#like both of them were equally dedicated towards the nation

[averwonders]

I have thoughts about that one particular scene from Ae Watan, Mere Watan (2024) towards the end of the movie when Usha and Fahad have to decide on who will make the ultimate sacrifice of running the radio for the final time.

[truthdogg]

There is nothing you can show the MAGA faithful that will change their opinion of Trump. There is no video, no recording, nothing, that will change it. And here’s why: the unique appeals of Trump have tapped into a unique need within the movement that led to an undying, cultish devotion. By now, they have so solidly intertwined their identities with supporting Trump that politically, economically, and socially, there is no going back.

The hope that this might not be the case is grounded in some very basic and very wrong assumptions. Among them is the idea that stated principles, and principles that have supposedly formed the foundation of the United States, have been real all along.

Again. This is wrong.

Read it all. Sexton’s message is important to understand, especially if we want the United States to move forward intact.

However, I would take his central point a bit further, because I believe there is a traditional American ideology and mindset at work here. To do that, let’s look back a bit.

The American Civil War was fought over slavery, and a state’s right to make it legal. That is the singular issue that galvanized the Confederacy into seceding. In that conflict, both of the opposing sides fully believed they were the true inheritors of the nation and its founding principles, and because the country was built on a shaky compromise, both sides were correct.

One idea of America, represented by e pluribus unum and “all men are created equal,” strives to build a more just and equitable society over time. This has been a long struggle, as everyone knows, but to its supporters it is the promise of the nation’s founding documents, that we will continue toward a “more perfect union.” This idea of America is embraced by most of today’s media and is leaned on heavily for our moral authority. It is self-congratulatory at the same time that it is self-critical.

The opposing idea of America, of white domination, was also part of its founding documents. It is the one that refers to the “savage” and the “slave,” the one that very clearly only allowed wealthy landowning aristocracy to vote. It is the one that preached “kill the Indian and save the man,” that regularly overturned elections it did not like, and that promoted an “individualism” designed to increase the power of wealth. This was the America of post-Reconstruction and of John Wayne characters who said, “never apologize, it makes you look weak.” It is the rarely seen third verse of the national anthem:

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore, That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion

A home and a Country should leave us no more? Their blood has wash'd out their foul footstep's pollution.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Those two opposing ideas of America have been shakily held together since the country’s founding. They almost guaranteed that the nation could not exist, but instead were both written into the founding documents. 150 years ago they almost broke it apart, but instead both were solidified. They are threatening do so again, with a new “national divorce” that would kill far, far more people than the first one. The original compromise was a one of foundational morals and principles, and it is still a massive problem because it is never fully addressed.

During the civil war, the “more perfect union” held sway, and Union troops prevailed, but to keep the country together afterward, the Confederacy’s idea of white domination was embraced nationwide. Francis Scott Key’s lyrics weren’t adopted until 1931, long after his “hirelings and slaves” were given a bit of refuge. The keynote speaker at the 1920s dedication of the Stone Mountain (Georgia) Klan Monument was the mayor of New York City—in 1970 it was Vice President Spiro Agnew. The Civil Rights Act, when it finally came, was another salvo in this ideological struggle, and it created another backlash that has kept this shaky balance in place. The election of Barack Obama (as well as his competence & lack of scandal) was yet another blow against those confederate ideals that helped build the support of Donald Trump.

It’s easy for those of us on one side or the other of this ideological divide to believe the other is a tiny minority, but it’s not and it never has been. The United States’ creation was a craftily worded set of documents that has always pretended both sides were right, while both never could be. Imagine its supporters heading back home to South Carolina or Vermont to describe it to their state legislatures. There is simply no way they sold it by focusing on the same issues; they sold it the same two fully distinct ways we see it today. This is why “originalism” as a legal construct is such a farce, and why we keep having the same problems.

The contradictions were purposefully baked into the cake in order to shift power from a king across the ocean to a handful of wealthy local merchants and landowners. As blunt as that sounds, that’s the only part of the founding documents both sides could fully embrace.

So what is there to do now?

Know your opponent. Understand that this mindset opposing democracy, opposing a republic and seeking rule by strongman, isn’t new. It’s supporters cannot be shamed because they have a vastly different idea of what being an American even is. The Trump cult does not care that he is corrupt, that he routinely breaks the law, or frankly even whether or not he’s competent. Arguments to that effect are a waste of your time when they are coming from a mindset that craves aristocratic rule and believes it will benefit them. They care about their “side” having power, and about white cultural supremacy, and that’s it.

[theninthdoor]

twice || points of attraction; tarot reading

⭒ What the company intended to be their points of attraction: cards: king of cups, hierophant (knight of swords), ace of wands

It definitely feels like there was a big emotional investment put into the planning of Twice, and the company really hoped to keep that all throughout their journey as a group. They should feel like a memorable creation of JYP, and a big accomplishment for everybody involved. Here we're looking at a group that was aimed to become a household name and represent JYP and their artistry. Also, they looked into making them a group that upheld certain traditional values and had an image that felt "safe" and "pure". Regardless of their concepts, people should always be able to see their polite and respectable characters shining through, and, as such, be attracted to them. In fact, it wouldn't shock me if they purposefully tried to mold them into a "nation's girl group" type from the get-go, hoping to please the general korean public and then build a strong domestic fanbase that would always support them. Finally, there was a genuine desire to begin a new Era in Kpop with the group's debut. They came to be daring and exciting, and to initiate a journey of major progress. In that sense, JYP wanted people to feel attracted to the group "newness" and artistic potential.

⭒ What the members have aimed to be their points of attraction: cards: knight of pentacles, moon (nine of wands, king of swords), three of cups

Twice, as a whole, have taken a much more grounded and personal approach to attracting fans. They wish people would like them for their hardwork and professionalism, as well as their commitment to the group and the friendships they have built. Their work, though, is the number one thing that they have pushed forward - because they dedicate so much time and effort into getting these great results, they want to be recognized and appreciated for it, first and foremost. Nothing will matter if what they produce isn't compelling people to be interested in them, or they would be just wasting their time and talents. Additionally, and as funny as it sounds, they like to find ways to slip little opinions and thoughts to fans that JYP might not approve of. Twice wants to build a connection with fans that's so strong, that they are able to communicate almost in code and really say what they think without needing the company's approval. It's just their little secret, and both parties enjoy it! At last, of course, their friendship as a group is a very big point of attraction. They want to always be seen as a united and loving pack, with great teamwork and passion for what they do together.

⭒ Their real points of attraction (from the public p.o.v.):

cards: six of pentacles, hanged man (seven of wands), eight of cups (nine of swords)

First, the public feels attracted to Twice's sense of reliability and gratitude: reliability because they give exactly what they say they will (content wise and behaviour wise), and they never fail on their promises to be an example; and gratitude because even though they have reached a very high point in popularity and success, they remain humble and show great respect towards everyone involved in getting them there (their own members included). Additionally, all members are equally valued and accountable, so no one is left behind and no one gets to take credit without putting in work. Next, there's something about them always remaining true to themselves without neglecting their grownth as artists and as people. The members were able to mature and find their own paths, without failing the group or losing their ways. In the end, they managed to protect Twice's identity and place in the industry, even throughout all of their personal changes. Finally, the public also likes how, despite all of their success, they remain human and relatable. They all have changed as individuals and all have gone through some difficult patches to make it where they are, and that's not something they hide. Vulnerability and willingness to learn and grow will certainly keep on attracting people to Twice, as it has done over the years, even before they became who they are today.

(Disclaimer: all readings are alleged and for entertainment purposes only.)

[biconicfinn]

Sam/T'Challa Headcanons

just some general headcanons for my faves <3

i dont remember much of the mcu timelines anymore but whatever have this post okay thank you

i'm thinking maybe they get together post-ca:cw, t'challa helps shelter steve, bucky, sam, clint, scott, and wanda in wakanda for a while so they can recover

obvs bucky goes into cryo and then i'm thinking maybe clint takes wanda under his wing and goes on the run, maybe scott joins them too idk i didn't spend too much time thinking about it

so it's just steve, sam, and cryo bucky

steve spends most of his time talking to bucky and moping and being generally Emo but eventually starts going stir-crazy so he turns his usual captain america suit into the nomad one, and heads off to go be a vigilante fugitive

meanwhile sam decides to stay in wakanda; he hasn't had a chance to just be in a long, long time, not since captain america first knocked on his door asking for a safe place. he stays in a small little apartment in the capital city, kinda near the palace so people can still keep an eye on him

over several weeks sam establishes a routine: wake up, go for a run around the neighbourhood (cutting through the public gardens at the palace), come back home and work out, shower, eat breakfast, go out on a patrol with the border tribe around the area, explore the city and practice xhosa along the way, check in with sarah, lunch, check in with steve and bucky, read, sleep, repeat.

he finds a purpose in the help he gives his neighbours, helping the older lady next door with errands at the market, telling the kids stories about what it feels like to fly with your own wings, joining the border tribe on their patrols around the city

occasionally he runs into the generous (and gorgeous) king who gracefully allows him to stay in wakanda in peace while running through the palace gardens

t'challa rises with the sun and often runs in the morning to get at least some form of training in; crucial on days where he's stuck in meetings

sometimes the two run into each other—once literally, and okoye never lets t'challa hear the end of how he was so very flustered by sam wilson taking off his shirt to cool off and the sight of him all hot and sweaty and half-naked made him freeze and run right into said man—and sam has to come to terms with the fact that getting lapped by superhuman attractive men (though he personally prefers t'challa over steve) is just his life now

typically sam opens their conversation with a cat pun that makes t'challa fight back a smile and respond with something so dry and deadpan, couched in the characteristic diplomatic quality he uses it takes sam a minute to reply and react

but when sam does understand, t'challa is met with a charming half-smirk half-smile that makes his heart trip and he relies on all his diplomatic training to remain neutral or at the most amused at sam's comments

the conversations grow slowly, from casual one-liners and sarcastic quips to sam's stories of riley and sarah and his community back in delacroix, and t'challa's anecdotes about growing up in wakanda

soon enough, what starts off as a brief conversation during a part of their respective runs becomes a standing daily routine run together, the two becoming fast friends, admiring one another's loyalty, dedication, honesty, and determination

of course, because sam and t'challa are sam and t'challa, the platonic friendship with a side of appreciative attraction slowly becomes a crush

and it's not just the funny stories and misadventures they share with one another, but the sleepless nights and trauma and grief and healing too

sam couldn't sleep one night and went for a walk in the gardens he ran into an equally sleepless t'challa and so began yet another routine for them; to sit in the gardens at a clearing where the stars were bright and plentiful and visible, so vast that sam felt an ache in his bones to be up there, to be in the skies along the stars, and he realised that if there was anyone he wanted to be up there with him, it was the man sitting next to him in quiet contemplation, shoulders slumped slightly, expression handsomely brooding; the man behind the mantles of king and black panther

t'challa found himself wandering towards the gardens on those nights he couldn't sleep, when the weight of the crown and his legacy and the nation weighed so heavily on him that he felt he would crumble under it, he sought out the clearing in the garden, and more importantly, the man with his soul in the skies, his heart wherever he could help people

some nights were quiet for the most part, a brief check-in with one another before just simply taking comfort in one another's company. others were filled with conversation, those deep talks you only feel safe having in the dead of night, when the only thing awake and alive is nature, when every word is just that much more honest and real

losing parents and partners, the responsibilities of leadership, recovery and healing; just some of the things the two talk about when they can be just them, no titles or nationalities or protocol there to censor them

over morning runs and late-night conversations, sharing music and food and language and culture, and impromptu excursions to the city or beyond they grow close and find that their feelings are getting more and more difficult to ignore, both wanting more than just a friendship

it's not during a morning run or nighttime confession that they admit their feelings, but over a shared lunch together

they're eating a simple picnic lunch near the warrior falls where t'challa will soon undergo the first part of his coronation ritual and offer the people of wakanda to send a representative to fight him in ritual combat for the throne

the view of the falls is spectacular, and sam's wide-eyed face of awe and wonder, bright smile shining with all the warmth of the sun makes t'challa feel like he could take on the entire country in ritual combat and come out the other side victorious if sam continues to smile at him like that and if they had more time then they would probably go for a swim, but they don't so here they are, alone at the falls, the rush of water and the sounds of the river fauna their only company

they're laying on a blanket on the grass, watching the clouds, and sam feels just as at peace on the ground with t'challa next to him then he's ever felt with his wings in the skies

during a discussion about the coronation where t'challa answers the questions sam asks him. the subject turns to his duties as king, and sam asks about whether t'challa is expected to marry a woman in order to produce heirs for the throne. he knows wakanda doesn't discriminate against people for sexuality or gender identity, but the duties of a king are to ensure the legacy of the royal bloodline is preserved isn't it?

t'challa laughs, and says that while the royal bloodline is important, there is no restriction on who the king (or queen) marries, as long as they would be able to connect with the people, serve and help the people of wakanda the way any good ruler should

"so what i'm hearing is all's fair in love and war"

"i guess you could say that"

"so if gender and sexuality don't matter; does nationality?"

"perhaps in the past yes, but i feel wakanda is changing, and that it will not be such a concern moving forward"

"even if the king were to be with, say, a fugitive american ex-pararescue-slash-ex-avenger?"

t'challa turns to face sam, heart caught in his throat as he processes just what sam said, takes in the hopeful and tentative look in his eyes masked by a slightly wavering tone of jest and hunour, as he shifts to mirror him.

the moment stretches out for what feels like an eternity before t'challa can respond

"for you, my falcon, i think we can make an exception"

their lips meet, the two smiling too much for the kiss to be anything other than as sweet and warm as honey and sunshine, and sam wraps his arms around t'challa, bringing the king on top of him, and two exchange soft kisses and softer words until t'challa gets called away, promising to meet later not just for their near-nightly rendezvous, but for dinner in t'challa's private quarters

okay so that's all for now! i kinda hate how this turned out but whatever it's done!! taglist under the cut! if anyone didn't want to be added i'm sorry just let me know and i'll delete!

@sambuckies @thewondrouspickle @tchalcons @like-butterflies-and-glitter @shadowyenthusiaststudentus @vodka-infused-unicorn @cassleia @finger-lickin-fuckboy @twisterss

[cupsofteandcoffeespoons]

assigning glee characters to folklore songs

the 1: i think tina would sing this about mike at the end of season 6, after she proposed to him but before the five year time skip. (maybe she performs at a coffeeshop gig to make money during college?) it would be a reflection on their relationship, and how even though she’s happy with how her life is working out, she still would have loved to be with mike forever. 

cardigan: i don’t know about timelines, but i want to hear marley singing this. she has such a lovely voice, strong but not overpowering in the way that some of the other female singers on the show could be, and i think she’d do a beautiful job with this song - especially the bridge!

the last great american dynasty: for some reason i can really see marley taking this one?? idk why but it just feels very fun and light, while also telling a really neat story at the same time, and i think marley would nail that balance. also, something about marley’s general vibe and vocals really reminds me of taylor - i think they both have a similar tone, sweet and simple and lovely - so i can definitely see her doing a rendition very similar to the original song. 

exile: this is perfect for finchel around the breakup. they’d sing it as a duet, ofc, keeping the male/female parts the same as they are in the original song. i don’t have much to say about this, honestly - i feel like it’s a pretty obvious fit, and i think their voices would suit the song better than any other couple on the show.

my tears ricochet: this would be such a beautiful klaine duet set just after the breakup - maybe around thanksgiving? i think their voices go really well together (most of the time lolol) and i think kurt’s voice in particular would lend a super cool vibe to the songs. 

mirrorball: i’ve seen people give santana this one, but this song just SCREAMS quinn to me. i envision her singing this either while she’s getting ready for prom (shot in the style of i feel pretty/unpretty) or while walking home after finn breaks up with her at jean’s funeral. to me, this song is about constantly putting on masks and doing things solely because it’ll help her keep finn, and thus her status and image. i think the lines “i’m still a believer, but i don’t know why/i’ve never been a natural, all i do is try, try, try/i’m still on that trapeze/i’m still trying everything to keep you looking at me” really fit quinn during late season 2 - she’s desperately trying to present herself as the perfect girlfriend, because she’s watching finn fall back in love with rachel and thinks that if she just tries hard enough, maybe she can keep him this time around.

seven: brittana duet alert! i’ve always headcanoned them as childhood best friends, and i can see them performing it in season one or very early season 2, reflecting on their early relationship and how it’s changed. it’d be a really sweet duet that would give their characters some backstory and grounding.

august: i think rachel would sing this after finn and quinn get back together during season 2. it’d be a classic rachel solo, the kind with super exaggerated emotions that make the rest of the glee club slightly uncomfortable.

this is me trying: this gives me such santana vibes. i think she’d knock this song out of the park, with a lovely mix of emotion and control, and i think it would have absolutely been one of the best solos on the show. it’s heartbreaking and she would really make it mean something, you know? i think it’d be gorgeous.

illicit affairs: while i didn’t like finn or fuinn, i think their one duet was really lovely, and i think this could have been a good song for them to pair up on around silly love songs - after they start their relationship, but before people start to find out about it. it’d be kind of like roots before branches in the sense that finn wouldn’t spit equal vocals with quinn, but would instead be more of backup for her. it’d play during a montage of them meeting up in empty classrooms and sending each other emotionally charged looks during glee club meetings, very classic secret relationship stuff. 

invisible string: i think this could be a really lovely klaine duet!! again, a season 6 song, maybe during the wedding - it’s the story of how they feel like their romance was meant to be, and that “invisible string” of destiny is how they ended up overcoming all the obstacles to come back together.

mad woman: honestly give this to all the og glee girls towards the end of season 3 as one last hurrah before they head to nationals. i can see them doing it in the style of shake it out - all sitting on stools, with dramatic lighting, fierce outfits/makeup, and lots of complicated harmonies. 

epiphany: i want to hear quinn and santana sing this song together. their one duet on the show (take my breath away) was absolutely gorgeous, with fantastic harmonies and a light, breathy quality that would suit this song incredibly well.  

betty: another quinn song!! she’d sing this in season 3, after successfully talking rachel out of marrying finn (the car accident/baby stealing shit didn’t happen in this world, because those plots were stupid). she’d perform in front of the club, with backup from brittana, and she’d use it both to come out and to admit she has feelings for rachel - changing “james” to “quinn” ofc ;)

peace: this is a weird one, but stay with me on this - let puck sing this song. i feel like this song really sums up the crux of the problem that i have with quick - other than beth, they didn’t have much in common, and they were never able to give each other what they needed for a healthy, lasting relationship. however, i feel like puck would nail the emotional execution of this song. “would it be enough, if i could never give you peace?” is THE question that defines quick, and so i think puck would be the best fit for this song.

hoax: why am i getting brittany vibes from this? i mean, it’s a little profound for her, but i think she could sing this in early season 2, when she’s trying to convince santana to come out and be with her, before she and artie start dating. santana doesn't want to be with her openly, and brittany is hurt by that, but is still in love with and incredibly fond of her, so the song is about her clinging to santana even though she knows the relationship isn’t going to last unless santana is willing to go public.

the lakes: this was the trickiest song on the list for me, but i’m going to have to give it to quinn. quinn was very much set up as one of the smartest kids in glee club from an academic standpoint; she mentions being on honor roll in season 1, gets into yale, and tells rachel she had a straight A average while pregnant (which is literally SO impressive y’all), so it seems fitting to me that she would be the one to perform this song, which has very complicated, intellectual lyrics. she’d sing this in season 6 - and dedicate it to rachel of course.

