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arcticdementor · 3 years

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In the third decade of the 21st century, the Social Register still exists, there are still debutante balls, polo and lacrosse are still patrician sports, and old money families still summer at Newport. But these are fossil relics of an older class system. The rising ruling class in America is found in every major city in every region. Membership in it depends on having the right diplomas—and the right beliefs.

To observers of the American class system in the 21st century, the common conflation of social class with income is a source of amusement as well as frustration. Depending on how you slice and dice the population, you can come up with as many income classes as you like—four classes with 25%, or the 99% against the 1%, or the 99.99% against the 0.01%. In the United States, as in most advanced societies, class tends to be a compound of income, wealth, education, ethnicity, religion, and race, in various proportions. There has never been a society in which the ruling class consisted merely of a basket of random rich people.

Progressives who equate class with money naturally fall into the mistake of thinking you can reduce class differences by sending lower-income people cash—in the form of a universal basic income, for example. Meanwhile, populists on the right tend to imagine that the United States was much more egalitarian, within the white majority itself, than it really was, whether in the 1950s or the 1850s.

Both sides miss the real story of the evolution of the American class system in the last half century toward the consolidation of a national ruling class—a development which is unprecedented in U.S. history. That’s because, from the American Revolution until the late 20th century, the American elite was divided among regional oligarchies. It is only in the last generation that these regional patriciates have been absorbed into a single, increasingly homogeneous national oligarchy, with the same accent, manners, values, and educational backgrounds from Boston to Austin and San Francisco to New York and Atlanta. This is a truly epochal development.

In living memory, every major city in the United States had its own old money families with their own clubs and their own rituals and their own social and economic networks. Often the money was not very old, going back to a real estate killing or a mining fortune or an oil strike a generation or two before. Even so, the heirs and heiresses set themselves up as a local aristocracy. Like other aristocracies, these urban patricians renewed their bloodlines and bank accounts by admitting new money, once the parvenus had served probation and assimilated the values of the local patriciate.

…

In short, for two centuries there was a double competition among regional American oligarchies. On the one hand, the local notables, particularly those from the newly settled regions, had to prove they were not backward bumpkins, but were just as up-to-date with regard to European fashions as the patricians in New York and Boston and Philadelphia. On the other hand, some of them dreamed that the city they ran, whether it was Atlanta or Milwaukee, would become the Athens or Renaissance Florence of North America, and favored local writers, poets, and artists, as long as their work was in fashionable styles and did not inspire seditious thoughts among the local masses. The subnational blocs of New Englanders, Southerners, and Midwesterners fought to control the federal government in order to promote their regional economic interests.

The status of Harvard and Yale as prestigious national rather than regional universities is relatively recent. A few generations ago, it was assumed that the sons of the local gentry (this was before coeducation began in the 1960s and 1970s) would remain in the area and rise to high office in local and state business, politics, and philanthropy—goals that were best served if they attended a local elite college and joined the right fraternity, rather than being educated in some other part of the country. College was about upper-class socialization, not learning, which is why parochial patricians favored regional colleges and universities. If your family was in the local social register, that was much more important than whether you went to an Ivy League college or a local college or no college at all.

American patricians of earlier generations would have been surprised that rich people, many of them celebrities, would scheme and bribe university officers to get their children into a few top universities. Scheming to get into the right local “society” club—now that would have made sense.

Upper-class women were the chief enforcers of local “society.” Anybody who thinks that women are somehow naturally more generous and egalitarian than men has never encountered a doyenne of high society. Mrs. Astor’s 400 families in New York had their counterparts throughout the United States, from the Mainline elite in Philadelphia to the Highland Park set in Dallas.

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The egalitarianism of the American frontier is greatly exaggerated. Some of the myth comes from European tourists like Alexis de Tocqueville, Harriet Martineau, and Dickens. For ideological reasons or just for entertainment, they played up how classless and vulgar Americans were for audiences back in Europe. On their trips they mostly encountered the wealthy and educated, who might have been informal by the standards of British dukes or French royalty, but who were hardly yeoman farmers. If these famous tourists had spent their time in slave cabins, immigrant tenements, miners camps, and cowboy bunkhouses, they might have gotten a different sense of how egalitarian America actually was. Elite Americans might have been more likely than elite Brits to smile politely when dealing with working-class people, but they were no more likely to welcome them into the family.

…

White poverty in the United States today is concentrated in greater Appalachia, because the Scots Irish settlers, often illiterate squatters, were priced out of other areas and ended up in the hills of Appalachia, the Ozarks, and the Texas Hill Country. As soon as the affluent discover the scenic views in those areas, they will be forced to move once more, just as old-stock families are already being priced out of the Texas Hill Country by rich refugees from California, bringing with them their cultural heritage of trophy wineries and boutiques, New Age spirituality and organic cuisines.

…

In short, a historical narrative which describes a fall from the yeoman democracy of an imagined American past to the plutocracy and technocracy of today is fundamentally wrong. While American society was not formally aristocratic it was hierarchical and class-ridden from the beginning—not to mention racist and ethnically biased. What’s new today is that these highly exclusive local urban patriciates are in the process of being absorbed into the first truly national ruling class in American history—which is a good thing in some ways, and a bad thing in others.

Compared with previous American elites, the emerging American oligarchy is open and meritocratic and free of most glaring forms of racial and ethnic bias. As recently as the 1970s, an acquaintance of mine who worked for a major Northeastern bank had to disguise the fact of his Irish ancestry from the bank’s WASP partners. No longer. Elite banks and businesses are desperate to prove their commitment to diversity. At the moment Wall Street and Silicon Valley are disproportionately white and Asian American, but this reflects the relatively low socioeconomic status of many Black and Hispanic Americans, a status shared by the Scots Irish white poor in greater Appalachia (who are left out of “diversity and inclusion” efforts because of their “white privilege”). Immigrants from Africa and South America (as opposed to Mexico and Central America) tend to be from professional class backgrounds and to be better educated and more affluent than white Americans on average—which explains why Harvard uses rich African immigrants to meet its informal Black quota, although the purpose of affirmative action was supposed to be to help the American descendants of slaves (ADOS). According to Pew, the richest groups in the United States by religion are Episcopalian, Jewish, and Hindu (wealthy “seculars” may be disproportionately East Asian American, though the data on this point is not clear).

Membership in the multiracial, post-ethnic national overclass depends chiefly on graduation with a diploma—preferably a graduate or professional degree—from an Ivy League school or a selective state university, which makes the Ivy League the new social register. But a diploma from the Ivy League or a top-ranked state university by itself is not sufficient for admission to the new national overclass. Like all ruling classes, the new American overclass uses cues like dialect, religion, and values to distinguish insiders from outsiders.

Dialect. You may have been at the top of your class in Harvard business school, but if you pronounce thirty-third “toidy-toid” or have a Southern drawl, you might consider speech therapy.

Religion. You may have edited the Yale Law Review, but if you tell interviewers that you recently accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior, or fondle a rosary during the interview, don’t expect a job at a prestige firm.

Values. This is the trickiest test, because the ruling class is constantly changing its shibboleths—in order to distinguish true members of the inner circle from vulgar impostors who are trying to break into the elite. A decade ago, as a member of the American overclass you could get away with saying, along with Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, “I believe that marriage is between a man and a woman, but I strongly support civil unions for gay men and lesbians.” In 2020 you are expected to say, “I strongly support trans rights.” You will flunk the interview if you start going on about civil unions.

More and more Americans are figuring out that “wokeness” functions in the new, centralized American elite as a device to exclude working-class Americans of all races, along with backward remnants of the old regional elites. In effect, the new national oligarchy changes the codes and the passwords every six months or so, and notifies its members through the universities and the prestige media and Twitter. America’s working-class majority of all races pays far less attention than the elite to the media, and is highly unlikely to have a kid at Harvard or Yale to clue them in. And non-college-educated Americans spend very little time on Facebook and Twitter, the latter of which they are unlikely to be able to identify—which, among other things, proves the idiocy of the “Russiagate” theory that Vladimir Putin brainwashed white working-class Americans into voting for Trump by memes in social media which they are the least likely American voters to see.

Constantly replacing old terms with new terms known only to the oligarchs is a brilliant strategy of social exclusion. The rationale is supposed to be that this shows greater respect for particular groups. But there was no grassroots working-class movement among Black Americans demanding the use of “enslaved persons” instead of “slaves” and the overwhelming majority of Americans of Latin American descent—a wildly homogenizing category created by the U.S. Census Bureau—reject the weird term “Latinx.” Woke speech is simply a ruling-class dialect, which must be updated frequently to keep the lower orders from breaking the code and successfully imitating their betters.

Mrs. Astor would approve.

#ivy league #history #american history #read the whole thing #tablet magazine #michael lind #iron law of oligarchy #there are always lords and peasants

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the-busy-ghost · 3 years

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@ardenrosegarden in reply to your query: “ I'd love to hear your thoughts on Malcolm IV, most of the older sources I've seen compare him to William the Lion so I don't know a lot about him”

Thanks for this and I should apologise in advance because I feel like I ranted in a rather incoherent fashion but I wasn’t sure exactly what you’d want to know, so I sort of loosely covered everything. To be honest nobody really knows a whole lot about him (at least, not like the info we have for later mediaeval monarchs) and he died quite young (aged about 24) so it’s difficult to know what his reign would have been like if he’d been an adult for most of it instead of a child. It’s also so easy to compare the brothers- they had quite different characters and sometimes seemed like polar opposites, though they did share a lot too, especially in their aims.

One thing that really annoys me is when people use the fact that he was nicknamed ‘the Maiden’ as if that meant he was effeminate (and indeed as if being effeminate was a bad thing). This isn’t just an issue I have for Malcolm, but really applies to any situation where a word like ‘maiden’ has been misconstrued in a modern context. Maiden is *specifically* a translation of “virgo”, which nowadays we might translate as virgin instead- i.e. he is not widely believed to have done the deed (and certainly never married). Not that surprising really since, as I say, he was 24 when he died and might have suffered from chronic illness in his early twenties, and was also reputedly more pious than certain other kings, but of course 20th and 21st century writers look at the word ‘maiden’ (or even, indeed, ‘virgin’) and suddenly start sniggering, or assume that the nickname was originally meant to be pejorative- whereas it looks like it was at best a compliment and at worst a mere statement of fact.

Speaking of nicknames though, one thing I find very Interesting is the possibility that he was the original Malcolm “Canmore” (Ceann Mór) and not his great-grandfather Máel Coluim III. When noting his death, the Annals of Ulster describe Malcolm IV as “Malcolm Cendmor, Henry’s son”, whereas Malcolm III is not known to have been called that in contemporary sources- though of course the Irish annalist could just have been confused, and I (among many others) still tend to mean Máel Coluim III when I say Malcolm Canmore, since it would cause confusion otherwise (and it does kind of suit him). So firstly that raises the old problem of what we should call the dynasty those two kings belonged to (nobody knows- I tend to go with Canmore dynasty since Margaretsons and MacMalcolm dynasty looks a bit wrong to me but it’s a whole Mess and I don’t think anyone can claim to be right. The only surname which any one of the ‘Canmore’ kings seems to have used at any point was de Warenne- which is inappropriate for the whole dynasty for obvious reasons). But it also raises queries about the nickname’s meaning. Ceann Mór translates directly as ‘big head’, though one could also loosely interpret it as meaning something like ‘great chief’- and Máel Coluim III certainly suited the latter meaning at least (and maybe also the former). On the other hand, although I would argue that Malcolm IV was not obviously a ‘weak’ king, it’s difficult to see him being given an honorific for his power rather than something more obviously central to his character, like his piety.

On the basis of the Annals of Ulster (and William of Newburgh) some people have interpreted this nickname to mean that his head was literally bigger than usual, and so this has led to some theories about the nature of the illnesses which plagued him in the last years of his life. Some have theorised that he suffered from Paget’s disease. Whatever the case Malcolm is known to have been seriously ill on at least two occasions, in 1163 when he was at Doncaster and then before his death in 1165. Although these could have been isolated incidents, the evidence suggests that these illnesses had lingering effects on his strength and that Malcolm may well have been aware that he was unlikely to live long. Which, for all that we know very little about him and he was still a mediaeval monarch (with all the flaws that entailed) I do find genuinely sad. He didn’t need to worry for the succession- he had two healthy younger brothers, who, although nobody could have known in 1165, would both live to a good old age (for the time period). He also doesn’t seem to have been completely side-lined from government like some other kings either, though he may have had to take it easy in the last couple of years. But being aware that you’re not likely to last very long and that you have to pass on the kingdom in a good enough shape to a younger brother who, though loyal, had a very different and more impulsive personality, might have been quite worrying.

