#points to anyone who catches the references in the planet name and minister name

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #2

“pick who dies”

Notes: This got out of control. I was going to add an Obi-wan + Anakin section but I had to cut myself off as I do have other things I need to get to today. This is less whump than...a set of pretentious character studies with THE LINEAGE (including Rael) and an excuse to explore the trolley problem within a Star Wars setting. I blame my recent Hannibal obsession for what you see below. First part here, rest under the cut. Note, I am a musician, not a philosophy student, so allow for some creative interpretation here. 

General Whumptober tag

Whumptober 2020 #1

~~~~~~~

(excerpt from “The Padawan’s Guide to Philosophy.” Eds. Masters Thrife-Foran & Ugaaalich. 616th e. Coruscant, 940 ARR. Holobook.)

Premise:

You are out for an afternoon walk in the outer regions of Thymilla, a moderately-populated city on the planet Ungar. On your walk, you pass by a set of hovertrain tracks, which branch into two separate arms - one an extension of the main track, the other a smaller offshoot which leads to a cargo loading zone, about fifty clicks south of where you are. (Diagram 3)

As a hovertrain approaches from the north, you hear screaming, the words of the driver becoming clearer as the hovertrain barrels towards the switch. The brakes of the train have failed and there is no chance of repair. If the train continues on its current path, it will kill five workers making repairs on the track. If you pull a switch, the hovertrain will divert to the offshoot, where it will kill one worker at the cargo loading zone.

Because of an anomaly in Ungar’s atmosphere, you cannot access the Force.

Do you pull the switch or do nothing and allow the train to speed forward?

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Dooku shifted on his meditation pod, the firm material groaning as he uncrossed his legs from the lotus position, gingerly setting both his bare feet to the cool, tiled floor of his Master’s chambers. The young man allowed himself a small wince with the action. Yoda might have been able to keep that damnable position for hours, probably days on end, but Dooku was just a few months shy of his eighteenth life day, and another recent growth spurt seemingly focused all on his legs made sitting for any long amount of time…uncomfortable, to say the least.

Which was likely why Yoda had had him trapped him here for the past three hours, running through one ethical thought experiment after the other, poking his literal and metaphorical gimmer stick precisely at each gnarled and swollen joint in both his body and thoughts.

To act - to pull the switch - would mean to commit premeditated murder, even if it were for the greater good. Hardly a Jedi-like action. But then again, they had been taught - indoctrinated, really - with the idea that is was acceptable to sacrifice one life for the lives of many. A supposedly fair trade-off, although Dooku had seen enough of the Jedi’s relationship to the Senate, had seen enough of the Council’s internal politics, to know that two lives did not necessarily hold equal weight.

But to not act - to let the train barrel through, to leave it up to the will of the Force...Dooku clenched his teeth. That seemed more in line with the Order he was coming to know, was consistent with the Council’s lack of action on Protobranch, when Sifo-Diyas had seen the calamity that was to befall the planet and yet the Council, his Master, had done too little, too late, preferring to allow events to transpire as they would, the Jedi only impassive bystanders.

What was the point of their abilities, their training, their place in the universe, if they weren’t able to change the course of events for the better?

“I suppose,” Dooku began slowly, coming to stand, suddenly not caring if he was maintaining his proper meditation position. The young man padded towards the slightly shuttered windows on the other side of the room.

“I suppose it depends on the relative worth of each life,” he said, turning away from Yoda as to not see the subtle moue of distaste Dooku was certain would cross the old Master’s face.

“Is not all life sacred, Padawan?”

Dooku barely bit back the dark chuckle threatening to escape from his chest. Only in the holos and classrooms and the empty rhetoric of the Council was all life sacred. The Jedi could do so much more, he could do so much more to change the galaxy and yet the Order allowed itself to be chained to politicians, leashed like akk-dogs until receiving command.

No, Dooku thought. There was no balance - not here and not in the Force.

“From the information you’ve provided,” Dooku said, ignoring Yoda’s question. He peered through the slits of the rotor blinds into the watery illumination of Coruscant’s night sky. The dome of the Senate building rose through the rain like an oddly-shaped umbrella, shielding those in power with its wide beadth. “We can assume both parties of victims are of equal social standing, being manual laborers. Because of this, we must find other ways of determining their worth, their ability to enact change in the galaxy.”