[crimsonheart01]

Sugarplums (Oliver Wood x Female!Reader)

A/N: This is dedicated to @thegirlwhowritesfics​ and @juniperjane​. No particular reason. None at all. It’s not like they were the ones to anonymously request this! This is just a random dedication of my love to them! 

Prompt: “Are you humming the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy?” Word Count: 1.9K words Playlist: Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy - Tchaikovsky [Spotify] [YouTube] Warnings: None

“Statistically speaking, that’s impossible!” Her statement rang across several tables in the Great Hall.

She hadn’t yelled, but her voice carried. All the chatter and buzz came to an immediate halt, nothing but the sound of a bench scraping across the floor. She didn’t even bother looking up from the paper in her hand. She ducked her head down, rolling her lips together to hide the smirk growing. She chuckled to herself as she heard the collection of whispers make their way up the aisles between the tables.

He’d been arguing his point for weeks now, and while she appreciated his enthusiasm, it needed to end somewhere. Everyone knew it was impossible, himself included. Today seemed like a fine day to really rile him up. The final day of classes before Christmas hols, it was the perfect storm. It also helped that he was halfway there on his own anyway. His voice had been climbing up over the chatter from the Gryffindor table. She knew they were on his side. True to their namesake, the pride of lions always stuck together.

Regardless, she thoroughly enjoyed a good debate, especially with one such Gryffindor. Logic superseded a lot of their banter, but on this particular topic, he was a dog with a bone. Refusing to let go or give up. The sounds of his footfalls drifted up into the swirl of his robes while he walked. She knew he had a flair for the dramatic when he was on a tangent, and he was in peak form this morning.

Two of her classmates skirted in opposite directions on the bench across from her. Keen to avoid his approach. No one had ever challenged him in general. Not Oliver Wood, the headstrong Gryffindor. Not Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Not when it came to the one game he was being scouted for. The one game where his talent exceeded everyone’s expectations. Smarts aside, quidditch was his and most definitely, not hers.

“Strong words coming from someone who doesn’t even follow quidditch.” He accused, his voice low and on the verge of shaking.

She lifted her eyes to regard him, her face a mask of indifference, “You think that just because I don’t obsess over it, it means I don’t keep track of the most popular wizarding sport?”

He scoffed at her, reaching down and pressing his palm flat over the paper she held. Their eyes connected as he hovered over the Ravenclaw table, pushing the paper down so that she would give him his undivided attention. She made a show of blinking innocently up at him. He narrowed his eyes briefly, starting to understand the game she was initiating.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He determined, licking his bottom lip in irritation.

A collective gasp could be heard amongst the other students, even a few smug sniffs from the Gryffindor table. Head Girl and the Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team in a tiff. In front of all to see. Every eye in the castle trained on the two of them. Even the teachers were straining to listen in. She chuckled to herself. She wondered how many of them were hedging their bets. It was common knowledge to the older students that the professors got a good laugh out of the typical house rivalries. They joined in on their own terms, always in good fun—a way to keep up morale and to encourage healthy competition.  

She tugged her hand out from under his grip and finally lifted her head to acknowledge him fully. The torch he held for Portree was misguided in his patriotism, believing beyond any doubt that they were taking the world cup this year. It was the only time he became irrational about how the game really worked. She enjoyed his dedication to his country’s national team and his childhood favourite team, but again, this argument was weeks old now, and they weren’t advancing anywhere near the top of the league. Not this year.

“Puddlemere has a higher scoring average. Their Chasers score an average of 215 each game, without calculating in the caught snitch points. Even if Portree won their next game by 150 points, they’re still fourth in the league overall.” She dismissively explained, “You saying that they’re on track to come first is like saying the Canons will win their next game. It’s statistically impossible.”

Everyone knew the Canons were just a filler team. They hadn’t won a game in the last century and weren’t likely to win one in the next. She gave him a smug grin as she laid it all out for him. He narrowed his eyes at her, curling his hand into a fist, his knuckles turning white. He knew she was right but didn’t want to admit defeat. Oh no, not him. Not the quidditch all-knowing, Oliver Wood. He could never.

“Scoring average aside,” He countered, “Their newest recruits for the season have played well beyond any expectations, and they still have chance on their side. If Puddlemere loses the next two games, regardless of points, they drop out of the winning and it makes room for the other teams to move up.”

He stood up, straightening his back and crossed his arms over his chest. Proud of his statement, of his deductions. She let out a condescending laugh at his stance, looking back down at her empty plate for a second. When she glanced back up, she could see his resolve starting to crumble. He was doing the math in his head. He’d figured out that he was off base. That even though he had faith, the numbers weren’t on his side.

“You want to place your faith on the best team in the British league losing their next two games? Even after they’ve won every single one up until this point. You want to ride on the fact that they might choke? A maybe?” She cocked her head to the side, knowing that she had him right where she wanted him, “Care to place a wager on that?”

Her eyebrows lifted into her hairline as she stared at him, strongarming him to make the losing bet or admit defeat.  The hall fell into a tense silence, waiting for the outcome. She was sure others had caught up with the data, the proof that Pride of Portree wasn’t winning any cups this year.

He faltered, and everyone saw it. Everyone saw the fall in his confidence. The whispers grew again, as those who knew about quidditch were informing those who weren’t avid fans. Oliver took a deep breath in and stared over at her, shocked that he’d been beaten at the game. Mostly because he’d been beaten by the least likely person he expected it from.

In hindsight, he should’ve known she’d be the only one to best him. She always did. She was the only person who could. It was why he loved her. She could go up against the best in any debate and come out victorious. Without a chance to rectify his downfall, the bells rang, signalling breakfast over and time to get on to their classes.

Excitement rose into the air as benches scratched along the stone floors and books were scraped up off the tables. She grinned up at Oliver, and he shook his head, a small smile creeping in. He turned around and headed back to his table to gather his effects before exiting the hall. He could feel the stares of the younger students were giving him. All the while, they were murmuring behind their hands to one another. The “it” couple of the year had a public row. Little did they all know, it was a ploy. One that she put into place to get him to see reality. There was never a hint of animosity between them, and even if there had been, it dissipated when she thoroughly bested him in his top subject.

~(HP)~

Students continued to file out of the great hall, the volume of their conversations rising as they retold the events of breakfast. Several versions began circulating, all from a different house’s perspective. She enjoyed hearing the snippets as she travelled along the sides of the table. Every version with its own telling features. Quite a few long sighs from the younger kids about how romantic it all was. A few chest thumps from the older ones who defended Wood’s devotion. Almost everyone with a quiet whispered holiday wish that they would find someone to share in their passions as equally as they did with each other.

She found him standing a ways outside the opened doors and grinned over at him. In her glory, she kept up a quiet tune while she strolled in his direction. Something about the electricity in the air had her feeling light. Upon reaching him, she lifted up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Are you humming the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy?” He asked, mystified at how her genuine good mood had him feeling uplifted even after that spectacular defeat, “It’s incredibly ominous considering our current situation.”

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. He sighed but smiled over at her. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder while his arm slipped around her middle and clung to her. He tilted his head so that his laid on top of hers while they stood admiring the snowy grounds.

“I’m never going to live this down,” He murmured to her.

She nodded, “Oh, I know.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. If there was anyone in this castle that could school him in the sport of his passion, it was her, hands down—the only person to be able to keep up with him on statistics and gameplay. Even the most die-hard fans couldn’t retain the same amount of knowledge she did. There were times when even she gave him a run for his money. He had to give kudos to her house. She was most definitely sorted correctly. After a long moment, they both turned together and began walking down the corridor towards their next class.

“I guess I’ll have to get you a new present now,” He sighed, purposely sounding forlorn.

She furrowed her brows as she glanced up at him, “Why’s that?”

He frowned, “I can’t very well gift you with a Portree jersey that has my name emblazoned across the back when you don’t even support the team, now can I.”

She stopped abruptly and grabbed his hand, tugging him around to face her. He trained his face into a cool mask of disinterest, hoping that she could piece it together herself.

“Ollie, what are you saying?” She bit her lip, the shock of his statement settling in.

He smirked at her, and she squealed, jumping up to gather him in her arms.

“They signed you!” She whispered excitedly into his chest, “You got first draft! You’re going to be the Keeper for Portree? To think, the term is barely over, and they’ve already committed!”

He laughed along with her, keeping his arms tight around her back. He held her close to him, enjoying how thrilled she was for his news. It was an anxiety he’d had since the end of last year, but thankfully all the extra training he put in over the summer and with the first few games of the year under his belt, the recruiters were impressed and offered him an early contract.

When she let go of him, she held his biceps tightly and grinned, “I’ll proudly wear the losing team’s jersey if it has your name on it.”

His mouth dropped open in disbelief, but he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

He took her hand in his, threading their fingers together and held his head high, “With me as their keeper, we won’t be the losing team anymore.”

[whitehotharlots]

The point is control

Whenever we think or talk about censorship, we usually conceptualize it as certain types of speech being somehow disallowed: maybe (rarely) it's made formally illegal by the government, maybe it's banned in certain venues, maybe the FCC will fine you if you broadcast it, maybe your boss will fire you if she learns of it, maybe your friends will stop talking to you if they see what you've written, etc. etc. 

This understanding engenders a lot of mostly worthless discussion precisely because it's so broad. Pedants--usually arguing in favor of banning a certain work or idea--will often argue that speech protections only apply to direct, government bans. These bans, when they exist, are fairly narrow and apply only to those rare speech acts in which other people are put in danger by speech (yelling the N-word in a crowded theater, for example). This pedantry isn't correct even within its own terms, however, because plenty of people get in trouble for making threats. The FBI has an entire entrapment program dedicated to getting mentally ill muslims and rednecks to post stuff like "Death 2 the Super bowl!!" on twitter, arresting them, and the doing a press conference about how they heroically saved the world from terrorism. 

Another, more recent pedant's trend is claiming that, actually, you do have freedom of speech; you just don't have freedom from the consequences of speech. This logic is eerily dictatorial and ignores the entire purpose of speech protections. Like, even in the history's most repressive regimes, people still technically had freedom of speech but not from consequences. Those leftist kids who the nazis beheaded for speaking out against the war were, by this logic, merely being held accountable. 

The two conceptualizations of censorship I described above are, 99% of the time, deployed by people who are arguing in favor of a certain act of censorship but trying to exempt themselves from the moral implications of doing so. Censorship is rad when they get to do it, but they realize such a solipsism seems kinda icky so they need to explain how, actually, they're not censoring anybody, what they're doing is an act of righteous silencing that's a totally different matter. Maybe they associate censorship with groups they don't like, such as nazis or religious zealots. Maybe they have a vague dedication toward Enlightenment principles and don't want to be regarded as incurious dullards. Most typically, they're just afraid of the axe slicing both ways, and they want to make sure that the precedent they're establishing for others will not be applied to themselves.

Anyone who engages with this honestly for more than a few minutes will realize that censorship is much more complicated, especially in regards to its informal and social dimensions. We can all agree that society simply would not function if everyone said whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. You might think your boss is a moron or your wife's dress doesn't look flattering, but you realize that such tidbits are probably best kept to yourself. 

Again, this is a two-way proposition that everyone is seeking to balance. Do you really want people to verbalize every time they dislike or disagree with you? I sure as hell don't. And so, as part of a social compact, we learn to self-censor. Sometimes this is to the detriment of ourselves and our communities. Most often, however, it's just a price we have to pay in order to keep things from collapsing. 

But as systems, large and small, grow increasingly more insane and untenable, so do the comportment standards of speech. The disconnect between America's reality and the image Americans have of themselves has never been more plainly obvious, and so striving for situational equanimity is no longer good enough. We can't just pretend cops aren't racist and the economy isn't run by venal retards or that the government places any value on the life of its citizens. There's too much evidence that contradicts all that, and the evidence is too omnipresent. There's too many damn internet videos, and only so many of them can be cast as Russian disinformation. So, sadly, we must abandon our old ways of communicating and embrace instead systems that are even more unstable, repressive, and insane than the ones that were previously in place.

Until very, very recently, nuance and big-picture, balanced thinking were considered signs of seriousness, if not intelligence. Such considerations were always exploited by shitheads to obfuscate things that otherwise would have seemed much less ambiguous, yes, but this fact alone does not mitigate the potential value of such an approach to understanding the world--especially since the stuff that's been offered up to replace it is, by every worthwhile metric, even worse.

So let's not pretend I'm Malcolm Gladwell or some similarly slimy asshole seeking to "both sides" a clearcut moral issue. Let's pretend I am me. Flash back to about a year ago, when there was real, widespread, and sustained support for police reform. Remember that? Seems like forever ago, man, but it was just last year... anyhow, now, remember what happened? Direct, issues-focused attempts to reform policing were knocked down. Blotted out. Instead, we were told two things: 1) we had to repeat the slogan ABOLISH THE POLICE, and 2) we had to say it was actually very good and beautiful and nonviolent and valid when rioters burned down poor neighborhoods.

Now, in a relatively healthy discourse, it might have been possible for someone to say something like "while I agree that American policing is heavily violent and racist and requires substantial reforms, I worry that taking such an absolutist point of demanding abolition and cheering on the destruction of city blocks will be a political non-starter." This statement would have been, in retrospect, 100000000% correct. But could you have said it, in any worthwhile manner? If you had said something along those lines, what would the fallout had been? Would you have lost friends? Your job? Would you have suffered something more minor, like getting yelled at, told your opinion did not matter? Would your acquaintances still now--a year later, after their political project has failed beyond all dispute--would they still defame you in "whisper networks," never quite articulating your verbal sins but nonetheless informing others that you are a dangerous and bad person because one time you tried to tell them how utterly fucking self-destructive they were being? It is undeniably clear that last year's most-elevated voices were demanding not reform but catharsis. I hope they really had fun watching those immigrant-owned bodegas burn down, because that’s it, that will forever be remembered as the most palpable and consequential aspect of their shitty, selfish movement. We ain't reforming shit. Instead, we gave everyone who's already in power a blank check to fortify that power to a degree you and I cannot fully fathom.

But, oh, these people knew what they were doing. They were good little boys and girls. They have been rewarded with near-total control of the national discourse, and they are all either too guilt-ridden or too stupid to realize how badly they played into the hands of the structures they were supposedly trying to upend.

And so left-liberalism is now controlled by people whose worldview is equal parts superficial and incoherent. This was the only possible outcome that would have let the system continue to sustain itself in light of such immense evidence of its unsustainability without resulting in reform, so that's what has happened.

But... okay, let's take a step back. Let's focus on what I wanted to talk about when I started this.

I came across a post today from a young man who claimed that his high school English department head had been removed from his position and had his tenure revoked for refusing to remove three books from classrooms. This was, of course, fallout from the ongoing debate about Critical Race Theory. Two of those books were Marjane Satropi's Persepolis and, oh boy, The Diary of Anne Frank. Fuck. Jesus christ, fuck.

Now, here's the thing... When Persepolis was named, I assumed the bannors were anti-CRT. The graphic novel does not deal with racism all that much, at least not as its discussed contemporarily, but it centers an Iranian girl protagonist and maybe that upset Republican types. But Anne Frank? I'm sorry, but the most likely censors there are liberal identiarians who believe that teaching her diary amounts to centering the suffering of a white woman instead of talking about the One Real Racism, which must always be understood in an American context. The super woke cult group Black Hammer made waves recently with their #FuckAnneFrank campaign... you'd be hard pressed to find anyone associated with the GOP taking a firm stance against the diary since, oh, about 1975 or so.

So which side was it? That doesn't matter. What matters is, I cannot find out.

Now, pro-CRT people always accuse anti-CRT people of not knowing what CRT is, and then after making such accusations they always define CRT in a way that absolutely is not what CRT is. Pro-CRTers default to "they don't want  students to read about slavery or racism." This is absolutely not true, and absolutely not what actual CRT concerns itself with. Slavery and racism have been mainstays of American history curriucla since before I was born. Even people who barely paid attention in school would admit this, if there were any more desire for honesty in our discourse. 

My high school history teacher was a southern "lost causer" who took the south's side in the Civil War but nonetheless provided us with the most descriptive and unapologetic understandings of slavery's brutalities I had heard up until that point. He also unambiguously referred to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshmia and Nagasaki as "genocidal." Why? Because most people's politics are idiosyncratic, and because you cannot genuinely infer a person to believe one thing based on their opinion of another, tangentially related thing. The totality of human understanding used to be something open-minded people prided themselves on being aware of, believe it or not...

This is the problem with CRT. This is is the motivation behind the majority of people who wish to ban it. It’s not because they are necessarily racist themselves. It’s because they recognize, correctly, that the now-ascendant frames for understanding social issues boils everything down to a superficial patina that denies not only the realities of the systems they seek to upend but the very humanity of the people who exist within them. There is no humanity without depth and nuance and complexities and contradictions. When you argue otherwise, people will get mad and fight back. 

And this is the most bitter irony of this idiotic debate: it was never about not wanting to teach the sinful or embarrassing parts of our history. That was a different debate, one that was settled and won long ago. It is instead an immense, embarrassing overreach on behalf of people who have bullied their way to complete dominance of their spheres of influence within media and academe assuming they could do the same to everyone else. Some of its purveyors may have convinced themselves that getting students to admit complicity in privilege will prevent police shootings, sure. But I know these people. I’ve spoken to them at length. I’ve read their work. The vast, vast majority of them aren’t that stupid. The point is to exert control. The point is to make sure they stay in charge and that nothing changes. The point is failure. 

