripped at his hand.

Someone tried to help her up, but she didn’t want up.

Vaguely, she recognized Stark’s voice. He was calling out to her.

“(Y/n), he’s gone.”

Yes, she already knew he was gone. What good was all of his genius when he could only state the obvious.

What good was all of her years in a hospital, all of her years of training, if she couldn’t save a life when it mattered, the one life that mattered.

It felt like hearing her father was gone again.

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

They were taking Steve too, as if she had anything left to give.

“Phillips would just as soon send me home. I’m just a lab rat to him.” Steve spat the word out in disgust. “That’s all I am, an experiment, Erskine’s experiment. They wanted an army, but they got me.”

“That’s all you are to him.” (Y/n) quietly corrected.

“And what am I to everyone else?” Steve turned on her, his eyes as red as hers were. “What am I to you?”

“His legacy,” she answered immediately.

She’d been thinking about it a lot. Erskine had been dead for two days, and all she’d been thinking about was him and Steve and the little family she’d made for herself at Lehigh. Erskine the father, Steve her brother, Peggy her sister, even Phillips, the grumpy uncle who didn’t want to be in the picture.

What did it all mean?

“You are his legacy. If you were any other soldier you’d be just another experiment, but you’re not. You’re Steve Rogers. Erskine chose you. You carry on his legacy; you carry on his work.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Steve asked in a desperate tone. He slumped onto the bench and let his head fall into his hands.

“I don’t know Steve,” (Y/n) sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s for you to figure out. You don’t have to know now. No one’s expecting you to know now, but when you do piece it together, I’ll be waiting.”

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

“Stark says you’re going to have your pick.”

Steve was lying on his back next to (Y/n), tossing a ball in the air and catching it repeatedly with a satisfying thunk as it hit his palm.

A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have been able to catch it once. He had all of the coordination of a newborn foal and would’ve whacked himself, or her, in the face the first time he tried to throw it.

It reminded her, again, of her brother. After his growth spurt, when he finally caught up to her, passed her, when he got tall and filled out. The girls started to notice him; the guys started to respect him.

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Any Allied hospital in Europe…” Steve stopped tossing the ball and glanced over at her, “Know where you’re going to go?”

(Y/n) didn’t meet his gaze. She kept her eyes on a cloud floating by overhead. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” She confessed. “When I applied, when Erskine took me in, I was planning on going to the frontlines.”

“You don’t have to now.” Steve rolled onto his stomach and watched her expressions carefully. “You could go to the evacuation hospitals or England…”

“Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you go to the frontlines? If they let you?” (Y/n) asked. She already knew the answer, but she needed to ask.

“You know I would,” Steve admitted.

“Then that’s where I’ll go.” She’d joked, when Erskine was still alive, that Steve’s real superpower was always doing the right thing. If he’d go to the front, then that’s where she’d be, waiting for him to find his way.

(Y/n) met Steve’s eye finally. “You said your friend was in the 107th?”

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

It was only about a month before (Y/n) was running the field hospital attached to the 107th.

They sent mostly inexperienced girls out to the frontline. Supposedly, it was an easy job. They didn’t have time for complex treatment or procedures, so in theory, it was all triage and wound treatment. They claimed anyone with a little bit of training could handle it.

Early on when the fighting had just begun she imagined there might have been some truth to that claim, but as the war slogged on, it wasn’t so simple anymore. Every soldier had some kind of injury. The Army couldn’t afford to send everyone with more than a bump or bruise back from the frontline to an evacuation hospital. There wasn’t the time, manpower, money.

The field hospitals were overflowing with infected wounds, illness, bullet holes, broken bones, and there weren’t enough experienced nurses to go around. Not only did they lack the know-how, many of the inexperienced nurses were just young woman, some girls even, who didn’t properly know what they’d signed up for. They were shaken by the crack of every bullet, the boom of every grenade, the scream of every dying man.

(Y/n) had a sneaking suspicion that the real reason the Nurses Corps didn’t send out any of their trained nurses was that they want to risk their better nurses dying on the frontlines.

(Y/n) had watched a stray bullet tear through the chest of a young girl named Lydia only a week into her time with the 107th. She’d been reliably told by another nurse that Lydia was the fifth to die so far that year.

The second most experienced girl in (Y/n)’s unit had been a midwife for a few years before she shipped out, not exactly a skill that was necessary in an army full of men, but it came with some transferable knowledge. Her name was Maria, and it only took a few weeks before she was happily handing over the reins.

“They’re bringing in a batch of men from the front,” Maria reported to (Y/n). “Nothing serious, a couple broken bones. They took a fall to avoid a grenade; I’m told.”

(Y/n) motioned for Beverly and Viola at the other end of the tent. “We need to clean down some beds.” (Y/n) turned to Maria, “Did they say how many?”

“Not exactly, but I think it was only a few.”

(Y/n) only had a few beds to spare anyhow. There were a dozen cots set up in the field hospital, and six of them were currently occupied by men waiting for transport to the nearest evacuation hospital back West, another two by men with leg fractures. When she’d arrived, the beds were first come first serve, but (Y/n) had quickly started a process of dismissing anyone who could walk back to their own tents to come in to the hospital for regular checks on whatever ailed them.

“They’ve already reached camp; they’ll be here any moment.”

“If the bones aren’t through skin, then I don’t want them hanging around here. We’ll set them and send them on their way. We haven’t had free beds in a week, and I don’t want to take them up with something trivial.”

“Trivial? Glad to know you care about my leg, nurse.”

The tent flap was being held open by two soldiers, a sergeant and a private, around the girth of a much larger man propped up between them.

(Y/n) ignored the jab, “Get him on the bed.”

The two men helped their friend onto the nearest cot, and (Y/n), Beverly, and Maria quickly descended on him.

(Y/n) was the most experienced one there, but she’d made a point of having Beverly watch every bone she set. When things got busy, she might be needed elsewhere, and it was good to know that Beverly knew her way around things well enough to take a few bones off her plate.

“What happened?”

“Bit of an ambush, ma’am.” She recognized Gabe Jones immediately. She’d treated a broken finger of his on the first day she’d got here, followed by a number of bumps and bruises that probably wouldn’t have required her attention if Gabe weren’t such a flirt. “We had to jump into a ravine. Sergeant, here, did a number on his knee, and I got grazed by a bullet.”

“Maria, will you clean Private Jones’ wound?” (Y/n) began inspected the Sergeant’s knee.

“Of course,” Maria motioned Jones away to another open bed.

The third man took a step back towards the tent flap, but before he could get more than a few paces, he crumbled.

“Barnes!” The sergeant in the bed bolted upright. Beverly held him still, as (Y/n) rushed to his side.

“Are you alright, Sergeant?” (Y/n) slipped her arm around the man’s back and helped him stumble back to the nearest bed.

“I guess I’m not,” The man winced as he slumped back against the metal bed frame. “My side is killing me.”

(Y/n) nodded at the other sergeant, “Relocate his knee, while I do this, Bev. Maria can help when she’s done cleaning Jones’s wound.”

With deft fingers, (Y/n) unhooked the buttons down his uniform to check his complaint.

“I’d normally take you to dinner first, Doll.” These men hadn’t seen a woman in a long time, and usually they acted like it. She’d heard every bad joke in the book from the soldiers around camp and a couple from Jones in the bed next to them, but his tone was far more lighthearted, less learing than the others. He was teasing, trying to lighten the mood of how much pain was written across his face.