And then, as I say, along with his illnesses he was also quite young when he succeeded to the throne. That might not seem surprising given the later history of Scotland (of the 17 monarchs from Malcolm IV to James VI, including the Maid of Norway, 12 succeeded to the throne aged sixteen or younger), but in light of what had gone before that was quite surprising, since previously adult males seem to have been favoured as candidates for the kingship and it could be a dangerous business even for them. Even more interesting is the fact that he succeeded his grandfather without a huge amount of civil strife (though there was certainly some). For years Malcolm’s father Prince Henry had been the heir presumptive to his father David I, and had built important networks in his lands in the north of England and in Scotland. He was an adult of much experience and influence, he was well-equipped to succeed to the throne, and he seems to have been popular enough, from what little we know about him. But when Henry predeceased his father in 1152, suddenly everything was thrown into doubt. David I quickly arranged for the eleven year old Malcolm to be taken around the kingdom by the Earl of Fife, as his designated successor, but there was really no way to be sure that acts like this would absolutely secure Malcolm’s succession. There are some indications of trouble following David’s death the next year, such as Somerled’s rebellion in 1153 and the alleged treachery of a knight named Arthur in 1154, but on the whole the wider political community seems to have supported Malcolm’s right to rule and he remained on the throne (and reconciliations with men like Malcolm MacHeth and Somerled followed in later years, even if Somerled did have another go in 1164). As well as the clergy and greater nobility who had supported his grandfather, Malcolm also had his mother Ada and other family connections for support. Nonetheless the careful networks that David I and Henry had built up in the north of England seem to have collapsed upon the succession of a boy-king to Scotland and his younger brother William to the title Earl of Northumbria.

This stake in the north of England has been the cause of some controversy- historians tend either to imply that Malcolm IV was at fault for humbly surrendering the northern English lands in 1157 (when some sources would indicate he could easily have pressed his rights if Henry II had promised his grandfather not to challenge Scottish claims there, as certain English chroniclers claimed); or that his brother William was rash and petty not to accept that they were permanently lost to him (those who see Scottish history primarily as a series of failed invasions of England tend to see this as a nice moral tale). I think that both points of view vastly underestimate the complexities of twelfth-century politics, of what nobles and kings perceived their ‘rights’ to be, and indeed the complexities of dealing with Henry II of England in particular. On the one hand I could point out that Malcolm was sixteen and was not in the same position of strength re: England as his grandfather had been, so peacefully agreeing to surrender certain territories but secure acknowledgement of his rights to other areas could be seen as quite a sensible move, and on the other hand I could point out that William was sort of right to be a bit miffed about having his inheritance granted away, especially since Henry might have broken his promise. But overall it was a complex and probably difficult situation and since we definitely do not have all or even most of the facts (in contrast to later other disputes over the sovereignty of Scotland and Scottish claims) I’m not sure it should really define our views of Malcolm’s reign, even if it does tell us quite a bit about his brother’s personality.

For all that he was reputed to be pious, young, and possibly chronically ill though, Malcolm does not seem to have been an obviously ‘weak’ king either, nor did he show a complete lack of interest in war and government as some other ‘saintly’ kings are reputed to have done. We find him leading military expeditions in the years 1159-60, and he does seem to have thought of knighthood as a desirable object. Admittedly on two of those military expeditions in 1159-60 may have been in response to the dissatisfaction of his own subjects re: his support of Henry II at Toulouse (or perhaps they were just unhappy that he had left the kingdom for an extended period). He also had to deal with discontent from other key nobles- a reminder that the reports of English and Norman chroniclers regarding 12th century Scotland and its supposedly ‘saintly’ and ‘civilised’ kings may only reflect one particular view of what constituted ‘civilisation’ and successful kingship. That being said, like his grandfather David, we cannot really show that Malcolm was actively opposed to Gaelic culture and the native nobility of his kingdom, even if he might have been inclined to view the feudal ways of the Normans as the ideal way to govern. And overall, despite his illnesses and his youth, contemporary reports of his reign appear are actually largely positive and even complimentary. Perhaps this was helped out by the fact that he died young, and, again, that many of these reports come from English and French-speaking cultures (to them, Malcolm was the perfect successor to his grandfather David, and indeed in one of Kelso Abbey’s early charters they are portrayed together in a manner which echoes the biblical king David and Solomon). Although he faced rebellion from some of his chief subjects, especially those from Gaelic-speaking areas, there were also many native magnates who were supportive of him and his grandfather and it seems unlikely that they would have been seen as such successful kings otherwise (indeed, since the majority of the traditional kingdom of Scotland outwith Lothian was still Gaelic-speaking at this point, that has to count for something). Overall, I can see no reason why we shouldn’t consider Malcolm to have been a competent ruler, even if I wouldn’t necessarily describe him as successful like grandfather or some of Scotland’s later monarchs.

I do apologise for this screed of vaguely incoherent info- I am genuinely interested in Malcolm IV but haven’t had to think about his reign in any depth for a while. Lack of evidence and his early death prevent us from making any deeper assessment of his character and reputation, but I’ll round off with some quotes from contemporary and later sources about him that might give a much better idea of how Malcolm IV was viewed than any of my ranting can. Although obviously the full versions of some of these chronicles are online too (and are worth checking), I’ve quoted mostly from A.O. Anderson’s collections ‘Early Sources of Scottish History’ and ‘Scottish Annals from English Chroniclers’, since these sourcebooks are also really good starting points if you’re curious about any further aspects of Malcolm and William’s careers (you can always ask me, but obviously my view is always subjective). William of Newburgh is a major source for Malcolm’s reputation imo though and the Chronicle of Melrose covers some of the Scottish aspect- and there’s always the anecdote of Ada de Warenne allegedly trying to sneak a girl into Malcolm’s bed which is... dodgy to say the least, but probably meant to show how ‘saintly’ he was and was perhaps also a callback to figures like his distant kinsman Edward the Confessor. Overall though, if Anglo-Norman chroniclers wanted to wax lyrical about the ‘saintliness’ of Scottish royals, and David I and St Margaret weren’t available, Malcolm seems to have been the next best thing.

“Malcolm Cendmor, Henry’s son, the sovereign of Scotland, died: with regard to charity, and hospitality, and piety, the best Christian of the Gaels to the east of the sea.” - The Annals of Ulster

“To the king of Scots also, who possessed as his proper right the northern districts of England, namely Northumbria, Cumberland, Westmoreland, formerly acquired by David, king of Scots, in the name of Matilda, called the empress, and her heir, [king Henry II] took care to announce that the king of England ought not to be defrauded of so great a part of his kingdom, nor could he patiently be deprived of it: it was just that that should be restored which had been acquired in his name.

And [Malcolm] prudently considering that in this matter the king of England was superior to the merits of the case by the authority of might, although he could have adduced the oath which [Henry] was said to have given to David his grandfather (...) restored to him the aforenamed territories in their entirety, and received from him in return the earldom of Huntingdon, which belonged to him by ancient right.”- William of Newburgh

“These are the ones who survive from that holy generation. From the Empress Matilda you came, most illustrious man, whom we now hail as Duke of the Normans and of the Aquitainians, Count of the Angevins, and truly heir to England. Your brothers are Geoffrey and William, of whom we hope for good things, to whom we wish the best. From Queen Matilda and the devout King Stephen came William, count of Warenne and Boulogne. From Henry came Malcolm, William, and David, heir to his grandfather’s name. May God have mercy on their childhood and may you too be merciful, whom divine-loving kindness has established as the most noble head of your whole people. May your holy gaze, your loving heart, and your effective action be upon them in all their necessities. They are orphans, left to you by their grandfather, who loved you above all people; you will be a helper to these your wards, for you are in age more mature, in hands stronger, and in feeling more experienced than they.” - Ailred of Rievaulx’s appeal to the young Henry II in his ‘Genealogy of the Kings of the English’- naturally there is quite a bit of hyperbole in this and I do have to suppress the urge to react to it with “Lol” every time I read it. This quote is not taken from one of Anderson’s books.

“About this time the most Christian king of the Scots, Malcolm, of whom we have made mention, as was fitting, in the preceding book, upon Christ’s summons put off the man, to be associated with angels; and lost not his kingship, but changed it. A man of angelic sincerity among men, and as it were an earthly angel, of whom the world was not worthy, the heavenly angels snatched him from the world. A man of wonderful gravity in tender years, of astonishing and unexampled purity upon the summit and in the delights of the kingdom, he was taken from a virgin body to the Lamb, the Virgin’s son, to follow him where he should go.

Clearly he was taken away by an early death lest the wickedness of the times should change his marvellous innocence and purity since so many opportunities and incentives drive astray a young man on the throne.

But because among the tokens of virtue were not wanting in his admirable soul some small stains resultant from royal delights which nevertheless he rather endured than enjoyed, a visitation let fall, not sent down, from heaven chastisted him with paternal lash, and refined him to purity. For before his death he so languished for several years, and besides other sufferings endured severest pains in his extremities, that is his head and feet, that any repentant sinner would seem capable of being cleansed to pellucidity by so great flagellations.

(...)

His brother William succeeded him; a brother, indeed, as it appeared, readier for the uses of the world, but not to be more fortunate than he in administration of the kingdom.

The world which his brother wished to use simply, and for that cause piously and laudably, [William] purposed not only to use but to enjoy; and striving much to exceed his brother’s measure in temporal excellence, he yet could never equal his glory even in temporal felicity.” - William of Newburgh again, who seems to have been a bit of a fan.

I’d personally like to find out more about what any surviving Gaelic sources might have thought but that will have to wait. On the whole though, while I’m not convinced that Malcolm was the perfect angel some sources make him out to be, I can at least say with absolute certainty that he doesn’t give me the Fear like Alexander II has somehow managed to do from beyond the grave.

(David I and Malcolm IV, portrayed in 1159 in a charter from Kelso Abbey. The initial they are sitting in is ‘M’ and is the start of Malcolm’s name)

#twelfth century #William the Lion #Malcolm IV #history #@ardenrosegarden #replies #ask

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danwhobrowses · 3 years

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AEW Full Gear 2020: Review

Didn’t watch it live but I still have the time to review the next day, after the problems All Out faced Full Gear was definitely something fans were hoping won’t repeat the same mistakes, so it’s time to see if it delivered Spoilers for Full Gear of course

The Buy-In Most of the Buy-In was just the video packages save for a MJF and Kingston Family promo (though props to Alex for interviewing the Lucha Bros in Spanish, that was a nice touch), which I feel was a bad move. The promos were of course fantastic but my qualm was the video packages: the packages are on the countdown show anyway, there could’ve been 2 matches at least and a few segments that could’ve set up the TV feuds considering that it was over an hour. NWA Women’s Championship: Serena Deeb (c) def Allysin Kay (Submission via Serenity Lock) A solid pre-show match, Deeb and Kay are crisp given their veteran history. Kay worked on her height and strength while Deeb worked on her yoga-based flexibility. There was a lot of good chain wrestling as you’d expect from the NWA alums, a shift to an Octopus Stretch, Deeb working the Leg with a Dragon Screw and Kay still managing to muscle out of Deeb’s offence. After a Kay salvaged herself from what looked a bit like an elevated Styles Clash with a leg on the rope, Deeb forced her to tap with a Serenity Lock on the worked leg. While the match was fine the intrigue came after when Thunder Rosa wearing all the tassels she could to make Shawn Michaels blush came to the ring to challenge Deeb for a rematch. With Rosa gesturing the AEW ring it is clear that the AEW/NWA partnership and Thunder Rosa’s time with the Elite is far from over.