[swanlake1998]

Article: Ashton Edwards Is Breaking Down Gender Barriers in Ballet

Date: July 1, 2021

By: Marcie Sillman

When Ashton Edwards was 3 years old, the Edwards family went to see a holiday production of The Nutcracker in their hometown, Flint, MI.

For the young child, it was love at first sight.

"I saw a beautiful, black Clara," Ashton says, "and I wanted to be just like her."

Ashton has dedicated 14 years of ballet training in pursuit of that childhood dream. But all the technical prowess in the world can't help Ashton surmount the biggest hurdle—this aspiring dancer was born male, and for the vast majority of boys and men, performing in pointe shoes hasn't been a career option. But Ashton Edwards, who uses the pronouns "he" and "they," says it's high time to break down ballet's gender barrier, and their teachers and mentors believe this passionate dancer is just the person to lead the charge.

A Childhood in Motion

Ashton's mother, Latisha Edwards, says for as long as she can remember, Ashton, the sixth of seven Edwards siblings, has been in constant motion, dancing on any flat surface in the house. "He'd crash into plates in the kitchen," she laughs. She knew she had to find something to focus all that energy.

The year after the family trip to Nutcracker, when Ashton was just 4 years old, Latisha signed them up for a dance class offered through Flint's Head Start program. Karen Jennings, now chair of the dance division at the Flint School of Performing Arts, ran the Saturday program at the time.

"There was this little guy out in the hallway," Jennings remembers. It was Ashton, and Jennings saw the child was copying the students in her intermediate class.

"I was afraid he was going to fall and crack his head open," she says. "So, I invited him into the studio."

Jennings recognized Ashton's natural flexibility, rotation and body proportions, the physical assets that often propel a hopeful ballet dancer to success. Beyond these gifts, Ashton had what Jennings calls a "spark": the enthusiasm and self-discipline to devote to regular ballet classes. Once the Edwards family decided Ashton would continue ballet training, Jennings was happy to place them in her classes with the more advanced students. She kept a close eye on the aspiring dancer throughout their 12 years in the Flint School of Performing Arts program—though Ashton's journey there wasn't always easy.

Ashton was one of only a handful of boys in the school, and one of very few Black students. And though Ashton never felt treated differently, their keen awareness of being Black in a room full of white dancers created a pressure to excel.

"I've had to be 12 times better than everyone else my whole life," Ashton says. "We have no choice but to be the best if we want to be treated equally."

Finding a Dance Home in Seattle

By the time Ashton was 11 or 12, it became clear they had the raw skills to pursue ballet seriously, and Jennings met with the Edwards family to spell out what that would mean: leaving Flint for more rigorous pre-professional training. Latisha Edwards worried about sending her child out of town, but she supported their decision to enroll in summer classes at both Chicago's Joffrey Ballet and then at Houston Ballet.

Although Jennings believed the Joffrey would be a good long-term fit, at age 16 Ashton decided to audition for Pacific Northwest Ballet's summer intensive. They traveled to Chicago where the Seattle-based dance company was holding a large, regional audition. PNB artistic director Peter Boal says managing director Denise Bolstad spotted Ashton before he did.

"Her eyes got bigger, then she pointed to the name and audition number on the card." Boal immediately saw what Bolstad had noticed in Ashton. "His lines, his energy, his placement."

But something even more special struck Boal: This teenager had the kind of stage presence that's difficult to teach. "There are dancers that you just look at them, and they have their own special spotlight."

Boal offered Ashton a summer spot; despite their mother's qualms about the distance from Flint to Seattle, she let her son travel west, where they fell in love with both PNB and Seattle. After the summer, Boal accepted Ashton into the company's Professional Division training program.

Chasing the Dream of Dancing On Pointe

While the move to PNB made sense in terms of preparation for a professional ballet career, it didn't ensure that Ashton could immediately pursue gender-blind ballet training. In fact, the teenager didn't even consider it at first.

"Growing up I always knew all the choreography for the female roles," Ashton says. "I learned everything, but those were unreachable dreams, just insane fantasies." So, when Ashton first arrived at PNB, they focused on traditional men's classes, and on building strength, to develop into what they call a "man's man."

But the pandemic hit midway through Ashton's first year at PNB. When the ballet school shut down, Ashton had time to reflect on their efforts to fit the male ballet dancer stereotype. At 5' 6" with long, slender limbs and androgynous facial features, they didn't necessarily resemble a Romeo or an Albrecht. And deep down, they still harbored the dream of dancing Juliet or Giselle.

So, during quarantine in the spring and summer of 2020, Ashton embarked on a rigorous self-directed training program. They sought out online pointe technique videos, studying them carefully. A friend gave Ashton her old pointe shoes, and every day they'd go outside to the patio to practice what they'd seen in the videos.

"I was out there for six hours a day, as soon as the sun came out," says Ashton. "And I realized, maybe this dream is possible."

So, last fall Ashton approached Boal and Bolstad with a proposition: The dancer would continue with the official men's curriculum if the school would allow them to pursue pointe classes, as well. And they showed the teachers what they'd learned over the summer.

"I had no hesitation," Boal remembers. "If anyone had said to me 'This student has danced on pointe for just nine months and this is what they're able to do,' I wouldn't believe it!"

The Lewis and Clark of the Ballet World

Since classes resumed last September, Ashton has juggled a rigorous schedule: two days a week they take pointe class with their Professional Division female colleagues; the other three days they're working with the male students, although sometimes they take that class in pointe shoes as well.

Former PNB principal dancer Jonathan Porretta, one of Ashton's instructors, says he never knew his student wanted to dance on pointe until last fall, when Ashton started posting photos to their Instagram account.

Porretta says he has always approached teaching his classes outside male and female roles. For him, ballet is about working toward technique and developing the artist.

For his part, Porretta calls Ashton a "star," someone he believes can help pave a new future for men, and women, in ballet. Porretta says it's time for the art form to loosen its hide-bound gender roles.

"There will be some companies very ready to be thrust into the future of dance, while others are more set in their ways," Porretta says. "But art is here to push boundaries and possibilities."

PNB soloist Joshua Grant agrees. Years ago, when he was a young student, Grant's ballet teacher suggested he take pointe classes to help strengthen his ankles. He loved dancing on pointe, but professionally it didn't seem like an option for him. In 2006, after stints with both PNB and National Ballet of Canada, Grant auditioned for, and was hired by, Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo, the all-male troupe known for its campy send-ups of classic ballets.

"I was told it would be career suicide," Grant recalls, because "men on pointe? That's either drag or comedy."

After five years as a principal dancer with the Trocks, Grant returned to PNB, where he's back to performing traditional male roles and developing his own choreographic career. He's currently creating a dance for Ashton and some of their fellow students, for Next Step, PNB's choreographers' showcase. Ashton will be on pointe. Like Porretta, Grant is excited that a young dancer like Ashton is eager to push to transform a centuries-old art form.

"I told Ashton, 'You're like Lewis and Clark, making your own path,'" Grant says. "'There's no precedent, so do what you want to do.'"

Looking Ahead

Ashton is hoping to embark on a career dancing with companies that will cast them not only in gender-blind contemporary work, but in the traditional roles from ballet's classical canon, everything from Odette/Odile in Swan Lake to the long-coveted Clara in The Nutcracker.

"I want to be part of changing, evolving those traditions to modern day life," says Ashton. "We can preserve those ballets, those classic works, but also make them reflect our modern world."

Boal believes in Ashton's ability to be a ballet change-maker; more than that, he's convinced that ballet has to welcome gender-blind casting and men performing on pointe as more than a novelty act.

"We're not going to laugh at this or point at it," Boal says. "We're going to admire it, and eventually we're not even going to talk about it as something out of the ordinary, as it continues to evolve."

Despite the support Ashton has received in their quest to be a nonbinary professional dancer, landing a job is tough for any ballet student, let alone for a Black dancer. But Ashton professes faith that they can make their dreams come true.

"I just decided, my entire life, this is what I'm going to do. This makes me happy, so I have to do it," Ashton says. "There is no other way I can exist."

[handlewithkara]

Versus a depowered “human” Kara ending

I know that people have put forth the theory for why they think that the show will end with Kara giving up her powers and becoming “human”. I thought I would lay out my reasons why I don’t think it will happen. For this I will use a mixture of spoilers, discussion of themes and yes of course you can’t avoid personal preferences. 

First let me say, I don’t blame people for this speculation and that it makes the stupid or bad fans. I can see why looking at the evidence could make them come to that conclusion (for example with quotes like “Melissa:  What she stands for and always fighting for what's right, and leading with your heart and compassion and finding your family and holding on for dear life. “ or “ it's a lot of exploration of power and what it means, how do you wield it well, how do you wield it for the wrongs reasons, and what happens when you do on both sides of heroes and villains. “ or “The more Kara matures, the more she's grappled with her power and what it means to carry the powers that she has on Earth and her identity as either an alien or human, or where she belongs. Those are things we're really exploring this year with her. And what makes you strong? What makes you feel empowered? Those are things we're looking at this season across the board for all the characters. But with Kara specifically, this season is going to be more of a self-exploration, looking in the mirror and [contemplating] what her power means because it's almost limitless and it makes her so strong on Earth. Where does she draw the line? How does she reconcile that with her humanity?”), I’m just going to share why I don’t think it will be the ending the show goes with. 

Things we know about the ending - quotes: 

Quotes from Melissa:

-  they pitched me the end, and it's really lovely. It's a great ending. I feel fantastic about it  

-  "Story-wise, it's really lovely the capacity in which [James, Winn and Mon-El] return."

-  She said she would be willing to put on the Supergirl costume one more time to convince [her son]."If he asks, I would do it," Benoist said. "Something tells me he probably won't. [He] might be embarrassed." 

-  Of course, I’m not going to give anything away, but I am very happy with the strength and the empowerment that comes with the way we’re ending the series for Kara.

- it’s our heartfelt wish that her legacy echoes the central message of Supergirl: embrace the hope, the inspiration and the supwerpowers that live within yourself

Quotes from Chyler: 

- Question: Are you content with where Alex’s story ends? Chyler: It’s bittersweet. [..]  It’s going to be a “to be continued” kind of thing. It’s understanding that, OK, they’ve reached a certain point in their life where it’s almost like the audience can hopefully give them permission to imagine them having some time to be happy and it not be dire straits all the time. There’s always going to be bad guys.

Things we know about the ending from behind the scenes pictures: 

- Alex and Kelly will have a wedding and very likely Alex will finally get to adopt a kid like she has always wanted. 

- James, Mon-El and Winn are back for the finale and take part in the big battle. Kara is still flying in that battle. 

- A part of the battle is the people of National City rising up and helping out. 

- There is a scene where Andrea and Lena create something dedicated to William Dey. There is a scene of Nia posing with a flag and Kelly is present. 

- Alex will appear in the Flash crossover which is set after Supergirl concludes, potentially together with Kelly. Kara/Melissa won’t take part. As per her quote Melissa very likely doesn’t plan on playing Supergirl any time soon. 

The feminist message of Kara giving up her special powers

To me, there has always been a feminist message in women having powers and getting to use them. If you compare it to how how the journeys of Kara’s male colleagues have gone, traditionally they have gotten only more powerful over time, such as with Oliver dying and returning as an almost all powerful being. 

To me the message of taking the most powerful character in the Arrowverse who happens to be female and telling her “you have to give up your powers for the greater good” seems just kind of wonky to me. Not that it couldn’t be done at all, but I find it at least somewhat questionable rather than “I heard it and I got it immediately”. (is it really a great example of strenght and empowerment for Kara to give up her special powers? Is it really a lovely occasion for Mon-El, Winn and James to return to watch Kara give up her powers? As opposed to the occasion being that all of Kara’s friends, all the people she inspired to be heroes, powers or no powers get together to help her defeat the baddies) 

Especially since in the context of the show, these powers are an inherent part of Kara, just like they are for Nia and J’onn. And the show has consistently shown as the powers also being something that give Kara great joy (particularly flying). 

Diversity versus hegemony

Supergirl has always used aliens as a metaphor for immigrants and bringing up various aspects like suspicion against aliens, their rights as full citizens etc. 

It seems to me that for the way the show has used this metaphor the more suitable message would be aliens and humans living in harmony with each other and the aliens can keep having their powers. To resolve this conflict by Kara just “becoming human” seems like an odd fit for me compared how the show has handled this topic so far. 

Especially considering how Melissa has recently frequently brought up season 4 and citing that she liked it precisely for the political storylines it had. That being the very same reason where Kara contemplates embracing her heritage in public. 

There has been a lot of moaning about the potential implications of “giving up your life for a dude”, but I would bring forth, isn’t “giving up your heritage, giving up an integral part of yourself for anybody” still a pretty wonky message (presuming that the end would be something like “Kara gives up her powers for Alex, so she can be human with Alex, since the sisters are the heart of the show” [as it does not appear that Kara gave her powers up to defeat the big bad, since she still seems to have her powers in the big battle, so it would have to be what... Kara asking Nyxly or Myxy to take away her powers?], it just seems to me that in such a scenario, wouldn’t the greater love be where the other person doesn’t need or want you to give up such a huge part of yourself and instead loves you the way you are?

To me it just seems like the more uplifting message would be if aliens can keep their powers and still be accepted for who they are. 

Powers are used to bring down the big bad

Having a badguy with the power to do everything at the snap of a finger would be an excellent setup for Kara to lose her powers. But if the message of the show is supposed to be that no-powers is as good or even better than having powers, wouldn’t you expect that be reflected in how the big bad is handled? If the end of Kara’s story was that she gives up on having superpowers and focuses on being just a journalist, wouldn’t you expect then that journalism is what brings down the badguys? Wouldn’t you expect a big battle where Kara does not have powers but beats the badguys anyway to show off that powers are not needed at all even when facing down the biggest bads? 

Instead it looks to me like Kara still very much has her powers in this confrontation (we see her doing a superhero landing) And she is still wearing her superhero suit. Again if the central message of the show was wouldn’t it be more powerful if the big final battle would feature Kara facing the badguys down in her human, reporter outfit? 

Kara wouldn’t leave her friends

I find this claim strangest of all. Because Kara has left her friends before. She left to live on Argo. And if you look at those episodes, she did not come back because she missed her friends so much and realized she could not live without them. She realized she did not like it there, that she didn’t fit in there because even in a mostly peaceful world where Kara has no special powers compared to everybody else Kara could just not stop superheroing and she returned because earth was in danger. 

Back in season 3 when Kara tried to leave, all the people in her life were arguably in a way worse condition than they presumably be at the end of season 6. In season 3 Alex was still alone and still saddened by her breakup, just on the verge of taking steps towards her goal of motherhood. At the end of season 6 she will presumably be married to an equally heroic partner with the adoption she has been craving going through. 

In season 3 Lena was still clueless about the inner workings of superheroics, by the end of season 6, Lena is in the know, part of the team and has forged a lot of new friendships and might presumably even get more active powers of her own and it stands to reason by the end of season 6 Lena will be truly free of her family influence. Nia has grown into her own powers. Compared to the last time Kara left, everybody is in an even better shape.  

Would Kara really stop being a physical hero if she lost her powers? 

One component of the speculation is that whatever the ending is, it must provide an explanation for why Kara isn’t taking part in crossovers. Yet... Alex has no superpowers and she is still a hero. And every time Kara lost her powers in canon, she still kept on being a hero. So even if Kara gave her powers up permanently why wouldn’t she just join Kelly and Alex in being a technology based hero? 

I find it much harder to believe that a Kara who stays would sit by idly while Kelly and Alex put themselves into phyiscal danger. To me, a setup where Kara is still a superhero, just physically elsewhere and trusting Alex to hold down the fort just works a lot better than Kara not joining physically when she is basically around the corner and the show has plenty of technology lying around that would allow her to stay a physically active hero. 

It just seems odd to me that she couldn’t do both yet at the same time Alex presumably stays active as a hero. So is staying a vigilante superhero something worthwhile (even as you can have a positive influence on the world as a social worker or a reporter) or is it not?  If it’s not worthwhile, why is Alex still doing it and if it’s worthwhile and Kara’s beloved sister is doing it, why would Kara stop doing it, when in the past, she has always shown herself to still act heroically even when she had no powers? 

Is being human is better than having powers, shouldn’t J’onn and NIa (or Mon-El for that matter) give up their powers too? 

If the core message of Supergirl is supposed to be that not having superhuman powers and just acting with human empathy and ingenuity is better, why don’t J’onn and Nia give up their powers? if let’s say sacrificing powers was a requirement to defeat the big bad, wouldn’t that also affect J’onn and Nia? 

Yet when Nicole Maines was interviewed and asked how she would like Nia’s story to continue after Supergirl she talked explicitly about wanting to develop Nia’s powers more and how she wants Nia to become even more powerful. Something that seems kind of at odds if she just comes off a show where the presumably celebrated end is the main character losing her powers. 

If Kara has lot her power, why isn’t she present right there in the front line in those scenes with Andrea, Lena and Nia? 

If the aim of the show is for Kara to become “human” and focus on her work as a reporter and the various way that humans can inspire each other and lift each other, wouldn’t you expect Kara to be part of it? To either cover it as a reporter or to even be part directly when for example sort of inspiring organization is being created? 

Kara not being in those scenes to me makes more sense if she either isn’t there and these scenes communicate how various other characters carry on her mission OR if she at the very least still has her powers and flying over them in a way that is added as CGI later. 

Anyway, these are the reasons why I personally find it rather doubtful that the show will go with a depowered or “human” Kara ending. 

I personally lean towards what I call a “Graduation” ending, an ending where Kara looks down with pride on all heroes she helped inspire and moves to some other location to be a hero there or hone her heroing there, feeling safe in the knowledge that she is leaving the protection of earth in capable hands and that her message is still being carried forth by the people she has inspired. 

Another option of course could be that she just stays as a superhero as before, and they just don’t care to have any particular explanation for why she isn’t taking part in crossovers. 

Maybe the strength and empowerement could come from full circle from the pilot in her standing tall as a powerful hero with a army of people she inspired behind her and finally being open about her secret identity, as an alien (as mirror to Kara revealing her powers to the world in the pilot, it is Kara revealing her identity to the world). 