“Well, the rations around here aren’t very appealing, so you’ll have to settle for…” She found what she was looking for. A bruise spanning his entire right side. “You carried him back like this?” Her fingers probed gently at the edges of the dark blue stain.

“Someone had to; not like Dugan carries his own weight around here.” He winced as she touched a particularly sensitive spot.

“Broken ribs,” (Y/n) told the other girls over her shoulder, “three from the looks of it. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“That’s alright, Doll. I’ll just get to see more of your smiling face.”

(Y/n) wasn’t smiling. She hadn’t smiled in quite a while.

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“You’re healing well,” (Y/n) observed Barnes’s side, peeking out of the sheets, a few days later. “Right on schedule. You won’t need to be on the next train to the evacuation hospital.”

“Of course not,” Barnes scoffed, “How could I ever leave your lovely company?”

(Y/n) cocked an eyebrow. “That work on the girls back home?”

“Depends on the girl really,” Barnes confessed. “Most of the time a smile and a dance does the trick, but I like the ones that make me work for it.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and went back to inventorying the supplies she’d spread out on the cot next to his.

“Where is home for you, (Y/n)?”

It was the first time he’d called her by her name, also the first time he’d asked her a genuine question. “Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn!” He exclaimed, “I knew there was a reason I liked you. I’m from Brooklyn myself.”

“Really?” She glanced back at him, pausing cataloging the rolls of gauze. She had to remember to put in for that. They desperately needed more gauze.

“Born and raised,” With a wince, he adjusted pushed himself higher in the bed. “My whole family and my best friend still live there. I’ll go back there too, if I make it out of your care in one piece.”

(Y/n) snorted; she couldn’t help it. Her care? They were in a war, and he wanted to joke that he wouldn’t make it out of her hospital. “I’ll have you know my care is perfectly fine. I served 8 years in ambulatory at Wyckoff.”

Barnes’s brow furrowed. “Can’t say I’ve ever been to Wyckoff, but I was a frequent guest at Beth Moses Hospital.”

“You break ribs running from Nazis often in New York?” She jabbed.

“No, but my friend may as well have. He picked a lot of fights. Didn’t win many, but that never stopped Steve.”

(Y/n)’s head jerked around and she dropped the papers in her hands. “Steve? Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah,” Barnes had her attention now, and she had his, “you know him?”

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“I swear, Bucky, next time you come in here you better be losing an arm. You’re wasting my time with these little scrapes.”

Bucky rose to his feet in front of her.

She came face to chest with his shirtless torso, and her ego absolutely refused to allow her to turn her head away or take a step back. Even as she felt her cheeks coloring from his state of undress, she adamantly met his smirking eyes.

“It’s okay to admit you’d miss me, Doll. Around here, I’m like a little slice of home, a breath of fresh air, a…”

“The smell of maneur wafting out of the stables,” She cut off.

Bucky chuckled and began buttoning back his uniform. “One day, Doll, one day.”

Bucky always said things like that. ‘One day, when we’re both back in Brooklyn’, ‘When I finally get the chance to take you dancing’, ‘Me, you, Steve, and a friend’.

(Y/n) never took any of it to heart. Bucky had popped in and out of the medical tent on many occasions since he’d broken his ribs, and he flirted with all of the girls who treated him. She never let it get to her heart, and she tried not to let it go to her head that his flirtations were infinitely more personal with her. He’d teasingly compliment the other girls’ uniforms, make observations about how nice they looked that day, wink suggestively as he ducked out of the tent. She was the only one he made plans for: Brooklyn, Steve, Coney Island, dinner, dancing.

The thought was nice, but she left it all there, just a thought.

“Don’t be a stranger, Doll,” Bucky called as he made his way to the door. “I’m sick of faking injury just to see you.”

He gave her his signature wink before he turned and left the tent.

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The SSR had moved in. She saw Phillips riding in from a mile away.

She stood side by side with the commanding officers; everyone over the rank of Sergeant filled in a pseudo welcome party for the reinforcements as they rode in.

None of the men could figure out why she was there, at the front, out ranking them. She wasn’t even properly in the Army. She was just a nurse, a field medic, nothing more or less.(Y/n) couldn’t say she was expecting any sort of comraderie from the Colonel. She’d expected a firm handshake, an acknowledgement of their acquaintance, and a swift dismissal back to her duties.

When Colonel Phillips jumped out, the men behind her became painfully aware of who she was, and she became painfully aware how things had changed.

“(Y/n),” Phillips ignored the officers in charge and marched straight for her. “Good, you’re here. I need someone with a head on their shoulders.” He clapped her on the back and led her towards the truck.

From the back, they came filing out, the men she and Erskine had rejected for the supersoldier program. Each of them a hand picked reminder of her lost companion. All of them could’ve been the poster boy for a ‘join the army’ campaign if things had gone a different way.

She had to remind herself that these men were Phillips choosing, that, even if Erskine lived, none of them would have ever been Steve. These were good soldiers, but that didn’t make them good men. There may well have been a few good ones in the bunch, but being strong, being able, didn’t make them so. She preferred the men behind her, the 107th.

“There’s someone else I know you’ll be happy to see.”

It took a moment more of men filing out of the truck bed before Phillips’ surprise came to face her. She felt her heart building up hope, anticipation, excitement.

Peggy. It was Peggy.

She hid her disappointment well as she smiled and hugged the Englishwoman.

She loved Peggy, but she was no Steve.

Where was Steve? It had been so long since she heard news. She was worried.

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“So you’re a hotshot then?”

Bucky had swaggered up to her the moment she stepped outside of the hospital tent.

“You must be if you have the Colonel’s ear. Everyone’s been talking about it. My little Brooklyn in league with the bigwigs.”

“Your?” (Y/n) chose to ignore the rest of the sentence. She stopped midstep and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think you’ll find me ‘your’ anything, let alone all of Brooklyn.”

Bucky smiled mischievously and matched her stance. “Of course you’re not mine, but who do you think’s been keeping the rest of these scoundrels off your back?”

“Oh?” Her lips quirked up instictively in response to his smile. She really couldn’t help it. Steve had told her once that Bucky had that affect on women, that they couldn’t help themselves arounf him. “You’re protecting me from the wandering eyes of your fellow soldiers in hopes that someone will kindly cave into your flirtations.”

“No,” Bucky drawled, taking a step closer. “I’m protecting all of our dear nurses from the wandering eyes of my fellow soldiers because you have more important things to do like treat the broken ribs of a cocky sniper trying desperately to keep from crying like a child in front of his men.”

“Well your service is greatly appreciated.” (Y/n) chuckled, turning back to her walk, “If you must know, I’m not a bigwig at all.”

“Really?” Bucky fell into step by her side. “Didn’t look that way to me.”

“My mentor was a bigwig,” She confessed, her smile turning stale on her lips, “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

Bucky looped his arm through hers and dragged her to a stop, rounding her to face him. “That can’t be true.”

“It is.”

“If your mentor was that important, then you must’ve been pretty great to catch their eye.” Bucky gave her an encouraging smile.

She saw it in his eyes then. She hadn’t seen it before, not even when he was making her laugh with his flirting. She could see the kind heart, the trusting nature, all the things she admired about Steve. They were there, just buried deep beneath a layer of bravado and natural charisma.