Main Card Of course with JR coming to commentary the main card is scheduled to begin. Unfortunately, I had been spoiled some results in advance (no thanks to Youtube or the 2 hour PC update that allowed the youtubers to reveal this while I was waiting to update) but a handful were in line to how I predicted them, so it didn’t fully harm the outcome. Don Callis though came out as well, they’ve hinted at it with Kenny but to actually see Don on commentary was definitely a surprise. AEW World Title Contendership Tournament Final Kenny Omega def. ‘Hangman’ Adam Page (Pinfall via One Winged Angel) Omega came out first the same way he’s done all the tournament, the cleaner dancers and the very long-winded braggadocios introduction. Pyro but no cosplay, Omega oozed confidence as proven by his plate as the leader in most victories in AEW. Page however paced towards the ring with nervous energy with the hilarious plate of ‘Focused Yeehaw Man’, less show but still drive, which really perfectly divulges the styles of both men as wrestlers. A snubbed handshake by Page did lead to back and forth, chops and counters as both men anticipated the stylist moves of the other. Hangman took over the early offence with strong moves, big boots, fallaway slams and a superplex did hint at some potential for the Hangman to gain the advantage. But then Omega with a moonsault from a railing put Kenny in control, Kotaro Crusher at 2 and a belated You Can’t Escape (he slipped after the first part but landed the sault after a pause) for 2 as well, then into the usual repertoire, the tope con hilo, the Back Head Missile Dropkick. Both men almost set up a One Winged Angel but then a V Trigger shut down a Buckshot but got bombed on the ramp after a series of counters, another pop-up bomb at 2 for Hangman. Trading blows, a Rolling Elbow was broken even by a V Trigger and then a Tiger Driver at 2 for Kenny. Back and forth as both escaped Suplexes, both hit Rolling Elbows but Hangman then got the clothesline, he lands the deadeye...but does not get the 3. Buckshot reversed to a crucifix but Hangman sits the pin for another 2, Dragon Screw and V-Trigger on the ropes for Kenny gives him the energy to roar back, ducks the vicious swing of the Buckshot and hits 2 V-Triggers, Hangman tries to fight out of the One Winged Angel but the move hits and that’s 3.

Destiny comes true for Omega, he had to fight for it though. Definitely a physical match, the emotional layer didn’t all reflect on the match but Hangman definitely reels in disappointment afterwards, more isolated, more alone, and set to descend to new lows as Omega returns to the main event picture.

Orange Cassidy def. John ‘4′ Silver (Pinfall via Beach Break) Two cult heroes for AEW, Silver on BTE and Cassidy on Dynamite, fighting as a side story to the TNT title picture, JR gets props for calling Silver a “Human Bowling Ball” as both men enter with their respective faction members. Silver continues to play to OC’s jokes as he protests OC’s pockets, before being annoyed by OC’s counter wrestling - especially screaming ‘It doesn’t hurt!’ to OC’s monstrous kicks. Silver literally depockets OC for monster heat - no seriously he rips the pockets out of OC’s jeans! A lot of bravado follows from Silver’s power moves, throws and kicks to keep the heat going. Silver’s power also impressively suplexes out of OC’s swinging DDT attempt but the crowd chants definitely get to Silver as OC counters Silver’s irish whips with some turnbuckle shots, a crossbody and the swinging DDT, Silver though powers back, a one-handed Gorilla press into the ropes, a back head boot as he sets up the Spin Doctor, but then OC gets the headscissors, Michinoku Driver for 2 as the wrestlers at ringside argue the count of 2 or 3 (Heels and Faces kept either side). Silver rolls up OC trying the Orange Punch, counters again but gets hit with the stunner, counters again and lands the Spin Doctor but it’s another 2! Silver motions to homage Mr. Brodie Lee with a discus but it’s dodged into an Orange Punch and Beach Break for 3. Best Friends come to the ring to give the people what they want, the hug with the rainmaker zoom. A nice fun match, it really gave Silver some props to hang with OC as both characters shone through. I was surprised that Dark Order didn’t try to get involved and no post-match stuff. TNT Championship: Darby Allin def Cody Rhodes (c) (via Pinfall) TITLE CHANGE! Allin rode in with a painted car and a half-painted driver before smashing his skateboard (with ‘The New Face of TNT’ emblazoned on it) into the windscreen. Sporting a veiny style of paint, no words are written on him like previous title matches, it’s all business. Cody (using his surname now) rolls in with his grandiose gates and pyro with Brandi beside him before being flanked by all the remaining members of the Nightmare Family - including Gunn Club and Lee Johnson. He’s also promoting a new shirt. Mike Chioda is announced as the Ref for this, giving a bigger fight feel to this title match.

Cody flaunts his strength advantage early on, knowing full well that Darby has never beaten him, but Darby is defiant to his insulting ‘politeness’ and cockiness - slapping Cody in the back of the head to wake the champion up. Encouraged to ‘muscle around’ Darby by Arn, he almost gets baited into a pin, he leaves the ring but gets suicide dived from his back (after a Ricochet-esque moonsault feint), in retaliation Cody just dumps Darby on back first on the ramp, harming Allin’s left elbow. Cody hones in on that injury with wrist locks and stomps, Darby also selling by being unable to use both his hands to pull the heavier opponent with an irish whip and being unable to lock the arm for a backslide - the latter getting him into another submission. Taunting the injury by exclaiming ‘that arm is trash’, Cody doubles down the arm, using it to ground any of Darby’s counter efforts. But every time Darby refuses, Cody grows more frustrated, an avalanche shoulderbreaker and a cross armbreaker attempt selling that Cody is using things outside of his usual moveset, but the missed moonsault gifts Allin a respite. Yoshi Tonic is Darby’s first signs of a rally but he’s shut down by a superkick, Darby pulls off the middle turnbuckle pad resisting Cody’s Cross Rhodes attempt and Cody is dazed by running into it but a rollup is at 2. Assured that he’s in control by Arn, Cody lands an Avalanche Cross Rhodes but Darby’s arm is under the rope, he counters a backpack sleeper by dropping from the turnbuckle which rolls Darby out the ring - Arn demands Darby stay down but he breaks the count. ‘Stay Down’ barks from Arn and Cody from continual powerslams but Darby refuses, even inviting Cody to continue. Frustrated, Cody brings that small white belt to the ring but is told by Chioda to not use it, dropping it behind him, Darby uses it to sweep Cody into a jacknife pin for 2, counters Disaster Kick with a Last Supper for 2, Flip Stunner and Coffin Drop follow, but also 2! Cody tries a Cross Rhodes but Darby counters with a Sunset Pin, Cody sits on him, 2, Darby rolls him, 2, Cody pulls back, 2, Darby rolls again, 3! Post-match, Cody hands Darby the title on one knee as Allin finally claims his first win over Cody and his main prize. Tazz however walks up to promo against the emotional moment as Cage and Starks blindside both men. However, dissension appear when both Starks and Cage both tussle for holding the TNT title, Tazz grabs it and gestures to Darby, with Cage carrying Darby outside of the ringside, Cody tries to fight back but fails, Darby thrown through a set piece and laid on the car he came in, they attempt to slam the door with Darby’s arm in between but Will Hobbs with a chair chases them down. It was a good title match, good narrative throughout. I think the finish could’ve been a bit more spectacular, Cody does seem to exude a Hogan-esque philosophy to losing at times, this one did feel like he wanted the loss to feel like a fluke. Darby’s win is deserved but the FTW shenanigans did dampen it, I expected Tazz and his crew to show during the match but in post-match it just kinda killed some of the wind in Darby’s sails. Interview Segment The Natural Nightmares - instead of backing up Cody - promo against Butcher, Blade and Bunny, specifically Allie for her using of QT to set up their Dynamite match, Dustin reveals that it’s gonna be a ‘Bunkhouse Match’. Dustin is a great promo but I have no idea what a Bunkhouse Match is, plus this is the segment you would see on the Pre Show. The Dynamite card is also revealed with Penta vs Fénix 2 as previously revealed and new match Conti vs Red Velvet. AEW Women’s Championship: Hikaru Shida (c) def. Nyla Rose w/ Vickie Guerrero (Pinfall via Knee Strike x4) Nyla rolls up with Vickie Bluetista style with a blue and cyan gear which really didn’t suit, Nyla’s gear has always been a mixed Bag The longest running Women’s Champion adds more colour to her Tifa Lockhart gear, her name plate finally on the belt (as detailed on her youtube channel, the name plate is more difficult to put on given its curved shape). Shida and Nyla are ready to go even before the bell as they trade blows, the Champion putting pressure on Rose with knee strikes and dropkicks but noticeably fails on the lift. Shida keeps her advantage of cutting Nyla down and landing the apron knee while Vickie screeches. The chair launch is cut off by a clothesline from Nyla but her attempts to pull a table is refused, giving Shida the chance to land the chair launch and sending her through the rail. Vickie though blindsides Shida’s knee with a kendo stick, giving the Native Beast the advantage she needs. Nyla uses the underneath frame of the ring to wrench Shida’s knee, then the ring post and a chop block to limit Shida’s use of the Tamashii (formerly called the Tamashii no 3 Count). Nyla continues to hone in on the leg, splashes and single leg crabs, even biting the knee to maintain her advantage. Shida rolls out of the senton and muscles a suplex for 2. The Tamashii is blocked by hitting the injured knee but Shida crossbodies, the knee continues to be the focus as Nyla keeps grasping and dropping Shida on it. My favourite Nyla Move, the Beast Knee is smashed into the injured knee for 2 as Nyla uses her weight against Shida’s injury. The champion pump kicks Nyla to the ramp after some turnbuckle shots for a corner dropkick, then a second in the ring at 2. The leg gives out on the Tamashii again so Nyla can powerbomb but foolishly pulls Shida out of the count, adding insult she lands the Tamashii, but only gets 1! A Back body press gives Shida the energy she needs, an Avalanche Falcon Arrow follows but Shida then breaks the pin, she tries the Tamashii but Vickie psyches her out (it was a botch but not a bad one), Vickie tries to kendo Shida while she’s hoisted and Shida just throws Nyla into Vickie. A half-hearted Falcon Arrow hits 2, Tamashii lands but another 2, second Tamashii and 4 Knee Strikes end the match. Being carried out of the ring by Aubrey, Vickie and Nyla are left in the ring as Guerrero screeches venom at Nyla, slapping the former Women’s Champion as she leaves.