In the end, it be will a question of personal preference and we’ll probably have to agree to disagree which ending seems more likely and just a couple of months from now, we will see what the show goes with, what they felt was more suitable and what Melissa thought made a “lovely” ending for Kara’s character. if Kara “turn human” in the end and Melissa is happy with it, whatever. I can live with it. But with the things are now, I’m skeptical that that would be their ending. To me it would just seem like an odd fit with the overall messaging of the show (yes even with all the talk about human hearts, but what does it say about the rest of the characters who are also aliens?) and a rather dubious place to leave the character in and imo doesn’t really provide a lot of advantages to Kara keeping her powers and staying in town when it comes to explaining her position vis a vis the rest of the Arrowverse. 

[deja-you]

âmes soeurs | part two

m. de lafayette x reader

Summary: Lafayette and Y/n Howe were childhood best friends. It’s been years, but somehow they’ve both ended up in revolutionary America. On different sides of the war.

masterlist | part one

BOOM!

A gasp escaped Y/n’s lips. Did she really just shoot someone? And just because he wore a blue coat instead of a red one? What was he guilty of, fighting for freedom? The flintlock pistol in Y/n’s hand billowed smoke still and felt hot to the touch. Her shaking hands dropped the pistol on the forest floor, but they continued to grip the sword she held. 

Looking up at the rebel in front of her, Y/n saw that he was still standing. Had she missed? He was only a few feet away from her and the flintlock was known for being incredibly accurate. Y/n reasoned that she couldn’t have missed her mark, and that the rebel would collapse at any second. But he didn’t.

The soldier whipped his head around to face her, looking more surprised than pained. He patted down his torso as if he were looking for a gunshot wound, but he never found one. He stared at Y/n’s silhouette in bewilderment, bristling when he saw the sword at her side glimmer in the moonlight. The soldier muttered some kind of disgruntled word and drew his own sword. He advanced toward Y/n, and she began to panic.

Y/n took a few steps back, but quickly found her back pressed to a tree. Going backwards wasn’t an option at this point, and the soldier was gaining ground quickly. Adjusting her grip on her sword, Y/n held it up to her opponent, and soon there was a clash of metal between the two.

This soldier was clearly a better swordsman than Y/n. In fact, it had been years since she had even held a sword. As she did her best to parry his attacks, the soldier came back again and again. His hits weren’t brutally strong, but they were fast and in just the right places, proving further that he must’ve been an experienced swordsman. 

With sweat running down her neck, Y/n did her best to hold her sword tighter when the soldier delivered a powerful blow. She didn’t have much time to recover when he attacked again. This time, the soldier was successful in disarming Y/n and knocking her to the ground. The forest beneath her hands, Y/n scrambled backwards. She wouldn’t be able to outrun him. He raised his sword, and Y/n was only left thinking this is the end. The sound of metal cutting through air could be heard, and then --

Nothing?

Y/n was expecting to hear the sound of his sword cutting through flesh. At the very least, a sharp pain in her side. There was nothing. Was she dead? Is this what dying was like? Just quick and painless? No, Y/n could still feel the leaves and dirt beneath her and the chill of the evening breeze in her hair. She couldn’t be dead. 

Daring to open her eyes, Y/n saw that the soldier seemed just as confused as she did. Upon noticing that she had not been effected, the soldier regained his purpose. He raised his sword again. Y/n flinched. And again, there was nothing?

“Why can’t I kill you?” Asked the soldier. He wasn’t angry, more confused.

“I... I don’t know,” Y/n replied honestly.

He cocked his head to the side and pointed his sword at Y/n once more. “Who are you?”

Not seeing the point in lying, and being too exhausted to continue fighting, Y/n raised her hands in surrender and slowly removed the hood of her cloak.

“I’m Y/n Howe.”

The soldier immediately lowered his weapon and took a step back from her. 

“Y/n?”

“Do I know you?”

Stepping into the clearing, moonlight lit up the soldiers face. He was taller than she had last saw him, he looked much older, too, but Y/n would have been able to recognize those eyes anywhere. Even after all these years, she could have never forgotten them. And Lord knows she had tried. 

“Lafayette!” She gasped. “Is it... is it really you?”

Now sure that this was Y/n, Lafayette dropped the sword in his hand like it burned him. It clattered to the ground, and Lafayette couldn’t believe that he had nearly killed Y/n a few moments ago. He had really tried his best...

“I never thought I’d see you again,” he admitted.

“Disappointed?”

Lafayette laughed. Oh, how she missed the sound of his laugh. “The opposite. When I heard you and your mother had accompanied General Howe to the colonies, I was hoping I’d get to see you again. But then I heard he was leaving back to England, and well...”

“You thought you’d never see me,” Y/n finished for him.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I thought I’d never see you. But I’m so glad I did.”

“I’m glad to see you, too. Although, it could be under better circumstances.” 

There it was. The realization of where they were and who they were. She was only here because she was General Howe’s daughter. Y/n couldn’t overlook the continental uniform Lafayette was proudly wearing. And there was also the fact that Y/n had tried to kill him moments earlier.

“Did you...” Lafayette asked incredulously. “Did you try to shoot me? Did you really try to kill me?”

Y/n tensed. “You tried to kill me, too! And you nearly did!”

“Yeah, because someone had followed me from a British party and attempted to shoot me! It was self defense.”

“How did we end up on different sides of this war? We were best friends.”

Lafayette immediately felt guilty upon hearing Y/n’s defeated tone. They really had been best friends. Even if it was all years ago, he had failed to meet anyone like Y/n. He didn’t even want to. Lafayette sighed and tentatively sat next to her on the forest ground.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I always wanted to seek glory on the battlefield, you knew that. Fighting for the Americans seemed right. If they can win independence from a tyrant, so can France, and every other nation.”

“Tyrant? That’s my king you’re talking about.”

“Y/n, you’ve always been the smart one. You must see how King George treats the colonists is unfair. Everyone deserves equal--”

“—you don’t need to lecture me about what is fair and what isn’t. I read Jefferson’s declaration, and I know all about his philosophy on ‘unalienable rights.’ I don’t really buy into it,” Y/n said firmly.

Lafayette was surprised. “You don’t? I thought... I thought this would be something you support.”

“It’s not that I don’t support equality and justice. It’s that I don’t believe these revolutionaries truly believe in equality and justice.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re selfish. The men who wrote the declaration? Most of them are wealthy slaveholders. Do you understand how terrible it is that they talk about freedom and liberty, all while they buy and sell other human beings? That’s not what equality is. And if they can’t even get that right, what else are they wrong about?”

“Those men—”

“And that’s the second thing! They’re all men. They don’t care about equal representation, they just care about representation for themselves. Lafayette, you’re right, I have always been the smart one. I have spent hours reading and studying while you would go out for long rides on your horse. I’ve dedicated more time than most men to my education, but that still wouldn’t matter. I couldn’t get a job, I couldn’t get a position in the legislature, I couldn’t vote. All this on the account that I was born a woman. And you revolutionaries? You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Y/n was out of breath at this point. Years of pent up anger had finally been unleashed upon Lafayette. She almost felt bad. This wasn’t Lafayette’s fault, it really wasn’t. But it was cruel to champion equality and freedom when you didn’t really believe in it. 

“I’m sorry,” Lafayette said. “You’re right. We revolutionaries are hypocritical.”

“Hypocritical? Your english has gotten much better,” she muttered. 

“The men who wrote the declaration are wrong to own slaves and exclude women. I know that. I will dedicate the rest of my life to fixing that wrong. But right now? Right now I have the chance to fight the injustice that is the British government. It’s a revolution, Y/n. And if we succeed, we’re going to be changing the world for the better. This war is just a start. But everything needs a start.”

He was right. Y/n knew he was right. God, she hated it when he was right. 

“Maybe I was being too harsh,” Y/n conceded.

Lafayette shook his head. “No, it’s good. I love that you hold me accountable. But I also believe this revolution is worth supporting.”

“I know.” She said it so quietly he almost didn’t hear her. “I know you’re right, and you know why I can’t support this revolution.”

Lafayette did know why. Y/n never had much of a choice, and she was always loyal to those she loved. He couldn’t even imagine being in her shoes.

“Can we just not talk about this anymore? Can you just hold me like you used to? I just want what we used to have, even if it’s just for a little while,” Y/n said softly.

She didn’t have to ask twice, Lafayette’s arms wrapped around her and pulled her to his chest. 

Lafayette and Y/n were both so deeply flawed. It was all they knew how to be. But this moment they shared together? It could only be described as perfect.

How good did it feel to be in his arms again? It had been so long. Being without him was like living in a barren field covered in snow. Y/n had been content with her life without him in it, but that was when she couldn’t remember what life was with him. It was golden sunbeams and turquoise streams. It was stolen kisses on hot summer nights. It was music and flowers and everything wonderful. Life with Lafayette was all that and more. 

The rain started coming down in droves. Maybe it didn’t want her to have to fall alone.

tags: @ballerinafairyprincess @dannighost @ateliefloresdaprimavera

[qqueenofhades]

Do you think there will be another civil war in America? I’m afraid. Im trying to read about the first civil war to understand it more. What happened on both sides. What was the cost. What Americans can learn from then to help us now. But it’s so hard. There are so many screaming voices. Would love to know your thoughts as a historian and as an American.

Well, nonnie, I don’t know if this will be comforting to you or not, but in my view, the war has been going on for years -- decades, even -- and just because it doesn’t take the traditional form of two uniformed armies on a battlefield doesn’t mean that it’s any less a war, and any less deadly. Americans live in the most deeply and violently militarized of any supposedly first-world country on the entire planet, and the recent protests have, if nothing else, made the actors in our present civil war explicitly visible. On the one side, cops in military-grade hardware. On the other, largely unarmed protestors and civilians. This intersects with a toxic political climate and runaway gun violence problem, which adds up to a staggering annual death toll comparable to any war. While this may seem to come from the Department of Duh, let’s drop some knowledge:

There have been 21,191 gun-related deaths in the U.S. already in 2020 (including 279 mass shootings).

There were 434 mass shootings in the U.S. in 2019, equal to approximately 1.19 mass shootings a day, killing 2,160 people.

Approximately 36,000 Americans are killed by guns every year (an average of 100 a day.)

In 2017, 39,773 Americans were killed by or killed themselves with guns, a trend which is on the rise.

U.S. police have killed 598 people already in 2020, and in all of 2019, there were only 27 days when they did not kill anyone. (I recommend clicking on that link, since Mapping Police Violence is one of the few free nonprofit databases dedicated to tracking the issue -- the animated map is also worth a look because it’s horrifying.)

U.S. police also kill civilians at grossly high rates compared to peer nations -- an average of 1,000 a year and 33.5 deaths per 10 million citizens. The next closest is Canada at 9.8 deaths per 10 million.

And just like everyone’s been protesting about, police violence and officer-related shootings affect people of color at grotesquely higher percentages relative to their overall presence in the U.S. population.

In comparison, 89 law enforcement officers died in 2019. Over half of these (48) died in accidents. Only 41 law enforcement officers, in a nation of 330 million people, died as a result of violence/felonious acts.

Just to recap, 100 Americans die from gun violence a day.

In other words, it’s a lot more dangerous to be an average citizen in America than it is to be a law enforcement officer in America.

By... a very wide margin.

The University of Chicago Law School recently completed a three-year-long study (2015--2018) and concluded that not one of the police departments in the 20 largest American cities meet basic human rights standards/the rules of international warfare in the Geneva Convention.

So while the 21st-century political structures of America make it highly unlikely that we’d ever have a Union and Confederacy fighting each other on the battlefield a la the first Civil War, the people of this country have already been under attack for decades from a private army that, I repeat, does not meet basic conventions for international warfare used against our enemies. The events of 2020 have also, if nothing else, proved that the extreme-right gun-nut rhetoric about “rising up to defeat a tyrannical government,” which they have cited forever as the reason why they need all their weapons, is exactly as much bullshit as we all thought it was. (Spoiler alert: they don’t mean the tyrannical government as long as it’s Trump’s, and they want license, such as the two white men who killed Ahmaud Arbery in Georgia, to kill people of color at any point and without punishment.) They’ll put on their AK-47s and picket courthouse steps in the middle of a pandemic to whine about not being able to get haircuts and being forced (like communists, evidently) to wear masks to protect the health of other people. They’ll also run their cars into protestors and point guns at them for variety. But when the president tear-gasses peaceful protestors for a photo-op at a church, the kind of thing that should really piss them off for all their talk about religious freedom? Crickets.

That’s because at heart, these people are cowards, and all their talk of “defending America” are based on wildly militarized fantasies that, like most fantasies, they’re never going to carry out. This is not in the least to downplay the threat from organized white terrorism groups -- in fact, white terrorism is currently the biggest and most ignored threat in America. (I recommend reading that document, from a former white skinhead testifying in front of the U.S. House Committee on Homeland Security last September, in full.) They are the militants who are very deliberately preparing for a “race war” and who embody Nazi and white supremacist ideology, and if there was a new Civil War, it would be divided by ideological, rather than geographical (North vs. South) lines. That is exactly what these people want, and they would be more than happy to have. That’s also why we keep having these fake reports of “Antifa terrorists,” which result in heavily armed white supremacists rushing to counter a threat that doesn’t actually exist. There are plenty of reasons to be scared of that. But we’ve also seen that, again: they are cowards. They’re never going to openly present themselves because they can’t take it when their identities are exposed to the public and they suffer some miniscule amount of consequences for their actions. That is because these identities are often based on what is known as white rage. Any impetus toward being forced to examine white privilege, or acknowledge racial discrimination, literally sends them off the deep end. So if they’re ever actually put in the position of risking something, they... don’t. That doesn’t make them any less toxic and dangerous, but it does mean that all the hateful rhetoric and promises of uprising on the internet are far from the actual truth of their collective behavior.

(You can and should also read White Rage: The Unspoken Truth of Our Racial Divide by Carol Anderson, which examines this topic in more detail, and Bring the War Home: The White Power Movement and Paramilitary America by Kathleen Belew, which examines how this movement began as an organized force in the 1970s and expanded to its current incarnation today.)

In short: punching Nazis works, fuck the police, and abolish white supremacy. This has been your TED talk with Salty Internet Auntie Hilary for the evening.

[96thdayofrage]

Women’s rights activists like Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Betsy Ross, who championed gender equity, didn’t feel the same about race. While many white suffragists worked to help eradicate the institution of slavery, they did not work to ensure that former slaves would have citizenship or voting rights.

“Black women were not accounted for in white women’s push for suffrage. Their fight wasn’t about women writ large. It was about white women obtaining power – the same power as their husbands, black women and black men be damned,” says Howard University Assistant Professor Jennifer D. Williams.

Stanton and Ross and other high-profile leaders in the movement didn’t support the 14th and 15th amendments, which granted former slaves citizenship rights and gave black men voting rights. Given this chasm, a black women’s suffrage movement developed alongside the mainstream movement.

“There was a concerted effort by white women suffragists to create boundaries towards black women working in the movement,” says historian and author Michelle Duster. “White women were more concerned with having the same power as their husbands, while black women saw the vote as a means to improving their conditions.”

Some black suffragists you should know

Sojourner Truth (About 1797-1883)

Born into slavery as Isabella Baumfree, she gained her freedom in the 1820s and supported herself through menial jobs and selling a book written by Olive Gilbert, “Narrative of Sojourner Truth: a Northern Slave, Emancipated from Bodily Servitude by the State of New York in 1828. At the 1851 Women’s Rights Convention held in Akron, Ohio, Sojourner Truth delivered what is now recognized as one of the most famous abolitionist and women’s rights speeches in American history, “Ain’t I a Woman?” In 1872, Truth was turned away when trying to vote in the U.S. presidential election in Battle Creek, Michigan.

Harriet Tubman (About 1820-1913)

Tubman, whose birth name was Araminta Ross, is commonly known as an emancipator who led hundreds of slaves to freedom along the underground railroad. She also was a staunch supporter of women’s suffrage, giving speeches about her experiences as a woman slave at various anti-slavery conventions, out of which the voting rights movement emerged.

Coralie Franklin Cook (1861-1942)

Cook founded the National Association of Colored Women and was known as a committed suffragist. In 1915, she published “Votes for Mothers” in the NAACP magazine The Crisis discussing the challenges of being a mother and why women need the vote.

Angelina Welde Grimke (1880-1958)

A well-known feminist in the District of Columbia, Grimke was a journalist, playwright, poet, lesbian, suffragist and teacher. Grimke wrote for several journals such as Margaret Sanger’s Birth Control Review. Educated at Wellesley College, Grimke’s literary works exposed her ideas about the pain and violence in black women’s lives, and her rejection of the double standards imposed on women.

Charlotta (Lottie) Rollin (1849-unknown)

After the Civil War, the woman suffrage movement split into two separate organizations: the National Woman Suffrage Association (NWSA) —a more radical group and the more mainstream American Woman Suffrage Association (AWSA). Rollin joined the AWSA. During Reconstruction, Rollin became active in South Carolina politics working for congressman Robert Brown Elliott. Rollin spoke on the floor of the South Carolina House of Representatives in 1869 in support of universal suffrage. By 1870, Rollin chaired the founding meeting of the South Carolina Woman’s Rights Association and was elected secretary. Several of Rollin’s family members — sisters Frances, Kate and Louisa also were active in promoting women’s suffrage at both the state and national levels.

Mary Ann Shad Cary (1823-1893)

Cary was perhaps the first black suffragist to form a suffrage association. During the 1850s, she was a leader and spokesperson among the African American refugees who fled to Canada after passage of the Fugitive Slave Act in 1850. In 1853, she founded the Provincial Freeman, a newspaper dedicated to the interests of Blacks in Canada. Cary spoke at the 1878 convention of the NWSA applying the principles of the 14th and 15th Amendments to women and men. She called for an amendment to strike the word “male” from the Constitution. In 1871, Cary unsuccessfully tried to vote in Washington, but she and 63 other women prevailed upon officials to sign affidavits attesting that women had tried to vote. In 1880, she organized the Colored Women’s Progressive Franchise Association, which promoted suffrage and educated people on finance and politics.

Gertrude Bustill Mossell (1855–1948)

A journalist, Mossell, wrote a women’s column in T. Thomas Fortune’s newspaper, The New York Freeman. Her first article, “Woman Suffrage” published in 1885, encouraged women to read suffrage history and articles on women’s rights.