She finally understood why Steve would be his friend.

“Have you heard of the Strategic Scientific Reserve?” The question slipped her mouth before she could stop it.

“No,” Bucky’s expression furrowed. “Why?”

It was top secret. She really shouldn’t be mentioning it. She’d already lied to him about how she knew Steve. She should just lie about the SSR, forget she said anything. She should…

She didn’t. “It’s a program my mentor and I founded…”

She told him everything. Everything about the SSR, about Steve, about Peggy, about Phillips, about Erskine.

He led her off to the edge of camp, away from stray ears and wandering eyes. He sat with her under a tree.

She told him about signing up for the war, about the general who delivered the news about her brother and before that her father. She told him about her mother leaving. She told him about her childhood.

She couldn’t help it. Once she started, she just couldn’t stop.

She understood why Steve would be his friend. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d inadvertently trusted him with everything.

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“(Y/n),” Maria came running through the tent flap, not even bothering to push it aside as it draped her shoulder. “Come quick. It’s Bucky.”

(Y/n) was in the middle of handing out rations. She dropped the box on the cot in front of her and bolted for the door.

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“What happened?”

She found Peggy first.

“The regiment was ambushed by Schmidt.” Peggy liked to talk as she walked. In that moment, (Y/n) appreciated that about her. “Only a third of them made it back. We’re doing rolls now, but the men in the yard are all that’s left.”

(Y/n) burst into the square field that functioned as the town center of camp.

There were men, dusty, beaten, bloodied men everywhere. Her small staff of nurses would be overwhelmed by the numbers, but that wasn’t what was on her mind now.

“Where is he?” She left the question and Peggy in her wake, running through the clusters of soldiers. Some supported their injured friends, others laid groaning side by side, a few stood in the center, completely fine. They looked the most lost of them all, as if they were asking God why he had chosen to spare them.

Hodge was there, in the center, one of the men surveying the damage around him. He was fine, completely fine.

“Hodge,” She marched up to him with a fury, “Where is Barnes?”

“Barnes? That kid that’s always following you around?”

Hodge had come in with the other Super Soldier Candidates. He hadn’t had the time to learn everyone’s names, not that he ever would have anyway. He was Hodge; Hodge thought he was too good for that sort of thing.

“Where is he?” She demanded again, not intending to repeat herself a third time.

“He was in the flank with his buddies. They’re gone. All of them, gone.”

Hodge had the decency to look sorry that he was giving her the news.

(Y/n) imagined it was the first decent thing he’d done in his life.

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Was she cursed?

She felt like she was. She felt like a ghost walking through life, doomed to haunt everyone she touched.

Her mother left her. Her father was dead. Her brother followed not long after. Erskine died just as she’d come to think of him as family. Steve was forced to tour around the country like some kind of sideshow because of what she’d helped do to him. Lydia was dead almost as soon as (Y/n) arrived. Now, Bucky.

She hadn’t confided in anyone in a long time until she met Bucky. She’d chatted with Lydia, Maria, her fellow nurses, made nice with them. She’d only told Peggy things she was sure the woman had already read in her file; she told Phillips even less. She told Steve bits and pieces, but she tried not to burden his plate more than it already was. She hadn’t needed to tell Erskine anything; the old man could read it for himself in her eyes.

She’d told it all to Bucky.

Whether it was the heat of war, the charm that came to him so effortlessly, that kind smile or those trustworthy eyes, it didn’t matter. She’d told him everything there was to tell, and as quickly as he knew he was gone.

Caring about her. It felt like the kiss of death.

She was a nurse, and her father bled to death on the battlefield. She was a nurse, and her brother died of injuries from a plane crash. She was a nurse, and Erskine died of a gunshot in her arms. She was a nurse. She was supposed to save people; she hadn’t saved them.  And now, she couldn’t save Bucky either.

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Steve. She knew those eyes anywhere. Even behind that stupid mask, she knew it was Steve.

She watched the show with blank eyes and a blanker expression. Steve didn’t look much better.

Back in Brooklyn, (Y/n) had been rather a catch. Boys had taken her out many times, and often times, when they wanted to seem smarter and more cultured than they actually were, they would take her to a show. (Y/n) had watched more plays than she could count, and none of them had been nearly as bad as this.

Steve couldn’t fake excitement if he tried, and he was clearly trying.

(Y/n) didn’t care about the show though, bad acting or not. She cared about Steve, and she cared about what he could do.

“Steve,” She barged into the dressing rooms backstage.

The girls, the dancers, squealed and made to hide or cover themselves, but they quickly regained composure when they saw it was another girl.

“Steve!”

Steve looked up from where he was sat in a corner doodling.

“(Y/n)?” He dropped the paper aside and got to his feet, hesitantly, disbelieving that it could really be her.

“Steve,” (Y/n) threw herself at him, hugging him close. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

He held her close. “Sorry? What for?”

“Steve, you have to help,” She pulled back and looked him dead in the eye. “It’s Bucky.”

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(Y/n) didn’t join them on the plane. How could she? Every time one buzzed overhead her brother came rushing back to mind.

She still hadn’t buried him; his body was waiting for her back at home. She was going to bury him beside her father, beside an empty plot she’d reserved for herself, just in case something happened on the front.

She wondered, to herself because Bucky was not there to wonder out loud to like last time, if she couldn’t mourn because he had not been laid to rest. She wondered if she needed the confirmation of seeing his body for herself or the resignation of a coffin and a deep grave.

That hadn’t been true of her father. She’d mourned him the moment the general knocked on her door; she’d wept for losing him. Perhaps, she’d been able to weep because she had more to lose. Perhaps, she wept for her father because with her brother alive she still had a reason to feel. Perhaps, she wept for Erskine because, by the time he left her, she’d found other reasons, a new family.

She wondered if she would ever cry for her brother the way she had her father or Erskine. She wondered, if she started crying for him, if she would ever stop.

Maybe she was just full of it.

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“He should’ve radioed by now.”

She was in the hospital tent, pacing nervously in front of the only cot void of soldiers. Peggy and Maria had sat cross-legged on the flimsy mattress and were watching her with anxious expressions.

Howard Stark stood angrily tapping his foot near the bit of canvas at the head of the bed.

He was the only one who seemed to share (Y/n)’s nerves.

How Peggy was holding it together, (Y/n) had no idea. It wasn’t like she didn’t care. A blind man could see how much she cared about Steve. She had a composure to her though.

(Y/n) envied her that; she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She wished she were as composed.

“That’s no guarantee that anything happened,” Maria’s voice was a calm guiding hand in the storm. She cared about the missing men, about Steve, but no more than every other soldier. She cared deeply for everyone under her care; it was part of her nature. Their absence didn’t sway her.

“No guarantee,” (Y/n) conceded,”but one hell of a coincidence.”

“Well what can we do?” Howard asked. “Ride into Occupied territory and offer our assistance?”

(Y/n) haulted midstep and looked up at Howard.

“No!” He immediately shot out.

“Yes.”

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She packed a bag of all the essentials: bandages, needle and thread, alcohol, small bottles of antibiotics and medicines she could sneak out of the tent.

The bag was heavy, bulky, but it would fit snugly on the back of one of the motorcycles that that night's messenger had left near the edge of camp.

He wasn’t scheduled to make his next delivery run for three days. She had every intention of being back by then. Either she’d be back or dead.

