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colorofmymindposts · 5 years

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The Deviance of Two English Gentlemen Chapter Three

Chapter Title: The Unyielding Interim

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Ritchie films)/Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan Rating: Teen and Up Status: Incomplete, chapters are posted weekly Word Count: 1514 for this chapter, 4291 for the entire work thus far Summary: Set post Game of Shadows. When Sherlock Holmes is given a case by none other than Mrs. Watson, he has no idea that he cannot fix the unsolvable for the couple. Intimate truths are exposed in the process, leaving all three irrevocably changed. Tags: Case Fic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Secrets, Bickering Notes: The entire work can be read here on ao3. You can also read chapter one here and chapter two here. Note that this is not Brit-picked, but I tried my best.

Story:

The next two weeks passed in such an odd succession that Holmes began to wonder whether he was indulging too much in the comfort of his seven percent solution. After that first night, Watson had not come down for many hours, not until late afternoon, all dressed in clothes appropriated from Holmes’ wardrobe, though neither of them addressed the subject. He had given a curt thanks and goodbye before departing.

The next time Watson deigned it worthy of his time to visit, Holmes had just finished conducting his experiment on the potency of various chloroform formulas. When Watson burst into his rooms, unannounced, he scolded Holmes for not leaving the flat in a span of time which had lasted four days apparently. In a fit of frustration, Watson left in search of food, insisting Holmes was going to “lose half a stone at this rate” if he continued in his totally reasonable, reclusive behaviours. Later, they chatted over dinner about the day’s newspaper, Holmes’ findings in the last seventy-two hours of intense dedication to the differences between trichloromethane and ether while Watson contributed an anecdote here or there about an unruly patient in the clinic.

They did not talk about Mary. They also did not speak of Watson’s domestic, precipitating him to storm off and drown his sorrows in cheap ale. Holmes had suspicions, however, even if he didn’t voice them.

One possibility was infidelity. “Three continents Watson” would imply to a simpleton that he was dissatisfied in marriage, but Holmes knew his Watson better. A man as loyal as he, who followed Holmes into the thoroughfare of the European criminal underworld with revolver in hand and no questions asked, would not be a husband who would lie with another woman. Especially not when Watson was clearly enamored by his Mary’s charms and said wife was understandably in love with Watson, a phenomenon Holmes could not explain but inherently knew was truth.

The second situation was problems with money, hypothetically. For some unknown reason, Watson had adopted a rather Draconian ideal of finances and women’s place within that (being nonexistent) much to Holmes’ chagrin, particularly as he knew undoubtedly Mrs. Watson would manage transactions far better than that gambling boy. But for such a violent reaction to occur those six nights ago, when Holmes had repeatedly criticized Watson’s handling of his funds in the past, this hypothetical seemed, just as the previous one, highly unlikely.

The third scenario Holmes could not feasibly wrap his head around without feeling prone and ill inside. Simply put, the consummation of marriage...was known to have its difficulties. The desired product of a match between man and wife as desired by a Christian God would only solidify the reality of Watson’s world apart from Holmes’ own isolated one, never again to amalgamate together but at short, infrequent intervals. If this were really the case though, some kind of disagreement had brewed between the Watsons, interrupting idyllic sentiment leftover from honeymoon bliss. The baseness of sex could very well have that effect on a standard English gentleman and lady.

Watson’s eyes had been upon him for some time, he could tell. He met his friend’s gaze head-on, finding concern and something else indescribable mingled in between. Upon reflection, he should make a study of Watson’s eyes, if nothing else than for his private records.

“You haven’t spoken in two hours,” Watson remarked casually.

Holmes blinked rapidly, readjusting to the settings. Seated in his chair, tea gone cold. Disposed of his waistcoat, Watson slouched in what was once his designated chair, brown suspenders rolling off his shoulders slowly but surely, his top button undone. Thoroughly distracting. Holmes sniffed the air.

“Have you been smoking?” He inquired, recognizing the scent as that of a Cuban cigar circa 1889, approximately.

“Yes, I thought it might make you more alert. I fear it may have made you fall deeper into that stupor of yours you just came out of,” Watson admitted as his fingers idly tapped against the cigar resting in the ashtray on the table. “What has addled your brain so?”

“Watson, you know my methods. My periods of introspection provide clarity to my work. My thoughts are in perfect working order.”

“Mhmm,” he hummed back. After straightening his braces, Watson began to loop his arms through his coat previously draped across the back of his chair. “Perhaps I should leave you to your thoughts, in that case.”

“Back home again?” Holmes mused.

Watson, as ever, corrected him. “To Mary.”

Perhaps the lovers’ quarrel was not as serious as he supposed at all. Nonetheless, he felt he had to offer: “My door is always open.”

An affirming smile answered him with a quality of sadness to it, the only thing preceding Watson’s familiar tread on Baker Street.

Another week was to be endured before Watson’s presence graced him once again. In this particular instance, Watson seemed more at ease. He suggested to Holmes that they go for a stroll in the city. Watson always liked it when Holmes would make and share observations of passersbys, one of their favourite activities to engage in from the earliest point in their friendship. If Holmes himself was in worse spirits he would have refused such a triviality, but knowing it might help his friend, he acquiesced cordially to the offer, fortunate enough to still spend time with the man as he was.

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first. An oversized clerk bumbled down Manchester Street obviously having taken too late a lunch break; an older American couple conversed loudly about the spectacles and filth of London to distract from the all too personal topic of the wife’s dying father; a paperboy shouted the newest headlines, limping as he did so due to a factory accident which likely cracked most of the bones in his left foot that never healed properly. Watson smiled along to most of these descriptions but frowned at the last, almost bent on offering his services to the boy, but by Holmes’ observations the accident had occurred years ago and no doctor’s attention would help him now.

At last, they reached Hyde Park, a perfect spot for observation of both animals and nature alike. As it was a Sunday, many families were out and about, relieved to send their children to attend to their own amusements. Their shrill cries and laughter was certainly no symphony to Holmes, but Watson appeared slightly perturbed, glancing at his fob-watch for the time and requesting that perhaps they roam somewhere else. Holmes himself was growing tired of this charade his friend was putting on and scoffed loudly.

“Really, you could just tell me that you prefer the company of your wife to my own, and we’d be done with it,” he ground out, kicking his one boot against the pavement as he did so.

“What?” Watson had the audacity to appear flummoxed. His attempts at treating Holmes with decency were driving the detective mad.

“I know you’re inventing excuses to be around me now that you’re married and yet still feel obligated to maintain our partner—pardon me, friendship,” explained Holmes, in a manner not unlike when he told Lestrade off for one of his idiotic theories. “But you’re bored because there are no cases for me to amuse you with, so you’re regretting the whole outing. I’d prefer that you just be honest with me instead of relying on me to deduce it for the both of us.”

He refused to look Watson in the eye after his statement and proceeded down the footpath without his friend in tow. It thus surprised him as he was about to turn out of the park when running footfalls made their distinct approach. Watson’s all too familiar ragged breaths were there behind Holmes, on his neck, and then he was being spun around by his shoulders, Watson having a firm grip on both his arms and a dazzling intensity in his gaze.

“For once Holmes you have no idea what you’re driving at, but my problems with Mary actually have nothing to do with you this time. I can’t explain. It wouldn’t be right to you or Mary—”

“Sirs!” The voice of a young lady, no older than in her twenties with a crying babe in her arms. “Please, if you’ve anything to spare good sirs, my child’s life be saved. You’re honorable gentlemen, fathers? Think of the poor children, gentlemen.”

Damn her timing, just as he was getting something out of Watson. Though much as Watson’s readers of The Strand might have insisted otherwise, he was not heartless.

“3 shillings, madam,” he said as he withdrew the change from his pocket into her grateful outstretched hand, pins and pricks visible on her fingertips. A factory seamstress then, paid a pittance for her work.

She issued great thanks, politely scurrying away in the opposite direction from whence they came. He likely would have mused more on her upbringing, physicality and motivations too, had Watson not suddenly fallen out of consciousness into his arms, helpless as a babe.

#holmes x watson #consulting husbands #john watson #sherlock holmes #rdj holmes #sherlock holmes movies #my writing #fanfiction

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velvetchen · 6 years

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Draconian | ix. notice

[ series masterlist ] | [ main masterlist ] AU: Dragon!au Pairing: Kai/Reader Word Count: 1768 Warnings: none Summary: In a world where they are hunted to death, the magic still survives…but it is not to last. War is on the horizon.