Dooku clasped his hands behind his back, daring to turn to face his Master’s displeasure.

“The question becomes whether you want to hold sway over the transit network of a forgettable city, or the imports and exports that may go off-world. Exports which might include valuable resources or even smuggled goods. Items which could affect the governance of our imagined city and therefore, by extension, an even larger part of the populace.”

“Which is why, in this case,” Dooku concluded, his posture straightening, “I would choose to allow the hovertrain to continue its course and save the cargo worker.”

Yoda folded both claws over his gimmer stick, frowning. After a moment, he let out a small grunt, his features now inscrutable.

“And see yourself as the final arbiter of worth, do you, my young apprentice? Stand you above all others holding a golden scale, you do?”

Don’t we, as Jedi, hold these scales every day and yet choose to ignore them? Dooku thought.

“Someone,” the young man replied, “will make the judgment regardless. Is it not better for the Jedi to use our powers to make such decisions?”

This time Yoda did let out a wet sigh, shaking his head.

“Dangerous, these thoughts are, my Padawan,” Yoda grumbled, gesturing at the meditation pod. “Sit, young Dooku. Much we have to discuss.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Rael.”

Rael Averross slung an arm over the back of Dooku’s couch, sleeves of his Master’s borrowed robe hanging long near the tips of his fingers. It had been the third time that month Rael had “misplaced” his own robe, his Master’s foisted upon him in the wee hours of the morning, Dooku grunting something about “Jedi propriety” before shoving Rael out the door. (The things were a damned inconvenience, and made him look like something straight out of a space station ghost story, to boot. Was it so surprising he showed up to Dooku’s quarters in a state which his Master referred to as “half-naked?”)

Rael bit his lip, trying to not think of all the times he had actually been half-naked in the Temple. Those were fun times. Unfortunately, Dooku could probably mind read them out of him right now if he weren’t so concentrated on this thought experiment.

“Why not save them both?” Rael drawled amiably, scratching at the beginnings of a beard with his other hand as he hoped to distract his Master from any hint of his past indiscretions. It was about time, too, he thought. Never going to look my age going around all smooth-faced like a transparisteel window surface.

Dooku gave a small smile. “You cannot, Rael. Those are the rules of the scenario.”

“Rules,” Rael scoffed, picking at the hem of Dooku’s overly-fancy robe before suddenly launching to his feet, unable to contain his restlessness. The younger Jedi paced up and down the length of Dooku’s couch, grateful his usually strict Master was allowing him this indulgence. Not that Dooku had any problem sitting still for what felt like forever - stiff as a board, that one - but Rael was too jittery, too full potential energy to keep his thoughts in neat line with his body. “Rules are meant to be broken, Master,” Rael gave a swift chop with his hand in illustration. “You’re the first one to tell me that.”

Rael heard his Master let out a soft snort in response. Only Dooku could make such a noise sound dignified. “I suppose I did,” the older man answered evenly.

“So there you go! Blow up the train and everyone’s fine.”

“And kill the driver?”

Rael spun to face Dooku, the other man’s eyebrows raised not in condemnation, but genuine interest. It was days like this Rael truly appreciated having Dooku as a Master. Sure, he was as pretentious as any big-city Senator, a hard taskmaster in his lessons, and an even tougher dueling trainer - but at the end of the day, Dooku only expected Rael to follow Dooku’s rules, and not the Order’s.

And as much as Rael chaffed under any collar, he’d take Dooku’s version of the Code over the Council’s any day.

“I mean, the driver is the one in control of the train,” Rael shrugged. “Sure, it’s an accident, but the they were going to be dead either way once they hit those other bodies. Probably would go flying through the window and bash their skull in. This way, you save six lives,” Rael gave his best used speeder salesman grin. “Buy five, get one free.”

That little addition did cause his Master to roll his eyes.

“You are…” Dooku pressed his lips together, sitting back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. It was as close as Dooku ever got to a casual posture. “Colorful rhetoric aside, you are essentially advocating for pre-emptive action. Very interesting, Rael.”

“Interesting as in,” Rael pulled a sour face, imitating Dooku’s proper Serennian accent, “‘And now I will assign you five Jedi moral precepts to memorize and write a five-page essay about’ or interesting as in ‘I will now have you learn the complete codified law of the Umbargans, whose entire military strategy revolved around non-preemptive attacks.”