With all hope, and a little help from Maria, she’d be entirely unnoticed until she rode back into camp. Maria had managed well enough on her own before (Y/n) got there. She could handle a few days.

“Do you even know how to ride one of those things?”

(Y/n) froze. She knew the voice, but she didn’t turn. If she didn’t turn, maybe she could pretend he wasn’t there.

Phillips stepped up to her side. “Is this what Erskine would want for you? A suicide mission?”

“It’s not a suicide mission. What Steve did, that was a suicide mission. I’m just trying to help the odds.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“He’s trying to free hundreds of your men from a Hydra base where they’re being held prisoner. At best, he succeeded, and they’re headed back this way.”

“Unlikely,” Phillips butted in.

“At worst, he failed.” She continued without acknowledging his interruption. “There are a lot of scenarios in between worst and best that involve your men out there, injured and dying.”

“And you think one nurse is going to help?”

“I’m not going to hurt!”

Phillips snorted, “Is this about that boy?”

“What boy?” (Y/n) turned back to securing her bag to the motorcycle. It was a tell. Phillips wasn’t stupid. He knew that. She knew that.

“The one Rogers is friends with. The one you sent him on this fool’s errand after. I thought it was just because they were friends, but the men told me you two were close.”

(Y/n)’s hands clenched around the strap of her bag.

“Is that why you want to go? You’re chasing after some lowly soldier.”

“I want to help!” (Y/n) spat, turning on Phillips with a vengeance. “Who cares if it’s because I’m feeling guilty or because I care about him! They are my friends, and I want to help them.”

Phillips watched with a cool, calculating eye for a long moment as (Y/n)’s chest heaved with anger. She looked as angry as he’d ever seen her, and he’d seen her angry many times at Lehigh.

She cared about Steve. There was no denying that, but whoever this sergeant was he was something else, something special.

Reluctantly, he sighed out in defeat. “Your bag’s going to go flying off the back if you tie it down like that.” He turned and started knotting the ropes for her.

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She was seven miles out when she heard it. Something big and loud and powerful barrelling down on her.

(Y/n) stopped her motorcycle in the street and went silent, listening.

Tanks.

She rolled the bike off the road, muscling it behind some trees. It was clunky, weighty, and she didn’t have the strength to get it properly hidden back in the woods. Still, she found a patch of dirt flat enough to roll the bike off the road and made due with laying it on its side behind a bush.

Whoever it was was coming closer. She found the thickest tree there was and stood straight and tall behind it, sucking herself in to be as narrow a target as possible.

She could hear shouting now, though she couldn’t make out the voices. There was a melody to their tone even though the words were indistinct. They were singing something.

It went on for a verse or two, judging by the pauses, before whoever they were were finally close enough to make out words.

English words. American accents.

“The Star Spangled Man! With a plan!” Horribly out of tune male voices echoed through the tree tops without a care in the world for who heard.

“Steve!” (Y/n) rushed out of the trees.

They were at the end of the road, making their way around a bend a few hundred yards ahead, but she’d recognize that God awful costume from a mile away. It stood out plain as day against the swath of brown and green forest and the drab, colorless look of the men at his side.

“Steve!” (Y/n) raced for him.

Steve realized who it was almost instantly. “(Y/n)!” He jogged forward and met her halfway.

“I thought you were dead!” She choked out.

“Come on, little Brooklyn, you have to know we’re made of tougher stuff than that.”

(Y/n) pulled away, positively beaming to hear that drawl of her nickname. “Bucky!”

Bucky tipped a nonexistent cap her direction. “At your service, Doll.”

He dropped the hat charade just in time to catch her as she flung her arms around his neck.

“One day, Doll,” He mumbled into her ear.

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Frenchie was in the bottom of the tank with a seriously mangled stint strapped to his arm.

“I did the best I could,” Bucky was hunched over (Y/n) as she treated his fallen companion. “I’ve watched you enough times, you think I’d have it down by now.”

“Maybe if you were actually watching her hands you would have,” Jones jabbed an elbow into Barnes ribs.

“Hey now,” Barnes chuckled. “I watched her hands.”

“Sure you did.” (Y/n) bit back a grin. “The stint isn’t pretty, but neither is the break. This will take a while to heal.”

Jones prattled off in French, alarming (Y/n) to no end.

Bucky knelt down next to her and explained. “Frenchie doesn’t speak English. We make Jones translate to earn his keep. Only way he’s been useful so far.”

“Oh,” (Y/n) went back to the arm in question.

“I promise I was watching your hands,” He murmured to her with his usual heart-stopping smile.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, “And I promise you were too busy flirting with my staff to notice what my hands were doing.”

“Not your staff, just you.” He corrected her. They both knew that wasn’t technically true. Bucky Barnes was nothing if not a flirt. That didn’t mean he meant it though. They both knew he meant it with her, and they both knew he didn’t mean it with anyone else.

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“Rogers, I’ve been with these guys on the field for months,” Bucky smacked him on the shoulder and pointed to the table in questions. “They’re all utter morons. Of course they’ll say yes.”

Steve gave his friend a worried look but let Bucky’s smile reassure with enough to take the next step. “Wish my luck,” he patted his friend on the back and marched over to the group of men getting drunker by the moment.

Bucky chuckled to himself and circled around to the far side of the bar to order himself a drink and find a quieter table. He wanted a beer, and he wanted as much distance between himself and that piano as possible. It was giving him such a headache. The beer would help with that.

He wasn’t actually sure that was true. He wasn’t a doctor or a nurse to know, but he was going to tell himself it would. Mostly he just wanted the beer. He’d earned it after the last couple months he’d had, after the last year honestly.

He heard the booming voice of Sergeant Dugan over everything else in the bar and couldn’t help a chuckle. They’d all earned a round.

They’d earn a couple more if they said yes, and as Bucky watched them from over the rim of his glass, he knew they would. They were fighters, like Steve, and like Steve, they wouldn’t back down from that.

Bucky kept his eyes on the men as they all considered Steve’s offer. He could tell the moment the words left Steve’s mouth, the moment they all froze at the proposition. He could tell, one by one, as they all agreed, like he knew they would.

It was written on their faces. It was written on Steve’s face.

He tried not to sound too cocky when Steve came back around to him. “See, told you; they’re all idiots.”

“How ‘bout you?” Steve took up the chair next to Bucky.

Bucky didn’t meet his eye. He knew the question was coming, and he already had his answer.

“You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no,” Bucky sighed with a smile. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I’m following him.”

Steve smiled, relief washing over his features as he took the drink in front of him.

“You’re keeping the outfit right?” Bucky couldn’t help but tease.

“You know what,” Steve looked back at the poster, “It’s kinda growing on me.”

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The singing at the front of the room fell quiet, to almost a murmur.

Bucky and Steve turned to the door, to the woman in the vivid red dress.

“Captain,” she greeted with a formal note to her voice.

She was beautiful. Bucky would’ve been blind not to see it, especially in that shade of red. She looked like one of the girls Bucky used to go dancing with, tight dress hugging her curves, matching lipstick and perfectly styled hair. She was a woman on a mission, and he had a sneaking suspicion that mission was a man, specifically a man named Steve Rogers.