You had watched Kai come in and out of your house in the last few weeks - sometimes he stayed the night, other times you saw the dark silhouette of his dragon form tucked in the woods just beyond the edge when you peered out of the window. Occasionally, he would join you as you foraged in the forest. One moment, you would be alone, gathering firewood or berries or something of the like, and the next he would be joining you, his movements graceful even in a body so large.

He was with you today, here and there. You were deeper in the woods today, deeper than you had gone even the night you had found him. His presence at your side, though not always consistent, was a comfort. What beast would dare attack when you had a more fearsome one to protect you? Although you were not sure if he would be inclined to protect you. He was still much too aloof for that. He was there, though, and that was enough.

You crouched at the edge of the lake, your hands rooting in the mud at its edge for stones. This was an area of the forest where the treetops didn’t crowd so closely together, their branches like single hands stretching into the vast depth of the day’s cloudless sky. You could see the reflection of the same sky on the surface of the water, still as a mirror except for the ripples that shifted outwards from where your hands touched.

A rustling at the tree edge startled you, and you turned to see Kai lumbering out from a gap in the trees. It was nearing midday, and as was his routine, you knew he would lay on the flat rocks at the side of the lake to soak up the heat of the sun. Today was a lazier day, so you thought of joining him. You trusted his presence enough that you might even brave a nap on the rocks, too.

Standing, you dried your hands on the front of your dress and glanced about the clearing. True to habit, he had already stretched out on the rocks, the sunlight limning the edges of his dark pewter-colored scales so that they glinted brightly. You grasped the handle of your basket, already full, and hefted it along with you to the rocks. You picked a spot a little ways away from him: far enough for comfort, but still close enough that he could hear you if you were to say something.

Not that you were going to say anything. He wasn’t much one for conversation, you’d gathered, even though he could be friendly and at times even playful with you.

The rocks beneath you were warm, almost unbearably so, but as you relaxed you felt the warmth seep into your skin and suffuse across you. You understood why Kai needed this. For a dragon, surely, the warmth was more than comforting: it was home.

What are you doing? Even though you were not unused to hearing his voice in your head, the suddenness of it still caught you off guard.

“I’m resting,” you said, frowning in his direction. “What does it seem like I’m doing?”

You heard his answering grunt, an acknowledgement. Forgive me. You don’t do this often. Or at all.

“I thought a change would be nice.” You closed your eyes, letting the sunlight filter through your eyelids.

You heard the scrape of his scales on the stone as he shifted. When you peeked one eye open, he had turned to look at you, his entire body closer than it had been. “Don’t look at me like that,” you complained. It was unnerving how he could stare so long without blinking, his eyes blazing as they caught the light.

Like what?

“Like you’re going to eat me.”

He bared his teeth. Like this?

“Yes, like that.” You heard a snort and a snuffling sound, his version of a laugh.

I’m not going to eat you. I don’t think you’d taste very good anyway.

“I refuse to be consoled by that.” You made a face. “What do you eat? As a dragon, I mean. I know you eat human food.”

I have a fondness for deer, but people get suspicious when they see too many carcasses lying around. He laughed again at your disgusted expression. Mostly rabbits. Sometimes I catch fish.

You gestured to the lake. “Fish? Here?”

He raised up, nodding his head. Yes. Do you want me to catch some to eat now?

“Are you hungry?”

He bared his teeth again. I’m always hungry. With that, he turned, balancing on his clawed feet, wings spread to either side for balance and tail switching from side to side, like a cat’s. In fact, most of his movements were catlike, in the way he stalked around, pouncing on things, curling up on the rocks. Sometimes the rumble of his breath when he was particularly contented reminded you of a purr.

You watched as he moved stealthily, silently, towards the edge of the water, his long neck leaning over its surface to peer in. His eyes shifted rapidly, tracking movement. Faster than you could blink, his head ducked in, his entire body following, the water splashing out loudly as he dived. A moment later, he reemerged, shaking water from his head, something silver and writhing clutched in his jaws. Swimming to the water’s edge, he bent forward and dropped the fish on the rocks, looking up at you as if to say, here.

Sitting up, you watched as he doubled back into the water, returning with three more. The fourth time he dived further and came up with an even bigger one, and, thinking his haul enough for the both of you, clambered out of the water and shook the wetness off his body.

You made your way over to the pile. “How will I cook them? I don’t have a fire.”

How fortunate for me that I don’t have to worry about cooking. He sat back on his haunches, giving you a smug look.

“You just eat them? Bones and all?”

Bones and all.

“I don’t want to imagine. But can’t you breathe fire? Will you light one for me?”

His expression became affronted. It was amazing, how easily you saw these human emotions on a creature you once would have considered a gruesome beast. Maybe he was an exception. You hoped not. You wanted to see good in him and his kind, see past the scales and claws and teeth to his heart.

You want me to use my fire?

“Can’t you?” You glanced down at the fish; they only needed hot coals, not a full blaze.

It is insulting that you expect me to use it for so menial a task, but...alright.

You went to gather tinder and the small flat rocks that you had been picking up earlier, forming them into a neat pile higher up in the lee of the wind. Kai followed, settling at the side before opening his mouth in what seemed like a yawn.

Move.

“Oh, sorry.” Sheepish, you shifted to the side, a safe distance away. A burst of flame issued from his throat, the tendrils of it wrapping around the edges of the tinder and igniting it. Pleased, Kai leaned away and sat again. It’s been a while since I’ve used my fire.

You hummed in agreement. “I don’t imagine you’d get many opportunities.”

No. In fact, I don’t get to be in my true form often. He sighed. Two legs and no wings. I don’t know how you humans survive.

Squatting, you prodded at the fire with a stick to let the embers calm to a simmering heat. “We don’t know any better.”

A shame. If you’ve flown even once, from then on, being confined to the ground is tortuous.

You shrugged. “Then it’s a good thing I haven’t.” The fish sizzled as you nestled it between the hot stones.

Kai regarded you oddly, as if he meant to say something, then looked away. Y/N...You should know.

“Know what?” You looked up; he did not meet your eyes.

My staying here, with you, puts you in danger. The night you found me, they had not left me for dead. They were going to come back.

“The soldiers?” Inside you, your heart thumped. He might have been safe, might not have hurt you, but you couldn’t forget what he was. “Why didn’t they, then?”

It has to be something else. Something more important than a dragon they had been hunting down for years. He stood, beginning to pace. I can’t think of what it might be.

“Whatever it is, it shouldn’t matter,” you said. “After all, they haven’t returned, have they?”

That is what worries me. They should have been back to take me away by now.

You looked back at the forest. What had been a peaceful image, an idyll, had shattered with his words. Now, you thought of what might lurk in the woods: not wolves, bears, or dragons.

Hunters.

I’ve grown complacent, he said. I’ve put you in danger.

“Careful, Kai. You almost sound like you care for me.”

He snorted, indignant. As if I have ever said otherwise.

Your cheeks warmed, but you frowned. “What would they do with me? You’re the one they want.”

They would see you hang for hiding me from them. His eyes gazed upon you solemnly.

You bit your lip, your eyes widening as the weight of his words settled in. All this time, he had just been yours. Your secret. You hadn’t thought of anyone else coming to know of him.

Kai jerked suddenly, looking up at the sky. You followed his gaze, wondering what might have caught his attention.

A dark shape circled above, making a slow, languorous turn before turning, letting out a sharp cry. It shrank as it retreated into the distance.

A shape, too large to be a bird. With two wide wings and a curling, sinuous tail.

Another dragon.

When you looked back at Kai, his eyes were mad, panicked. Things are changing, Y/N. Something’s wrong. That’s why they haven’t come for me.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered.

Go home. Now. And don’t come back.

You glanced down at the fire, sputtering out. At the still-peaceful surface of the lake. “What about you?”

Don’t come back for me, he repeated.

With a single nod, you picked up your basket, lifted your skirts, and entered the dark of the forest once again, your heart beating in your throat.

a/n: more very subtle plot progression! this is another one of my favorite chapters - let me know what u guys think x

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penhive · 2 years

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Comrade Picasso Kuttapan

Let me introduce Comrade Picasso Kuttapan to you. He was named Picasso by his not-so-accomplished artist father and Kuttpan is his family name.