In spite of it’s short build it was a good match, the final section was a little sloppy on the vicious vixens’ part but Shida sold her knee wonderfully. Expected Vickie to have more involvement and the post-match seemed to back out on Nyla turning on Vickie but maybe there’s more tale to tell. As a personal preference I hate when wrestlers willingly break their own pin, especially in a title match, it’s just a daft strategy but it was good to see that Shida’s stock has elevated to the point where she didn’t need the DQ stip to win like she did when she won the title, her early dominance would give her extra confidence and extra heat for who I think will be her usurper, Dr. Britt Baker DMD. Next time though, give Shida and her opponent Dynamite feud building. AEW World Tag Team Championship: The Young Bucks def FTR (c) (Pinfall via Superkick, Matt to Cash) TITLE CHANGE! With Matt previously cleared to compete, the Bucks strolled up in Black, Yellow and Purple to their usual money rain, but the pomp and confidence is limited, Matt noticeably slower up the ropes as he nurses his ankle. The champions roll up in White jumpsuits with Tully - who the Bucks protest on since he’s banned from ringside due to his prior attacks, he does leave on his own accord. A nice touch from FTR are the star colours; red, blue, yellow and gold, aka tag champs in Raw, Smackdown, NXT and AEW. Mind games of ‘Greatest Tag Team of All Time’ as well also there to get into the Bucks’ heads. Matt was confident to show that his ankle was fine by going first, Cash going for the injury but being out-wrestled to his frustration. FTR’s quick tag action is halted by the Bucks rushing them to a stalemate in 2s. Nick and Dax trade some chain wrestling with again the Bucks frustrating them, the Bucks almost seem to be playing FTR at their own game plan, until Nick is punched in the face. Both teams take to the ring leading to the Bucks doing a Rana into a ground pound on the champs before sending them out of the ring with their patented tandem offence. Dax busts open his hand hitting the ring post after Matt dodged, reeling from the ankle attack, the Bucks relish the opening to equialize on Dax’s hand for catharsis. A bit of a miscommunicated spot followed where Matt’s moonsault was ‘dodged’ by Dax not paying attention, and his throwing Matt into the ropes looked ugly as fuck as Matt nurses his ankle and Dax tags out for Doc Sampson to dress his hand. When he returns he quickly goes for vengeance on the ankle in mostly a same manner as Nyla did to Shida prior. Cash jumps for Nick to pull him away from the Hot Tag which grants Dax the opening for a Superplex but Cash gets knees from the follow-up splash. The hot tag again thwarted after Cash hit the railing but Dax throws him in ring to tag in, the two men stand between the brothers as Cash flies over the ring post to the floor and Dax is baited into the DDT, Nick storms into the hot tag, wriggling out of FTR’s grapples with kicks and the dual clothesline/bulldog but is eventually caught by FTR who land the Hart Attack. Nick regains advantage with a Cheeky Nandos Kick when FTR were setting up the Powerplex, blind tags Matt who spears the baited Cash and gets a knee in the face, but it’s only 2. Matt’s involvement leads to the knee giving out on a lift, leading to an Electric Chair bulldog combo from FTR, they go for Goodnight Express but Matt superkicks Cash, then Dax, Cash rolls out of ring leaving Dax alone to the Bucks, 3-D! Twist of Fate! Swanton! 2! Lovely homage to the tag team greats. Superkick Party is called, but Cash sweeps Matt’s ankle and Nick gets a rebound powerbomb, but Matt is legal and get 2 on a sneaky pin. Dax gets overzealous with the Dusty Punches and uses his injured hand, but Matt also gets overzealous and uses his bad ankle, both men use their injured limbs for a punch/superkick trade-off, but Dax beheads Matt with a lariat. Homaging DIY they meet in the middle but only get 2, they try the Spike Piledriver but Nick throws Cash off, a tandem move and a swanton onto the ramp leaves Matt room to use a Sharpshooter on Dax, Dax gets to the rope but Nick superkicks the injured hand before Sharpshooter on Cash, FTR clutch each other’s hands but get pulled away but Matt’s ankle gives out to continue the hold. Matt pulls a finger break on Dax’s injured hand (an awkward spot given the scrutiny Marty Scurll is under right now with the SpeakingOut movement) leading to the BTE Trigger, but Cash cannons himself to break the pin. Matt brings out the chair but it’s not legal, Dax goads Matt to hit him but Nick tells him not to, Matt relents and sets up the Meltzer Driver but Cash grabs Nick for a Powerbomb through a ringside table, a very well done twist by Dax leads to the Spike Piledriver but the leg Cash hooks drops onto the rope. Furious, Cash takes Matt’s shoe off, leglock and stomp leads to an inverted Figure Four and ankle lock, but Nick is rising and Cash sees it! He tries the suicide dive but Nick ducks it, breaks the submission with a 450 but Matt only gets 2. Cash superkicks Nick out of the ring, gesturing Two Sweets to Matt before another superkick, but Cash keeps looking at the top rope, he misses the 450 and Matt hits the unbooted Superkick for 3. Kenny came to congratulate the Bucks afterwards as Hangman hovered by the tunnel - wanting to congratulate his friends but still feeling isolated. This is one where I would’ve benefitted not being spoiled, but thumbnails are a bitch. With the narrative that Bucks needed to win to keep on competing and were already at a disadvantage definitely sold the stage to be for Matt to shine. Personally I thought time would run out and there would be some semantic fenagling but it was clean as a whistle. A great match as well, definitely delivered on its build, FTR definitely lacked the presence of Tully to keep their heads in the game in a narrative sense, it’s a shame their tag reign was short but the story has always led to this moment, there was no way Cody AND the Bucks would not be able to challenge for their main titles. I would have one criticism though, the early stages of the match did feel like it was just 1v1s, the tag match needed more tag team offence. Elite Deletion: Matt Hardy def Sammy Guevara (DELETION via Pinfall) The cameras shift to North Carolina where Sammy rides ominously on a golf cart to the Hardy Compound, but Matt also seems to be sorting out business on the phone saying that Sammy’s on his way - fearing that he may need backup if the numbers go against him. Neo 1 confronts Sammy, providing a hologram of Matt welcoming him to the compound and disabling the golf cart. Having crushed a toy monster truck on the way in, Sammy’s face drops at the revving of a full sized monster truck next to him helmed by BROKEN Matt, who flattens the cart before exclaiming that the act was ‘orgasmic’ and ‘now that was a squash job’. Setting the zany tone, Sammy goes all around the truck and hits Matt with a trash can to begin the match. Moonsault off the Truck’s tire as he hammers Matt across the woods. Commentary kinda took you out of it as they tried to fill the silence with their ‘state the obvious’ as the fight sprawled to the front lawn. Sammy doing some great taunts such as saying ‘it’s my house now, daddy’s home!’ and trying to drown Matt in the fountain but Matt grabs the ‘Scepter of Mephistopheles’ to hit Sammy with, missing only the headshot as they go to a backyard ring. As Matt reminds Sammy that he asked for this, Sammy takes advantage with the ring work until a Side Effect is hit and a powerbomb through the table. The pin however is broken by Santana and Ortiz, who double on Matt. Through a walkie talkie though Private Party are called for support to negate the former LAX - though Matt gets hit by a Street Sweeper and a Twist of Fate in the meantime. ‘Roman Candles’ are next on Matt’s mind as he and Sammy both grab a few to fire at each other while PP and Santana & Ortiz tussle in the ring, PP using some of the patented offence of the Hardy Boyz. The latest ‘Sammy Run Away’ meme appears as Sammy is chased by fireworks before slipping in some mud, flattened by a Twist of Fate. As Matt prepares to throw Sammy into the Lake of Reincarnation, a Gangrel (yes, Gangrel! From the Brood) threatens The Hurricane (yes, Shane Helms, the Hurricane) as a hostage, claiming that Matt never gave him any loyalty while in the Brood, PP arrive to help free the superhero, who asked why it took 2 years - leading to Hardy to funnily quip ‘I’m sorry, long-term storytelling, I had to go to AEW just to finish this’ leading to Hurricane’s famous catchphrase. Hurricane almost gets Sammy with a chokeslam but he throws him in the lake, saying ‘What’s a Hero to a God? A Spanish God’ before trying to throw Matt in. Shane Helms the reporter then comes in, asking if the feud is cursed, but he gets thrown in too (this one seen as he flails around the shallows). Hurricane reemerges to help PP fight Santana, Ortiz and Gangrel but Santana saves Sammy by hitting Hardy with a pipe as the two wander into the darkness of the woods, the heel allies in control as they follow. Sammy stalks Hardy with a hammer with his friends also in view, but Hardy calls for Skarsgard, Sammy quickly rolling out of the way from the dilapidated boat’s all-or-nothing dive, Neo 1 is also in sight though, and Hardy commands him to lock Hardy and Sammy inside the ‘dome of deletion’, locking Sammy’s allies out. A ring, tables, ladders, chairs, mowers of lawns, wheels of chairs, a pram, a casket, the dome has it all, but Sammy instead unhooks the ropes to hit Hardy with the Turnbuckle bars, choking him with the middle rope. Sammy lays Matt on a Table near a ladder as high as the roof, landing the swanton but only gets 2. Hardy gets a Twist of Fate which seems to hurt his neck, Hardy then spears him into tables outside the ring, where we see Sammy with a small blood pool behind his head (a worked one, the camera angle on the dive ensured you didn’t see the concrete so it was definitely safe) Sammy struggles to stand as Hardy sets up a chair, hitting him on the head with the edge like his legit injury, telling Sammy ‘You made me what I am’ he cracks Sammy with a Con-Chair-To for the pin. After the match, Matt calls Private Party in to ‘take out the trash’, putting Sammy in a wheelie bin, a cut to the outside allows Sammy to be swapped out for kayfabe, as the bin’s loaded into the back of Senor Benjamin’s truck (Benjamin getting a huge pop) as Reby ends the match playing the piano to some highlights.Matt, PP, Skarsgard, Reby and Hurricane then celebrate to fireworks. As cinematic matches go it was good for ending the feud and continuing the Hardy Compound narrative, commentary did sometimes take you out of it and there were less supernatural stuff going on in this one, it was more found footage than the usual cinematic Deletion matches, but lots of quips, lots of fourth wall winks and both men did really well, can’t complain. Intermission Promo After the deletion match, commentary is told about Lance Archer being on a rampage backstage, which leads to a promo by Jake and Lance as he is wasting some jobber against the wall. Jake notes how they are tired of training and that they’re demanding that someone stand up to Archer, Archer waxes lyrical about his intent to break everyone in AEW because Everybody Dies. Archer’s promo game continues to be on the up, which will make you wonder about how long can the Snake coil around him? Right to Join Inner Circle: MJF def. Chris Jericho (Pinfall via Roll-Up) MJF claimed that he would do ANYTHING to beat Jericho, he began with the mind games by doing the Y2J pose in a fairy light robe, getting the fake pop from the fans who were expecting the Demo God. Jericho does get the pop by cutting MJF’s music short in a skull-themed spiked jacket as Diamante wins the ‘Incoherent Judasing’ moment of the night using Ivelisse’s hand as a mic. The chorus of Judas echoing as the limited crowd echo the arena to Jericho’s subdued delight. Sparing a thought for Aubrey though, who has to call this match despite both of them hating her XD MJF tries to start by feeding from the crowd, but the crowd only boo him and cheer Jericho, he gestures to a handshake amidst ‘You Suck’ chants but Jericho slaps him instead. Jericho held an early advantage but MJF got some advantage with a few clotheslines, but his adversity to the crowd once again gives away the advantage. Jericho pulls his camera middle finger spot after powerslamming him on the outside (shout out to KiLynn King as well for all her crowd enthusiasm). Dodging a Judas Effect leads to an injured arm to Jericho after his elbow hit the very busy today ring post, which he focuses on since it’s key for his Salt of the Earth, biting (which has also had a busy night) also ensues between both men but MJF capitalises on his counters and submissions. The heel nature comes out in Jericho with an eye poke, shoulder barges and a lionsault fire up the crowd and a Frankensteiner turning back the clock. MJF though returns to the arm with that double stomp while Jericho’s holding the rope, shoving the veteran as he spouts insults at him, a back and forth leads to MJF locking in the Salt of the Earth on the injured arm but Jericho shifts him into the Walls of Jericho as MJF chews the crawl to the rope. Aubrey’s enmity of both men comes into play when MJF uses her to shield him from Jericho’s kicks, a failed Heatseeker leads to a mid-rope Codebreaker instead from MJF, followed by a successful Heatseeker for 2. He tries the Lionsault but lands on his feet, and instead gets hit with Jericho’s Codebreaker for 2 as well. An Inside Cradle for 2 leads to Jericho trying the Judas Effect, but MJF catches it and cinches in the Salt of the Earth, but Jericho makes it to the ropes. Wardlow was noticeable absent from ringside at the start, having left after MJF’s entrance, but he was called to the ring by MJF to give him the Diamond Ring, his presence distracting Aubrey, MJF misses though and Jake Hager (who was also noticeably absent from the Elite Deletion) reveals himself on the other side throwing the Painmaker Bat to Jericho, Jericho winds up but MJF gives him the finger and drops Eddie Guerrero style. Aubrey turns to see the supposed outcome leading to Jericho turning his back, roll-up by MJF with a handful of tights gives him the win and membership.

Post-Match, Jericho cuts the music as MJF offers a handshake again, Jericho though this time takes it, hugs him and welcomes him and Wardlow to the Inner Circle. Wardlow holds the ropes for MJF, MJF holds the ropes for Jericho but nobody holds the ropes for Hager - who continues to stare off with Hager.

As a wrestling match it was good, for the situation I felt it was a little underwhelming. MJF said he’d do anything but we didn’t see anything outside of his usual tricks. Narratively it works to see MJF and Jericho stick together and we can only wait and see what stories will come out of it. AEW Revolution promo & Best Friends Interview The first PPV of next year is hyped for a February 27th showing. Dasha interviews Orange Cassidy asking his thoughts on his win, OC replies that he ‘has no thoughts’. Miro, Kip and Penelope however roll up as Kip demands an apology from OC for almost putting Penelope in harm’s way during a prior Dynamite. OC does apologise but Kip slaps him, saying that it wasn’t good enough, OC stops the Best Friends about to jump Miro and Kip and says ‘cool’ before walking away.