Bucky’s eyes wandered over assessingly. She was way out of Steve’s league, or at least the league he used to be in. He hadn’t been out with Steve since this new transformation; he had no idea what Steve’s league even was anymore. He was taller, stronger; he was famous apparently. But he was still an absolute dork, clueless around women.

It was written all over his darting, nervous eyes.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty,” she observed.

“You don’t like music?” Bucky smiled.

“I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.” Peggy didn’t bother to look in Bucky’s direction for even a moment.

“Then what are we waiting for?” He asked her.

“The right partner,” Her tone was suggestive; her eyes watching Steve expectantly. For the first time in his life, Bucky wasn’t in on the joke.

“0800 Captain,” She said as she whisked herself away.

“I’m invisible,” Bucky turned back to Steve, “I’m turning into you,” he scoffed, “this is a horrible dream.”

Steve smirked as he turned to walk off, “Don’t take it so hard. I hear she has a friend.” Steve motioned over Bucky’s shoulder towards the doorway Peggy had just left.

Steve took up his old seat as Bucky turned away.

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What had possessed her to come here, (Y/n) couldn’t be sure.

She knew what she’d told herself. That Captain America was assembling a team of his own, that his team was leaving for deployment, that she wanted to be on the ship when it did.

She could’ve asked him all of that before he left for the bar, or when he came back. It’s not like he’d be drunk; she knew that couldn’t happen.

Hell, she could’ve asked him the next morning. Steve would’ve made it happen.

But when Peggy told her she was going down to the bar to check on the men, something had possessed her to follow.

Maybe she wanted a drink. Maybe she too wanted to check on the boys. More likely, it was how clearly Peggy’s excuse was a rouse to get dolled up and see Steve, and there (Y/n) was, right by her side getting dolled up too.

Jones had cornered her the moment she’d walked in. Gabe kissed the back of her hand like an old-school gentleman and asked her to dance. She politely declined.

“That’s all right,” Gabe smiled knowingly and pointed in the direction of the room Peggy was leaving. “Sergeant’s right in there.”

(Y/n) followed, anxiously, in Peggy’s retreating footsteps with only an encouraging nod from her friend to bolster her courage.

She’d chosen the purple dress, a more understated shade than Peggy’s red but a far more modern cut. She wasn’t there to grab the attention of the entire bar like Peggy was, but she hoped at least to keep one pair of eyes on her.

Steve spotted her first and immediately smiled. He waved a hand in her direction and retreated back to the tables.

Bucky’s back was to her, but whatever Steve said made him turn.

His face went slack, and a little space opened between his lips, as if his mind had formed words his tongue couldn’t speak.

“Well, now I know what Peggy meant,” He mumbled as she approached him.

“About what?”

“The Right Partner.” Bucky offered her his arm, “Would you like to dance?”

“I’m not very good,” she confessed smoothly.

Bucky smiled. Not his usual cocky grin that swept girls off their feet, or the warm, reassuring smile she’d come to trust. It was gentle, somewhere between kind and loving. “I’ll teach you.”

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

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Marvel Taglist:

@the-high-queen / @iamverity / @darktownairspeed / @radicalstars​ / @hermione-is-my-queen 

[assist-group]

Mortgage Debt Help in South Africa

Debt is a major problem in South Africa. The country has one of the highest rates of debt in the world, and it's estimated that 1 out of every 3 families are struggling with their finances. With so much debt floating around, people often feel like they're drowning and can't find a way to keep their heads above water. This blog post will teach you how to clear your debt today and avoid adding more on top!

Create a budget

You may be clearing your debts now but if you don't create an actual budget for yourself then there's no point clearing anything at all because you'll just go back into debt again as soon as you finish clearing some! Make sure that everything is accounted for in your expenses and then save enough money to pay yourself first.

Your budget needs to be realistic. While it's important to set yourself some different goals, if you don't think they're achievable then it will only cause frustration and stress when you can't achieve them or worse still, end up in more debt!

Clear all debt in South Africa

To be Debt Free in South Africa, Try not to rely on any credit cards for anything at all because this will just mean that your debts are growing instead of reducing! If there is an emergency, make sure you have savings which should allow enough money for the necessary expenses. This means no expensive vacations unless you've been saving specifically for one beforehand. Debt isn't something that many people enjoy but with a good plan in place and determination, clearing your debt today is possible.

Mortgage Lenders and Home Loans in South Africa

There are lots of Debt Companies in South Africa that can help you to clear your debt today. This includes pawn shops and mortgage loan companies as well as the more conventional banks and credit unions. It's important that you compare these institutions carefully before settling on one so take a look at their policies and be sure they provide lasting debt freedom in South Africa!

Loans are not the best options

Try to avoid loans completely, especially payday loans because these are the worst culprits when it comes to getting people into debt. There is a much better way! If you need anything, try saving for it instead of going further in debt and then paying interest on top of that too!

There are lots of different companies offering Debt Help in South Africa which can help you clear your debts quickly and easily without taking out any more loans or adding new credit cards onto your already overflowing pile. Remember though - if someone offers you help but asks for money upfront before they start working with you, walk away immediately because this means they're only after making a quick buck rather than actually helping anyone at all.

Debt Help in South Africa with Real Estate Assist is a much more sustainable option that will get you out of debt without any trouble. This is the best way to clear your debts in South Africa!

Real Estate Assist with its Debt Help programs in South Africa is the solution for lasting debt freedom!

If you’ve been looking for a way to get out of debt and find relief, we can help. We specialize in helping people clear their debts by finding unique solutions that work specifically with your situation. Whether it is through our Debt clearance Programs or Debt Quick APP Solution, we are here to offer all-inclusive service to make sure you don't incur any more interest charges on top of what you owe! All of this without worrying about losing anything (except your debts)! Contact us today and let's start working together towards getting rid of those pesky bills once and for all!

Black Friday South Africa

On Black Friday, many companies offer deals and discounts to entice people to buy even more than they need. This is a dangerous time for anyone struggling with their finances and can cause enormous amounts of stress and anguish.

What makes the situation worse is that while it is tempting to try and get ahead by making incremental purchases, you will incur substantial debt in the process. There are two debts: borrowing money from the company which has given you a discount, and your credit card provider or bank who will charge you interest on your purchase. These debts add up over time and before long you'll be in a situation where the only way out will be bankruptcy.

It's not just Black Friday that causes this, but also any big shopping event, especially if you have a bad month at work and feel the need to make up for it. If this is happening, visit our website Realestateassist.co.za We can advise you on how to get out of debt without incurring any more interest from your credit cards!

How to Live Debt Free in South Africa

The saying goes that "bills cause stress which causes disease". This is a very true statement, as having too much debt can cause a lot of stress in a person's life. This stress can lead to all sorts of health problems, such as heart disease, high blood pressure, and even cancer.

The best way to avoid this is to clear your debt ASAP and with the right financial guidance.

Debt Free and Stress-Free in South Africa

The stress from debt also affects family relations and relationships. One partner may feel overwhelmed and become distant, while the other may become argumentative and tense. This can lead to a break-up or divorce, which will only add to the financial stress that is already present.

The best way to avoid this is to get help from a professional company such as Real Estate Assist who can clear your debts quickly and easily without any additional stress.

Real Estate Assist makes it a stress-free and debt-free journey to financial freedom and financial education. We have trained and experienced debt advisors and we desire to bring lasting changes and restore your financial status and creditworthiness.