His ritual of daily worship is rather very peculiar and alien to the tenets of Communism. He has photos of the common Hindu Gods like Shiva, Ganesh (elephant and human) Lakshmi (wealth) and Saraswathi (learning and arts). A surprising fact is along with these idols he also has pictures of Marx, Stalin, Lenin, Guevara and Fidel Castro. In the morning when he wakes up, the first thing that he does is do the ritual of puja (worship) these deities with casting incense over them and he feels contented and satisfied. Then he has his customary black coffee and beedies (a substance to smoke made up tobacco leaves) and after that mounts on his rusty bicycle and heads for the Communist Party Office situated in an idyllic village called Kurianoor.

The village Kurianoor has been notoriously nick-named as the idlers village as people assemble there and gossip and do no work and wile away their precious time. Things have changed much now with the influx of many people from Kurianoor to the oil rich countries of the Middle East.

Life for comrade Picasso Kuttapan who is the local committee Secretary starts with his sojourn in in the Party Office of the Communist Party of India. The first thing that he does early in the morning is to rub away the dust from the photos of Lenin, Stalin, Marx, Guevara, Mao and Fidel Castro. As he is doing this he is also chain smoking beedies.

Soon they discuss world affairs after reading snippets from the Communist Party’s Official News Paper called Desha Abhimani (Nation appreciator) .The party carries details about the war in Ukraine and very obnoxiously defends Putin’s growling invasion and the party’s editorial says emphatically: ‘it is a war against imperialism, capitalism, racism’ and Putin has rose to the stature of benevolent Comrade in thwarting the forces that want to herald capitalism and usher into a new world order.

Soon they start discussing about Cuba a very favourite-hotspot-country-to be admired. They wish that Communism will become an all-India force and create a proletariat friendly nation with the workers in full control.

Then their discussion mirrors on the cashew factory that they obstructed and closed. Yes down with bourgeoisie capitalists. Long live the workers. Long live the revolution. We will fight till death for our rights. The capitalist PIG Avaran is a scoundrel and bloody bourgeoisie. They are unrelenting and not lamenting at the loss of jobs lost due to the closure of the factory.

Then sipping black coffee and smoking proletarian beedies their discussion runs on to China a much admired Communist Country. The party’s official News Paper: Desha Abhimani is mum on the Chinese Killing of 20 Indian troops in Ladakh. The paper justified the killing as war done by terrorists but were kind enough to pay homage to the martyrs. Comrade Picasso Kuttapan is at a loss to understand why China is market friendly and yet retaining its politics with conservative communism. Comrade Picasso Kuttapan laments that the days of Chairman Mao have to come back to China.

After all this talk Comrade Picasso Kuttapan mounts on his bicycle and heads for home. The road to his house his narrow but having fairly enough space for a pedestrian or cyclist to pass through. As he was passing through this narrow passage, two masked assailants with knifes ambushed him and he was stabbed to death.

The story that goes on around is that it was done in retaliation by the FP Fundamentalist Party who are Draconian opponents of the Communist Party.

When one comrade is killed by the FP party another member of the FP party is killed by the Communist Party. The bloodletting is never ending a sad thorn in the otherwise peace free God’s Own Country Kerala.

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bk-lostintranslation · 4 years

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ESSAY: Bhutan - A Hollow Shangri La

Hailed as the Last Shangri La for its pristine rivers, soaring monasteries and verdant landscapes, Bhutan has gained prominence in international circles for its unique ethos of 'Gross National Happiness' (GNH). Coined by its king, Jigme Singye Wangchuck, as an alternative to the Western paradigm of Gross National Product, GNH is considered a spiritual spectrum by which to measure the nation's socio-economic development, environmental conservation, culture and governance. Indeed, as one of the few remaining vanguards of a unique corpus of Vajrayana Buddhism, with a newly-minted constitutional monarchy, a beloved Harvard-educated sovereign, and a rich cultural heritage largely untouched by globalization, Bhutan has captured the Western imagination as a haven of serenity, navigating with grace through the currents of modernity while simultaneously maintaining its core identity.

However, many deride its idyllic facade as political propaganda, pointing out that behind Bhutan's carefully-crafted brand of happiness lies a darkly Le Guinian legacy of ethnic cleansing and cultural genocide. Indeed, hand-in-hand with the moniker of the Last Shangri La, the nation also holds the dubious designation of one of the world's highest per capita creators of refugees – a fact that has drawn little international attention, but which serves as ironic proof in itself of Bhutan's turbulent and ongoing dance with the centrifugal versus centripetal forces of globalization ("Nepal: Bhutanese Refugee Screening," 2015).

Of particular focus is the mass exodus of Bhutan's Lhotsampas population. Once considered the nation's fastest-burgeoning ethnic Nepali minority, the Lhotsampas (literally "people of the South") were first recruited by the Government of Bhutan in the late nineteenth century, as laborers to cultivate the patchwork of arable lands in the southern regions. With the passage of time, the Lhotsampas prospered and rose to respected heights in Bhutanese society as educators and government officials. By 1958, with the issuance of the Bhutanese Citizenship Act, they were granted citizenship, given land tax receipts, and offered incentives to intermarry within Bhutan's diverse ethnic groups. However, the increasingly multicultural nature of the population was soon perceived as a threat to the nation's cultural homogeneity. In 1989, the then-king Wangchuk promulgated the "One Bhutan, One People," policy. In a series of edicts, the indigenous Buddhist language, religion and practices of the Ngalong Drukpa were given precedence over those of the predominantly Hindu Lhotsampas. Nepali, once the accepted lingua franca, was banned from classrooms, and all citizens were to adhere to the codes of Driglam Namzha, or The Rules for Disciplined Behavior. This included wearing traditional Bhutanese attire of Gho and Kina, even during religious rites and festivals; schoolgirls forcibly having their hair cut short; and Nepalese textbooks being publicly burned. Lhotsampas in the south were also expected to produce the 1958 land tax receipt; failure to do so would see them branded as "illegal immigrants" (Basu, 2009; Pulla, 2016; Subba & Sinha, 2017).

Understandably, the decrees generated friction among the populace; initial peaceful protests grew fiery when a number of southern youth publicly burned their Drukpa attire in an act of symbolic defiance. The royal security force branded them as dissidents and traitors of the state, retaliating with arrests and expulsion of all those perceived as involved in the uprisings. Tens of thousands of Lhotsampas were driven from their homes under the threat – and oftentimes the reality – of harassment, forced firings, property confiscation, rape and torture. Several were made to sign 'voluntary' migration forms at the border, to lend the impression that they were leaving of their own volition. By the early 1990s, nearly one-sixth of Bhutan's population found themselves stranded on the southeast fringes of Nepal. Their ancestral nation was far from welcoming. Classifying the refuges as citizens of Bhutan, Nepal denied them work permits or documentation for citizenship, instead calling upon the aid of the UNHCR. Seven refugee camps – Beldangi I, Beldangi II, Beldangi II extension, Goldhap, Khudunabari, Timai, and Sanischare – were established to house the refugees. Here, they have languished for two decades, caught in an uncertain limbo of both literal and ontological homelessness.

The Bhutanese government continues to dismiss them as illegal immigrants, and to resist attempts at repatriation – despite the fact that many refugees can readily produce documentations of citizenship (Basu, 2009; "Global Trends," 2005; Mørch, 2016). Indeed, this adherence to monoculturalism can be seen as a forceful mediation of the dangers of global influence; in a transcript from Bhutan's National Assembly meeting of 1989, the Deputy Home Minister of Bhutan deplored multiculturalism as a death-sentence for their national character, claiming, "in a small country like ours it would adversely affect the growth of social harmony and unity among the people" (Gellner, Pfaff-Czarnecka & Whelpton, 2005, p. 136). Yet the displacement of the Lhotsampas serves as an ironic reminder that, for all Bhutan's attempts at insulating itself from globalization, it is still caught in the undercurrents of it: transcultural flows and frictions that often serve to reinforce rather than diminish ethnic, racial and cultural absolutism (Thiranagama & Kelly, 2012). More to the point, despite how often globalization itself is valorized as a unifier and universalizer of nations, its broader impact oftentimes simply mutates socio-spatial boundaries in shape and nature, their delineations dictated by reactionary politics that can be violent, suppressive – and deadly.