Dooku chuckled - actually chuckled - at Rael’s minor impertinent outburst. “Neither, Rael. Although, I must say you have provided me the perfect means by which I may punish you later on.” Damn, dug my own grave with that one, thought Rael. 

“No,” Dooku continued, “I merely find your stance on this matter to be refreshingly…original.”

“You mean the Council wouldn’t approve?”

It took his Master a full minute to answer, his gaze shifting beyond Rael, beyond the confines of their shared quarters, Dooku seeming lost in some memory.

“Hardly,” he finally said. “And that is for the best.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan?”

Qui-gon Jinn sat motionless on the small patch of grass, listening to the susurrations of the light breeze in the Room of a Thousand Fountains finger through a nearby thicket of Borto reeds. Across from him, Master Dooku sat in a mirrored pose, long legs crossed over the other in the lotus position, expression unreadable, his presence in the Force - or, his effect on the Force presence on the vegetation around him - one of controlled expectancy, a single blade of grass erect and ready despite the buffeting winds.

“We shouldn’t have to choose, Master,” Qui-gon replied, trying to steady his own uneven thoughts and emotions. Although he had been Dooku’s Padawan for almost five years now, Qui-gon still found himself worrying his responses to thought experiments like these would not pass his Master’s high and stringent intellectual standards.

“In an ideal world, Qui-gon, we wouldn’t. But as you have learned - as I have shown you - the status quo rarely measures up to our ideals.”

The status quo, Qui-gon thought. Code for the Senate, for the Council, for the Republic at large. That much he had figured out, had learned from Rael, whose ability to translate Dooku’s sometimes opaque rhetoric to something more digestible never ceased to amaze Qui-gon.

The status quo. The more years he spent with Dooku - with Rael, when the younger man was around - the more Qui-gon understood. Perhaps he always had a predilection to question, to challenge what was “known,” the dictums etched in stone handed down from the Council to the Council’s Masters to its Padawans. But with Dooku’s guidance, and with his own exploration of the Jedi prophecies, Qui-gon had developed his own sense of right and wrong, of how the galaxy ought to work in consonance with the ideals of the Jedi Code and his own moral compass.

“In that case, I would ask the Force for guidance,” Qui-gon replied, thoughts slipping back to the many hours he had spent in the Archives, poring over ancient holocrons. The Force had provided for the seers of old, why shouldn’t it provide now?

“Perhaps the Force cannot provide all the answers,” Dooku countered, as if reading his mind.

Qui-gon frowned, tilting his head. “Is that not what the Jedi teach, Master? What you teach? To follow the Force?”

“To a degree,” Dooku assented, rare amusement curling the side of his lips. “But the Jedi work in symbiosis with the Force, and even that is within a certain self-imposed definition of what the Force may or may not be capable of.”

Self-imposed definition? Qui-gon ran his hands through the soft grass at his sides, no longer able to keep that perfect stillness now that Dooku had so upset his equilibrium. Had his study of the prophecies not proven that exact point? That the Jedi of now no longer regarded the Force with as open a mind those of millennia ago?

“The Force is more infinite, has more potentialities than the confines of what we could possibly hope to study in a thousand lifetimes,” Qui-gon hedged.

“And so you hope to use prophecy to save these doomed beings?” Dooku retorted with a small wave of his hand. Ah yes, the hovertrain problem, Qui-gon grimaced. He had almost quite forgotten about the whole reason for this conversation.

“I would hope to…” Qui-gon cocked his head, watching a pair of butterflies flutter over a Byrsonima crassifolia, fragile leaves fluttering in their wake. An action - or a lack of action. If he saved one life or saved five. What would the repercussions be? How could he know he was making the right choice? How could the Order know, if not for guidance from the Force, in all its possible iterations?

And yet, the study prophecy of was considered at best, an esoteric hobby - at worst, a dangerous arm of mysticism by much of the Council.

Which is why your Master encourages you to think beyond the dictates of the Council, Qui-gon concluded.

“Yes, then,” Qui-gon stated, suddenly more confident in his answers. “I would hope to ameliorate the situation by using a similar mindset of the prophets. One of openness, wonder, and possibility - to find my way in this situation.”

“And just how far would you be willing to take supposed,” Dooku trained him with an enigmatic expression, “openness?” The word weighed heavy with implication.