We believe in second chances and it is not ok that One or two bad choices may put people in debt for generations and for most of their lives. Debt should be a thing of the past that you learned some valuable things from but not your destined future. Let's kick debts butt once and for all clear your name from debt review and bad credit. Zero Debt is more than possible and it is time for you to take your power back. Homeownership is important for a healthy family and education to have healthy financial status should be attainable to everyone.

In South Africa, we desperately need more financial education and financial advisors and financial courses, and influencers that encourage budgeting and financial stability, and homeownership.

Real Estate Assist South Africa desires to help property owners deal with their debt and credit scores and help them with homeownership. If you have a property that you are paying off and your credit record is in a bad state because of Covid and you need some help to finance your home contact Real Estate Assist in Cape Town South Africa. We are sure to have a solution perfect for your situation and would like to help you meet your mortgage payments and keep your home.

[justforbooks]

Yuval Noah Harari: the world after coronavirus

This storm will pass. But the choices we make now could change our lives for years to come

Humankind is now facing a global crisis. Perhaps the biggest crisis of our generation. The decisions people and governments take in the next few weeks will probably shape the world for years to come. They will shape not just our healthcare systems but also our economy, politics and culture. We must act quickly and decisively. We should also take into account the long-term consequences of our actions. When choosing between alternatives, we should ask ourselves not only how to overcome the immediate threat, but also what kind of world we will inhabit once the storm passes. Yes, the storm will pass, humankind will survive, most of us will still be alive — but we will inhabit a different world.

Many short-term emergency measures will become a fixture of life. That is the nature of emergencies. They fast-forward historical processes. Decisions that in normal times could take years of deliberation are passed in a matter of hours. Immature and even dangerous technologies are pressed into service, because the risks of doing nothing are bigger. Entire countries serve as guinea-pigs in large-scale social experiments. What happens when everybody works from home and communicates only at a distance? What happens when entire schools and universities go online? In normal times, governments, businesses and educational boards would never agree to conduct such experiments. But these aren’t normal times.

In this time of crisis, we face two particularly important choices. The first is between totalitarian surveillance and citizen empowerment. The second is between nationalist isolation and global solidarity.

Under-the-skin surveillance

In order to stop the epidemic, entire populations need to comply with certain guidelines. There are two main ways of achieving this. One method is for the government to monitor people, and punish those who break the rules. Today, for the first time in human history, technology makes it possible to monitor everyone all the time. Fifty years ago, the KGB couldn’t follow 240m Soviet citizens 24 hours a day, nor could the KGB hope to effectively process all the information gathered. The KGB relied on human agents and analysts, and it just couldn’t place a human agent to follow every citizen. But now governments can rely on ubiquitous sensors and powerful algorithms instead of flesh-and-blood spooks.

In their battle against the coronavirus epidemic several governments have already deployed the new surveillance tools. The most notable case is China. By closely monitoring people’s smartphones, making use of hundreds of millions of face-recognising cameras, and obliging people to check and report their body temperature and medical condition, the Chinese authorities can not only quickly identify suspected coronavirus carriers, but also track their movements and identify anyone they came into contact with. A range of mobile apps warn citizens about their proximity to infected patients.

This kind of technology is not limited to east Asia. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel recently authorised the Israel Security Agency to deploy surveillance technology normally reserved for battling terrorists to track coronavirus patients. When the relevant parliamentary subcommittee refused to authorise the measure, Netanyahu rammed it through with an “emergency decree”.

You might argue that there is nothing new about all this. In recent years both governments and corporations have been using ever more sophisticated technologies to track, monitor and manipulate people. Yet if we are not careful, the epidemic might nevertheless mark an important watershed in the history of surveillance. Not only because it might normalise the deployment of mass surveillance tools in countries that have so far rejected them, but even more so because it signifies a dramatic transition from “over the skin” to “under the skin” surveillance.

Hitherto, when your finger touched the screen of your smartphone and clicked on a link, the government wanted to know what exactly your finger was clicking on. But with coronavirus, the focus of interest shifts. Now the government wants to know the temperature of your finger and the blood-pressure under its skin.

The emergency pudding

One of the problems we face in working out where we stand on surveillance is that none of us know exactly how we are being surveilled, and what the coming years might bring. Surveillance technology is developing at breakneck speed, and what seemed science-fiction 10 years ago is today old news. As a thought experiment, consider a hypothetical government that demands that every citizen wears a biometric bracelet that monitors body temperature and heart-rate 24 hours a day. The resulting data is hoarded and analysed by government algorithms. The algorithms will know that you are sick even before you know it, and they will also know where you have been, and who you have met. The chains of infection could be drastically shortened, and even cut altogether. Such a system could arguably stop the epidemic in its tracks within days. Sounds wonderful, right?

The downside is, of course, that this would give legitimacy to a terrifying new surveillance system. If you know, for example, that I clicked on a Fox News link rather than a CNN link, that can teach you something about my political views and perhaps even my personality. But if you can monitor what happens to my body temperature, blood pressure and heart-rate as I watch the video clip, you can learn what makes me laugh, what makes me cry, and what makes me really, really angry.

It is crucial to remember that anger, joy, boredom and love are biological phenomena just like fever and a cough. The same technology that identifies coughs could also identify laughs. If corporations and governments start harvesting our biometric data en masse, they can get to know us far better than we know ourselves, and they can then not just predict our feelings but also manipulate our feelings and sell us anything they want — be it a product or a politician. Biometric monitoring would make Cambridge Analytica’s data hacking tactics look like something from the Stone Age. Imagine North Korea in 2030, when every citizen has to wear a biometric bracelet 24 hours a day. If you listen to a speech by the Great Leader and the bracelet picks up the tell-tale signs of anger, you are done for.

You could, of course, make the case for biometric surveillance as a temporary measure taken during a state of emergency. It would go away once the emergency is over. But temporary measures have a nasty habit of outlasting emergencies, especially as there is always a new emergency lurking on the horizon. My home country of Israel, for example, declared a state of emergency during its 1948 War of Independence, which justified a range of temporary measures from press censorship and land confiscation to special regulations for making pudding (I kid you not). The War of Independence has long been won, but Israel never declared the emergency over, and has failed to abolish many of the “temporary” measures of 1948 (the emergency pudding decree was mercifully abolished in 2011).

Even when infections from coronavirus are down to zero, some data-hungry governments could argue they needed to keep the biometric surveillance systems in place because they fear a second wave of coronavirus, or because there is a new Ebola strain evolving in central Africa, or because . . . you get the idea. A big battle has been raging in recent years over our privacy. The coronavirus crisis could be the battle’s tipping point. For when people are given a choice between privacy and health, they will usually choose health.

The soap police

Asking people to choose between privacy and health is, in fact, the very root of the problem. Because this is a false choice. We can and should enjoy both privacy and health. We can choose to protect our health and stop the coronavirus epidemic not by instituting totalitarian surveillance regimes, but rather by empowering citizens. In recent weeks, some of the most successful efforts to contain the coronavirus epidemic were orchestrated by South Korea, Taiwan and Singapore. While these countries have made some use of tracking applications, they have relied far more on extensive testing, on honest reporting, and on the willing co-operation of a well-informed public.

Centralised monitoring and harsh punishments aren’t the only way to make people comply with beneficial guidelines. When people are told the scientific facts, and when people trust public authorities to tell them these facts, citizens can do the right thing even without a Big Brother watching over their shoulders. A self-motivated and well-informed population is usually far more powerful and effective than a policed, ignorant population.