For the Bhutanese refugees, their multiple belongings and affiliations are evident. Predominantly Nepalese by descent, Hindu by religion, Bhutanese by citizenship, they are a diverse group with further variegations in background. Some have high literacy levels; others close to none. Many were driven out of their villages and into refugee camps during the draconian campaign of forced evacuation; others were born on the camps themselves, and know no other home. Among the older generation, there is an impetus, to this day, to return to their homeland; many of the younger refugees, meanwhile, have been resettled in the recent years in the US, Canada, and other European nations, shrinking the seven original Nepalese camps down to two. Yet, for those who remain, there is a grim sense of belonging nowhere but within the diaspora. The Nepali government impedes any efforts at local integration, and curtails the movements of refugees beyond the camps. The assistance programs focused on providing refugees with food, fuel, medical care and other resources are dwindling, and living conditions are increasingly harsh. This phenomenon of 'refugee warehousing' feeds an atmosphere of bleakness within the camps themselves: the lack of agency in the refugees' lives, coupled with stymied progress in bilateral talks between Nepal and Bhutan, and growing restlessness among youths about future prospects, have culminated in high levels of substance abuse, domestic violence and conflict in the camps (Pula, 2016; Ridderbos, 2007).

Different uncertainties await those who are open to third-country resettlement. In 2006, the USA unveiled a program with the intention of resettling nearly 60,000 refugees within its borders (Shrestha, 2008). While the offer lit a spark of hope for many of the refugees, there were also high undercurrents of anxiety. The selection process and criteria were described as ambiguous, with refugees apprehensive about educational and employment opportunities in the host country. Concerns also arose over the prospect, or lack of it, of citizenship. Given the cruelly arbitrary crackdown and expulsion they endured in Bhutan, many Lhotsampas were unwilling to resettle without the ironclad promise of citizenship in the new host-country. Within the camp, many refugees also resist the prospect of resettlement, as they believe it serves as implicit green light for Bhutan to expel other Lhotsampas. There is also a widespread concern that the prospect of resettlement abroad will conversely lead to the impossibility of repatriation in Bhutan, since it will undermine pressures on the nation-state to accept its ejected citizens back into the fold (Ridderbos, 2007).

Through the lens of social justice, it becomes dismayingly apparent that the Lhotsampas refugees occupy a tenuous position. Rootless and stateless, confined to camps that were never designed for such protracted use, lacking opportunities for employment and education and grappling with a deep sense of displacement, the population is outplaced in every sense, and vulnerable to abuse on a multiplicity of levels (Agier, 2016). Not only are there high levels of depression within the camps themselves, but the trauma and marginality carries through during resettlement to host countries. Financial woes, difficulties in communication, absence of family ties and community support, are reported as being among the primary stressors leading to troubling patterns of suicide among Bhutanese refugees in the USA. For those remaining in the camps, circumstances are equally challenging, if not moreso. Not only are these rising incidences of crime, but women refugees are particularly susceptible to sexual abuse and gender based violence ("Trapped by Inequality," 2003). In an interview with the Human Rights Watch, an elderly refugee remarks, "This problem is due to so many people being packed so tightly together. As long as we are in these camps, in such cramped conditions, such problems will exist. No amount of social awareness training will be able to deal with this. To remove this problem, there has to be a permanent solution for the refugees" (Cubie, 2017, p. 224). For the young children in the camps, misgivings about the future have given way to flagging morale and a lack of motivation in schools. One young refugee states, "We have schools but I get frustrated because I don’t know what my future will be. My mind is always filled with unclear thoughts about my future" ("Meet the Young Photographers," n.d., p.1).

In examining the plight of the Bhutanese refugees, it becomes evident that Bhutan, despite its rigid adherence to cultural integrity, is not immune to Arjun Appadurai's idea of flows of globalization – in particular his locution of ethnoscapes, the more dramatic of which is forced migration, and its wide-ranging impacts on the peoples, the host countries, and the nation-state itself (2010). As he suggests in another of his works, the interstitial status of minorities attracts both scapegoating and violence, because it "create[s] uncertainties about the national self and national citizenship ... globalization, being a force without a face, cannot be the object of ethnocide. But minorities can" (2007, p.44-45). Yet, as Michel Foucault reminds us, those living on the fringes of society – whether in invisibly ubiquitous institutions such as prisons and mental hospitals, or in peripheral spaces such as border zones and refugee camps – are instrumental in highlighting not only the micro-mechanisms of social behavior, but also the macro structures of power and institutions within a would-be deterritorialized, post-Westphalian society (2005). Particular focus should be given to the fact that the very status of refugee arises, not because of the dissolution of national borders via globalization, but the continued construction of these borders, with their clear-cut designations of insider versus outsider. With that in mind, the responsibility of caring for these disenfranchised groups becomes not a domestic, but an international one. A number of strategies devised in the workshop, for instance, included repatriating the refugees back within Bhutan's borders, introducing ways to integrate them within Nepalese society, and establishing Lhotsampas communities in host-nations such as the United States, Canada and the UK – all via the enactment of international pressure and cooperation.

The first option – repatriating the refugees within Bhutan – would no doubt appeal to the first generation of refugees, as it would restore a sense of both belonging and national identity that was stripped from them. As per international law, refugees have a right to return to their homeland with dignity and security. Given the specious Voluntary Migration forms the Lhotsampas were coerced into signing, in addition to the fact that many can still produce documentations of Bhutanese citizenship, it is imperative that the international community persuade Bhutan to respect its citizens rights, and allow them safe haven within its borders again. Particularly vocal in this role should be the core network of nations that share cordial relations with Bhutan: Austria, Denmark, Japan, Netherlands, Norway and Switzerland (Ridderbos, 2007). Japan, as a vital development partner of Bhutan's agricultural sector, could wield particular clout in convincing Bhutan to rectify the refugee situation (Choden, Kusago & Shirai, 2007). However, the prospect of such a strategy succeeding is bleak, largely owing to how Bhutan has been exalted via its own carefully-constructed government campaign, and by glowing tourism reports, as a mythical haven of peace, thereby allowing it to elude any accountability for the gross human rights abuses of decade ago. Brandishing its alluring philosophy of Gross National Happiness and its paradisiacal image of untouched landscapes and glittering temples in distinctly new-age packaging, Bhutan carries an undeniable soft power that allows it to forge its own narratives. What's more, given Japan's own propensity for historical revisionism, and the strong sense of Buddhist fraternity between both nations, it is unlikely that the Lhotsampas refugees will see much support – or attention – to their crisis from that particular front.

The alternative, then, is to ensure that the refugees have the freedom and resources to integrate locally in Nepal. Of paramount importance is providing them with citizenship, and enjoining the Nepalese government to provide work permits that allow them to engage in income-generating activities. As it stands, a majority of Bhutanese refugees cannot integrate economically within the host nation as they are consigned to their congested camps, dependent on diminishing aid and with no viable source of income. To exacerbate their dilemma, children born in the camps, and therefore scions of the soil, are denied naturalization. It falls to the international community, through diplomacy and assistance packages, to both ease Nepal's already-strained resources, and offer an additional incentive to provide the refugees a fair and transparent citizenship process. Unfortunately, this may take considerable time; over the past few decades, one of Nepal's primary justifications for denying the refugees naturalization is the assertion that they are Bhutan's responsibility. To seamlessly accept them as citizens is to indirectly justify the original expulsion, without truly holding Bhutan accountable. With that in mind, while naturalization may not be a concrete possibility for the refugees, global pressure to provide them with work permits and easy access to information regarding third-country options becomes the only viable alternative (Banyan, 2010; Ridderbos, 2007).