Qui-gon started. What exactly is Dooku trying to get at here? Hadn’t it been his Master who had introduced him to the prophecies, to the Force beyond the dictates of the Code? So far, Dooku had not steered him wrong, and yet just as the nearby Byrsonima crassifolia cast a long shadow over the open grass, so did Dooku’s unspoken entreaty.

But before Qui-gon could cobble together an answer, Dooku seemed to break out of his trance, chuckling slightly as he got to his feet. He extended a long arm to Qui-gon, who took it without hesitation, coming to stand at his Master’s side.

“Meditate on the answer, Qui-gon. For now, I believe it is past time for dinner.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Obi-wan Kenobi shifted in the overly-large, overly-plush velvet chair which threatened to swallow him whole. He and Qui-gon had been dispatched to Barstovia, a little-known desert mining planet in the Mid-Rim. A simple mission, really, overseeing a trade deal between Barstovia and Ord Mantell, opening up some shipping lines of the rare fermenium mineral to the Republic. A wholly forgettable mission, if Obi-wan were being honest, except for the fact the diminutive race of Barstovia seemed to prize, of all the unlikely things, oversized, over-upholstered furniture.

While Obi-wan struggled with a crimson throw pillow the size of his torso, his master, Qui-gon Jinn, sat across from him, perfectly serene in his eight-foot tall, royal blue armchair.

“Well, Master,” Obi-wan said, words strained as he punched the pillow to his side with un-Jedi-like ferocity. Of all times for Qui-gon to pull out a thought experiment.

“The prevailing wisdom would say to sacrifice one life to save five - a utilitarian outlook and the most practical, at least on the surface.” Obi-wan pushed down on the seat of his chair, trying in vain to straighten his posture, to lend his answer some form of credence beyond his words. Inevitably, Qui-gon would hold the exact opposite opinion from Obi-wan’s, and while Obi-wan had often kept his feelings to himself under the guise of “picking his battles,” he preferred to express his thoughts while at least looking the part of an almost eighteen-year-old Padawan, and not some child stuck in a chair too large for him.  He struck at the recalcitrant cushion one last time. “But as Jedi, we often prioritize a single being or beings if they hold an important role.” 

“In the short-term,” Obi-wan grimaced suddenly, pulling an impossible second pillow from under his right thigh, “we would lose four lives over one, granted. But in the long-term, that single life lost might mean the eventual deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands.”

“But you do not have this information, Padawan,” Qui-gon replied, a crease of annoyance in his brow. Obi-wan noted there was no accompanying crease in the cushion of his Master’s chair. “All you know is the number of beings.”

Obi-wan bit down on a caustic reply. Yes, I know that, Master. I hadn’t gotten to my point yet. But when did Qui-gon actually ever listen to him?

“Yes, Master, this is true,” the younger Jedi answered, Obi-wan impressed with the evenness of his own response despite his increasing irritation. “Which is why I would endeavor to save them all.”

A beat. a raised eyebrow coupled with a subtle sigh. “Quite the feat, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon finally said, his words laced with skepticism. “How would you accomplish such a thing?”

How in the world is he not drowning in that chair? Obi-wan thought, distracted by his Master’s impenetrability, despite the audacious situation. There was Qui-gon, halfway across the room, composed and neat - well, as neat as Qui-gon ever got - against the regal backdrop of the humorously-sized chair while Obi-wan floundered in a sea of crimson, just out of his Master’s reach.

And wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for their troubled partnership?

Obi-wan wiped at his brow. “It’s quite simple, Master. The hovertrain could be diverted, or at least impeded by a third party inserting themselves into the equation.”

Something in Qui-gon’s expression shifted at the statement, earlier annoyance now melting into something closer to concern. The older man leaned forward in his chair, for the first time exhibiting a pang of discomfort as he battled the voluminous material.

“And who might that be?” Qui-gon asked, batting at the tsunami of beige woven blanket at his side.

“Myself, of course.”

Dead silence met Obi-wan’s words.

Wrong answer, Kenobi. Absolutely the wrong answer. Disappointment was written all over Qui-gon’s body language, even emanating from his usually controlled Force signature. Obi-wan fell back into the chair, not bothering to fight the dunes and valleys of velvet threatening to overtake him, averting his gaze to some preposterously-sized side-table and vase. Hopefully, his failure to provide the correct response would be the end of this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. Qui-gon would assign him some reading and meditation, and let the matter rest until they returned to Coruscant.