AEW World Championship ‘I Quit’ Match: Jon Moxley (c) def. Eddie Kingston (Kingston quits via Barbed Wire Bulldog Choke) Kingston rolled up in a shirt saying something that cameras failed to highlight despite his gesturing, (commentary later reveal that it was in homage to the late Tracey Smothers who recently passed away) his eyes like vengeance. Moxley struts in a Goldberg-esque entrance without the security, once again coming from the side of the stadium - this time no dumbass fan trying to charge him. Kingston stares daggers and shouts bloody murder at him during his entrance as Mox tries to get in his groove. Bryce Remsburg is also reffing this match, adding the personal level since Eddie revealed after his last Moxley match that the three go back.

Moxley got the first part of the venom, hammering punches until Kingston got to his knees, chops were traded as Moxley tried a takedown, only to get his ear bitten (biting man...) by Kingston. Slap trades follow as Kingston works on throws and cutting Moxley at the legs, Moxley hitting a tope when Kingston went to get a chair. Moxley then twists Kingston’s fingers key to his finisher, a suplex on concrete leads to the first ask but Kingston refuses, a Crossface/Bulldog Choke is countered by Kingston biting the arm. Throwing 2 chairs into the ring, a busted Moxley retaliates with the Barbed Wire Bat before kicking down the chair setup. Eddie also is busted in the mouth, then the forehead when the bat is pressed against his head - Moxley claiming that he ‘don’t wanna do this’. Kingston disarms Moxley with some Backdrops and throws a chair at Moxley, Moxley then gouges both eyes of Kingston but the Mad King throttles him. A small botch at Kingston was meant to drop Mox on the bat was rectified with more chair shots, Kingston hurts himself by wrapping barbed wire over his hand to pound into Moxley as he laughs maniacally, Uranken and a Kimura follows so Moxley has to break the hold the best way to hurt someone at Full Gear - Bite Him! Kingston restores the chair layout he had before, setting up for a suplex, Mox swaps though and lands Kingston on the flat of one chair. Kingston clotheslines Moxley to get time to get a black bag, which JR quips ‘well, it’s not a bag of chocolate’ - I mean you don’t know that JR! But alas, it wasn’t, it was your traditional thumbtacks, those silver hershey’s kisses (so hey it is a bag of chocolate), after trading suplexes Moxley snaps a vicious clothesline all away from the tacks, Moxley tries a Paradigm Shift on the tacks but Kingston does a twisting Urinage, planting him back first into the tacks - half on the elbow, half on the back. Kingston returns to the Rubbing Alcohol from Doc Sampson’s desk after learning that Moxley didn’t quit, low blows hurt Moxley but the champion only gives him the finger, Eddie then uses the alcohol on the punctured back (which I said at the same time as commentary). Kingston again hurts himself punching Mox with a handful of tacks, he goes for the barbed wire a second time but again changes his mind, going for the Bulldog Choke, Mox refuses still, with thumbtacks still in his head as Kingston lays in on the head shots, he dodges a knee and hooks in the Rear Naked Choke, turns him into the Suzuki Piledriver and then the Bulldog Choke, knowing that Kingston needs to be conscious Moxley changes to a Paridigm Shift, locating the Barbed Wire as he tells Kingston there’s ‘No Other Way Out’, asking him not to make him do this as he wraps his hand around the wire, Kingston only gives him the finger. Moxley considers turning away, but then launches into the barbed-wire enforced Bulldog Choke, Remsburg pleading with Eddie to quit as a vacant expression covers Moxley’s face, telling Kingston that ‘it’s done’, Eddie finally quits and Mox immediately lets go, a somber look on his face as his friend lays fallen.

Post-Match, Moxley tells the camera that ‘that’s what makes a champion: heart, blood and soul - Blood and Guts!’, whether that alludes to the special we were meant to have pre-COVID is yet to be seen. He then pulls Kingston up but Kingston sways away, leaving the ring on his own. Omega then comes out to the ramp to remind Moxley of his presence and their championship match in the due future.

A hard-hitting match, you knew that Kingston and Moxley would deliver on the hardcore level and a little on the emotive level. Sadly this match did suffer from WWE giving fans an inch-perfect I Quit Match in Hell in a Cell, so the bar was very high and it unfortunately could not reach that level. Again I’m surprised that factions didn’t get involved, Kingston’s family didn’t even go with Eddie to the ring, a surprise PAC appearance was hoped but we can’t be too torn up about that. Overall it was still a good title match, albeit an inevitable outcome given that Moxley and Omega have more history.

Conclusion Though there were a few small mistakes, there was not a weak spot in this PPV. On the other hand there wasn’t a match that blew me away, it was overall a well-done PPV: worth the money but there could’ve been more. There was meant to be a tease of a debut as well but I guess that was just rumor rather than an actual promise by the company. I will critique the Team Tazz stuff again because it really puts down Darby’s championship win, some matches could’ve ended more emphatically and the Buy-In needed more matches. Also just a personal thing but they overdid the biting spots, spots like those have a 2 match threshold at best on a card. But narratively we got a lot going on, a lot of consequences for the matches on the card including the Buy In and the Bucks did make good on their FTR promise by being Match of the Night. Elite Deletion and Silver/OC was a bit of light fun, the Women’s Match was strong, the opener hard hitting and we begin our build to Revolution.

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qqueenofhades · 5 years

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Women and “medieval cruelty and ignorance”

Okay. So. We could probably have guessed that this tweet was like waving a red flag in front of a bull, but here we are anyway.

(Tagging @artielu because I know she enjoys my history smackdowns and this is right in her wheelhouse of interest.)

First: nobody denies that the Alabama bill and similar efforts are absolutely heinous, are designed to be test cases to get Roe v. Wade overturned, and are deliberately gratuitous in their constitutional overreach and general horrible Handmaid’s Tale nature. But for well-meaning liberals, such as above, calling them representative of “medieval cruelty and ignorance” is a) not accurate and b) counterproductive. If we insist on using “the medieval” as a conceptual category inferior to “the modern,” these recent bills bear a complicated, at best, resemblance to medieval canon law and social practice. And there was never, I promise you, any law that prescribed a 99-year jail term for abortionists. So if we want to point out how the modern Republican party is actually much worse than their medieval counterparts, we can do that, but also: trust me, this is thoroughly modern cruelty and ignorance, and we should insist on that distinction.

First, obviously, women’s bodies have always been subject to a social discourse of power, control, gendered anxiety, and attendant responses. This was certainly the case in the medieval era, but our modern interpretations of that discourse can be... iffy, at best. In discussing the feminization of witchcraft in the late 15th century, M.D. Bailey critiques how scholars have tended to take the Malleus Maleficarum, the famous witch-hunting handbook, as representative of a self-evident and endemic medieval and clerical misogyny. In fact, the Malleus was the equivalent of the extreme right wing today, was relatively quickly condemned even by the church itself, and was largely reworked from earlier ecclesiastical anti-sodomy polemics, because the idea of “disordered gender” was certainly one that occupied medieval moralists and theorists. I have discussed the Malleus in other posts, but while it certainly is virulently and systematically misogynist, it also was a work of rhetoric rather than a reflection of historical reality. Medieval misogyny absolutely and obviously existed, and it impacted women’s lives, but we also really need to get rid of The Medieval Era Was Bad For Women, (tm), Therefore Everything Was Worse Back Then.

The possibility of magic being used to cause impotence/loss of fertility was another concern, and one of the main anxieties about the practice of witchcraft was that it would bring “sterility” and irregular sexual activity (usually with the devil). However, an extensive corpus of contraceptive and abortifacient knowledge has existed since antiquity, and in tracing the representation of unborn children in medieval theological thought, Danuta Shanzer notes:

My findings suggest that it is overstatement to claim that from the start Christianity considered the fetus a living being from conception. Augustine is a major agonized and agnostic counter-example.

Hence, contrary to right-wing claims that the church has “always” thought that life began at conception (spoiler alert: the church has never once “always” thought the same thing on anything), it was almost never the case in medieval legal or theoretical practice. Thomas Aquinas and other medieval theologians argued that “ensoulment” or the separation of the fetus into a living being happened at quickening, when the baby could move on its own (which medieval medical treatises had various standards for measuring, but it would be the equivalent of about 20 weeks of pregnancy). Monica Green, a leading medieval medical and gender historian, has examined a vast corpus of obstetric and gynecological Middle English texts, and in “Making Motherhood,” argues:

Texts on women’s medicine might also be concerned to “unmake” or prevent motherhood, either by preventing conception in the first place or expelling a dead foetus that would not emerge spontaneously. Abortion per se was almost never mentioned.

In other words: abortion was not paid attention to in nearly the same way we do today, and while canon law, in theory, prescribed penalties for contraception and abortion, historians have consistently (surprise!) discovered a disconnect between this and secular law and everyday practice. And while some twelfth-century (male) jurists did attempt to equate miscarriage with homicide, and to install it in canon law, these laws were almost never practically used or prosecuted. In Divisions of Labor: Gender, Power, and Later Medieval Childbirth, c. 1200-1500, Rebecca Wynne Jones surveys the extant literature and notes:

In his 2012 book The Criminalization of Abortion in the West, Wolfgang Müller documents how 12th‐century jurists' increasing tendency to equate violence resulting in miscarriage with homicide was institutionalized in canon law. Though this development led to the widespread criminalization of abortion in ecclesiastical jurisdictions, Müller has little to say about gender relations on the ground. Rather, by highlighting local communities' reluctance to prosecute, he presents laws that might once have been seen as proof of a medieval “war on women” as legislative enactments whose practical power remained limited.

Once again: medieval ecclesiastical proscriptions against abortion were, at best, sporadically enforced, communities were reluctant to actually prosecute women or to criminalize early-term pregnancy loss, and church law was not identical with secular law, which was the standard ordinary people used and were subject to. This concords with what Fiona Harris-Stoertz has found in her survey of pregnancy and childbirth in twelfth and thirteenth-century French and English law:

It is striking that in these thirteenth-century English texts, no penalty was assigned for the loss of less developed fetuses. This absence flew in the face of high medieval church legislation, which, in theory at least, took all contraception and abortion seriously. John Riddle finds that the idea that early-term abortion is less serious than late-term abortion occurred in the work of Aristotle and appeared occasionally throughout the early Middle Ages, particularly in church penitentials, although it also appeared in the early medieval Visigothic code.

While late-term abortion of potentially viable fetuses was still a crime, secular law still essentially held to quickening as the moment at which a pregnancy could not be terminated. Before that, however -- anywhere in the first 4-5 months of pregnancy -- it could often be dealt with, if desired, without any penalty. Anne L. McClanan has investigated the material culture of abortion and contraception in the early Byzantine period. And Ireland, which as recently as last year remained one of the last European countries to outlaw abortion, had a medieval hagiography that actively canonized abortionist saints:

Medieval hagiographers told of Irish Catholics par excellence, the saints themselves, performing abortions as well as of “bastards” becoming bishops and saints. In hagiography and the penitentials, virginal status depended more on a woman’s relationship with the church than with a man. To my knowledge, no other country in Christendom, medieval or modern, produced abortionist saints or restored virgins, apart from the nun of Watton. Why Ireland is among the few European countries to maintain severely restrictive policies on reproduction remains an unanswered question, but it clearly cannot be attributed to its medieval Catholicism.

Last part bolded because important. Modern bans on abortion don’t relate to how these notions were conceptualized or used in the past, and they are not holdovers from The Medieval Era (tm). They don’t represent medieval concerns or medieval ideas of gender, or at least certainly not in a direct genealogy. Even as late as the seventeenth century, when ideas of childbirth, marriage, and reproduction were more strictly controlled, the period prior to quickening, or the movement of the baby, was still generally not penalized or subject to legal control or coercion. So in sum: while religious moralists and canonical lawyers absolutely did object to abortion (aka right-wing men, the same ones who object to it today, funnily enough), in secular law and daily practice, a pregnancy that was terminated prior to quickening was not subject to practical prosecution or legal punishment, and medieval women had access to a vast corpus of gynecological texts, medical practices, herbal recipes, rituals, and charms intended to accomplish a wide range of fertility goals: conception, contraception, abortion, a healthy pregnancy and delivery, and so forth. I also answered an ask a while ago that discussed all this in detail.