The final option, to resettle the Lhotsampas refugees in other countries, is unfortunately contingent upon the political climate of that particular nation. Given the virulently anti-refugee sentiment spreading through the United States, Europe and the UK, in tandem with close political control and stricter vetting processes, the prospect of gaining entry and establishing themselves abroad proves increasingly difficult. Just this year, for instance, the U.S administration's refugee ban saw several Lhotsampas trapped in a bureaucratic limbo, unable to enter America or to return to the camp. As one refugee remarks, "Everything was going well, but then this order came, and it left us dejected" (Adhikari, 2017, p. 2). For those who do manage to successfully arrive in the different host countries, it is imperative that they receive education and support as they embark on the complex journey of assimilation. A particular policy proposed during the workshop was the development of predominantly Lhotsampas communities built to cater specifically to the needs of refugees, lending them a necessary sense of belonging that would reduce their isolation in a strange environment, while providing them with training and resources that would ease their transition and allow them to secure employment. While such paradigms would certainly be beneficial for the refugees' welfare, both short-term and long-term, it is equally vital for their host-nations to keep pressuring the Bhutanese government to introduce repatriation as an option. In the interim, to mitigate the vulnerability and uncertainty these populations are subject to, a comprehensive and unequivocal process for citizenship, or at least permanent residence, should be made possible.

The Bhutanese refugee crisis, while neither recent nor likely to be easily-resolved, nonetheless contributes to a grim understanding of the core challenges besieging a globalized society. Particularly noteworthy is the way the refugees' current predicament is not rooted in conflict, but in protracted refuge situations that have spanned decades, with no potential resolution in sight. The impact of this prolonged encampment not only holds dire implications on human rights and economic mobility, but also contributes to a tremendous drain on the host country. Further complicating the matter is Bhutan's refusal to repatriate its disenfranchised citizens, and the reluctance of the global community to confront or repudiate the nation for its abuses. Yet for all those who decry the refugees' resettlement in third countries as an indirect reward for Bhutan's past atrocities, others point out that it is unfair for these groups to be kept in indefinite suspense while desultory Nepal-Bhutan dialogue is lobbed back and forth. Meanwhile, for Bhutan – however much it distances itself from the horrific Lhotsampas exodus – it is also pertinent to remember that the nation is no less immune to globalization than at the beginning of its "One Bhutan, One People," policy. As it opens its doors for tourists, positing itself as a mythical paradise untainted by outside influence, it will nonetheless feel the impact of its own exposure in myriad ways. Whether it responds to those factors as a sinister megaprocess slowly undermining its national character, or as a novel dimension of change to be embraced, may regrettably reveal itself in future cultural anxieties and potential violent enactments on its minorities – whomsoever it chooses this time around to fulfill that role.

References

Adhikari, D. (2017, February 14). Trump immigration order leaves Bhutan refugees in limbo. Retrieved October 07, 2017, from https://asia.nikkei.com/Spotlight/The-Trump-effect/Trump-immigration-order-leaves-Bhutan-refugees-in-limbo

Agier, M. (2016). Borderlands: towards an anthropology of the cosmopolitan condition. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press.

Appadurai, A. (2007). Fear of small numbers: an essay on the geography of anger. Durham: Duke Univ. Press.

Appadurai, A. (2010). Modernity at large: cultural dimensions of globalization. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press.

Banyan, B. (2010, December 27). Unhappiness exported. Retrieved October 07, 2017, from http://www.economist.com/blogs/banyan/2010/12/refugees_bhutan

Basu, S. P. (2009). The fleeing people of South Asia: selections from Refugee watch. New Delhi: Anthem Press.

Choden, T., Kusago, T., & Shirai, K. (2007). Gross national happiness and material welfare in Bhutan and Japan. Thimphu: Centre for Bhutan Studies.

Cubie, D. (2017). The international legal protection of persons in humanitarian crises: exploring the acquis humanitaire. Oxford: Hart Publishing.

Foucault, M. (1995). Discipline and punish: the birth of the prison. New York: Vintage Books.Gellner, D. N., Pfaff-Czarnecka, J., & Whelpton, J. (2005). Nationalism and ethnicity in a Hindu kingdom: the politics of culture in contemporary Nepal. Amsterdam: Harwood.

Global trends: refugees, asylum-seekers, returnees, internally displaced persons and stateless persons. (2007). Geneva: UNHCR.

IOM Bhutanese Cultural Profile 2008. (2008). Retrieved October 7, 2017, from http://www.bing.com/cr?IG=1CE66EF077BC4A8E926015ED5DA0A659&CID=0E538B9026A762FF25DA808527A16379&rd=1&h=Eu4qM7h60z8OKkdhaiH89ESKpBcs2XAy5J5eeQCfBYw&v=1&r=http%3a%2f%2fwww.peianc.com%2fsitefiles%2fFile%2fresources%2fcultural_profiles%2fBhutanese-Refugees-in-Nepal.pdf&p=DevEx,5065.1

Meet the young photographers. (n.d.). Retrieved October 07, 2017, from http://bhutaneserefugees.com/meet-the-young-photographers/

Mørch, M. (2016, September 22). Bhutan's Dark Secret: The Lhotshampa Expulsion. Retrieved October 07, 2017, from http://thediplomat.com/2016/09/bhutans-dark-secret-the-lhotshampa-expulsion/

Nepal: Bhutanese Refugee Screening Seriously Flawed. (2015, April 17). Retrieved October 07, 2017, from https://www.hrw.org/news/2003/09/02/nepal-bhutanese-refugee-screening-seriously-flawed

Pulla, V. (2016). The Lhotsampa people of Bhutan: resilience and survival. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

Ridderbos, K. (2007). Last hope: the need for durable solutions for Bhutanese refugees in Nepal and India. New York, NY: Human Rights Watch.

Shrestha, M. (2008, March 25). First of 60,000 refugees from Bhutan arrive in U.S. Retrieved October 07, 2017, from http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/asiapcf/03/25/bhutan.refugees/

Subba, T. B., & Sinha, A. C. (2017). Nepali diaspora in a globalised era. New Delhi: Routledge.

Thiranagama, S., & Kelly, T. (2012). Traitors: suspicion, intimacy, and the ethics of state-building. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press.

Trapped by inequality: Bhutanese refugee women in Nepal. (2003). New York, London: Human Rights Watch.

#essay #academic writing #bhutan #bhutanese refugees #nepal #lhotsampas #crisis humanitaria #global policy #globalization

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cutsliceddiced · 5 years

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New top story from Time: Recollections of a Long Siege in Kashmir

A military siege is like a chokehold on an entire people.

I was a teenager when I lived through a long curfew in Kashmir in the 1990s when the rebellion against Indian rule was at its peak. After decades of betrayals, broken promises, and pent-up resentment, Kashmiris had risen up in arms. Hundreds of thousands of ordinary Kashmiris marched through the streets in a mass eruption. India rushed in thousands of troops, turning the idyll of Kashmir into a dystopian garrison overnight. Everyone began to call the valley “a beautiful prison.”

The long war in and over Kashmir began soon after the Partition of British India in 1947. At the time, the future of the independent state of Kashmir was left undecided; in 1948, after India and Pakistan had fought their first war over Kashmir, it was agreed that a U.N.-mandated referendum would be held to allow Kashmiris a say in whether they joined India or Pakistan. That promise has yet to be honored. In 1987, a state election was rigged to prevent a new and popular Kashmiri party from gaining legislative power, leaving Kashmiris more disillusioned than ever. Pakistan readily handed Kashmiris arms and training, leading to full-blown mass uprising. The early 1990s were a time of daily bloodletting, as the Indian armed forces responded with limitless force, killing and torturing hundreds. Hundreds of protesters were killed by the paramilitaries from January to May 1990 alone.

On January 21, 1990, one day after India sent an all-powerful governor to stymie mass protests, at least 50 people were killed on the Gaw Kadal bridge in Srinagar, the main city in Kashmir. The paramilitaries surrounded unarmed demonstrators on the bridge and indiscriminately shot at them with automatic rifles. They then poked the piled-up bodies on the bridge to check if anyone was alive.

Robert Nickelsberg—Getty ImagesAn Indian Border Security Force soldier shows a suspected militant to people in a line of parked military vehicles, Srinagar, India, on July 28, 1994.

Far away in the arcadian countryside and along the Line of Control, the de-facto border that separates the disputed region into Indian- and Pakistan-administered territories, hundreds were killed in battles between the insurgents and Indian forces. Kashmir’s mountains became open burial grounds. Soon, we saw bloody internecine battles, too, as Pakistan decided to back pro-Pakistan militants to diminish those who favored an independent Kashmir. As if Kashmir hadn’t seen enough death, for some time, Kashmiris were killing one another on the streets. By day, Kashmiris were busy counting their dead, or mending their broken-bodied kin; at night, they contemplated their future.