Consider, for example, washing your hands with soap. This has been one of the greatest advances ever in human hygiene. This simple action saves millions of lives every year. While we take it for granted, it was only in the 19th century that scientists discovered the importance of washing hands with soap. Previously, even doctors and nurses proceeded from one surgical operation to the next without washing their hands. Today billions of people daily wash their hands, not because they are afraid of the soap police, but rather because they understand the facts. I wash my hands with soap because I have heard of viruses and bacteria, I understand that these tiny organisms cause diseases, and I know that soap can remove them.

But to achieve such a level of compliance and co-operation, you need trust. People need to trust science, to trust public authorities, and to trust the media. Over the past few years, irresponsible politicians have deliberately undermined trust in science, in public authorities and in the media. Now these same irresponsible politicians might be tempted to take the high road to authoritarianism, arguing that you just cannot trust the public to do the right thing.

Normally, trust that has been eroded for years cannot be rebuilt overnight. But these are not normal times. In a moment of crisis, minds too can change quickly. You can have bitter arguments with your siblings for years, but when some emergency occurs, you suddenly discover a hidden reservoir of trust and amity, and you rush to help one another. Instead of building a surveillance regime, it is not too late to rebuild people’s trust in science, in public authorities and in the media. We should definitely make use of new technologies too, but these technologies should empower citizens. I am all in favour of monitoring my body temperature and blood pressure, but that data should not be used to create an all-powerful government. Rather, that data should enable me to make more informed personal choices, and also to hold government accountable for its decisions.

If I could track my own medical condition 24 hours a day, I would learn not only whether I have become a health hazard to other people, but also which habits contribute to my health. And if I could access and analyse reliable statistics on the spread of coronavirus, I would be able to judge whether the government is telling me the truth and whether it is adopting the right policies to combat the epidemic. Whenever people talk about surveillance, remember that the same surveillance technology can usually be used not only by governments to monitor individuals — but also by individuals to monitor governments.

The coronavirus epidemic is thus a major test of citizenship. In the days ahead, each one of us should choose to trust scientific data and healthcare experts over unfounded conspiracy theories and self-serving politicians. If we fail to make the right choice, we might find ourselves signing away our most precious freedoms, thinking that this is the only way to safeguard our health.

We need a global plan

The second important choice we confront is between nationalist isolation and global solidarity. Both the epidemic itself and the resulting economic crisis are global problems. They can be solved effectively only by global co-operation.

First and foremost, in order to defeat the virus we need to share information globally. That’s the big advantage of humans over viruses. A coronavirus in China and a coronavirus in the US cannot swap tips about how to infect humans. But China can teach the US many valuable lessons about coronavirus and how to deal with it. What an Italian doctor discovers in Milan in the early morning might well save lives in Tehran by evening. When the UK government hesitates between several policies, it can get advice from the Koreans who have already faced a similar dilemma a month ago. But for this to happen, we need a spirit of global co-operation and trust.

Countries should be willing to share information openly and humbly seek advice, and should be able to trust the data and the insights they receive. We also need a global effort to produce and distribute medical equipment, most notably testing kits and respiratory machines. Instead of every country trying to do it locally and hoarding whatever equipment it can get, a co-ordinated global effort could greatly accelerate production and make sure life-saving equipment is distributed more fairly. Just as countries nationalise key industries during a war, the human war against coronavirus may require us to “humanise” the crucial production lines. A rich country with few coronavirus cases should be willing to send precious equipment to a poorer country with many cases, trusting that if and when it subsequently needs help, other countries will come to its assistance.

We might consider a similar global effort to pool medical personnel. Countries currently less affected could send medical staff to the worst-hit regions of the world, both in order to help them in their hour of need, and in order to gain valuable experience. If later on the focus of the epidemic shifts, help could start flowing in the opposite direction.

Global co-operation is vitally needed on the economic front too. Given the global nature of the economy and of supply chains, if each government does its own thing in complete disregard of the others, the result will be chaos and a deepening crisis. We need a global plan of action, and we need it fast.

Another requirement is reaching a global agreement on travel. Suspending all international travel for months will cause tremendous hardships, and hamper the war against coronavirus. Countries need to co-operate in order to allow at least a trickle of essential travellers to continue crossing borders: scientists, doctors, journalists, politicians, businesspeople. This can be done by reaching a global agreement on the pre-screening of travellers by their home country. If you know that only carefully screened travellers were allowed on a plane, you would be more willing to accept them into your country.

Unfortunately, at present countries hardly do any of these things. A collective paralysis has gripped the international community. There seem to be no adults in the room. One would have expected to see already weeks ago an emergency meeting of global leaders to come up with a common plan of action. The G7 leaders managed to organise a video conference only this week, and it did not result in any such plan.

In previous global crises — such as the 2008 financial crisis and the 2014 Ebola epidemic — the US assumed the role of global leader. But the current US administration has abdicated the job of leader. It has made it very clear that it cares about the greatness of America far more than about the future of humanity.

This administration has abandoned even its closest allies. When it banned all travel from the EU, it didn’t bother to give the EU so much as an advance notice — let alone consult with the EU about that drastic measure. It has scandalised Germany by allegedly offering $1bn to a German pharmaceutical company to buy monopoly rights to a new Covid-19 vaccine. Even if the current administration eventually changes tack and comes up with a global plan of action, few would follow a leader who never takes responsibility, who never admits mistakes, and who routinely takes all the credit for himself while leaving all the blame to others.

If the void left by the US isn’t filled by other countries, not only will it be much harder to stop the current epidemic, but its legacy will continue to poison international relations for years to come. Yet every crisis is also an opportunity. We must hope that the current epidemic will help humankind realise the acute danger posed by global disunity.

Humanity needs to make a choice. Will we travel down the route of disunity, or will we adopt the path of global solidarity? If we choose disunity, this will not only prolong the crisis, but will probably result in even worse catastrophes in the future. If we choose global solidarity, it will be a victory not only against the coronavirus, but against all future epidemics and crises that might assail humankind in the 21st century.

Yuval Noah Harari is author of ‘Sapiens’, ‘Homo Deus’ and ‘21 Lessons for the 21st Century’

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

History of Hymns: "'Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus"

by C. Michael Hawn

"'Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus" by Louisa M. R. Stead | The United Methodist Hymnal, No. 462

"Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, and to take him at his word; just to rest upon his promise, and to know, "Thus saith the Lord." Jesus, Jesus, how I trust him! How I’ve proved him o'er and o'er! Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus! O for grace to trust him more!"

From her childhood, the call to missionary service was the guiding motivation for Louisa M. R. Stead (c. 1850-1917). Born in Dover, England, and converted at the age of nine, Stead came to the United States in 1871, living in Cincinnati. She attended a camp meeting in Urbana, Ohio, where she dedicated her life to missionary service. Ill health prevented her from serving initially. She married in 1875, and the couple had a daughter, Lily. Hymnologist Kenneth Osbeck describes a major turning point in the family’s life:

“When the child was four years of age, the family decided one day to enjoy the sunny beach at Long Island Sound, New York. While eating their picnic lunch, they suddenly heard cries of help and spotted a drowning boy in the sea. Mr. Stead charged into the water. As often happens, however, the struggling boy pulled his rescuer under water with him, and both drowned before the terrified eyes of wife and daughter. Out of her ‘why?’ struggle with God during the ensuing days glowed these meaningful words from the soul of Louisa Stead.”