Also: abortion was explicitly mobilized as a wedge issue in the 1970s and 1980s with the rise of the religious right in American politics, and that happened not because of abortion, but in resistance to the IRS penalizing them for refusing to racially integrate evangelical schools and colleges. Randall Balmer has written about the history of the “abortion myth”; do yourself a favor and read it. The Southern Baptist Convention campaigned in 1971 for the liberalization of American abortion laws, and hailed the 1973 Roe decision as a win for the rights of the mother. (Oh how the mighty have fallen?) The right wing came together as a political force to resist racial integration, exemplified by their loss in the 1983 Supreme Court case Bob Jones University v. United States. But since it was not a winning political strategy (yet, at least) to fly the flag of “let us be racist in peace,” they, as Balmer discusses, created the “abortion myth” to make themselves look better and to present a narrative of holy/moral concern for the lives of the unborn. The reason abortion is as huge as it is in the present American political landscape owes to modern religious conservatism and extremism, resistance to racial equality, ideological control over women, and other bigotry, and (again) not to medievalism or medieval practices.

So, yes. Let us call the Alabama bill and other heinousness exactly what it is: a modern effort by a lot of terrible modern people to do terrible things to modern women. We don’t need to qualify it by fallacious equivalences to so-called “medieval cruelty” -- especially, again, when medieval practice and perspective on these issues was nowhere near the stereotype, and certainly nowhere near this “99 years in prison for performing an abortion” dystopian nightmare. If we want to shame the GOP, by all means, do so. But we should not resort to distorting and simplifying history to do it, and using the imagined “bad medieval” as a straw man to club them with. There’s plenty on its own. The modern world needs to take responsibility for its own misogyny, and stop trying to frame it as a historical issue that only existed in the past, and that any manifestations of it must be medieval in nature. Because it’s not.

#history #medieval history #women in history #history of sexuality #history of medicine #cw abortion #long post

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newyorksportstours · 4 years

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NYC Public Library - Favorite NYC History Books

The NYPL Milstein Division of United States History, Local History & Genealogy recommends our favorite, most readable, most memorable New York City nonfiction. These are the true stories of New York that engaged us, that intrigued us, and that we thought you might like to read as well.

97 Orchard: An Edible History Of Five Immigrant Families In One New York Tenement

Jane Ziegelman

Explores the culinary life that was the heart and soul of New York’s Lower East Side around the turn of the twentieth century—a city within a city, where Germans, Irish, Italians, and Eastern European Jews attempted to forge a new life. Through the experiences of five families, all of them residents of 97 Orchard Street, she takes readers on a vivid and unforgettable tour, from impossibly cramped tenement apartments down dimly lit stairwells where children played and neighbors socialized, beyond the front stoops where immigrant housewives found respite and company, and out into the hubbub of the dirty, teeming streets.

Staff says: “Food history and New York seamlessly woven together in a easy-to-read yet meticulously well researched book. I learned not only about the foods that certain immigrants ate, but how this changed over time, how Americans viewed ‘foreign’ cuisines over many different eras, and how this was a description of New York history and not just a reflection of imported appetites.”

American Passage: The History Of Ellis Island

Vincent J. Cannato

A chronicle of the landmark port of entry’s history documents its role as an execution site, immigration post, and deportation center that was profoundly shaped by evolving politics and ideologies.

Staff says: “The history of the island and the immigration station, and also of immigration policies in NY and the US. This book is well researched, scholarly and a very easy read. If you only read one book on Ellis Island, then this is it!”

The Battle For New York: The City At The Heart Of The American Revolution

Barnet Schecter

Provides a dramatic account of the seminal role played by New York City during the American Revolution, from its September 1776 fall to the British under General William Howe, through years of occupation, and beyond, interweaving illuminating profiles of the individuals on both sides of the conflict with a study of the cultural, political, social, and economic events of the eighteenth century.

Staff says:“It sticks in the mind, especially for the quality of the research and the tour of today’s New York in light of the events of history.”

The Big Oyster: History On The Half Shell

Mark Kurlansky

For centuries New York was famous for its oysters, which until the early 1900s played such a dominant a role in the city’s economy, gastronomy, and ecology that the abundant bivalves were Gotham’s most celebrated export, a staple food for the wealthy, the poor, and tourists alike, and the primary natural defense against pollution for the city’s congested waterways.

Staff says: “Lots of good NYC history in there along with the fascinating world of food history and bivalve science.”

Dark Harbor: The War For The New York Waterfront

Nathan Ward

Traces the historical influence of the Mafia on New York’s waterfront, drawing on the investigative series of New York Sun reporter Malcolm “Mike” Johnson into the region’s racketeering, violent territorial disputes, and union corruption.

Staff says: “The real story behind the film On the Waterfront. I also get annoyed when films are historically inaccurate for the sake of plot, ending, etc when the truth is probably just as exciting: see Bridge On The River Kwai. Well researched, and exciting.”

The Great Bridge: The Epic Story Of The Building Of The Brooklyn Bridge

David McCullough

Evaluates the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge as the greatest engineering triumph of its time, citing the pivotal contributions of chief engineer Washington Roebling and the technical problems and political corruption that challenged the project.

Staff says: “A favorite that everyone knows for good reason!”

Eat The City: A Tale Of The Fishers, Trappers, Hunters, Foragers, Slaughterers, Butchers, Farmers, Poultry Minders, Sugar Refiners, Cane Cutters, Beekeepers, Winemakers, And Brewers Who Built New York

Robin Shulman

Traces the experiences of New Yorkers who grow and produce food in bustling city environments, placing urban food production in a context of hundreds of years of history to explain the changing abilities of cities to feed people.

Staff says: “This interesting collection of micro histories tells the story of such New York food industries as beekeeping, fishing, urban farming, brewing, winemaking, and butchering. The author profiles people currently involved in each industry and then traces the origin, rise, usual fall, and then resurgence of that field. It was fascinating to learn about the methods of the different food industries within the unique environment of New York City.”

Five Points: The 19th-Century New York City Neighborhood That Invented Tap Dance, Stole Elections, And Became The World’s Most Notorious Slum

Tyler Anbinder

Details the notorious neighborhood that was once filled with gaming dens, bordellos, dirty streets, and tenements, that welcomed such visitors as Charles Dickens and Abraham Lincoln, and brings to light the hidden world that existed beneath the squalor—a world that invented tap dancing and hosted the prize-fight of the century.

Staff says: “An accessible and broad work looking at the notorious downtown slum��s population and sociology.”

The Island at the Center of the World: the Epic Story of Dutch Manhattan and the Forgotten Colony that Shaped America

Russell Shorto

A history of the Dutch role in the establishment of Manhattan discusses the rivalry between England and the Dutch Republic, focusing on the power struggle between Holland governor Peter Stuyvesant and politician Adriaen van der Donck that shaped New York’s culture and social freedoms.

Staff says: “The book is well-researched, the stories are well-told, and it will flesh out that point of history that most people only remember as song lyrics: 'Even old New York was once New Amsterdam…’”

Just Kids

Patti Smith

In this memoir, singer-songwriter Patti Smith shares tales of New York City: the denizens of Max’s Kansas City, the Hotel Chelsea, Scribner’s, Brentano’s and Strand bookstores and her new life in Brooklyn with a young man named Robert Mapplethorpe—the man who changed her life with his love, friendship, and genius.

Staff says: “I rather enjoyed the descriptions of Patti and Robert are discovering New York, especially Brooklyn, together. She writes prose like a poet, with detail and care and without an overabundance of imprecise words.”

Ladies And Gentlemen, The Bronx Is Burning: 1977, Baseball, Politics, And The Battle For The Soul Of A City

Jonathan Mahler

A kaleidoscopic portrait of New York City in 1977, The Bronx Is Burning is the story of two epic battles: the fight between Yankee Reggie Jackson and team manager Billy Martin, and the battle between Mario Cuomo and Ed Koch for the city’s mayorship. Buried beneath these parallel conflicts—one for the soul of baseball, the other for the soul of the city—was the subtext of race.

Staff says: “During the 1977 World Series, Howard Cosell really did say "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Bronx is burning” as flames licked up in the distance from Yankee Stadium. 1977 was the crux of the “bad ol’ days” of New York City—white flight had taken its toll; unemployment was outrageous for everyone, but close to 80% for young blacks and hispanics; infrastructure was in disrepair; crime was outrageous. This was the New York that inspired movies like “Death Wish” and “The Warriors.” NYC had bottomed out in 1977 and this is the history of that fateful year.“

Low Life: Lures and Snares of Old New York

Luc Sante

Luc Sante’s Low Life is a portrait of America’s greatest city, the riotous and anarchic breeding ground of modernity. This is not the familiar saga of mansions, avenues, and robber barons, but the messy, turbulent, often murderous story of the city’s slums; the teeming streets—scene of innumerable cons and crimes whose cramped and overcrowded housing is still a prominent feature of the cityscape.

Staff says: "This book sparked an interest in shady urban histories for me. Now that I know a lot more about the city and the context of the time frame, I even read it again. Fun, even if sensationalistic.”

Native New Yorkers: The Legacy of the Algonquin people of New York

Evan T. Pritchard

A comprehensive and fascinating account of the graceful Algonquin civilization that once flourished in the area that is now New York.

Staff says: “New York history from the Native point of view, and it will make you confront every sentimental myth you may have heard before. Everyone should read it.”

The Poisoner’s Handbook: Murder and the Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York

Deborah Blum

The story of how poison rocked Jazz Age New York City. A pair of forensic scientists began their trailblazing chemical detective work, fighting to end an era when untraceable poisons offered an easy path to the perfect crime.

Staff says: “Absolutely fascinating. I was surprised when I found myself at the end already. Unlike a modern forensic science drama on TV, the chemistry is all there—yet still readable and interesting. The era (late 1910s-mid 1930s) and setting are both equally captivating. So many times I thought I knew something that I clearly didn"t. This book taught me tons and still read quickly like a mystery novel, only the mysteries were all actual cases and hence more interesting than usual literary invention.”

Up in the Old Hotel

Joseph Mitchell

Saloon-keepers and street preachers, gypsies and steel-walking Mohawks, a bearded lady and a 93-year-old “seafoodetarian” who believes his specialized diet will keep him alive for another two decades. These are among the people that Joseph Mitchell immortalized in his reportage for The New Yorker and in four books—McSorley’s Wonderful Saloon, Old Mr. Flood, The Bottom of the Harbor, and Joe Gould’s Secret—that are still renowned for their precise, respectful observation, their graveyard humor, and their offhand perfection of style.

Staff says: “Mitchell, in an incredibly vivid writing style, tells the tales of some of the people he met in NYC in the '20s - '50s. The people are the history of New York.”

Source: NYPL’s Favorite NYC History Books

#new york history

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years

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not beyond repair (13/?)

ao3

January is a funny time in the school year. There’s little actual work to be done and handed in and graded but the aura of stress clings to the walls of the school and especially to the seniors, now staring down the barrel of that final stretch of the school year. The post-Christmas buzz still stubbornly hangs around and can be seen in the quiet moments before Miss Fleming enters homeroom, the weeks of stretching out on couches and gorging oneself on mince pies and pricey chocolates not wanting to go away so easily. Veronica can feel it now, in the early morning when she’s sitting on her desk, her fingers ghosting along JD’s coat, Martha sitting at her side and Heather on the desk behind, idly stroking Martha’s hair in a secret gesture of affection. All they have is fifteen minutes. Fifteen precious minutes where they can pretend high school isn’t a real thing with real world consequences.

“Also, there’s a pretty extensive Patrick Kavanagh collection in the school library,” JD goes on, his eyes lighting up the way they always do when he starts talking about literature. If there was a way to make her fall harder for him, it was when he was like this, caught up in his love for the written word, rambling on about any and all books he had read, particularly when it came to the poets. Watching the way he came alive when poetry was brought up was worth the confusion she wasn’t unused to feeling when he was talking, the feeling that she was struggling to keep up with him. “I checked it out when I first got here. No other place has ever had as much Irish poetry as Wester-”

He breaks off into a minor coughing fit, his shoulders shaking beneath Veronica’s hands. He still hasn’t shaken off that flu it seems, despite him swearing to God he was fine when he came back. Part of her, the protective part formed over years of being friends with Martha and just her own instincts, wants to grab him and check his temperature and try to force him down to the lobby to wait for Claire to pick him up. And the other part, well…

“I would try not to say, ‘I told you so’,” she says. “But I did tell you so.”