Kashmiri Pandits, a Hindu minority who had lived together with Kashmiri Muslims for centuries, left in an almost overnight exodus. More than 200 Pandits were targeted and killed by the militants; facing mortal fear, they just left their age-old homes for the hot plains of India and became refugees. Delhi has since then used their enormous tragedy and suffering to demonize Kashmiri Muslims.

In the city where I was—Srinagar, Kashmir’s biggest city—the sight of the “coffin car” (an armored carrier deployed by the Indian armed forces in residential neighborhoods) and the olive green “gypsy” (a customized jeep used as a patrol car) would send us boys fleeing. They would sweep down a street and grab and nab. The sheer glimpse of these monster vehicles would terrify parents.

On Aug. 5 this year, when India imposed the worst-ever siege on Kashmir and unilaterally revoked the region’s long-held autonomy, I wasn’t merely reminded of all this—I simply relived everything. The soul-crushing 70-day long curfew that I experienced growing up in Kashmir never really leaves you. It follows you like a second shadow, invisible but inerasable.

In the 1990s, soldiers marched outside in chain-like formations at intervals. Our movements to see neighbors, friends, or just to walk a bit, after weeks of being restricted indoors, had to be timed to the rounds. A slight miscalculation would result in someone or the other at the receiving end of rifle butts. The soldiers could shoot you dead on mere suspicion because draconian laws that India imposed in 1990 gave the armed forces complete immunity from prosecution. The laws remain in place even today. Violence, brute power, and total freedom to exercise that power are essential tools in the hands of an occupying military. The message to the natives is clear: to break your spirit, we can do anything to your bodies.

One evening, we were playing carrom in my uncle’s house next door when we heard a commotion outside, then loud cracks, then shouting and screaming. The paramilitaries had chased a shadow in the by-lane that led to our neighbourhood from a traffic artery and pulled apart a door that they thought had helped the escapee. We held our breath.

We never found out who was beaten up, tortured, or taken away.

Alixandra Fazzina—NOOR/ReduxWomen make their way home at dusk as clouds of tear gas engulfs the air in the stone strewn streets surrounding the Jama Masjed following riots in Srinagar in Dec. 2008.

Food began to run out. Kashmiris, conditioned by harsh winters and a long history of political repression, are accomplished hoarders of food and memories. We hang ornate garlands of sun-dried turnip, gourd, eggplant, on our balconies and roof terraces. We keep large amounts of rice and pulses in man-size vats of copper or earthenware. We store so many medicines that each house has a mini pharmacy in the kitchen or living room. We remember years and seasons as that curfew or this. People who get married during sieges sometimes come to be called “curfew bride” or “curfew groom.” We remember. All of this to nourish the primeval seed of survival, as hard times begin to loom—and they do ever so often.

We dig into these repositories when the snows or soldiers arrive. The snows are always welcome, as they replenish our mountains and inject fresh life into our springs and gardens. The soldiers are never welcome because they inevitably kill or torture—both the young and old, men and women. They land in Kashmir for one thing and one thing alone: to deliver imperial punishments to a people who’ve never accepted India’s rule over them.

As the curfew lasted months, and days and nights began to get longer and more dreadful, boys in the neighbourhood started to hatch plans to do something about it all. A festival day was approaching perhaps, and people whispered that some households were barely managing to feed their children with sparse meals of rice and beans. People helped each other, of course, with tins and bags of rudiments but everyone knew the stores were running out. We were alright, I remember, and didn’t go without meals, but only just about.

An older boy with whom I’d often played cricket in an apple orchard nearby, let it be known that we could all go on an expedition into the picturesque Dal Lake, a ten-minute walk from my parents’ home. Srinagar, one of the oldest cities in the world, is a town crisscrossed by water. It is hemmed in by the famous Dal Lake on the east, and the great river Jhelum runs through its heart in the old town. The people of the city have always depended on its water bodies for food and transport. It is a city defined by water. Although rampant urbanisation and bureaucratic venality have eroded Kashmir’s water bodies during the last few decades, fresh vegetables and fruit are to this day sold at the shores of the lake. The produce arrives daily from an intricate network of small lake-side farms, floating gardens, and inland waterways.

And it was into these un-curfewed patches of land on water, water on land, that I went on a rickety boat nearly thirty years ago to hunt for food. Or is ‘forage’ a more appropriate term? We set off by a narrow clearing away from the main shore in our parts – there were rumours that the armed forces had acquired naval boats to patrol the lake, to lay a siege on the water, too.

The boat was slow, somewhat precariously inclined in its negotiation with the surface of the lake. I had a makeshift paddle, perhaps an old cricket bat or a plank of wood. But what I do remember clearly is that we rowed with all our strength to cover ground quickly, glances darting left and right in case an unexhausted vegetable patch came into view, in case a kind farmer spied us from his perch somewhere in the dense growths and understood at once what we wanted, needed. There was, of course, an air of thrill, adventure, on the boat but we also knew it was a rather desperate situation.

Prashant Panjiar—AnzenbergerYoung Kashmiris play a game of carrom on the bank of the Dal Lake in Srinagar, the capital of Jammu and Kashmir.

Each of us returned with something in our hands. A bottle gourd, a batch of withered greens, lotus stems, some potatoes perhaps too… The neighbourhood, like most others across Kashmir survived the curfew by sheer graft, collective action, and what came to be known as a ‘shutter economy’, which meant shopkeepers sold or loaned basic goods to people secretly, from under the shutter.

In that summer and autumn, after we’d scoured for vegetables in that wobbly Shikara boat, I quickly turned from boyhood into youth, became someone who lived amidst curfews and sieges, witnessing the image of the pastoral idyll – Kashmir – breaking to reveal the terrifying darkness of oppression.

The current siege of Kashmir, complete with an unprecedented, three-month-long communications blackout, is in many ways a continuation of the sieges that have come before. Yet this one might stay for a long time, a permanent siege in some form or the other. Because history tells us Kashmiris will not relent, even as they are, more than ever, surrounded by the jackboots of an occupation.

via https://cutslicedanddiced.wordpress.com/2018/01/24/how-to-prevent-food-from-going-to-waste

#Time #top stories #IFTTT #news

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scaredycat6501 · 2 months

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The sufferance of art...

Who can relate?.... The days nights I waste upon my art.... *Sigh.* One of these days, I will finish one of the trillions of unfinished art pages, as I receive 3x the amount of ideas that I can even draw to begin with... And yet this scrawny sketch-

We don't speak about my handwriting. (We don't talk about Bruno.)

#SCAREDYCAT6501 #Art #draconian idyll #jayden charming #Jayden #Scaredycat #SCAREDYCAT #Struggles of art #Art striggles #I mean struggles- not striggles-#Boredom #The loss of motivation :]

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roccorrios · 4 years

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Is Sustainable Off Grid Living Really Possible?

Living independently from big corporations and the 9-5 sounds like a dream, but it can quickly become a nightmare.

Most of us — at some point or other — have entertained thoughts of disengaging from everyday life. Our world can be chaotic and restless. So that the contrast of an imagined peaceful, and much slower independent way of living, calls out to us.

Most people think of going “off the grid” when they express a desire to move away from the structures of everyday life. But the phrase has different meanings for different people, and some definitions are more realistic than others.

Helpful resources: https://survivalistgear.co/emergency-survival-kit/

How independent?

Off-grid living is generally understood to be a way of life that is not dependent on public utilities such as the electrical “grid” (where the term comes from) and water networks.

But some go further than that, interpreting it as a form of life that avoids pretty much everything — including even the roads. This most extreme form — complete independence — likely only exists in parts of the world where that sort of living is a necessity and is an increasingly scarce way of life.

A more common group of people have confiscated the term to identify with a reduced-standard of living that is cleaner and semi-independent. A way of life that might enable a type of full-time touring if they live in a motorhome, or one that enables periodic independence depending on the seasons and other factors.

The Law

Living off the grid is so uncommon that the general presumption is that it must be illegal, at least in parts. It is not illegal, but it is strongly discouraged. For example, in the UK one can only live on a plot of land for 28-days without needing permission to do so by the local authorities. In the United States the situation is similar, and you will need to provide a permit after a while.

So living off-grid would not be as easy as taking a one-way trip up to a place with good soil and building a cabin. Not unless one has permission to do so.