Ida B. Wells (1862-1931)

Wells, who worked with white suffragists in Illinois, founded the Alpha Suffrage Club, the first suffrage group for black women. They canvassed neighborhoods and educated people on causes and candidates helping to elect Chicago’s first black alderman. In 1913, Wells and some white activists from the Illinois delegation traveled to Washington to participate in the historic suffrage parade where women gathered to call for a constitutional amendment guaranteeing women the right to vote. Black suffragists were initially rejected from the event. Wells and other suffragists including white suffragists like Stanton wrote letters asking the parade to allow black women to participate. Event leaders acquiesced, requiring black suffragists to march in the back of the parade to assuage the feelings of white women in the movement who did not want them there. Despite the conditions, black suffragists participated. However, Wells refused to march at the back.

Mary Church Terrell (1863-1954)

In 1896, Terrell and fellow activists founded the National Association of Colored Women and Terrell served as the association’s first president. After the passage of the 19th Amendment, Terrell turned her attention to civil rights.

Anna Julia Cooper (1858-1964)

Anna Julia Cooper was a prominent African American scholar and a strong supporter of suffrage through her teaching, writings and speeches. Cooper worked to convince black women that they required the ballot to counter the belief that ‘black men’s’ experiences and needs were the same as theirs.

Rosa Parks (1913-2005)

Known as the “Mother of the Civil Rights Movement,” because of her role in the Montgomery Bus Boycott, Parks continued to work for civil rights which included voting rights. Parks served as an aide to Congressman John Conyers and used her platform to discuss many issues, including voting rights.

Charlotte Vandine Forten (1785 –1884)

An abolitionist and suffragist, Forten came to Washington in the late 1870’s with her husband, James Forten, a wealthy sail maker and abolitionist. She was a founder and member of the interracial Philadelphia Female Anti-Slavery Society, many of whose members became active in the women’s rights movement.

Harriet Forten Purvis (1810 – 1875)

Daughter of wealthy sailmaker and abolitionist reformer James Forten and Charlotte Forten, Forten Purvis and her sisters were founding members of the Philadelphia Female Anti-Slavery Society, and members of the American Equal Rights Association, where Harriet served as a member of the executive committee. Affluent and educated, the sisters helped lay the groundwork for the first National Woman’s Rights Convention in October 1854 and helped organize the Philadelphia Suffrage Association in 1866.

Margaretta Forten (1806 -1875)

Forten was an educator and abolitionist. She and her mother, Charlotte Forten and her sister, Harriet, were founders and members of the interracial Philadelphia Female Anti-Slavery Society.

Harriet “Hattie” Purvis (1810-1875)

A niece of the Forten family of reformers, Purvis was active in the Pennsylvania Woman Suffrage Association and a member of their executive committee. Between 1883 and 1900, she served as a delegate to the National Woman Suffrage Association. She also served as Superintendent of Work among Colored People for the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union, championing reforms.

Sarah Remond (1826-1887)

Remond was an antislavery lecturer and physician. The Remonds were a noted abolitionist family, well known in antislavery circles and, as a child, Sarah had attended abolitionist meetings. She was an activist in the Salem and Massachusetts Antislavery Societies, and a member of the American Equal Rights Association, where she served as a guest lecturer, and toured the Northeast campaigning for universal suffrage. Discouraged by the split in the women’s suffrage movement after the Civil War, she left the United States, becoming an expatriate in Florence, Italy, in 1866, where she studied medicine.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (1825-1911)

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper was an early abolitionist and women’s suffrage leader. She was one of the few African American women present at conferences and meetings about these issues between 1854 and 1890. She also wrote protest poetry that referenced which included musings about voting rights.

Josephine St. Pierre Ruffin (1842 –1924)

Ruffin was a Massachusetts journalist and noted abolitionist before the Civil War. She joined the Massachusetts Woman Suffrage Association in 1875 and was affiliated with the American Woman Suffrage Association. She was a black woman’s club leader in Massachusetts and the wife of George L. Ruffin, one of the woman’s suffrage representatives from Boston in the state legislature. She challenged the opposition to woman’s suffrage in Boston, writing an editorial co-authored with her daughter, Florida Ridley.

Nannie Helen Burroughs (1879-1961)

Burroughs, an educator, church leader and suffrage supporter, devoted her life to empowering black women. She helped establish the National Association of Colored Women in 1896 and founded the National Training School for Women and Girls in 1909.

Ella Baker (1903-1986)

Civil rights activist and freedom fighter, Ella Baker played a key role in some of the most influential organizations of the time, including the NAACP, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, and the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. In 1964, SNCC helped create Freedom Summer, an effort to both focus national attention on Mississippi’s racism and to register black voters. Baker and many of her contemporaries believed that voting was one key to freedom.

[australian-desi]

Rest In Peace ~ Sushant Singh Rajput

Hey guys, I was going into a spiral thinking about SSR and everything he went through and I needed somewhere to write my feelings down. There’s so much noise about this on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, I didn’t want to add to the noise, bashing and overall negativity, so found this to be the best place. I’m sorry in advance if I offend anyone. This is going to be very long. 

Sushant Singh Rajput the Actor and Human:

I’m not going to lie, I wasn’t his biggest fan, not by a long shot. I watched him in Pavitra Rishta every now and then because my mum was obsessed with that show and I used to be confused as to why everyone was obsessed with Manav and Archana - I was 12 years old when the show started and just felt it was another saas-bahu serial. However, to this day it amazes me how Manav and Archana were able to capture their audience for three consecutive years when their story was another saas-bahu serial. It was obviously the actors portraying them, and it takes a lot to grab someone’s attention and keep it on yourself. SSR had that energy. I remember then he came onto Jhalak Dikhlaa Jaa, I watched that show quite religiously because of my love for dance, and was bowled over by how good of a dancer he was. He had perfect lines, and his posture was amazing, I was in awe every time he danced. I remember that in that show he proposed to his then-gf in the cutest way possible, a proposal that is etched into my mind till this day. 

He then left his daily soap, for a career in Bollywood, it was a very risky, bold move because it is a well known fact - Tellywood actors, are rarely able to make good careers in Bollywood. Most of them become irrelevant after their first or second movie. But man was everyone wrong about Sushant. I didn’t watch Kai Po Che, but I remember the buzz around it at the time, everyone was talking about it, and it was one of the biggest movies of that year. He then did Shuddh Desi Romance - a movie I was inclined to watch because he was in it, I was slowly turning into a fan, but I didn’t get the chance to watch it. Then came PK. When PK’s trailer was launched, SSR’s cameo was kept a secret, I remember I was in the theatre and he came onto the screen and absolutely owned it. His performance as Sarfaraz won me over, and a smile still comes to my face when I remember him in the song “chaar kadam”. SSR had an amazing screen presence, he knew how to keep the audience’s attention on himself and a lot of the time you would forget this Sushant Singh Rajput, in fact you would only think of him as his character. The brilliance in his craft was the ability to become his characters completely, to the point you think of them as a real person. The next movie I watched of his was MS Dhoni - a movie that became a sensation. Everyone who went to the movie as Dhoni fans, came back as Sushant’s fan. He deserved that and more. You could see his hardwork, his passion and his dedication in everything he did. I remember when the trailer for Raabta dropped, I was super excited two of my favourite actors - Sushant and Kriti had come together. At that point I started watching more interviews of him and got to know him a little from what he portrayed as a person. Raabta flopped at the box office, however, personally I enjoyed it and I was amazed at the chemistry he had with Kriti Sanon. In Kedarnath, I was so excited that Sara Ali Khan was doing her debut with him, and man both did not disappoint. Kedarnath was an amazing movie and Sushant portrayed his character with utmost conviction. Chichore was the last movie I watched of his and I absolutely loved the movie and him in it. The themes and overall message of that movie hit deep, and it was intelligently made, with comedy mixed with the darker themes, but not taking away from the main message they were trying to convey. Overall, even though I wasn’t a fan of him at the start of his career, he had won me over. 

I also started adoring him as a person. His love for physics and astronomy; his eyes full of curiosity and enthusiasm towards the great unknowns. He didn’t finish his engineering degree, but the childlike wonder he had towards science made me excited as a scientist myself. He showed everyone that he had a brilliant mind and I’ve said this before and I’ll said it again, actors who are educated and well-spoken make me respect them more, they have a different way of thinking, they are eloquent and they show how much education can do for a person. SSR had all of these qualities. I could hear him speak for hours at a time. His instagram posts were always so deep and meaningful, it would make me thing differently, and his 50 things bucket list inspired me to no end. Especially how much he wanted to do for other people and how much he wanted to grow as a person. He also had an infectious smile, his smile used to make his fans smile and it takes a big person to do that. 

SSR’s Death: 

I was doing an assignment when one of my friend’s had sent me the news. I thought it was a hoax at first, but then I googled him, and it was true - Sushant Singh Rajput had committed suicide. Honestly, I’ve been distraught since then, I cried multiple times, and I can’t stop thinking about him, the pain he must’ve felt in order to take this decision, and whenever I saw his sisters or dad I cried even more, the sadness and despair I felt would be nothing compared to theirs, especially because his death was preventable. I’ve never been depressed, I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks and anxiety but I don’t know what depression is. I only know what I’ve studied, that people who are depressed have physiologically different brains to people who are not, they have decreased levels of oxytocin and serotonin, and that they have less grey matter. I’ve also been told that this causes them to not be able to function, they sleep too much, become unable to socialise, and their brain starts to turn them against themselves. However, I believe that there is always an underlying cause of depression. There are triggers for depression, a person doesn’t become depressed over nothing. I know everyone wants to know the trigger; why did he take such a drastic step, but he didn’t leave a note. He left with silence. I know it is difficult, but I feel that we should respect that, however, we should not let him die in vain. 

But I’m going to be real here IT IS NOT OUR PLACE AS THE GENERAL PUBLIC/AUDIENCE OR FANS TO GO ONTO OTHER CELEBRITIES TWITTERS/FB/IG AND CALL THEM MURDERERS. How dare we think that we can blame other people for someone’s death. I don’t care how these people treated him while he was alive, let them mourn him in peace. His death has taught me one thing, not one person is toxic, not one industry is toxic, all of us are. The person who is now checking up on every single person that they usually would not care for because of guilt, the girl shouting all over my timeline that Karan Johar, Deepika Padukone and Alia Bhatt murdered SSR, the boy screaming that x person didn’t post about his death they wouldn’t be affected by this or they don’t care. Every single person. Everyone needs to stop with raging on social media. They need to take a step back and breathe, and mourn and let others mourn. 

My take on Nepotism and Bollywood: 

Here’s the crux of the issue. Bollywood. I’m your average desi girl, I’ve grown up watching bollywood, being obsessed with it. To the point that at a certain time I only watched Bollywood. Then the whole nepotism scandal hit. I remember thinking to myself then, what’s the big deal? Also did people really not think about this until an actress had to come speak about it on national television? Did no one realise that Bollywood has been preferring starkids over other talents for decades? I used to think that yeah, Bollywood has nepotism, but where does nepotism not exist. The truth is nepotism exists everywhere. A doctor’s child becomes a doctor. A business man’s child becomes a businessman etc. But here’s the thing, the doctor’s child has to work towards becoming a doctor, he/she has to go through the same steps that other non-doctor children have to do. The only advantage they get is, that their parents might be able to help prepare them for what’s coming, and it’s not like every doctor has doctor parents, both people get equal opportunity. The child of a doctor just has more insight. However, in Bollywood, there is no equal ground, it isn’t as if a starkid only has it easy to get their first movie. Nope, they sign their second or third movie before their first one releases. Take Sara Ali Khan for example, she had already signed Simmba, before Kedarnath had released. Now take Anushka Sharma, she didn’t get her second movie two years after the release of her first one. Nepotism does exist, it will exist, but in other industries, the people who aren’t a product of it are still able to get promoted, to do good work and receive equal opportunity. However, in Bollywood this is not the case. It has never been the case. This needs to change. This needs to desperately change. Especially because nepotism didn’t use to be as bad, as the products of nepotism were still talented, but now, they are not, and SSR’s death can bring this change, because Bollywood is losing it’s credibility, and as I consider Bollywood my own, my home, I want it to do better. Actors who come from non-film backgrounds and television deserve to share space in mainstream cinema with those who do come from film backgrounds. 

Where From Here

In the past couple of years, we’ve become a horrible society. We pretend to like people when we meet them, and then bitch about them behind their back. We also think that whatever comes to our heads we can say to whatever celebrity the way we want because them being public figures is an open invitation for us to say hurtful things to them which normally we would not say if we meet them in person. We are the people who cry about nepotism, and then when a movie doesn’t have a big star in it we go “we’ll watch it at home, if we have time, why waste money going to the cinema”. We are the same people who cry about mental health issues and to raise awareness, when we think its absolutely fine to give a celebrity death threats because of a comment they made. We are also those people who cry about how SSR was treated unfairly, when we had a chance to go see his movies but didn’t. Who gave us this authority to be able to judge? Who gave us the right? If we won’t talk to other people with such disrespect in real life, why can we over the internet? WE. NEED. TO. DO. BETTER. AS. A. SOCIETY. 

We need to stop shaming people, we need to support artists that aren’t star kids, but also support star kids. They don’t deserve the hate they get either. It isn’t completely their fault that they are given more opportunity. It’s our fault too. We are the ones who make them successful. Directors know that they could sell more tickets with Ranbir Kapoor on the poster than Sushant Singh Rajput, even if Sushant Singh Rajput is a better artist. We need to support both talents. We need to show filmmakers as an audience, that both artists should be given equal opportunity. That the only thing nepotism should do for a starkid is just give them insight on what a life of an actor is like. That is all. They should also go to auditions, they should also be accepted or rejected based on talent. And for the love of god, we need to stop getting celebrities to judge other celebrities based on acting skills and sex appeal. it’s 2020, we can do better. 

Also to anyone who’s having any sort of dark thoughts. Please, I beg of you talk to someone. There is someone who loves you; your parents, siblings, teachers, friends, family, that brown guy in your dms. And if you truly don’t know anyone that you can talk to, talk to a therapist on a free hotline. My inbox is also always open if you want to chat. 

To Sushant Singh Rajput - I will miss seeing you at the movies, your smile and your interviews, and how much of an inspiration you were to me. I hope you are at peace now, and finally found happiness. 

For anyone who read this - thank you for reading my absolute ramble and I hope I made sense 

Here’s a dumb joke to make you hopefully smile a little, or at least roll your eyes: What do you call bacteria found in Agra? Agraculture - does this even make sense. IDK. All I want to say is, that I’ve been an absolute dukhi aatma for the past couple of days, and now its time to smile, and look at some positives. 

[tmariea]

New Constellations

Written for the ATLA Big Bang 2020!! Hosted by @atla-bigbang

Rating: T

Type: Gen

Summary: "Every star in the sky is another sun somewhere out there, farther away than we could ever imagine."

When Zuko is banished from the Fire Nation, he leaves with a ship, an impossible task, and a newfound fear of his own element. As he's offered the chance to learn navigation by the stars and the myths that weave constellations into the sky, he has a chance too, to learn how to appreciate fire once more and how to look at the world in a different light.

Warnings: panic attacks, anxiety attacks, off-screen character death, grief, healing wounds

Much thanks to @cianidix and her amazing artwork, make sure to check it out!!  And to @vandrell for cheer reading and aiyah, constellayetion, and burnt_oranges over on AO3 for their dedicated beta work!!

Chapters: 1 of 2

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Three weeks out from the Western Air Temple, twenty one days of sailing away from the islands that Zuko had always called home, he woke in a cold sweat.  This wasn’t a rare occurrence these days.  These nights when he’d jolt awake in his hard metal ship’s cabin, face aching, feeling like he was tearing apart at the seams from dreams of Father’s hands, of Azula’s pleased laughter as she had watched Father read the proclamation of his banishment.

Zuko had gotten used to turning toward the wall and curling into himself, where he would tremble either until he dropped back into a fitful, exhausted sleep, or the rising sun would beat him to it.  Tonight something extra roiled in his stomach; maybe the fish they had eaten for dinner wasn’t agreeing with him.  He levered himself out of bed and stumbled toward the door.  A turn of the crank, and he was out into the dark hallway.  There were no windows here to cast light on his unsteady steps, and so he continued until he hit the wall, slumped into it, and turned right.

Why don’t you make a light for yourself, firebender?   The voice in his head sounded a lot like Father, and was just as demanding, just as disappointed.  His stomach gave another unsteady lurch, and he had to stop for a moment and hunch over in the corridor as he fought for control over his breath.  Finally, Zuko moved forward again, shuffling along with his shoulder to the wall until he came to the doorway out onto deck.

The door swinging forward was a visceral relief, as the cool night air hit his face.  Zuko slipped out and let it shut quietly behind him.  He didn’t even spare a thought for if any of the crew might be watching as he dashed to lean over the railing near the prow.  Here the wind chilled the sweat that had collected at the edges of his bandage, and his stomach finally settled as he breathed in the scent of salt air slowly.

He felt better out here in the cool and the dark, where no one could look at him, or if they did, where he couldn’t see the looks on their faces.  The stars trailed thick and bright down to the horizon to meet the water, broken here and there by the dark shape of a cloud.  This was better.  Looking at the stars didn’t hurt.

Wanting to be beneath the night sky, firebender?  When your fire is at its lowest?  Disgraceful.

There was a flash of cloying heat through his core as he started to tremble.  It started in his lungs and spread outward, his breath came raggedly with no chance of control this time.  That was right, wasn’t it - Zuko was a disgrace as a prince, a son, a firebender.  Disgraced dishonored no fire no home no hope.  He clung to the rail as he slipped down to his knees.  He pressed the right side of his forehead to the metal, feeling the cold from the point of contact, and the pulsing pain as his skin stretched.

The waves washed against the metal of the hull, the stars wheeled overhead, and some time later Uncle came to gather him up and bring him back to his cabin.  He didn’t even have the energy to answer Uncle’s questions, much less yell at the crew members who had undoubtedly alerted him.

He could still see the window from his bed, and the stars beyond.  Uncle stayed with him, a hand over his as he sat beside him in silence as the stars slowly faded into dawn, and Zuko finally dropped off to sleep

Zuko lost a few days to fever after the incident on deck, as his already strained and healing body was overwhelmed.  Only another week later, Uncle looked up at him over breakfast and suggested, “Prince Zuko, I believe it may be time to resume your fire bending training.”  He ran hot and cold all over again, but did his best to keep it off his face.  He knew, he knew, that he was supposed to be able to do this.  If he didn’t he was a failure.

If nothing else though, perhaps he could delay.  “I don’t think I should be firebendending with a big wad of flammable bandaging on my face.”

“I never knew you to be quite so concerned with safety nephew,” Iroh mused, with an expression that was far too knowing for Zuko’s liking.  He continued, “No matter, I agree that it might be too soon to run katas or practice sparing.  We will start with meditation.”