But Qui-gon only peered at Obi-wan with a piercing stare, apparently not ready to give up on the exchange.

“You would sacrifice yourself to save the others?”

Obi-wan found himself mirroring his master’s movements.

“Isn’t that what it means to be a Jedi?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “We are servants of the Republic, of the Force - if our actions can save lives so that Republic may continue in peace - “ Obi-wan’s mouth opened and closed, trying to form the words that would express his devotion to the Order, the Code, his own sense of honor - but found himself gaping like an Ithorian cuttlefish.

Once again, Qui-gon fell into contemplation, back arching against tall, bulbous pillows, brushing his mustache with a single finger. A minute, then two went by, the only sound the clicks of a nearby chrono. Over eighteen feet tall, the clicks sounded more like the steps of a lurking gundark than a timepiece, doing nothing for Obi-wan’s nerves.

Finally, Qui-gon broke the uncomfortable semi-silence. “Don’t be so hasty to throw away your own life, Padawan. As you rightly said, the death of a monarch may cause the deaths of many others down the road. But you cannot know how many lives would remain unsaved if you were to treat your own so lightly.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows rose. That had not been the reaction he was expecting.

“But how am I to know when that sacrifice is necessary?” he asked automatically. Obi-wan would make that sacrifice gladly, although...to be perfectly honest, he would prefer not to die as a seventeen-year-old Padawan. 

“The better question is how you can work to reach a more productive option rather than coming to such a dire conclusion.” Qui-gon’s voice softened. “I am serious, Obi-wan. You have much to offer the galaxy. Don’t let your strict adherence to Jedi ideals extinguish your star too early. Not only would the Republic be at a loss, but…” Qui-gon looked away, staring down at some invisible pattern in the corner of the room. “I would, as well.”

Obi-wan’s mouth dropped open. “Master, I - “

“Ah, Master Jedi!” A new voice squeaked from the gargantuan entranceway. “Thank you so much for waiting,” proclaimed the three-foot Minister of Commerce, Parhary Hatch, bedecked in a long, flowery robe whose velvet train stretched back several feet. “Please, if you would,” he gestured towards the tall archway.

“Yes, of course, Minister Hatch,” Qui-gon replied in his diplomatic voice, jumping neatly off the chair, his landing as elegant as a Coruscanti ice skater.

Obi-wan frowned, joining his Master in a slightly less dignified, but no less effective maneuver. They had been on the verge of…something, some kind of understanding, or at least a truce. Whatever words had remained unsaid between would likely stay so, the moment gone, the trip back to Coruscant, and then to a Hutt outpost taking priority over these types of conversations.

Another time, then, Obi-wan sighed to himself, following the slinking violet trail of the Bartovian minister and his Master into the long corridors of the palace.

[viralhottopics]

While You Were Offline: The Media Crucified Yolo Minneapolis. Very Unfair! Sad!

It’s not every day scientists discover seven new Earth-sized planets, but that definitely happened this week—and it wasn’t even the biggest deal to hit the world’s social feeds. The internet also showed online troll Milo Yiannopoulos the door. President Donald Trump continued his assault on the media at the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC). Oh, and the administration withdrew federal protections for transgender students to use bathrooms that correspond with their gender identity in public schools. In all, it was a big week—things might have slipped through the cracks. Here, as always, are the important bits you might have missed on the world wide web.