The hymn, “’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus” was inspired by this personal tragedy.

Soon after, Lousia and Lily left for the Cape Colony, South Africa, where Louisa worked as a missionary for fifteen years. She married Robert Wodehouse, a native of South Africa. Because of her health, the family found it necessary to return to the United States in 1895. Wodehouse pastored a Methodist congregation during these years until, in 1900, they returned to the mission field, this time to the Methodist mission station at Umtali, Southern Rhodesia (present day Zimbabwe).

Kenneth Osbeck records a message sent back to the United States shortly after her arrival in Southern Rhodesia: “In connection with the whole mission there are glorious possibilities, but one cannot, in the face of the peculiar difficulties, help but say, ‘Who is sufficient for these things?’ But with simple confidence and trust we may and do say, ‘Our sufficiency is of God.’”

Her daughter Lily married after their return to Africa. Louisa retired because of ill health in 1911. Lily continued to serve for many years in South Rhodesia. Her mother passed away after a long illness in 1917 at her home in Penkridge near the Mutambara Mission, fifty miles from Umtali. Following her death, it was recorded that Christians in South Rhodesia continued to sing her hymn in the local Shona language.

While the exact date of the composition is not known, sometime between 1880-1882, Lousia Stead’s hymn was first published in Songs of Triumph (1882). The Rev. Carlton R., Young, editor of The United Methodist Hymnal, describes the hymn’s content as “a series of loosely connected key evangelical words and phrases.” Indeed, the hymn is full of the language of piety common to the day in evangelical circles. Furthermore, the succession of stanzas lacks the usual progression of ideas leading to heaven that characterizes most gospel hymns.

Perhaps the hymn might be best described as a mantra on the name of Jesus. Indeed, “Jesus” is sung twenty-five times if one sings all four stanzas and the refrain. Stanza one is a simple statement of “trust in Jesus.” The singer is invited to “rest upon his promise.” Though the “promise” is not specifically articulated, it is assumed that all know that this is the promise of salvation. The stanza ends with “Thus saith the Lord” – a phrase, interestingly enough, that appears 413 times in the Old Testament in the King James Version, and is a reference to God rather than Jesus.

Stanza two continues the theme of trust, drawing upon the “cleansing blood” of Jesus. The poet demonstrates her trust as she “plung[es] . . . neath the healing, cleansing flood,” a possible reference to the William Cowper (1731-1800) hymn, “There is a fountain filled with blood”: “. . . and sinners plunge beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.” The typology of the cleansing flood may find its biblical roots in Genesis 6-7, the account of Noah and the great flood, or perhaps the blood and water that flowed from the crucified Christ’s side (John 19:34), or even a conflation of these ideas. Cowper’s hymn was probably well known to Stead, and she referenced it in her hymn.

Stanza three stresses that one should die to “sin and self” by “simply taking life and rest, and joy and peace” in Jesus. Stanza four is a personal witness by the author that she is “so glad I learned to trust thee.” The final stanza concludes with a fleeting eschatological reference, “thou art with me, wilt be with me to the end.” Though this reference to heaven is not as pronounced as one would often find in similar gospel hymns of this era, especially in Fanny Crosby. Referencing heaven in some way is virtually obligatory in this theological context.

The refrain establishes the Jesus mantra, singing his name five times, the last strengthened by adding the qualifying, “precious Jesus.” Though the singer has “proved him o’er and o’er,” the prayer is for “grace to trust him more.”

C. Michael Hawn is University Distinguished Professor of Church Music, Perkins School of Theology, SMU.

Attribution: Photo (The old red books or red worship songbooks in church) courtesy of Wirestock at: https://www.freepik.com/ijeab

[researchinhealthcare]

Pharmacovigilance Market 2021, Source | MRFR, forecast till 2027

Pharmacovigilance Market Highlights :

According to MRFR analysis, Pharmacovigilance Market is expected to register a CAGR of 14.1% during the forecast period of 2019 to 2025 and accounts for USD 4321.86 Million 2018.

Pharmacovigilance supports safe and appropriate use of drugs by identifying risk factors for the development of adverse drug reactions (ADR), promoting the detection of previously unknown ADR and their interactions with known ADR.

The market is dominated by numerous established players. The key players are involved in product launches and strategic collaborations to strengthen their market positions. For instance, on May 16, 2019, Accenture launched INTENT to improve the continuity and flow of data across life sciences enterprises, supporting the delivery of ground-breaking treatments for patients.

Pharmacovigilance Market Segmentation :

The Global Pharmacovigilance Market has been segmented based on the clinical trial phase, service provider, type, and end-user.

The market, based on the clinical trial phase, has been divided into phase IV, phase III, phase II, phase I, and pre-clinical. Phase IV segment dominated the pharmacovigilance market as adverse drug reactions are majorly detected in this phase. Whereas, phase III is expected to witness the fastest growth.

The global pharmacovigilance market has been segmented, on the basis of service provider, into in-house and contract outsourcing. Contract outsourcing dominated the global pharmacovigilance market and expected to witness the fastest growth. Contract manufacturing serves multiple customers and thus can acquire raw materials at a reduced cost, benefiting from the economies of scale.  

The market, based on type, has been divided into spontaneous reporting, cohort event monitoring, intensified ADR reporting, targeted spontaneous reporting, and EHR mining. The spontaneous reporting held largest market share in 2018. Spontaneous reporting is a passive approach to pharmacovigilance as it entirely relies on the motivation of individuals to report suspected ADRs to a local or national pharmacovigilance center.

In terms of end-user, the global pharmacovigilance market has been segmented into hospitals, research organizations, pharmaceutical companies, and others. Hospitals take up the largest share due to an increase in the number of hospital admissions due to ADRs.

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Pharmacovigilance Market Regional Analysis :

The market has been divided, by region, into the Americas, Europe, Asia-Pacific, and the Middle East & Africa. The Americas is expected to be the largest market owing to the high spending by the pharmaceutical industry. The pharmacovigilance market in the Americas has further been branched into North America and Latin America, with the North American market divided into the US and Canada. The European Pharmacovigilance market has been categorized as Western Europe and Eastern Europe.

The Western European market has further been classified as Germany, France, the UK, Italy, Spain, and the rest of Western Europe. The Pharmacovigilance market in Asia-Pacific has been segmented into Japan, China, India, South Korea, Australia, and the rest of Asia-Pacific. Due to the increasing prevalence of chronic conditions and rising cases of ADRs and medication errors, the market in Asia-Pacific is expected to be the fastest-growing.

The pharmacovigilance market in the Middle East & Africa has been divided into the Middle East and Africa.

Pharmacovigilance Market Key Players :

Some of the key players in the Global Pharmacovigilance Market are Accenture (Ireland), ArisGlobal (US), BioClinica (US), Capgemini (France), Conquest Group BV (Netherlands), Cognizant (US), IBM Corporation (US), ICON PLC (Ireland), IMEDGlobal (US), ITClinical (Portugal), Laboratory Corporation of America Holdings (US), PAREXEL International Corporation (US), TAKE Solutions Ltd (India), United BioSource Corporation (US), and Wipro Ltd (India).

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