“You didn’t,” he says, the worst of it seemingly over.

“I told you it was contagious and you were the one insisting on your tough immune system.”

“You did tell me to get into the bed,” he reminds her.

“Yeah you did tell him to do that, in fairness,” Heather adds, leaning forwards on her knees. Veronica raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘whose side are you on here. I was your friend first.’ “But also… everyone got sick at some point. Last week my chemistry class was three people. And one of them was sneezing too.”

“I didn’t,” Martha reminds them, a confident edge in her voice that would have been foreign last year. Veronica suppresses a smile as she watches Heather keep running her hands through her hair. That girl’s doing wonders for her girl.

“Yeah, Dunnstock how are you the only one in our entire grade who didn’t get sick?” JD asks, coughing into his sleeve. Veronica finds her hand on his shoulder and tighter than before, her eyes moving over this face. Still looking healthy, his cheeks their normal colour, but that doesn’t stop the way her feet tap anxiously against the desk.

“My mom’s a nurse,” she explains with a shrug. “Which means I’ve had every vaccine there is to get. Sometimes twice.”

“That and her immune system is just generally a beast,” Veronica adds. “It’s why your mom let you stay over when I had chicken pox when we were 6.”

“That too,” she replies with a small grin. She ducks her head slightly so that her hair falls forwards a little. Behind her, Heather frowns for a moment before continuing to stoke her hair, taking a moment after each one to scratch her back with featherlight fingernails.

“Good morning class.” Veronica suppresses a groan as Fleming comes through the door, breaking the gentle hum of the room and bringing in the reality of morning announcements and codes of conduct.

“My cue to leave,” JD says with a grimace, lifting his bag onto his shoulder. “See you guys later. I’ll save your seat in English for you, Dunnstock.”

“Thanks,” Martha says, her attention elsewhere. Her focus is on Heather as she moves slowly back to the place she picked out at the start of the year, with the rest of the Heathers, and Kurt just behind her, sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She can’t miss the protective flash in her friend’s eyes, nor the way her hand curls into a fist on the desk.

“I’ll see you later, darling,” JD says, squeezing her hand gently before heading out the door, avoiding Fleming’s watchful gaze. Although he does take a moment at Heather’s desk to tap the back of her chair and whisper something in her ear. Veronica can’t make it out, and it may have been nothing for all she knows. But it has an effect on Kurt, who turns away from her. If he had been planning anything, it’s gone now.

Veronica slides into her seat, the date written sharply across the blackboard catching her eye; January 12th, 1990. Gone are the 1980s and everything that came with them. On the lead up to New Year’s Eve the news was full of events that shook the world in the past decade; the assassination of a Beatle and of a Pope, the election of a new President that happened just when she was old enough to dip her toes into politics, the fall of a wall on another continent. They’ll all be in history books on day, maybe not too far away, but all she can think about (selfish, she knows) is her own life. From 1980 to 1990. Middle school to high school and everything that came with both of them, dreams she’d thought were so far away getting closer and closer and she’s trying to take every step with all the grace and poise she’d hoped. Now she’s here, staring down the barrel of a new decade that’s even less certain than the last. From seven going on eight to seventeen going on eighteen-

Holy crap.

“It’s my birthday next week.” She’s proud of how offhand she sounds. She certainly doesn’t sound like she was rehearsing this for the first two periods of her school day and refining it all the way up to lunch. It seems stupid and it probably is, especially if you asked someone like Heather Chandler with her 17,000 friends but for her it was years of her and Martha eating cake in her room, maybe a year or two with Betty in the mix as well. But now she’s upgraded from one friend to three. Well, two and a boyfriend. Which is new territory for her, birthday-wise.

“I know,” JD replies, pushing the baby tomatoes out of his salad. “Which is why I have already got my eye set on your gift,” he adds, budging his floor gently against hers under the lunch table.

“No,” she tells him, fighting a blush as she pokes his cheek. “I don’t need presents. What I do need is you guys.” Her friends look up at her, all three frowning a the bluntness of her statement and two raising eyebrows in an identical fashion, both conveying the message ‘I’m getting you a gift whether you like it or not’.

“Can you clarify what you mean by that?” Heather asks, wrinkling her nose. “Because that sounded really weird without context.”

“It did, didn’t it?” she replies, giggling along with the rest of her lunch table. At least Heather had the grace to hide it behind her hands. “Okay, okay so… I was just thinking we get together next weekend for something. Maybe my place. Or the bowling alley just reopened, we could go there. Get food after.”

“Question,” JD interrupts, his elbow on the table and his finger in the air. “Will there be cake?”

“Of course there will be cake,” she tells him, tapping his cheek playfully. “Keep up, babe.” She turns to the other two, a surprising nervous energy about her. She starts a gentle run through JD’s hair, hoping to calm herself. “Are you guys in?”

“Of course I’m in,” Martha says with a fond smile. Veronica grins; if there was ever an affectionate way to say ‘duh, idiot’, of course Martha would have figured it out. “I’m always in.”

“Great.” One down… her gaze moves to Heather, whose hand slowly creeps over Martha’s, but her eyes meet Veronica’s and show nothing but the same sparkling enthusiasm she had seen back when she was giving her makeovers.

“I’d love to,” she says. “And since it’s your birthday, I can take the liberty of planning it.”

“Heather, that’s sweet, but you don’t have to.”

“Yes I do,” she interrupts insistently. She pulls herself back just a little. “Besides I’m really good at it. Chandler and Duke used to get me to plan everything.”

“Okay,” she replies quickly, not wanting her their former friends’ presence to linger. “I trust you Heather.”

“And I trust her judgement,” JD replies, pointing in her direction with a fry. “And you, I guess.”

“Flattered,” she replies flatly, cocking an eyebrow. He gives her wink before looking past her for a brief moment, toying with the sleeve of his coat.

“Just a minute ladies, nature calls.” He kisses Veronica’s temple swiftly, his fingers delicately touching on the back of her hand. She feels a light, barely-there blush creep over her face and gentle warmth on her skin as she whispers ‘okay’ and squeezes his hand

“Are you going to do that to all of us or just her?” Heather asks. “Because I don’t think my girlfriend would be happy if you did it to all of us.”

*****

He takes a minute to scope out the men’s room first. He’s planned this about as carefully as he can, down to the minute. And it’s a pain in his ass, keeping one eye on the clock and the other on his lunch table, his little orange bottle sitting patiently in the pocket of his coat the whole time. Kissing his girlfriend and making like it’s just a normal bathroom run.

He keeps his eyes on his reflection as he twists the bottle open. Maybe he can pretend it’s someone else if he does it like that.

He doesn’t hate the meds. Not them specifically. In fact since they do their job right and keep his brain in check he can’t find anything to complain about. But… there’s the small issue of taking them to school, taking them in school. The old ones were pop one in the morning and go about his day. The new ones are one every lunch time which is… less than ideal. Especially considering lunch is the only point in his day when his entire friend group is together, given their fragmented school schedules. The rest of the days are a pick and mix of when he sees them-Martha three times a week in English, Heather twice a week in history and Veronica twice a week in social studies, not counting their little moments before and after classes, stolen away in their garden or behind the lockers or against the window. Those moments don’t last long enough to count. He wants to make the time he has count, not just with her but with Martha and Heather too.

And then there’s the other thing. The fact that this is another thing. Therapists is one thing, one thing that’s relatively normal, tied to the ground and doesn’t make heads turn so much. It doesn’t have too many negative associations, except in the older or less liberal citizens of Sherwood. But therapy is something she can understand and he can be okay with her knowing. These little guys in their little orange bottle aren’t so much.

He knocks two back, taking a swig from the water fountain, and closes the little bottle again before checking his own reflection. He pulls his hair over his face a little, letting it fall forwards into his eyes and leans on the sink, the boy in the mirror seeming to frown at him.

“Don’t give me that look, bitch,” he mutters to him. He taps the lid of the bottle with his finger. “These keep our brain in order. And for that we thank them for their service.” He turns to leave and puts the bottle back in his pocket just in the nick of time it seems; the door clicks and creaks open.

And doesn’t he just love the one who walks in.

JD’s old survival instincts kick in when Kurt enters, an everyday occurrence in both their lives suddenly and abruptly turning into a showdown. Two go in, one goes out.

He briefly considers that maybe Claire’s right when she calls him melodramatic.

“What’re you doing?” Kurt asks, stopping in his tracks, his mouth twisting in to a snarl.

“That should be obvious,” he replies flatly. His hand curls into a tight fist at his side so hard that his nails press into his palms. He doesn’t hide the fact that that he doesn’t like Kurt and hasn’t since his first day in Westerberg (both of them), but it’s different from how he feels about Ram or Heather Chandler or Heather Duke. He can’t forget the shiner on Macnamara’s cheek on Halloween night, the way she trembled in the half-light of Veronica’s living room, how small and fragile and breakable she seemed for the first time since they met.

“What’re you staring at?” he says harshly, taking another step towards JD. He doesn’t necessarily take a step back. It’s more of a stumble.

“Nothing.” He dodges around him and tries to make for the door, only for him to be caught on the shoulder. He tries to swallow but his throat is dry. He keeps his eyes on the poster about washing our hands on the wall. If only that poster could be the only thing in the room right now. Instead Kurt’s beside him, his hand slipping into his pocket-

“No!” He jerks away from him but it’s too little too late; his little bottle sits in the palm of Kurt’s hand and a wicked glint is in Kurt’s eye. He tries to breathe slowly and deeply, to put his chaotic thoughts in some form of order. “That’s mine!”

“Dude…” A wide grin spreads over his face, unfamiliar in its enthusiasm and its lack of mockery or cruel intent. “You do drugs?”

“No, I don’t!” he snaps. “Just give it back!”

“Or what?” he taunts, tossing the bottle from one hand to the other. Every time it lands, JD flinches and he realises trying not to is pointless. His fist gets tighter and it feels like his body is a wound up coil ready to jump. He knows it would be easy enough to give into that urge and it would work. But that’s only easy for a minute. Then after that it’s detentions and phone calls and awkward car rides and having to explain himself to Veronica and then having to promise Claire he’ll do better. And yeah, he cares. So he keeps all of that in his tightly curled fist and traps it there.

“You know ‘or what’,” he whispers, raising an eyebrow. “Especially now that Ram’s not around to protect you.”

Kurt scoffs and rolls his eyes, but it’s smoke and mirrors. If anyone knows the difference between not caring and just pretending, it’s probably JD. It’s definitely JD. He doesn’t move an inch, putting the ball in Kurt’s court and hoping he’ll do what he needs him to.

“Psycho,” he mutters, chucking the bottle in his direction. He manages to catch it and puts it back in his pocket, where it belongs. “I don’t get what Veronica sees in you.”

“Me neither, buddy,” he replies. But she sees something and they’re making something. And that’s what he’s going back out to.

******

“What are you grinning at?” Veronica asks, bumping her arm up against Martha’s as they sit in the parking lot, waiting for her mom’s car. A rare day off for Martha’s mom means that she can give her daughter a ride home, and when she says her daughter, that includes Veronica, of course. Martha herself as been smiling at something in her planner, something she’s tried and failed not to smile at. Veronica has a strong idea of who the culprit is but that hardly stops her from being nosy. If anything it makes her more nosy.

“This,” she says, passing the book over to her. In the corner of the second page of the ‘notes’ section is a little flower drawn in pink pen, simple in its design, with a small scribbled message next to it ‘you’re so smart-it’s amazing’. Her hunch was right-the handwriting is unmistakable, and besides, only one person could make Martha blush like that. “She wrote it during study hall when I went to the bathroom. I didn’t even notice until now.”

“Sappy girl,” she says fondly, handing her back her notebook. “I’m glad though. That she’s making you happy.”

“Thanks,” she says, pulling her jacket over her hands. Her smile falters a little.

“Hey.” Her hand comes over Martha’s. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. Veronica cocks her head at her. Really, Martha should know better than to lie to her by now. “It’s just… I like Heather so much. But I can’t bring her home or tell my mom about her.”