You can however, attempt to live off-grid on your own property, or someone else’s if you have permission. Oftentimes this isn’t as romantic as it seems. Caravans parked on driveways are allowed. Gardens too if they are big enough. This is called ancillary accommodation.

A final option is to live nomadically in a camper van or motorhome with no real fixed address. But this will hardly be an “off grid” lifestyle by most measures, and it will be a struggle to convince an insurance company to cover your motorhome if you don’t technically live anywhere.

Healthcare

In the United States, if you continue working, you might still be able to pay for health insurance through your job. But if you are self-employed or living off of the land, you can open up a health savings account. Accounts like these are often tax-deductible and can really come in handy if you find yourself staring down the barrel at thousands of dollars’ worth in medical bills. If you do not have a fixed-address, or a semi-permanent address, then do your research clearly and make sure this is known to the medical authorities.

Residents in the UK are entitled to free at-the-point-of-use healthcare, the NHS. Living nomadically, or a way of life that does not pay into the system does not disqualify a natural-born citizen from accessing the healthcare system. The point is if using the NHS disqualifies any claim to be truly living off the grid. The healthcare “grid” is probably one exception that even the most extremely independent people would have no qualms about using, even in non-emergencies.

Fixed-abode or not, one still needs to be registered to use the NHS, on their data systems. That means that some type of fixed-address is needed. A fixed-address could be a relative or friend’s house, and will determine your local health clinic; GP doctor and hospital.

If you are unwell anywhere in the country, any and every hospital will open up its doors to help. But they will only do the bare minimum that is necessary. Everything else: follow-ups, check-ups, serious dental work and future operations, has to be sorted by the practitioners local to your fixed address.

For the more casual off-grid observers, a fixed-address makes it possible to vote in elections, and generally “keep in touch” with the outside world, even for insurance or other reasons. Note that this is not a legal requirement, just a convenient one.

Water

Unfortunately, many streams and lakes on both sides of the Atlantic are either polluted or home to organisms that can make a person very sick (or both). It is better to treat water first. Water can be treated by leaving it in direct, harsh sunlight for about eight hours. The ultraviolet radiation should then kill all of the harmful germs. This is very impractical though; time-consuming, and depends on weather conditions.

If the area has a naturally high water table, drilling a well is possible. But permission will be needed and the entire operation can cost thousands of pounds, with no success guaranteed. A deep well also requires a good pump to extract the water. Rain barrels can collect water, but have to be partly-buried so that the wind doesn’t blow them over. Then there is the issue of carrying the water, and protecting it from freezing in the winter.

Of all the aspects of off-grid living, water extraction is probably the most difficult to accomplish naturally and independently. Many extreme off-grid enthusiasts still rely on water from public taps for drinking, showering, and washing.

Helpful reading

https://survivalistgear.co/how-to-desalinate-water/

https://survivalistgear.co/water-storage-emergency-how-to/

Food

Food is another very difficult one. There are two options: foraging and growing. Like off-grid living generally, foraging is not illegal in the UK but is strongly discouraged. In the United States, however, many federal and local foraging laws have been described as “wrongheaded and draconian”. So while one law generally applies for much of the UK (foraging laws are much the same but generally more relaxed in Scotland), the complexities of the many local and federal laws in the United States require some serious research beforehand.

In the United States both foraging and trespassing can be criminal offences, but not in the UK. There it is technically not illegal to forage — even on private land. If you are caught by the landowner and asked to leave, you should do so. But trespassing is not a criminal offence. Foraging is described in the Theft Act of 1968 as the art of a person: “…who picks mushrooms growing wild on any land, or who picks flowers, fruit or foliage from a plant”. The landowner may be able to ask you to leave, but they cannot ask for foraged goods back — as that would be stealing.

Foraging is a careful and slow skill, and it is unlikely a person can do it for sustainable living. Rather, foraging is more like a seasonal hobby. Actually, the same can be thought of for growing food.

Raised beds, containers, and small gardens can all produce seasonal foods to eat and enjoy. But also leave one vulnerable to pests, the weather, and disease. Cafes and supermarkets dispose of food waste and cardboard — a source of potential compost — but some would argue this is still living “on” the grid.

Growing food is technically do-able, but terribly inconvenient. People often report digestive problems, bad breath, and sickness from eating the same foods. And almost everyone will need to fall back on the supermarket “grid” from time to time.

Helpful resources: https://survivalistgear.co/emergency-survival-food/

Energy

Being off the electrical grid — surprisingly — is perhaps one of most practical things one can do, thanks to advances in technology. But being energy efficient may require sacrifices, such as the microwave oven; toasters, coffee-makers, TVs and so on. But you can watch TV on a laptop instead, and get a cafetière for the latter two. LED bulbs are a powerful way to reduce wastage through lighting.

A good 100-watt solar panel should serve the energy needs of about two people, and you can buy mounted-roof ones to put away (if you are worried about theft). If they are looked after properly, a solar panel can produce power successfully for over a decade.

Gas is important for keeping things cool in the fridge, and for keeping warm in the winter. Buying gas canisters from the grid is unavoidable, and largely essential. But like the solar panel — and any generators that might be needed for back-up — some dependency on the grid will remain, but it will be sharply reduced.

Conclusions

It may be possible to live truly, independently, off-grid as a short-term experiment. But in the long-run, and depending on your interpretation of what “off-grid” entails, there will always come a time when it is necessary to re-engage with the structures of society. Whether that time comes in the darkest coldest nights of winter, stocking up on food, or in a medical emergency, and so on.

Off-grid living may even be more expensive, rather than cheaper, than “normal” living, too. After all, there will still be propane bills and other expenses. And in the end, your home, if it is a cabin or motorhome, will be a depreciating — and not appreciating — asset.

It is an idyllic thought, but one that most often fails to match up with reality.

— This Author

Neil Wright is researcher and copywriter. He is passionate about the great outdoors and the natural world, and has written extensively about the off-grid lifestyle and living off the land in the UK on his website.

Image Source: Shutterstock, royalty-free stock photo ID: 532886983

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survivalistgear1 · 4 years

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Is Sustainable Off Grid Living Really Possible?

Living independently from big corporations and the 9-5 sounds like a dream, but it can quickly become a nightmare.

Helpful resources: https://survivalistgear.co/emergency-survival-kit/

How independent?

Off-grid living is generally understood to be a way of life that is not dependent on public utilities such as the electrical “grid” (where the term comes from) and water networks.

The Law

So living off-grid would not be as easy as taking a one-way trip up to a place with good soil and building a cabin. Not unless one has permission to do so.

Healthcare

Water

Helpful reading

https://survivalistgear.co/how-to-desalinate-water/

https://survivalistgear.co/water-storage-emergency-how-to/

Food

Helpful resources: https://survivalistgear.co/emergency-survival-food/

Energy

Conclusions

It is an idyllic thought, but one that most often fails to match up with reality.

— This Author

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rinabrunoblog · 5 years

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ArenaNet confirms layoffs and assures that Guild Wars will not be affected

Most of us perceive gaming world as something totally idyllic – an ideal career for creative types and gamers at heart, consisting exclusively of glamour, pizzazz and pure fun. However, the gaming industry has its share troubles just like any other profession of and it certainly isn’t immune to things such as strenuous working hours, stress, subpar wages and, of course, the most dreaded thing of all – layoffs. Unfortunately, the reality is much harsher than most of us can even imagine, and the gaming industry is actually full of real, blood-curdling horror stories, just as it’s shown by the recent epidemics of layoffs.

This February will already be remembered for one of the biggest and most draconian mass layoffs in recent history when Activision Blizzard had laid off about 800 of its employees without doing them courtesy of the previous notice. ArenaNet, the world-renowned developer who bestowed us Guild Wars franchise, was unfortunately forced to do the very same thing. As it seems, the rationale behind this desperate and unpopular move is an apparent attempt to consolidate the company by cutting all excess costs and merging NCSoft (the parent company of ArenaNet) and ArenaNet.

“We can confirm that due to the cancellation of unannounced projects, ArenaNet will make staff reductions,” it was declared in the official statement by ArenaNet. “This is part of a larger organizational restructuring within NCSoft in the west, but the Guild Wars and Guild Wars 2 game services will not be affected, nor is any upcoming game content canceled.”