The Sweded Version of Events

What Happened: The White House’s war on terror persisted with President Trump referring to an attack abroad that… never actually happened? Where It Blew Up: Twitter, media reports What Really Happened: Continuing reality’s current trend of living just beyond parody or satire, last weekend Trump made reference to what sounded like a terror attack in Sweden. “You look at what’s happening last night in Sweden,” he yelled during a speech about taking in immigrants. “Sweden, who would believe this? Sweden. They took in large numbers. They’re having problems like they never thought possible.” The thing is, nothing bad had happened in Sweden the night before, as pointed out gently by none other than the country’s former prime minister:

Sweden? Terror attack? What has he been smoking? Questions abound. http://bit.ly/2m78uHV

— Carl Bildt (@carlbildt) February 19, 2017

Others on Twitter were equally confused:

Literally the biggest incident of Sweden last night was a horse called Biscuit being rescued from a well. http://bit.ly/2lH563e

— Grapey (@Grapeykins) February 19, 2017

Shocking new images of the Swedish massacre #swedishincident http://pic.twitter.com/CGxSXuBcED

— Allyson Derwent (@AllyAllyOh) February 19, 2017

Pray for Sweden. #LastNightInSweden #SwedenIncident http://pic.twitter.com/cZmOW2pXm7

— MadlyMad (@Madly_Mad) February 19, 2017

In response to #lastnightinsweden, Sweden has deployed their elite force of Super Troupers. http://pic.twitter.com/Qk4cdWriwz

— Courtney (@CHydeDesign) February 19, 2017

The, let’s be generous and call it a gaffe, was course up by a concerned media, while Sweden itself expressed curiosity about what was going on:

@fuadmb About #swedenincident #lastnightinsweden unclear to us what President Trump was referring to,have asked US officials for explanation

— Embassy of Sweden US (@SwedeninUSA) February 19, 2017

Apparently Trump was speaking about something he’d seen on Fox News the night before…

My statement as to what's happening in Sweden was in reference to a story that was broadcast on @FoxNews concerning immigrants & Sweden.

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) February 19, 2017

…but even that turned out to be less than real since the Swedish cops interviewed for the piece later in Sweden days after Trump’s comments, a fact seized upon by the right wing to suggest that was

Hey Don, this is @Sweden speaking! It's nice of you to care, really, but don't fall for the hype. Facts: We're ok! http://bit.ly/2m6Yyhq http://bit.ly/2lHiX9I

— @sweden / Fredrik (@sweden) February 20, 2017

*Looks into the camera like Jim from The Office* http://bit.ly/2m6SnKC

— @sweden / Fredrik (@sweden) February 20, 2017

This week’s owner of the account was 22-year-old Max Karlsson, who

What happened in Sweden Friday night? Did they catch the Bowling Green Massacre perpetrators?

— Chelsea Clinton (@ChelseaClinton) February 19, 2017

Yolo, Milo. Yolo

What Happened: It’s been quite a week for Breitbart’s former tech editor. Where It Blew Up: Twitter, media reports What Really Happened: Milo Yiannopoulos has had a helluva week. Following what some thought was a triumphant appearance on HBO’s Real Time with Bill Maher, the journalist and professional troll went on to have a spectacularly bad week after old interview footage in which he appeared to condone relationships between adults and children surfaced. Soon after the video began to circulate, CPAC cancelled his speaking gig at the conference and publisher Simon & Schuster announced it would no longer be releasing his book, Dangerous. Soon thereafter, Yiannopoulos resigned from Breitbart.

Seriously, think about that; he became so radioactive that it seemed best to quit a site known for its bigotry and paranoia. At a press conference midweek, Yiannopoulos said he planned to find a new publisher for his book and launch a self-owned media venture to capitalize on his newfound notoriety.

In one of the funniest responses to the entire thing, Twitter collectively decided to rename Yiannopoulos, robbing him of vanity searches.

Cc: Yolo Minneapolis http://pic.twitter.com/QJMTuAe89P

— IRONY MAIDEN (@dubsteppenwolf) February 21, 2017

YOLO MINNEAPOLIS??? I'M DEAD.

— Kelsey olmes (@kelseyrholmes42) February 21, 2017

Honestly Yolo Minneapolis has been on my news radar for way way way to long and I'm ready for him to be irrelevant again.

— paul (@Paul_Copeland) February 21, 2017

Yolo Minneapolis resigned from beeffart

— mycahm (@pleasantsmell) February 21, 2017

Of course, some people had to ask the obvious question:

Not sure who originally coined it, but Yolo Minneapolis really cracks me up http://bit.ly/2m7587S

— Christopher Hayes (@chrislhayes) February 21, 2017

OK who was the first person to call him Yolo Minneapolis

— Quinn Sutherland (@ReelQuinn) February 21, 2017

The answer appears to be Twitter user @EmperorCaddick, who has the earliest mention of the term we could find, way back in February 2016, made directly to Yiannopolous himself before he was banned from Twitter:

@Nero Your new name is Yolo Minneapolis, you're welcome.