There was no good excuse Zuko could think of in response to that.  He managed a small nod, and then tuned out the rest as Uncle began to go on about needing a strong foundation in the basics.

Later that same day he found himself sitting across from Uncle in his quarters, posture ramrod straight like all his previous teachers had insisted on, hoping the tension in his back would prevent him from flinching.  He had to do this.

“I believe it will be best to return to the very basics.  For both you and me; it’s been some time since we practiced together,” Uncle spoke softly, already readying himself for meditation.

Zuko tried to think about the last time he meditated with Uncle Iroh.  It must have been before Uncle left for Ba Sing Se, when Zuko was just learning to meditate to a flame for the first time.  By the time he had returned, Zuko had been expected to have the skill and discipline to manage his own daily meditation.  The memory was still there, though, of the first time – together they sat cross-legged on the floor in a sitting room on the ground floor of the palace.  The doors were thrown open wide and the summer’s heat and the sound of whirring cicadas drifted on the wind.  Uncle had told him to feel the warmth on his skin, to hear the rhythms of the world around them but let them flow away.  Then he had held up a small flame in his hands and asked Zuko to breathe to its rise and fall –

Uncle’s next words drew him back to the present, “I would like you to make the flame, and I will walk us through a basic sequence.”

As he remembered, Zuko had forgotten to maintain the tension in his back.  So he was unprepared to catch himself as his eye widened and mouth contorted into a grimace.  “I’m not a child, Uncle.  I can meditate without your guidance,” he said with more vitriol than he truly intended.

Uncle Iroh didn’t rise to the bait, only held out a hand in an ‘after you’ gesture.

Zuko cupped his palms together, pressing the sides of his hands together tightly to stop them from shaking.  He couldn’t tell Uncle that he couldn’t do this, but it wasn’t as if it mattered; he would see for himself.  How can you call yourself worthy to be a Prince of the Fire Nation the voice in his head that sounded like Father sneered, and the rest of him could hardly help but agree.  It was as if every time he thought about his inner fire, about producing a flame – just a small one Zuko can you not even do that? – his mind skittered away, blank and unable to hold onto the intention.  The space above his palms remained cold and empty.

Finally Iroh let out a mighty sigh.  Zuko dropped his hands and looked up to see a frown on Uncle’s face.  “For today we will change places, then.”  He lifted a hand and a small fire flicked into existence, no larger than a candle flame and so tightly controlled that it barely wavered.

It didn’t matter.

Zuko felt heat roar from his head and down his arms, down through his stomach.  It was a sickly, scalding kind of heat that left tremors in its wake and tightened his lungs in its grasp.  He scrambled to his feet and stumbled backwards, not stopping until he hit the metal wall of the cabin.  It was cold and hard against his back, comforting and terrifying in equal measure; there was nowhere else he could go.  The rest of his senses caught up with his rabbiroo-quick heartbeat, and he focused immediately on Uncle’s face, searching for his reaction.

Uncle had put out the flame, and at first only looked shocked.  Then his expression contorted into worry – and why wouldn’t it?  A crowned prince who wouldn’t bend, who tried to run from his element?  But there was no anger.  Zuko watched and waited silently, waiting for the anger, but it never came.

Uncle Iroh broke the silence first.  “Prince Zuko, we need to talk about this.”

Zuko’s heart sped up again, and his limbs tensed to back away further, but he was out of space.  Instead he shook his head vehemently, before catching himself and snapping, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I believe that there is.”

He screwed his face up into the most impressive glare he could manage with only one eye and leveled it at Uncle Iroh, willing him to back down.  Uncle failed to look intimidated or impressed, only shifted slightly to make himself more comfortable.

There was a lump forming in Zuko’s throat.  He couldn’t do it, couldn’t, couldn’t let the words out that he was afraid and a failure and doomed to never reclaim his honor.  If he did they’d be real.  He swallowed hard, clenched his jaw until he was sure he wouldn’t start crying, and then tried one last time.  “Uncle, please.”

Uncle Iroh sighed, and Zuko couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders slumped as he did.  “Alright.  Another day then.  But, Prince Zuko, when I say another day I do mean that.  I’ll leave you to collect yourself.  But will you join me on deck for tea in a little while?”

There was nothing Zuko could do but give a small, tight nod.  He watched as Uncle stood with a groan and a joking mumble about old joints, before he left the room.  He watched until the door closed and the latch spun shut, and then sank down the wall and let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The night after the bandages came off, six weeks away from home, Zuko crept back out onto deck again.  This time, he didn’t have any bad dreams as excuse.  At least that meant that he felt less frayed at the edges than the last time, if only just.  It meant he could dart from the shadows near the door to the catapult platform, and finally out to the railing, hoping no crew would be the wiser to their addition to the night watch.

He settled himself into a cross-legged seat and turned his face up to the sky, a mirror from earlier in the afternoon.  He had come out to the deck after Uncle had told him he wouldn’t need to reapply the bandage to his eye.  He had wanted to feel the sun on his face, his whole face.

He hadn’t expected it to feel like he was burning again.

The sound of the wind and the waves was barely audible over the rumble of the engine, but he could feel the cool night air on his cheeks and imagine the spray.  Even during the daytime, he was accustomed to the breeze off the water cutting the warmth of the sun.  He had been unprepared for his healing wound to feel like it was suffused with unbearable heat.

After he had ducked inside, after Uncle had found him and sat quietly with him until his breathing evened out again, the ship’s medic had explained that burn wounds and scars were more susceptible to sunburn than the rest of his skin.  That was all, nothing more, it was perfectly normal.  Just like the fact that sounds from the left were muffled now and sight badly blurred, creating a dizzying distortion when he tried to use both eyes.  Just perfectly normal.

Zuko had spent the rest of the afternoon pacing his cabin like a caged tiger-dillo, resenting sunlight for the first time he could remember, and Uncle and the medic for not warning him before he went outside.

But here in the dark it was only coolness, and looking back towards the tower of the ship it wasn’t as if he would be able to make out details with two good eyes anyway.  Lately, the night sky had been so much kinder to him.

Zuko settled his hands on his knees and took a deep breath in and held it for a count of six seconds before letting it back out again.  He could still do meditation breathing exercises even if he couldn’t manage a flame.  He was only sometimes good at letting thoughts and sensations come and go, but tonight he sank into it with the relief of a moment to just stop thinking.

So much so that he didn’t notice that he had company until the light of a lantern fell on his face.

If asked later, Zuko did not jump, nor did he eye the lantern warily before reminding himself that the fire was contained behind glass.  Perfectly safe and separate.  The sailor holding the lantern looked really no different from the rest.  Standard issue armor, clean shaven face, dark hair in a top knot.  Zuko had been told names on his first day, but he didn’t remember any of them.  He could blame being delirious with fever and pain, but it sounded like too much effort to make excuses when he just didn’t care.

“Prince Zuko, I didn’t expect to meet you out here,” the sailor said, and gave a reasonably deep bow.  He did not shape the flame as he was holding an odd assortment of scrolls and books, a writing kit, and some kind of metal contraption under his arm, in addition to the lantern.

Zuko drew his back up as tall as he could make himself and tilted his chin up in a way that he hoped would appear as if he was looking down his nose at this interloper, despite the fact that he was still sitting in casual robes directly on the metal deck.  “State your business, sailor,” he said.

“I am ship’s Navigator Zhu Yan, sir.  I am here to confirm our course towards the Northern Air Temple.  My apologies if I disturbed you; I did not expect to find anyone else out here.”

Zhu Yan did not leave immediately as Zuko would have preferred, and it took him a moment to realize that the sailor was waiting for either another question or a dismissal.  “As you were.”

The man bowed again, and headed for a small table which was set up a short ways away and started unloading the contents of his arms.  Zuko considered going back to his meditation but the movement in the left side of his vision kept drawing his attention.  He had become unused to seeing anything from that side.  Now it was only just too blurred to be able to make out what Zhu Yan was doing through the night’s darkness, but the lantern light flashed off of something on the table as he moved it.

Thoughts of meditation abandoned, Zuko turned his head to see what was catching the light.  It was some kind of circular contraption made of metal that Zhu Yan set down before he flipped through several pages of a book on the table.  He then wrote something on a scroll before picking up the contraption again to look through it.

The next time he placed the contraption down, he glanced toward Zuko and called, “I would be happy to answer any questions you have, sir.”

Zuko could feel the heat in his cheeks; he wasn’t supposed to be caught staring like some commoner.  His traitor mouth didn’t seem to care, as he blurted out, “Why are you navigating at night?” and then twisted his lips into a tight frown before he could ask anything else.  Tsk tsk Zuzu that sounds like a stupid question.

Zhu Yan seemed to pay no mind as his face lifted into a smile, as if completing a pair of opposing theater masks.  “There are several navigational methods approved for use by the Fire Nation Navy,” he began, as if he was reciting a set of instructions verbatim, “I am trained foremost in celestial navigation.  I am proficient in navigating by the sun, but I prefer to navigate by the stars.”

A citizen of the Fire Nation who would eschew the sun for the stars?  Zuko’s first instinct told him it wasn’t supposed to be like that, and his second reminded him that he had been just the same lately.  He looked up at the sky, and felt a sting in his heart that with both eyes open the stars blurred into an indistinct curtain of darkness and faint light.  He closed his left eye and breathed out in resignation as the stars condensed back into their own focused points.

“Do you enjoy the stars as well, Prince Zuko?”

Zuko hardly knew how to name his strange mix of feelings on the matter, so he simply nodded.  He could tell that Zhu Yan watched him for a few minutes more, waiting for the next question that never came.  Eventually, the navigator turned back to his task, and Zuko watched until it seemed like he was engrossed enough to slip away without notice.

Uncle Iroh cornered Zuko over dinner the next evening again.  He was starting to get the feeling that he should start taking meals in his own quarters.  Currently Uncle was waiting expectantly after saying, “Navigator Zhu Yan said the two of you spoke last night.”

This was a fact.  This was not a question.  Thus, Zuko didn’t feel bad at all about leveling a stare at Uncle and waiting until he got the hell to his point.

Iroh sighed gustily, disappointed that Zuko hadn’t taken the bait, and said, “He’s offered to teach you navigation if that is something you might have an interest in.”

“Why would I have any interest in learning navigation?  I’m here to find and capture the Avatar, not become a naval officer.”

“It does the mind good to pursue different skills, Prince Zuko.  After all, the flower that draws no nutrients from the soil will never bloom.”

Zuko groaned and fought the urge to bury his head in his hands.  “I don’t particularly care.  I’m not interested.”

“I will let Navigator Zhu Yan know that is your decision,” Uncle said, and turned back to his dinner with the kind of nonchalance that left Zuko incredibly suspicious.  He set down his chopsticks and waited for the other sandal to drop.  Iroh took another bite of fish stew and chewed contentedly before continuing.  “Of course, if the Avatar has managed to hide himself for 112 years, I would suspect he has quite mastered the skill.”

This time, Zuko gave into the impulse to smack himself in the face.  He immediately bit down on his tongue to hold back a whimper as his still-tender scar protested the rough treatment.  “Fine,” he snapped.

“Wonderful!” Uncle exclaimed in that booming voice of his that he liked to use when he got his way.  “Zhu Yan has said you can start as soon as this evening if you wish.”

They did not start that night, because this was Zuko’s ship and he was the one who gave the orders of when he wanted things done.  They did start the following night, because Uncle had given him a silent disappointed look that morning.

Several hours after sunset, after most of the crew except the night watch were off duty for the night, Zuko walked out on deck to find that Zhu Yan had already set up at the small table from the last time, but now with the addition of an extra cushion.  He stood as he heard Zuko approaching and bowed with a smile.  “Prince Zuko, good evening!  I’m glad you were interested in learning more about navigation.  Shall we sit?”

Zuko nodded his permission and settled at the table, with his new teacher following across from him.  There was barely a beat of silence before Zhu Yan began.  “To start, we have several tools that are the most commonly used.  Of course, we do have our standard maps,” he patted a few piled scrolls, “and then the star chart maps as well.”

The star charts seemed to be in the large bound book that Zuko had noticed the last time they spoke.  Despite himself, he was curious about maps of the stars; he’d never seen anything like it before.  He scowled at Zhu Yan as he seemed to pick up on his interest and flipped through the book until he found a map.  He turned the book in Zuko’s direction and pushed it closer so he could see a page with an inked black circle filled with dots and connecting lines.  There was a pull of curiosity in Zuko’s chest that made him want to look up and see if he could see any of the patterns for himself, but he bit his tongue.

“Each map will show the constellations visible in the sky from a given place and a given time of year.  They travel across the sky each night like the sun does during the day, but they do move by the seasons as well.  The constellations we can see in the fall are different than the ones we can see in the spring, and so forth, which is why the book is quite large.”

Zhu Yan flipped through a few pages, showing the names of places and the times of year they corresponded to.  Zuko recognized that the maps had a certain kind of beauty, but each looked so much like the last, and so many of the beautiful things he’d known had proved useless.  He didn’t think he was dedicated enough to try to learn the difference between one map and another, when he still had doubts that it would help him find the Avatar.  Instead, he pointed to the device which had caught his attention the last time they spoke.  It was a brass circle, empty in the center except for four spokes and an arm attached to the center which could spin.  “What’s that?”

“That is an astrolabe.  With it we can measure the angle of a set of stars to the horizon, and use that to determine our current location and where we need to go.  I thought we might leave that for later, though, since it does require some calculations.”

“How would you navigate if not with the tool for it?” Zuko asked, scowling in confusion.

“When in familiar waters, you can navigate by knowing the stars and their place in the sky, without even needing to use astrolabes or mathematics, the same way people have navigated for generations before us.  I thought it might be more enjoyable to start there, by learning some of the stars and the constellations they belong to, since I find it easiest to know them by their stories.”

Zuko didn’t understand.  The way he had always been told, new instruments and technology was supposed to make a task better, make the Fire Nation better.  “Those tools must have been invented in the Fire Nation, right?”  From everything he’d been taught about other nations, they had nothing remotely advanced enough.

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Then why would you want to use an old outdated method?” Zuko asked, tension building in his voice.

“It’s always worth keeping a good tradition alive, I think.  It connects us to our history and our ancestors.  I find our myths to be quite an enjoyable tradition, so I like to fall back on them when I can.”

“We made something better, so why would you want to go backwards?”  He’d always been taught that the Fire Nation was the smartest, most advanced nation in the world.  That it was their duty to bring their greatness, their prosperity, their advancements to everyone else.  What did it mean that even their own people chose to still follow old ways?

Of course you would ask these questions, it is only fitting for one without honor.

Zuko stared at his hands, clenching into fists so tight he could feel his nails digging in to try to ward off the drop in his stomach that the voice in his head always caused.  He nearly didn’t hear when Zhu Yan responded.

“I don’t see it as going backwards.  I find it valuable to learn both, and to learn the best situations to apply each.  Besides, while the astrolabe does provide greater mathematical accuracy, you can see at many ports of call that other sailors are still successful using only the star charts and stories.”

Other sailors.  If only the Fire Nation had this technology, Zhu Yan was implying that sailors from other nations could still be equal to them.  That couldn’t be true, it couldn’t.  Zuko leapt to his feet, refusing to follow that thought any further.  “Our progress is what makes the Fire Nation great!  How can you choose to ignore that?  I won’t learn it.”  He made sure not to look back at Zhu Yan’s expression as he stormed back to the inside of the ship.

The next time Uncle Iroh decided to press the issue of meditation, he arrived at the door to Zuko’s cabin with an unlit candle and a set of spark rocks.  The wash of shame that coursed through Zuko’s body was so intense he thought for a moment that he would be sick.  “I don’t need that.  Go away!” he shouted.

However, he wasn’t willing to slam the door in Uncle’s face, which left him to watch as Uncle came into the room anyway and set the candle and rocks down on the low table.

“Sit,” Iroh told him in a voice that brokered no argument.

Zuko sat stiffly on his knees, feeling hot and cold all at once at the memory of the last time they had tried.

“As your current firebending master, I don’t believe that is an acceptable answer.  Many soldiers who have been wounded in battle have found they needed to begin from the ground up.  I have even employed this method in the past with some of them personally.”

“I wasn’t wounded in battle,” Zuko snapped.  “I was taught a lesson because I’m a disgrace.”  That’s right, you have no claim to anything honorable soldiers do.

“Regardless of if you were on a battlefield or not, you were done harm by firebending.  If you are determined to regain your skills, I would like you to try this.”

Zuko nodded, tight lipped.  No matter how much he denied it, he still felt the bite of anxiety as Uncle picked up the spark rocks.  It must have shown in his face because Uncle said, “Take a breath, Prince Zuko.  This fire won’t be under anyone’s control.  The only fuel it has is the candle wick, and it cannot leave that.  It cannot hurt you.  Say it please.”

“The candle won’t hurt me,” Zuko repeated with as little feeling as possible, scowling at the ridiculous request.  He knew that.  He had been around candles and lanterns since, it was fine.  He did know that, so why was it so hard to feel it?

“It’s a start.”  Uncle struck the spark rocks.

Zuko bit the inside of his lip hard as the small flame came into being on the wick.  He had still flinched, but at least this time he hadn’t been sent reeling back into the wall.

Uncle’s smile was big, bigger than Zuko felt he deserved.  “Very good.  I want you to watch the flame as I walk us through the sequence, and we’ll go from there.  Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, fine.”  Zuko readjusted his seat into a relaxed lotus position and took a big breath in, eyes on the natural flicker of the candle flame.  “Let’s start.”

Zuko paced up and down the hallway that led to the deck, tense with frustration.  Just the same as Uncle Iroh had been willing to hear no argument about meditation practice, he similarly had insisted that he did not give up on learning navigation.  Zuko didn’t want to continue.  He saw no point in learning from someone who disregarded the greatness of the Fire Nation.  That would not help him regain his honor.

He’d told Uncle as much, had thought that was a good argument.  Why should he listen to someone so dedicated to something old and outdated, something which should have been left behind?  Uncle had only said that meant they needed to reach a compromise.  He had also insisted on an apology.

Zuko pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead and tilted his head up towards the ceiling with a groan.  He did not want to apologize.  Why should he have to apologize for defending the greatness of their nation?  It wasn’t his fault the navigator had backwards ideas!  But Uncle would be upset with him if he didn’t, so he didn’t have much choice but to push open the door and head out onto the deck where Zhu Yan was seated at his normal table.