Thankfully, it appears that the employees of ArenaNet have been treated a bit more humanely than their colleagues from Activision Blizzard. All employees have received an email from the NCSoft West CEO Songyee Yoon, which sheds at least some additional light on their decision: “Our live game business revenue is declining as our franchises age, delays in development on PC and mobile have created further drains against our revenue projects, while our operating costs in the west have increased. Where we are is not sustainable, and is not going to set us up for future success.“ Songyee Yoon also added that “the restructuring, cost-cutting, and strategic realignments are all being done to secure our tomorrow and to provide the foundation that will allow us to grow and acquire.”

Currently, we still don’t have an exact number of employees that will be laid off, but, by all assessments, that number will definitely be considerable. In the meantime, ArenaNet had confirmed that all employees affected by this mass layoff will be compensated by severance pays worth two monthly salaries, and also bonuses depending on the individual time they spend at ArenaNet.

ArenaNet confirms layoffs and assures that Guild Wars will not be affected syndicated from https://lucystrickland.wordpress.com/

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smnews · 6 years

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The tiny five-year-olds, dressed in pink tutus and bright, sequined shirts, were angelic as they sang in perfect chorus at the end of a half hour performance at the Changgwang kindergarten in downtown Pyongyang. Singing in harmony and clapping in unison, the smiling infants performed their catchy melody: “Our father is General Kim Il Sung…our home is our party…We envy nothing in the world.” Visitors to the modern and well-equipped boarding school leave with an image of idyllic childhood after seeing pupils light up at the chance to show the few foreigners allowed to enter the country their high-tech game machines, sports classes, ballet performances, and immaculate artwork. But the demonstrations also offer an insight into one of the more chilling aspects of North Korean life: a conditioning from infancy to express fawning devotion to the ruling Kim family. Three generations of the dynasty, from current leader Kim Jong-un, to his father Kim Jong-il, and war hero grandfather, Kim Il Sung, are venerated as deities and their personality cults permeate daily life with a suffocating effect. Kim Jong-il greets residents at one of Pyonyang's subway entrances Credit: Eddie Mulholland But while the two elder Kims are omnipresent - their portraits adorning the walls of every household, factory, school, even metro carriages - the young, current leader has so far resisted self-aggrandising monuments. However, in a move seen as an attempt to cement the 35-year-old as life-long ruler and to head off any possible leadership challenge, he is rapidly creating his own generational chapter of family mythology through tales of his own benevolence, superhuman talents and exemplary feats. According to some of the most outlandish claims, he learned to drive at age three and became a competitive sailor at nine. Last year, state-run media reported his ability to change the weather as he ascended the country’s sacred Mount Paektu through snow in black, leather shoes. Wedding groups gather at the Korean Revolution Museum to lay flowers at the statues of Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-Il Credit: Eddie Mulholland In drip feed of carefully controlled state-published images of the leader, Kim is frequently photographed imparting his wisdom to officials scribbling in notebooks or to emotionally-overcome workers. On visits around Pyongyang last week the Telegraph learned of his “expert instructions” on the design of the natural history museum and on how to improve football boots. At the maternity hospital, Mun Chang-un, a guide, attributed the introduction of the epidural injection to the leader’s sage advice. Portraits of North Korea's former leaders even make their way into the subway carriages Credit: Eddie Mulholland The sculpting of future generations to ensure their unwavering faith in the wisdom of the country’s past and current “great leaders” is a top priority for the regime to keep its grip on power. In Changgwang, some 800 children living apart from their working parents, sing of their wish for Kim Jong-un to visit. In a history class, one boy sprang from his seat. “I will uphold highly the great, respected Kim Jong-un,” he said to joyful clapping from his classmates. At the school’s entrance, a floor to ceiling painting in soft pastels of Kim Il Sung surrounded by children, some sitting on his lap, frames him as a modern-day Jesus. “Let the little children come to me..the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these,” says Jesus in the Gospel of St Matthew. “Young people are the successors to the revolution, a shock brigade in building a thriving nation and masters who will shoulder the future of Kim Il Sung’s nation,” states the red book of Kim Jong Un Aphorisms, volume 1, page 52. North Korea claims to be a non-religious state, but it has simply replaced religion with Kim family worship. Citizens bow deeply to imposing wax sculptures of “Eternal President” Kim Il Sung, while the party faithful proudly wear a red lapel pin depicting him and his son. The absence of Kim Jong-un billboards and portraits is noticeable and unexplained, although he is still officially idolised. Kim Jong-il and Kim Il-sung look down upon the population across the capital Credit: Eddie Mulholland He could be taking things slowly while moulding his own cult-like image around that of his grandfather, the most popular of the Kims, suggested Robert Kelly, a political science professor at South Korea’s Busan university. “He is famously styling himself after Kim Il Sung, with the hair and the weight.” He added: “It seems like the propaganda apparatus didn’t really miss a beat. Kim Jong-un has been given all the relevant titles, he’s been given the same majesty and superstitious exaggeration.” Objects Kim once touched are revered – a hospital bed he sat on, a chair he used when addressing textile workers, now encased in a plastic box. Every factory has its own story of his concern to improve workers’ lives. At the model Jangchon vegetable farm on the city’s periphery, deputy manager Kim Yong-ho, 53, spoke of his joy when the “great Marshall” visited. “I felt really proud to have met such a great man as the leader of our country! He is like the sun to us,” he said. Such is the depth of mass indoctrination that even the most innocuous everyday occurrences prompt spontaneous gratitude to the leader. Student Kim Song-gwang won an orange balloon after kissing a dolphin during a Sunday afternoon performance at the aquarium. “I am really impressed by the love and care of our great Marshall Kim Jong-un that we are enjoying ourselves in this wonderful location,” he said, when asked about the event. Portraits sit above the sofa at the home of Kim Chun-Son. All portraits must be sanctioned by the state before being hung Credit: Eddie Mulholland But unlike his father and grandfather, Kim faces the challenge of keeping his people isolated from the global internet age to sustain his legendary status. As a result, the flow of outside information is still deeply curtailed. Most citizens may only access the state intranet and its heavily censored content, while calls or emails to foreigners must be officially registered. Foreign news is highly restricted. One educated Pyongyang resident recounted the details of the June Singapore summit between Kim and Donald Trump, the US president, but had not heard of the Thai cave rescue which gripped the world for two weeks. Pornography and Bibles are considered to be “evil methods of infiltration”, used to “destabilise society.” Individualism is discouraged, dissent is punished. In one of the more bizarre restrictions, men and women may not dye their hair, and should choose from approved styles, including the “butterfly”, “seagull” and “coiled bundle.” Korea experts question how long Kim can maintain such draconian control? Although popular for improving the economy and securing the North’s nuclear weapons, Kim still faced future challenges to his power, said Andrei Lankov, a professor at Seoul’s Kookmin university. “In order to keep the country stable they have to keep it isolated. If they open it, it will be suicidal for the elite and even for many common people because if you have revolution in North Korea it’s going to be very messy and bloody,” he said. Visitors to the Changgwang Kindergarten are presented with an idyllic image of childhood in North Korea Credit: Eddie Mulholland “Basically, you cannot maintain such a level of ideological mobilisation forever. Information is getting in. Kim Jong-un is now taking it very seriously, he is doing what he can to prevent people from learning too much about the outside world. But he cannot fully stop it.” In a sign that the secluded society is slowly opening up, Oh Song Chong, 25, the soldier who was shot while made a daring defection across the border last year, told Japan’s Sankei Shimbun paper this week that “probably 80% of my generation is indifferent and has no loyalty,” to Kim. “I actually think that most North Koreans think the ideology is kind of bunk,” said Robert Kelly. “My sense is that it serves two purposes. Firstly, it’s a mobilisation tool and the second is that without the Kim cult then North Korea just becomes a poorer version of South Korea.” For now, the regime’s imperative remains shaping the minds of schoolchildren. At the Mangyongdae schoolchildren’s palace, a surreal after-school club that hosts regular performances for tourists, students sang and executed flawless dance routines in praise of the nation’s achievements. Ri Jin-hyang, a 12-year-old guide, wearing the red scarf of the Children’s Union, a political organisation linked to the ruling Workers’ Party, was unsure what to reply when asked what she knew about the UK. But her response on America was immediate and scripted to perfection. “The US is the country that invaded us,” she said.

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