— Emperor Caddick (@EmperorCaddick) February 2, 2016

The Takeaway: Won’t someone please think of the real Minneapolis in all of this?

Let's not insult the Twin Cities by calling him "Yolo Minneapolis"

— Miss Filthy Pinko (@travelswbrindle) February 21, 2017

WaPo’s Trek Into Darkness

What Happened: The Washington Post has a new slogan. The response has been well, mixed. Where It Blew Up: Twitter, media reports What Really Happened: Earlier this week, the the rest of the media failed to notice. Twitter, too, caught the new tagline:

The Washington Post's new slogan "Democracy Dies in Darkness" crystallizes in 4 words the danger of Trump's explicit war on the free press. http://pic.twitter.com/buqu0xqKGZ

— Jonathan Riley (@JonRiley7) February 23, 2017

The Washington Post: Democracy Dies in Darkness*

*Breitbart News: Starts breaking all the lightbulbs

— Nick Jack Pappas (@Pappiness) February 22, 2017

Washington Post changes its slogan to "Democracy dies in darkness" In a related story, Breitbart changes its slogan to "We are the darkness"

— Gary Rancid (@garyrancid) February 22, 2017

WaPo's new slogan is "Democracy Dies in Darkness." It's meant as a warning, but right now, it feels more like a prophecy.

— Stephen Colbert (@StephenAtHome) February 23, 2017

Not everyone was on board with it, however.

The best thing about the Washington Post's new "Democracy Dies in Darkness" slogan is the story about Lindsay Lohan directly under it http://pic.twitter.com/8hH0FhZCeU

— Josh Billinson (@jbillinson) February 22, 2017

Next move for Washington Post: multiple piercings, eyeliner, unironically shopping at Hot Topic http://pic.twitter.com/TyyIYGY4v1

— David Hines (@hradzka) February 22, 2017

I thought WaPo's slogan was "You have 0 free articles left this month."

— Andy Craig (@AndrewRCraig) February 22, 2017

I wish WaPo had gone with my suggestion for their slogan "The blog you get for free with Amazon Prime"

— Comfortably Smug (@ComfortablySmug) February 22, 2017

New WaPo slogan is scary, but metal AF

— Clur Pewpeyson (@unicornpewpey) February 23, 2017

excited to announce our new HuffPost slogan:

The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors

— Igor Bobic (@igorbobic) February 22, 2017

And then there were the Trump fans, who—of course!—took the new slogan as a personal affront to their beloved leader and America as a whole:1

WaPo is right "Democracy Dies in Darkness", but who exactly is threatening our Democracy with fake news and slanderous hit pieces?

— SirBlankFace (@animeaddict1324) February 22, 2017

Agreement on slogans dies on social media, that’s for sure. The Takeaway: It’s not just the Post that’s offering this kind of warning; the New York Times is launching a new ad campaign about the need to promote truth above all these days. What’s next?

WaPo: "Democracy Dies In Darkness." NYT: "The truth is more important now than ever." The Onion: "No longer able to outdo reality."

— Ryan McGee (@TVMcGee) February 23, 2017

#ProtectTransKids

What Happened: As the government lifted guidance protecting trans kids in schools, the internet decided to step in to remind those kids that they’re not alone. Where It Blew Up: Twitter, media reports What Really Happened: This week, the Trump administration reversed guidance to public schools on allowing transgender students to use the bathroom that reflects who they are.

It was a decision immediately picked up by the media. But even though the administration isn’t looking out for trans kids, the internet is. Almost as soon as the news broke, #ProtectTransKids began trending across Twitter and other platforms:

75% of trans students report feeling unsafe in school. @realDonaldTrump should #ProtectTransKids – not undermine their safety.