Zuko stopped a reasonable distance away, in case Zhu Yan was angry with him, and said, “Lieutenant.”

The man looked up from his work, the expression on his face made unreadable by the light and shadow from the lantern.  Zuko couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.  He swallowed against the sudden twisting in his stomach and bowed with the flame.  “General Iroh has suggested I should apologize for causing you offense and walking out on our lesson,” he said stiffly, words he’d been rehearsing in his head all evening.

“Thank you for your apology, but it is unnecessary Prince Zuko.  I’ve been called sentimental by plenty of men before.”

Zuko was sure he had said worse things than ‘sentimental,’ but there had been a small part of him that had worried how Zhu Yan would react, which was now breathing a quiet sigh of relief.  He barreled forward, “I’ll keep learning navigation, but only if you teach me the astrolabe and the calculations.”

“That I can do.  Would you like to sit?”

“Another night.”  He wasn’t sure that he was up for much more.  He waited for Zhu Yan to nod his acknowledgement before turning back toward the hold.

He did hold to his word and return the next night, and then a few nights a week after.  Zhu Yan was proficient in the new methods, proven as they successfully arrived at the Northern Air Temple, and then turned sights towards the Eastern.  The new methods also did prove to be a lot of numbers and memorization.  Even without the stories, Zuko still needed to memorize stars and constellations and charts.

Zhu Yan kept to his word about leaving it at that for a few weeks.  The first story happened to coincide with when Zuko was struggling to remember a particular constellation.  He could never remember the shape of the two triangles that came together at a point, almost like an hourglass, or how to find it in the sky.  He had nearly reached the point of giving up looking for it when Zhu Yan began, “When the world was young and spirits roamed the world freely, there was a spirit named Ezi.”

Zuko clenched his jaw against the sudden rush of irritation.  Even if he didn’t care about stupid spirit tales, at least if he said nothing it would get him out of searching skies and maps that were starting to blur even in his good eye.  He turned a page in the star chart book and did his best to look absorbed in it as Zhu Yan continued.

“Ezi lived beneath the earth and sea; she was the heart of the fires within the world, the heat that gave them life.  She watched over the swirling currents of molten stone, yellow like sulfur and orange like the sunset and deep red like a ripe chili pepper.  This was her artwork and her design, a dance and an ever-moving painting all in one.

“While Ezi thought her own works of art must be the most beautiful in the world, she still loved the stories she heard from the Earth whenever she drew new pieces of stone into herself and melted them into her grand work.  The Earth showed her the shapes of crystals and the outlines of plants and animals that had become marks in stone.  It also told her of other spirits, of Air, and especially the Ocean.  The Earth said that the Ocean had currents that danced just like hers.

“Ezi was overcome with jealousy and curiosity.  How could this Ocean create something comparable to her own work?  She begged the Earth for more stories, and it brought them with every new rock that she folded into herself.  She learned that the Ocean was so cool to the touch that creatures could live within it, could add colors she had never even known existed.  She listened to stories of grand structures of coral, which looked like stone but was a living creature.  She learned that the Ocean could even take images and reflect them back on its surface.  

“Soon, Ezi became obsessed with the Ocean, began to dream of things she had only ever known as fleeting shadows or whispered tales.  Soon, it was enough that she hardly had attention for her own dance, and she decided she had to see the Ocean for herself.  She begged the Earth to help her reach the Ocean, and the Earth drew her to a place where it grew thin and brittle.  

“Ezi sent her currents through the cracks until they met something like she had never felt before.  It was nearly freezing, and wet and unknown.  She rushed forward to catch a glimpse of where she had finally met the Ocean, but it only lasted a second.  As the temperature dropped, she felt all the bits of stone and metal slip from her grasp as her heat could only keep them warm enough to dance for so long.  It wasn’t enough.  Ezi gathered more currents and pushed further until she touched the water again, looked at the ocean floor for the briefest second.  This time, there was movement, a creature she recognized from prints in stone but this was more than just an image, and moved faster and more gracefully than her own currents.  

“Ezi knew then that she couldn’t stop.  Every time her warm currents met the cold ones of the Ocean they fell from her grasp, and every time she gathered more to push on for just one more look, for just one more chance to take in a different kind of masterpiece.  She kept working, kept moving up through the bits of Earth that solidified into a mountain under the water, until one day there was no more Ocean left around her.  Instead, for the first time, she met the air, and there learned that she could look down on the Ocean and its constant dance still.  To this day, Ezi still takes advantage of any chance to see more of the Ocean, and any time she finds a place where her currents can dance between, she leaves behind a new kind of artwork.”

“What’s the point of the story then?  Why should I care about some spirit that made a volcano however many years ago that’s supposed to be?  It’s not relevant to me,” Zuko snapped.

Zhu Yan’s face took on an expression like the owlcat that got the cream.  Zuko did not have a good feeling about that look.  “Well, I know you are good at finding the Ocean constellation, yes?  This story helps us remember that the constellation for Ezi can always be found beneath the Ocean.”

Zuko let out a frustrated growl, stood from the table and left without another word.

They fell into a routine as Zuko’s first summer away from home came to a close.  Zhu Yan continued to supervise Zuko as he worked on his measurements and calculations, ready to offer correction or advice.  Whenever he felt the silence had stretched too long (a far shorter period than Zuko would consider an unbearable silence), he would point out a new constellation and launch into another wild spirit tale of how men built the first boats from grand turtle shells, how great hunters and warriors had been immortalized in the sky, or how the spirit of justice dispensed her judgements from behind an impartial porcelain mask.  Zuko would keep his head in the maps, and when Zhu Yan would look back for his reaction once the story ended, he would resolutely scowl or roll his eyes to remind him that all of this was unworthy of a Fire Nation Prince and the advancement of their civilization.  Eventually, Zhu Yan stopped looking, and Zuko stopped having to pretend he hated the tales.

Sometimes, he even enjoyed them.

One evening Zhu Yan began, “Prince Zuko, have you ever heard the tale of how the constellation The Dragon came to be in the sky?”

Zuko looked up from his page of numbers to see Zhu Yan standing near the railing, eyes on the horizon, no doubt looking for the constellation which had prompted the question.  “I bet you’re going to tell me.”

“Ah, you know me too well.”  Zhu Yan turned around and leaned back on the railing so he could be heard over the waves against the hull of the ship and began, “When the world was young, dragons were tasked with the guardianship of fire, just as the badgermoles were to preside over earth, or sky bison the air.  For many generations they kept their elements only to themselves, until there was born a dragon named Druk.

“Druk was a curious and energetic dragon when he was young, always quick to ask questions or think of grand new games.  As he grew, his curiosity became cunning and a penchant for trickery.  Druk could be counted on to cajole any dragon into giving him the best parts of their hunt, or to sneak away with the best treasures, especially when they didn’t belong to him.  He could convince anyone of the wildest, most unlikely stories, and be counted upon to be laughing from an inconspicuous distance whenever there was trouble.

“But if there was one thing that Druk loved more than a good trick, it was humans.  He tired easily of dragons, who lived their long lives so slowly.  Humans, for all that their lives were simple when the race was young, lived with such urgency and bravery.  They had no wings or claws or teeth, but they built tools and took on the most improbable challenges.

“More often than not, Druk watched the humans fail.  Although they tried so hard, they were so fragile.  Other beasts would stalk them in the dark, they would fall easily to the cold or they would succumb to illness from raw food.  So Druk went to the elder dragons and petitioned that they should give some of their fire to humans.

“The council told him that humans were too young and too small to be trusted with such a great responsibility.  After all, fire requires control to wield without causing harm, and the elders did not believe the humans would be able to do this.  They forbade Druk from giving fire to humans, and warned that the consequences of every trick he’d ever played would come back on him doubled if he disobeyed them.

“Druk went away from the meeting, not defeated but scheming.  He thought for weeks, wondering how he could get out from under the watchful eyes of the elders, who had hardly let him out of their sight since.  Finally, he came upon the idea for a race.

“Not only was Druk confident that he was the cleverest dragon, he also believed he was the most nimble too.  He proposed the idea, as something to occupy himself with if he could not go to the humans anymore, then spent the next weeks leading up to the race planting a word here or there that the elders had gotten so old and slow.  How he doubted they could even get off the ground anymore.  If there is one truth about dragons, it is that they are vain, and so just as Druk had planned, every elder was lined up at the start on the day of the race.

“The dragons took to the sky with a mighty roar and rush of wind from their wings.  The elders were larger than Druk and he knew they could outfly him in time.  So instead he twisted and turned in the air, darting here and there, under and over wings and tails and long dragon bodies, all the while taunting the racers to follow him and beat him if they could.  When Druk was finished, all of the other racers had tied themselves into a grand knot of dragons that sunk clumsily to the ground.  Druk laughed as he sped across the finish line and beyond, finally free to grant his fire to humans so they could keep themselves safe and warm.

“Between his tricks and cleverness, Druk was able to stay with humans and teach them what he knew of fire.  He was amazed at the things they began to create – strong tools and bricks for their homes, delicious food, beautiful glass and pottery.  But as with all things, Druk’s luck came to an end.  When the dragons found him, they debated what his punishment should be, and decided that he should have to live as far from humans as possible.  And such, with the help of the spirits who had first entrusted dragons with fire, Druk was placed as a constellation in the sky.  When his judgement was passed down, he only laughed, for this was fit for his last and greatest trick.  Although he would be far apart from humans, he could still watch them from the sky for eternity.”

As per their silent agreement, Zhu Yan turned back towards the sea when he was finished with the story, leaving Zuko behind him staring at the constellation and imagining it dancing in the sky.  The picture stayed with him all through the rest of the lesson, and in his dreams, he saw dragons shaping metal and glass with their breath.  The next morning at meditation practice, Zuko was still absorbed in wishing he could have met the dragons.  He hardly noticed that Uncle Iroh had lit the candles with his own fire rather than the spark rocks, until the same moment that he realized he hadn’t flinched away.

By the time autumn had begun to march on towards winter, Zuko was gaining some level of confidence that he could identify most constellations in the sky, could measure them and do the calculations he needed to pinpoint his location on a map.  He had also heard more myths than he had thought possible for one person to keep in their head.  “Why do you care enough about all of these myths to have them memorized?” he asked one evening, when the sea air was a bit too cold, his eyes straining to focus in the lantern light, and his heart only too aware of how long they’d been far from home.

“Everyone loves a good story!” Zhu Yan looked toward Zuko for confirmation and sighed as he met the corresponding glare.  “But, in all seriousness, and if nothing else, this is the one for you to remember.”

“Another story?” Zuko groaned.  “Why is the answer to every question another story?  You’re just as bad as Uncle with tea or proverbs.”

“I promise it’s less of a story than something to think about.  So we know that Agni is the spirit associated with our sun, yes?  Well, every star in the sky is another sun somewhere out there, farther away than we could ever imagine.  Every one of them is Agni’s brother or sister or sibling.  The constellations and their stories are important to me because being under the stars is like being under the light of a thousand suns.”  Zhu Yan turned his face up to the sky as if to try to feel the light.  “Why wouldn’t we want to find a way to connect ourselves to that?”

Zuko didn’t have an answer, and for once, didn’t have a disparaging comment either.  The stars were suns far away?  Did this mean that when he liked being under the stars it didn’t mean he was a disgrace as a firebender?

Almost as if he could read his thoughts, Zhu Yan continued, “That’s one of the reasons I love the Fire Nation, and firebending.  Since firebending comes from the sun, when we bend we’re also as close as we can be to the stars.”

Zhu Yan fell uncharacteristically silent after that.  For the rest of the evening’s practice, hardly another word was spoken. Zuko found himself forgetting his earlier complaints, instead enraptured by the thought of light and heat and fire so far away he could barely see it.

After they packed up and parted for the evening, Zuko returned to his quarters with energy humming in his veins.  He sat himself cross legged in front of his meditation candles and took a deep, steadying breath inward.  Firebending came from the breath, Uncle always said.  And according to Zhu Yan, it also connected them to the sky.  How could that be so bad, to hold a piece of a star in his hands?

Zuko let out his breath and drew in a new one, trying to feed his inner fire.  It had been so long, he had almost forgotten the pleasant trickle of warmth along the skin of his hands.  Another, and he held his palms up in front of him, and watched as a tiny spark bloomed an inch above his skin and grew into a small, but real flickering flame.

[greatworldwar2]

• Witlod Pilecki

Witold Pilecki was a Polish cavalry officer, intelligence agent, and resistance leader who volunteered to be embedded in Auschwitz, among other exploits. Pilecki was also a co-founder of the Secret Polish Army resistance group and later a member of the Home Army. Pilecki was a Catholic and a Polish patriot who viewed his struggle as a moral and patriotic duty.

Witold Pilecki was born on May 13th, 1901 in the town of Olonets, Karelia, in the Russian Empire. He was a descendant of an aristocratic family (szlachta) originally from the Grodno region. His grandfather, Józef Pilecki h. Leliwa, was a member of the Polish landed gentry and a dedicated Polish nationalist. Józef Pilecki had been a supporter of the secessionist January Uprising of 1863–1864. Following the brutal defeat of the uprising by Russian forces, Józef Pilecki, like most Polish nobles who supported the rebellion, had his title revoked and estate and other properties were confiscated by the Russian government. After his release he and his family were forcibly resettled by Tsarist authorities to the remote territory of Karelia. Witold's father, Julian Pilecki, worked for the Russian civil service and eventually settled in the town of Olonets in Karelia where he married Ludwika Pilecki. Witold Pilecki was the fourth of the couple's five children. In 1910, Ludwika and the children left Karelia and relocated to the Northwestern Krai. After being joined by their father, the family settled in Wilno (now: Vilnius, Lithuania), where Pilecki completed primary school and became a member of the secret ZHP Scouts organization. During the First World War, Wilno was occupied by the German Army in September 1915 and was incorporated into Ober Ost, the German military administration. Pilecki and his family fled to Mogilev, Byelorussia. In 1916, Pilecki moved to the Russian city of Oryol, where he attended gymnasium and founded a local chapter of the ZHP group.

In 1918, following the outbreak of the Russian Revolution and the defeat of the Central Powers in World War I, Pilecki returned to Wilno (now part of the newly independent Polish Second Republic) and joined a ZHP Scout section of the Lithuanian and Belarusian Self-Defense Militia, a paramilitary formation aligned with the White movement. The militia disarmed the retreating German troops and took up positions to defend the city from a looming attack by the Soviet Red Army. However, Wilno fell to Bolshevik forces on January 5th, 1919, and Pilecki and his unit resorted to partisan warfare behind Soviet lines. He and his comrades then retreated to Białystok where Pilecki enlisted as a szeregowy (private) in Poland's newly established volunteer army. He took part in the Polish-Soviet War of 1919–1921. He fought in the Kiev Offensive (1920) and as part of a cavalry unit defending the city of Grodno. On August 5th, 1920, Pilecki joined the 211th Uhlan Regiment and fought in the crucial Battle of Warsaw and in the Rudniki Forest. Following the conclusion of Polish-Soviet War in March 1921 Pilecki was transferred to the army reserves. He was promoted to the rank of plutonowy (corporal) and was designated as a non-commissioned officer. He went on to complete his secondary education (matura) later that same year. In 1922, Pilecki briefly attended the University of Poznań where he studied agriculture. He soon returned to Wilno and enrolled with the Faculty of Fine Arts at Stefan Batory University. Pilecki was forced to abandon his studies in 1924 due to both financial issues and the declining health of his father. He remained active in the military as a member of the army reserves and served as a military instructor in Nowe Święcice. Pilecki later underwent officer-training at the Cavalry Reserve Officers' Training School in Grudziądz. In September 1926, Pilecki became the owner of his family's ancestral estate, Sukurcze, in the Lida district of the Nowogródek Voivodeship. Pilecki rebuilt and modernized the property's manor house, which had been destroyed during World War I. On April 7th,1931, he married Maria Pilecka, a local school teacher originally from Kupa.

Pilecki developed a reputation as a community leader, a prominent social worker and amateur painter. He was also a vigorous advocate of rural development, founding an agricultural cooperative, heading the local fire brigade and also serving as chairman of a local milk-processing plant built in the district. In 1932, Pilecki established a cavalry training school in Lida. Shortly afterward he was appointed commander of the newly-established 1st Lidsky Squadron, a position he would hold until 1937, when this unit was absorbed into the Polish 19th Infantry Division. In 1938, Pilecki received the Silver Cross of Merit for his community activism. Pilecki was mobilized as a cavalry platoon commander in August 1939. He was assigned to the 19th Infantry Division under General Józef Kwaciszewski, part of the Polish Army Prusy, and his unit took part in heavy fighting against the advancing Germans during the invasion of Poland. The platoon was almost completely destroyed following a clash with the German forces on 10 September, and it withdrew to the southeast toward Lwów. It was incorporated into the 41st Infantry Division, in which Pilecki served as divisional second in command. He and his men destroyed seven German tanks, shot down one aircraft, and destroyed two more on the ground. After the fall of Warsaw on 27 September 1939, Pilecki and many of his men continued fighting as partisans. His division was disbanded on October 17th, with parts of it surrendering to the enemy.

Pilecki went into hiding in Warsaw with his commander Major Włodarkiewicz. On November 9th, 1939, the two men founded the Secret Polish Army (Tajna Armia Polska, TAP), one of the first underground organizations in Poland. Włodarkiewicz became its leader, while Pilecki became organizational commander of TAP as it expanded to cover Warsaw, Siedlce, Radom, Lublin, and other major cities in central Poland. While Pilecki wanted to avert a religious mission so as not to alienate potential allies, Włodarkiewicz blamed Poland's defeat on its failure to create a Catholic nation; he wanted to remake the country by appealing to right-wing groups. In the spring of 1940, Pilecki saw that Włodarkiewicz was "flirting with anti-Semitic views". To stop him, Pilecki went to Colonel Stefan Rowecki, the chief of TAP's rival resistance group, the Union of Armed Struggle (ZWZ), which called for equal rights for Jews and was focused on intelligence gathering of German atrocities and delivering it by courier missions to the Western Allies in an attempt to gain their involvement. The ZWZ had alerted the Polish Government in exile that the Germans were inciting Polish racial hatred as a diversion from their own crimes, and that a Polish Quisling could emerge as a result. In August, Włodarkiewicz announced at a TAP meeting that after all they would join the mainstream underground with Rowecki and that Pilecki had been nominated to go to Auschwitz. Włodarkiewicz said it was not an order but an invitation to volunteer, but Pilecki saw it as a punishment for refusing to back his ideology but nevertheless took up the challenge.

In 1940, Pilecki presented a plan to his superiors to enter Germany's Auschwitz concentration camp at Oświęcim to gather intelligence on the camp from the inside and organize inmate resistance. Little was known about how the Germans ran the camp, and it was thought to be an internment camp or large prison rather than a death camp. His superiors approved the plan and provided him with a false identity card. He went out during a Warsaw street roundup on September 19th, 1940 and was caught by the Germans along with 2,000 civilians. He was detained for two days in the Light Horse Guards Barracks, where prisoners suffered beatings with rubber truncheons, then sent to Auschwitz where he was assigned inmate number 4859. Pilecki organized the underground Union of Military Organizations (ZOW) at Auschwitz while working in various kommandos and surviving pneumonia. Many smaller underground organizations at Auschwitz eventually merged with ZOW. ZOW's tasks were to improve inmate morale, provide news from outside, distribute extra food and clothing to members, set up intelligence networks, and train detachments to take over the camp in the event of a relief attack by the Home Army, arms airdrops, or an airborne landing by the Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade based in Britain. ZOW provided the Polish underground with invaluable information about the camp; they sent reports to Warsaw from October 1940, and the reports were forwarded via the Polish resistance to the British government in London beginning in March 1941. In 1942, Pilecki's resistance movement was also broadcasting details on the number of arrivals and deaths in the camp and the inmates' conditions using a radio transmitter that was built by camp inmates. The secret radio station was built over seven months using smuggled parts. The radio was dismantled by Pilecki's men after concerns that the Germans might discover its location because of "one of our fellows' big mouth". These reports were a principal source of intelligence on Auschwitz for the Western Allies. Pilecki hoped that either the Allies would drop arms or troops into the camp, or that the Home Army would organize an assault on it from outside.

Meanwhile, the Camp Gestapo under SS-Untersturmfuhrer Maximilian Grabner redoubled its efforts to ferret out ZOW members, killing many of them. Pilecki decided to break out of the camp with the hope of convincing Home Army leaders personally that a rescue attempt was a valid option. Pilecki was assigned to a night shift at a camp bakery outside the fence, and he and two comrades overpowered a guard, cut the phone line, and escaped on the night of April 27th, 1943, taking with them documents stolen from the Germans. The men fled on foot to the village of Alwernia where they were helped by a priest, and then on to Tyniec where locals assisted them. After that, they reached the Polish resistance safe house near Bochnia. At one point during the journey, German soldiers attempted to stop Pilecki, firing at him as he fled; several bullets passed through his clothing, while one struck him without hitting either bones or vital organs. After several days as a fugitive, Pilecki made contact with units of the Home Army. On August 25th, 1943, Pilecki reached Warsaw and was attached to Section II (intelligence and counter-intelligence) of the Home Army's regional headquarters. After losing several operatives reconnoitering the vicinity of Auschwitz, it was decided that the Home Army lacked sufficient strength to liberate the camp without Allied help. Pilecki's detailed report estimated that "By March 1943 the number of people gassed on arrival reached 1.5 million", which was remarkably accurate considering post-war estimates suggest 1.1 million people died in Auschwitz during the war. On November 11th, 1943, Pilecki was promoted to Rotmistrz (cavalry captain) and joined a secret anti-communist organization, NIE (both the Polish word for "no" and short for niepodległość "independence"), formed as a clandestine unit within the Home Army with the goal of preparing resistance against a possible Soviet occupation. The Soviet Red Army, despite being within attacking distance of the camp, showed no interest in a joint effort with the Home Army and the ZOW to free it. Until he became involved in the Warsaw Uprising, Pilecki remained in charge of coordinating ZOW and AK activities and provided what limited support he was able to offer to ZOW.

When the Warsaw Uprising broke out on August 1st, 1944, Pilecki volunteered for service with Kedyw's Chrobry II Battalion. At first, Pilecki served as a common soldier in the northern city center, without revealing his actual rank to his superiors. Later, after many officers were killed in the fierce fighting that occurred during the early days of the uprising, Pilecki disclosed his true identity to his superiors and accepted command of the 1st "Warszawianka" Company located in Śródmieście in downtown Warsaw. After the capitulation of the uprising, Pilecki hid a cache of weapons in a private apartment and surrendered to the Wehrmacht on October 5th, 1944. He was sent to Germany and imprisoned at Stalag VIII-B, a prisoner-of-war camp near Lamsdorf, Silesia. He was later transferred to Oflag VII-A in Murnau, Bavaria where he was eventually liberated by troops of the US 12th Armored Division on April 28th, 1945. In July 1945, Pilecki left Murnau and was reassigned to the military intelligence division of the Polish II Corps under General Władysław Anders in Ancona, Italy. While stationed there, Pilecki began writing a monograph on his experiences at Auschwitz.

In October 1945, as relations between the Polish government-in-exile and the Soviet-backed regime of Boleslaw Bierut deteriorated, Pilecki was ordered by General Anders and his intelligence chief, Lt. Colonel Stanislaw Kijak, to return to Poland and report on the prevailing military and political situation under Soviet-occupation. Pilecki arrived in Warsaw in December 1945 and proceeded to begin organizing an intelligence gathering network, which included several wartime associates from Auschwitz and the Secret Polish Army (TAP). To maintain his cover identity, Pilecki lived under various assumed names and changed jobs frequently. He would work as a jewelry salesman, a bottle label painter and as night manager of a construction warehouse. Nevertheless, Pilecki was informed in July 1946 that his actual identity had been uncovered by the MBP. He was ordered to leave the country, but he refused to do so. Pilecki was arrested by agents of the Ministry of Public Security in May 1947, and he was repeatedly tortured before going to trial. A fellow accused saw him with two collarbones broken and his hands hanging limply by his sides. A show trial took place on March 3rd, 1948, and testimony against Pilecki was presented by future Polish prime minister Józef Cyrankiewicz, himself an Auschwitz survivor. Pilecki was charged with illegal border crossing, use of forged documents, not enlisting with the military, carrying illegal arms, espionage for General Władysław Anders, espionage for "foreign imperialism" (government-in-exile), and planning to assassinate several officials of the Ministry of Public Security of Poland. Pilecki denied the assassination charges, as well as espionage, although he admitted to passing information to the 2nd Polish Corps, of which he considered himself an officer and thus claimed that he was not breaking any laws. He was sentenced to death on May 15th, with three of his comrades, and he was executed with a shot to the back of the head at the Mokotów Prison in Warsaw on May 25th, 1948. Pilecki was 47 when died. Pilecki's place of burial has never been found but is thought to be somewhere within Warsaw's Powązki Cemetery. In 2012, Powązki Cemetery was partially excavated in an effort to find his remains.

[vamonumentlandscape]

Mount Vernon and Charlottesville (again)

Josh’s Perspective:

I have fond memories of going to Mount Vernon when I was about five years old. I remember it was a chilly autumn night, so there was seasonal hot apple cider available. It was delicious! I do not remember much else though, not even the house tour. The visit during our research would allow me to get a better understanding of what the site continues to maintain about America’s first president. I joined Tomi and Dr. Sherayko in starting with the gift shop before heading up to the museum and mansion only to find many massive school groups gathered. Such a sight would have been unthinkable a few months ago, but it is great to see that people of all ages are getting to go out again. Tomi purchased a few items, but I decided to browse. It was enlightening to see books about Ona (Oney) Judge and other enslaved persons owned by the Washington family alongside material about the founding fathers.

When we entered the museum, we decided to start with the exhibit titled Lives Bound Together: Slavery at Washington’s Mount Vernon. Seeing this felt especially appropriate since we visited on Juneteenth, which celebrates the effective end to American slavery two years after the Emancipation Proclamation was signed. The initial film that we watched set the tone for an honest presentation of George and Martha Washington as slave owners. The inclusion of voices from descendants of the enslaved is an indispensable element of the exhibit as they can tell the story of their ancestors better than any historian can. The material culture presented throughout the dim display cases provides visitors an opportunity to see what life was like for the enslaved community of Mount Vernon. There were a few things that did not seem right to me. At every turn, excuses were floated out for Washington. Yes, he expressed concern for the continuation of chattel slavery in the young nation, but he and his family were still slave owners for his entire life. When one of the panels mentioned that Washington only punished the enslaved when necessary, I got frustrated. Just because punishments were used occasionally does not mean he was good to the enslaved. There is no such thing as a good slave owner. George Washington only freed the enslaved persons that he owned upon his death when he did not need them anymore. For someone that our country holds in such high esteem, Washington was still a slave owner. That is an undeniable fact. I appreciated the narratives presented for famous members of the enslaved community at Mount Vernon, such as Ona Judge, Frank Lee, and Hercules. Their stories matter just as much, if not more, than the people that owned them.

After walking through the next exhibit in the Education Center, which was just a shrine to Washington’s military and political career (including a 4-D film experience), we were all unsettled with what Mount Vernon was doing. Monticello had done a much better job in presenting the full history, flaws and accomplishments, of Thomas Jefferson. We headed down towards the tomb of George Washington and the burial ground for the enslaved. I was glad to see that many people gathered around in the area of the enslaved burial ground. The memorial is located around a marker that was placed in 1929 by the Mount Vernon Ladies Association. Since the language was a bit outdated, a new memorial was placed in 1983. It was designed by students of Howard University. So many stories are unknown about the many people buried in this place, and I wish we could know more. Some laminated cards seemed to be out only for Juneteenth informing visitors about a few of the enslaved, but there needs to be a more permanent piece of signage to respect the memory of all. I did appreciate the member of Mount Vernon’s staff playing solemn music on a fife as we paid our respects.

To conclude our visit, we headed back up to the mansion and saw some of the livestock that Mount Vernon cares for along the way. The wait to get inside for the tour took a little longer than any of us were expecting, but we rushed through as soon as we got inside. Some interpreters seemed a bit more knowledgeable than others and the experience was less than satisfactory. There was no real critique of the Washington’s when we were inside the mansion, which needs significant revision. I am not saying that George Washington is on the same level as Jefferson Davis and that we need to remove all statues that were put up in his memory, but we do need to be honest with ourselves. Washington was a man with flaws and his seemingly pristine legacy at Mount Vernon should be complicated. The private organization that owns and interprets the property can do a better job to ensure that everyone can see themselves equally. This may come with serious actions to increase diversity in staff and those that visit.

Though we were all fatigued after the day at Mount Vernon, we made a final stop in Charlottesville before returning to Lynchburg. The George Rogers Clark statue near the University of Virginia is slated to come down later this Summer. The reasoning behind this decision is the depiction of Native Americans. When we saw it in person, I was horrified to see the Native Americans being shown to be subservient and cowering in fear to the explorer on horseback. Colonization had disastrous effects on Native Americans throughout the North American continent. A negative presentation of any tribe or nation does nothing to help the survival of their culture. The University is making the right decision in taking the statue down and discussing a replacement to best honor the culture of the original inhabitants of North America. I am confident that UVA will do the right thing to show that Native Americans anywhere are not cowardly and disappearing people. That kind of monument and education is essential, especially for Virginia groups like the Monacan Indian Nation.

Tomi’s Perspective:

As with most of the sites we have visited, I had not been to Mount Vernon before. I was looking forward to seeing the historic home and museum dedicated to our first president. We entered the gift shop first since we were a little early getting to the site. I picked up quite a few things as I was very impressed with the wide selection of items. My excitement grew after shopping. We walked on a short path to the visitors center and even saw a very cute ram on the way. The funniest part about the whole day was that this little ram would end up being our favorite part of Mount Vernon. The visitors center was packed with guests eager to learn. The staff was kind and pointed us to the maps and audio tour devices. The maps were in a wide array of languages, making the park accessible to a diverse group of visitors. Since I am learning German in the fall and Dr. Sherayko speaks the language, we both picked up one of the German maps for fun. As we were looking where to go, the beginning of our misgivings with Mount Vernon began. The map was not very well done and I got extremely frustrated with this as it was not to scale. Josh and Dr. Sherayko both thought my map frustrations were funny, but by the end of the day we were all feeling that way towards Mount Vernon.

After deciphering the ultra confusing map, we ended up at the museum. We were all very excited to see the Lives Bound Together exhibit on Washington and the enslaved. This exhibit was a breakthrough for the organization as it came out in 2016. It was only supposed to last one year, but the foundation got grants for it to spend extra time in the museum. Once the pandemic hit, the exhibit was extended again. It will finally go on as a travelling exhibit after July 11, 2021. As soon as you walk in you are faced with large panels in a circular room with Washington’s bust in the middle. All of the panels detail the “complex and painful” story of slavery at Mount Vernon. Each of them was honest and told truths about Washington’s slaveholding that had not been shared so explicitly before. One of the hardest hitting facts was that there were over 500 enslaved people at Mount Vernon over Washington’s lifetime. In the beginning here, we noted that it also said he freed his 123 slaves in his will and that he was the only founding father to do so. Though this is true, this fact was unpacked a little more as we went through. The exhibit itself was long and had a lot of reading. This one exhibit was in a space the size of the Tredegar Civil War Museum’s exhibition room. For us, having seen so many different sites over the past few weeks, we know that to truly grasp your typical tourist an exhibit cannot be so long winded. Of course Josh, Dr. Sherayko, and I analyzed the panels as best we could, but even to us it began to be saturated. The worst part was that there was a lot of repetition. It seemed every panel restated something else in different words. Remember back to the fact I shared earlier: Washington freed his 123 slaves in his will and was the only founding father to do so. As we entered the third room, there was yet another panel on the wall about this, but this time there was more to this fact in smaller print than before. Yes, Washington did free his slaves in his will, the ones that he owned himself, but not after his death. In his will his slaves were to be freed at the time of Martha Washington’s death. Mind you, not only did Martha own slaves, but she had over 30 enslaved people she had inherited from her family. Martha owned 153 slaves when Washington died. Why was this mentioned in small print? Just as Josh mentioned our concerns over the extended praise the exhibit was giving to Washington, this was another part that did not sit well with the group. The long, repetitive, overly praising, and not so clear Lives Bound Together exhibit was overall very disappointing. It is wonderful they are talking about the lives of the enslaved and including descendants, but we all feel like the exhibit could have been much better.

After experiencing Lives Bound Together, we went to the other part of the museum entirely devoted to Washington. Sadly, it was hard for me to enjoy the very patriotic exhibits to Washington. I do believe that we can look at the legacies of our founding fathers and be proud of their brilliance in creating the United States. But, it was very hard for me to do so when there isn’t complete honesty about their slaveholding pasts. When comparing the honesty of Monticello and Montpelier, Mount Vernon was subpar. I wished that I could have enjoyed our 4-D experience, the walk through Revolutionary times, and all of Washington’s history, but I could not.

On our way to the mansion tour, we made a few stops at the enslaved peoples exhibits. These were well done in preserved Slave Quarters. This was enlightening to see after the experience we had in the museum. It was interesting to note that there had once been a store dedicated to Martha Washinton in one of the Slave Quarters. It was still on the map and there was still a sign on the door, but it seemed to have been closed for a while. I wish I would have asked one of our guides why this was changed. We were all happy to see many visitors by the enslaved peoples quarters and learning about their roles at Mount Vernon. After this, we walked to the enslaved people’s burial grounds and to the Washington’s family tomb. Of course it was moving to see the site of our first president's burial, but when we walked over to the enslaved people’s cemetery, we were all moved to near tears. With a flutist playing Amazing Grace and other beautiful songs as we observed the solemn site, we read through some of the stories of those who were buried there. It was powerful to stand where so many men and women that had once been forgotten about, but now remembered by name, had been laid to rest.

After climbing the hill from the cemetery, we were only 10 minutes away from our house tour. Sadly, they were running very behind and our tour that was supposed to be at 2:10 ended up being at 2:30. During those 30 minutes standing in the heat, Dr. Sherayko filled the time by teaching us new German words like enttäuscht. The house tour only lasted 15 minutes and was quite an odd experience. In the first room, our tour guide slipped up and used the word “servant” to describe the enslaved population. In the end she corrected herself, but that shows where Mount Vernon’s interpretation has been. Going through the home quickly, seeing the horrid green paint on one of the walls that was said to be Washington’s favorite, and then to end with a really odd tour guide sealed the deal for us to head home from Mount Vernon.

On our way out we stopped by the new Ona Judge National Historic Sign. I was beautifully done and we were so happy to end such an up and down day at Mount Vernon on such a high note. Josh and I were happy to end our trip smiling together in front of this wonderful sign.

Despite all of us being deliriously tired, we made a pit stop in Charlottesville to hit Trader Joe's and grab dinner. At dinner Dr. Sherayko reminded us of a statue we forgot to see on The Corner at UVA that is due for removal. Even though we were all spent, we made the trip. The statue of Revolutionary War hero George Rogers Clark does little to show his heroism. He is best known for defeating the British in quite a few battles and earning the French’s trust, but he also has another legacy that is shown in the monument to him. “CONQUEROR OF THE WEST” is the title given to Clark as he sits on his horse, reaching for a weapon to use against Native Americans. Clark fought and took Native American land in many battles. After the Revolution he was even given the position as Indian Commissioner. Though this statue may accurately represent one of his legacies, it puts it in a celebratory light. Celebrating the destruction of indigenous peoples lands, people, and assets is nothing to be proud of and have a statue for. We are all quite happy UVA is choosing to take this statue down.

After grabbing some delicious ice cream at Kilwins, we randomly saw Dr. d’Entremont, our American History professor, walking across the street. I embarrassingly stuck my head out of the window and called out to him. We pulled over and chatted about what we all were doing in Charlottesville. He mentioned to us another site we should check out that is actually no longer there anymore. There was a Confederate statue on the courthouse lawn that was removed last summer. There isn’t even a base left, so in our initial trip we would have had no idea to look for it. We all mosied up the street together and looked where the old statue used to be. We ran into a resident of apartment buildings right across the street who expressed fond memories of the old statue, the Lee statue that was only a few blocks away, and the Clark statue. She told us about walks along this street with families, how there would be a live nativity scene at Lee Park, and how her fathers law office was right across from the Clark statue. She understood mostly why they were being taken down, she said, but she felt like it robbed her of childhood memories. We all listened to her touching story, but what she may not understand is that there is a significant population of African Americans and other citizens who are unable to have such fond memories. These statues that are entrenched in the Lost Cause and have racist sentiments leaving the monument landscape allow for a more inclusive community where all can create similar memories to hers.