— HumanRightsCampaign (@HRC) February 22, 2017

42% of trans kids attempt suicide. Forty. Two. Percent.#ProtectTransKids because their lives matter just as much as anyone else's

— alex jacob (@crucifalex) February 22, 2017

Sending love to all the trans students out there. You matter. #ProtectTransKids http://pic.twitter.com/PTy2rTJmuV

— Sarah McBride (@SarahEMcBride) February 22, 2017

This is what democracy looks like: hundreds outside of the White House to tell transgender students we've got your back. #protecttranskids http://pic.twitter.com/KYIeBwvlBO

— ACLU National (@ACLU) February 22, 2017

Trans community: we are fighting for you EVERYDAY. You are SEEN & VALUED. We arent giving up and we know you won't either #ProtectTransKids http://pic.twitter.com/ine19BLcdQ

— LGBT Caucus (@LGBTEqCaucus) February 23, 2017

At the same time—and perhaps emboldened by the support for the topic on social media—the very, very small overlap between trans activists and Trump supporters started speaking out about the subject, asking the president to change his mind:

. @realDonaldTrump u gave me the honor 2 sing at your inauguration. Pls give me & my sis the honor 2 meet with u 2 talk #transgender rghts

— jackie evancho (@jackieevancho) February 23, 2017

Well @realDonaldTrump, from one Republican to another, this is a disaster. You made a promise to protect the LGBTQ community. Call me. http://pic.twitter.com/XwYe0LNUOq

— Caitlyn Jenner (@Caitlyn_Jenner) February 24, 2017

A lost cause? Well, maybe not. After all, it’s recently emerged that the administration might go back on changes to the National Security Council because it had made them by mistake. So maybe!

The Takeaway: OK, this might be the best slogan yet.

How great is this sign at #Stonewall? #ProtectTransKids #ProtectTransYouth http://pic.twitter.com/dw4YbL4Wef

— Women's March (@womensmarch) February 24, 2017

Capture the Flag

What Happened: Sometimes, you have to take a stand against bigotry. Other times, a running jump is the better option. Where It Blew Up: Twitter, media reports What Really Happened: On the one hand, this is just fine even without the backstory, so let’s start fresh and just enjoy:

real. http://pic.twitter.com/dvnbtq2aQb

— deray mckesson (@deray) February 23, 2017

It’s just as good from a different angle:

NEW VIDEO: Muhiyidin d'Baha jumps protest line at last night's Confederate flag demonstration… MORE: http://bit.ly/2lHebsG #chs http://pic.twitter.com/Lt4xjNSD8U

— Charleston CityPaper (@ChasCityPaper) February 23, 2017

Seriously. Wasn’t that refreshing? Let’s go to the people and see what they thought:

Issa bird. Issa plane. Issa brave black man. http://bit.ly/2lHjKqR

— da (@idaisokay) February 23, 2017

Capture the flag just got real http://pic.twitter.com/d7h61MOhZH

— AllGamesDelta (@AllGamesDelta) February 23, 2017

The way my man jumped for the Confederate flag like Neo and Trinity jumping between buildings has me absolutely weak tho. http://pic.twitter.com/qwmiLLAnIa

— KYLE + (@kylebillable) February 23, 2017

I am SCREAMING at the Black man that jumped over the baracade to take down that white man's confederate flag. This is real life.

— ecca (@MJStarLover) February 23, 2017

I had to remix this dudes confederate flag Lambeau Leap #sorrynotsorry http://pic.twitter.com/hXq6EX1WJp

— Matthew A. Cherry (@MatthewACherry) February 23, 2017

So here’s the backstory: the hero in question is Muhiyidin Elamin Moye, an activist and Black Lives Matter leader, and he’s grabbing a Confederate flag from a protestor outside an appearance by activist Bree Newsome at the College of Charleston. There’s more than a little irony here; Newsome, of course, came to national attention in 2015 for removing the Confederate flag from the South Carolina state house grounds.

Moye’s actions quickly got up by media after going viral. The media attention also drew hundreds of people to a crowdfunding campaign created to help cover Moye’s legal fees.

Donate to & share this bail fund for the hero that snatched the confederate flaghttp://bit.ly/2m7pNIXhttp://pic.twitter.com/NqC01DA4Hk

— agitator in chief (@soit_goes) February 23, 2017

It might not be the system working as it’s supposed to, but it’s definitely a system working right. Good job, internet. The Takeaway: You know what? Let’s just watch this again.

real. http://pic.twitter.com/dvnbtq2aQb

— deray mckesson (@deray) February 23, 2017

Damn.

1Correction at 10:13 am PST on 2/28/2017: An earlier version of this story incorrectly included a tweet here that was not from a Trump supporter. It has been removed.

Read more: http://bit.ly/2m72DSW

from While You Were Offline: The Media Crucified Yolo Minneapolis. Very Unfair! Sad!