“You haven’t told her yet?” Martha shakes her head, looking out across the lot. Veronica isn’t sure if she should be flattered or confused or depressed that Martha’s told her but not her own mom. No matter what she’s feeling inside, Veronica rubs her shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s complicated,” she says. “Like… I know my mom isn’t… she doesn’t hate gay people. I know that. Every time there’s news of some new hate crime she always talks about how bad it is. But it’s not even the gay thing… okay it’s a little the gay thing. But telling my mom that I have someone, it…”

“It brings her into it,” Veronica finishes it. “And then it’s not just you two… it’s you two plus your mom. And it brings her into your family.”

“Exactly,” Martha agrees, nodding. A knowing smile creeps across her face. “So I take it you haven’t told your parents about JD?”

“Not… quite yet,” she admits delicately, making Martha laugh. “I mean- have you met my mom!”

“I love your mom!”

“Yeah, you don’t live with her!” she reminds her, pushing her gently. “Can you imagine what would happen if she knew about me and JD? She’d be insufferable.”

“But…”

“Can we go back to when this conversation was about you?” she asks. Martha shakes her head, her ponytail falling over her shoulder.

“Nope.” Veronica laughs and leans back, her arm sitting on top of the railing.

“Okay. But… I don’t know… maybe I just like the idea of taking JD home.” She pushes her hair out of her face. “On the other hand I could just hide him from my parents forever.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can. Our wedding will just be an outrageously fancy dinner and we’ll do our vows while my parents are in the bathroom.” Martha bursts into laughter, covering her mouth with her hand and burying her face in her hand.

“Will that work?”

“Of course it will,” she says, more than satisfied by her little fantasy world.

“Doesn’t his mom know about you though?” she asks, just as her mom’s car pulls into the parking lot, alerting them with a quick honk of the horn.

“Yeah,” she says, getting up. “But… that’s different.” Martha squints at her behind her glasses, her head cocking ever so slightly. “Okay it’s… kind of different.”

“Maybe,” Martha admits just as they approach her mom’s car. “But if you’ve met his family...” Her voice trails off and she doesn’t need to finish that sentence.

“Sometimes I really don’t like when you’re right,” Veronica grumbles. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she just saw Martha smile at that.

Her mom is sitting on the couch when she comes in, her dad at the stove. Wednesday night, his turn to cook. Judging by the half-empty tub of chilli powder on the counter, his adventures in Mexican foods are not over yet and Veronica’s tonsils may be in danger of being blown off.

“Hey, pumpkin,” her dad greets as she sets her bag down. “Don’t eat anything it’ll spoil your appetite.”

“Doubtful,” she replies, filling up her water bottle at the sink. She turns the faucet a little too tightly but its not like she can help it. She’s standing with her hand on the doorknob, about to let her real life and her family life mix and there’s one way it can end; an embarrassing, awkward disaster. And maybe she’s being melodramatic, and more than likely nothing much will change once she tells them and they’re over this hill. But it’s driving up the damn hill that’s the challenge.

“Hey, so, for my birthday,” she begins, pressing the tip of her bottle into her palm. She leans against the counter, hoping she comes off casual. “Could I go out with a few friends on Saturday?”

“Sure, honey,” her mom says, getting up from the couch and making her way over to her. She tries to think if she’s ever heard Claire call JD ‘honey’. ‘Kid’, sure, plenty of times, but as much as Claire is probably the loveliest adult she’s ever met, she doesn’t strike Veronica as the honey type. Probably because, unlike her own parents, Claire recognises that JD is months away from being a legal adult. “Which friends? Martha and Heather? And JD?”

“Yeah. Just those three. We think we’re going to go bowling and get some food.”

“A boy at your party, Ronnie?” her dad says. Veronica groans out loud, rewarded with a disapproving look from her mom. She holds her hands up in surrender. “Just… you’ve never had a boy at your birthday party before. Not since kindergarten.”

“Yeah because Mom said I had to invite my whole class so no-one felt left out,” she reminds him. Certain people were perfectly fine with leaving her out, but that didn’t seem to matter to her parents back then. She wonders for a second if Heather Chandler’s mom ever told her that she had to invite the whole class. If she did, the message obviously didn’t take. “But I’m nearly 18 now.”

“And in any case, JD’s just a friend, right sweetheart?” her mom asks, rubbing her arm. She meets her mom’s gaze for a brief second, the same colour and shade, one pair blissfully ignorant and excited and the other reprehensive and awkward. She could just turn around and agree with her, let her parents keep thinking she’s a happy little single with no interest in mingling. Could be easier for all of them. Or not.

“Well, not exactly,” she admits. She squeezes the bottle in her hand, making crinkles on the plastic, and closes her eyes, bracing herself. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Whatever she was expecting, her dad’s wooden spoon hitting the kitchen floor was… well, not it.

“Boyfriend?” her dad echoes, his voice a strange mixture of mad and shocked. If she had the spine, she’d ask what exactly he has to be bad about.

“Boyfriend!” her mom squeaks, on the opposite end of the spectrum to her dad. She grabs her hand tightly. “Oh well Veronica that’s wonderful. How long have you been together, did you ask him out, does his family know?”

“Okay one question at a time, Mom,” she says, half laughing. “Just since… since November I guess. And yeah, Claire knows.” It’s a little white lie. Those don’t hurt, right?

“Since November?” her dad asks, seemingly calmer now. “Explains why you got him that stuffed cat for Christmas.”

“And why he got you that beautiful necklace,” her mom explains. “Aw, Veronica, I’m so happy for you.”

“Okay,” she replies, ducking out of her mom’s embrace before she can start squishing her cheeks. She straightens her skirt and turns around, facing her ecstatic mom and her dad, who’s still trying to process what she told him. “So… you guys are okay with it?”

“Of course we are! As long as you’re happy-”

“I want to meet him,” her dad interrupts flatly, throwing the dishtowel over his shoulder.

“What?”

“I want to meet him. Your boyfriend. I want to meet him if this thing is serious.”

‘Serious?’ she thinks. ‘Who said anything about serious?’

Maybe JD’s crumbled bedsheets and the butterfly at the base of her throat did.

“Dad,” she sighs. She looks over to her mom for help, an ally, literally any solidarity here, and just finds a shrug.

“Well, if you’re with him… I’d like to meet him too,” she says. “I’m sure he’s a lovely young man. But… it’s normally standard procedure that your parents meet your boyfriend.”

“Come on,” she sighs. She knows they’re right, of course, but that’s only because standard procedure is working against her. Doesn’t make her agree with it.

“Well, Ronnie, what could go wrong?” her mom asks, wringing her hands together.

‘So freaking much,’ she thinks.

“Nothing,” she admits with a defeated sigh. “Fine, I’ll bring him over.”

“Wonderful,” her mom says, clapping her hands together. “Well, what about Friday night? I can make my chicken casserole; we can all sit down and-”

“He has something on on Friday,” she interrupts, crossing her arms over her body. “Something he can’t get out of.”

“What is it?” her dad asks, raising an eyebrow.

“An appointment,” she replies. She tries not to bite her lip, but her dad seems to take it and nods, dropping the subject.

“Well, what about Saturday?” he asks. “He can come over before you go out with your friends. We can sit down, all talk together-”

“Talk about what exactly?” she asks.

“Well, you’re my only daughter,” he admits. “And I want to make sure he’s… right for you.”

“Oh my god!” she says.

“Language,” her mom reminds her.

“Okay,” she says, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “But… please don’t pull the ‘she’s my only child’ thing on him when he’s here.”

“I won’t,” her dad says, shrugging unconvincingly. Veronica and her mom both raise their eyebrows at him, keeping their eyes on him until he begins to cave. “I won’t… too much.”

“Nice try, Dad,” she says, laughing unexpectedly, turning to go upstairs and make a start on her homework before her dad calls her back.

“Hey… I’m glad you’re happy, hon.”

“Thank you,” she replies, smiling for real for the first time since she came in.

What exactly had she been worried about?

She brings up the prospect to JD in social studies while waiting for their teacher to get in. Having come in a few weeks into the school year, JD didn’t get the chance to grab the seat next to her; he sits two rows in front, three seats to the right. She worked that out the first class they had together. Maybe that’s what ‘having it bad’ is like. For now she squats on the floor next to him, grateful for their teacher’s lack of punctuality.

“Would me meeting your parents make you happy?” he asks, stroking her hair gently.

“Not particularly,” she admits. “Honestly I’d be happier keeping you away from my parents until the day we both die.”

“Worried they won’t like me or I won’t like them?”

“Worried my mom will be showing you my baby photos,” she replies.

“I would love that.”

“I wouldn’t.” He pokes the dimple in her cheek, grinning back at her. “So you’ll come over?”

“Of course I will,” he tells her. “Anything for you, Ronnie.” She scrunches up her face, trying but failing to disguise the butterflies in her stomach. Is it normal to still have butterflies at this stage? Maybe not, but the romantic in her hopes they last as long as she and JD do.

“Get a room, you two,” Chandler sighs, one row behind and three seats to the right. She files her nails, sitting on her own and yet still looking unbothered and powerful the way only she can. Alone by choice. She doesn’t look at them, instead raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow in mild annoyance.

JD rubs her arm just as the bell rings and Veronica has to get up, stretch her stiff legs and run over to her own desk before Ms Noel can bust her for being out of her seat.

*****

Claire, surprisingly, is in the living room when he gets home and that’s not the only thing that’s unusual. The TV is pulled out from the wall and she’s squatting behind it, glasses on her head, sleeves rolled up, her face screwed up in concentration so intense she doesn’t seem to notice JD until he’s right beside her, and even then she smiles at him and asks how school was as casually as she would if he found her in the kitchen or her study, as he almost always had.

“What are you doing to our TV?” he asks.

“It’s been wonky all week,” she says, swinging a thick wire around. He takes a step back. “Colour blinking on and off, the sound not working. I’m trying to fix it.”

“Why don’t you just call someone?”

“Because I’m not wasting money on asking someone to do something that I can clearly do myself,” she tells him, looking up at him with a self-satisfied smirk. “Life lessons, Jason.”

“I’ll note it down,” he says. “Look, I need a favour.”

“What is it?”

“I need to go down to the grocery store tonight,” he tells her. “And I need to use the kitchen on Friday.” Claire takes a break from her 200 wires and knobs and frowns at him, leaning back on her heels. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replies quickly. “But you know you don’t need to ask to use the kitchen, right? It’s your house.”

“Right,” he says, trying not to think too much about the words ‘your house’. “Well it’s just… I don’t really want to be interrupted while I’m in there.”

“Consider me gone,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I’ll probably be in here anyway trying to fix this thing.” She smacks the top of it hard, making the whole stand seem to shudder. “Hey, is there anything on the screen now?”

“No,” he tells her. “Just black.”

“God damn it,” she sighs, the top of her head disappearing behind the set.

“Claire,” he begins, suppressing a smirk. “How do I know it’s not more damaged now than it was when you started.”

“Don’t sass me,” she says from behind the TV. Her glasses come up over the top, pointing sharply at him. “I’ve almost got it.”

“I’m sure you have,” he replies. He doesn’t need to see her face to know that her mouth is hanging open and her eyebrows are most definitely hitting the ceiling. “How long have you been at that anyway?”

“On and off all day,” she replies. “I always meant to get around to it. It’s been on the brink for weeks now.”

“It’s never been on the brink for me,” he points out, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “Maybe it just hates you.”

“You barely use it,” she replies. “Do you know how many people would kill for a kid who doesn’t watch the TV? Oh!” He hears the sound of something being slotted and clicked into place, then out of place, then back into place, and then a knob turning before she steps out, the cover of the back of the TV still sitting propped up against the wall. She lifts up the remote and turns to him, her wide eyes and hair falling out of its braid and sweater slipping off her shoulder making her look like something of a mad scientist. “Ready?”

“Dazzle me,” he replies.

She points the remote at the TV with a flourish and hits the button, bouncing up and down with glee as she prepares to show off her amazing technician skills-

Only for the screen to remain black and silent, the afternoon sun hitting off it and the only picture being their reflections. In the dark screen, he can see Claire’s disappointed pout and it’s actually enough to make him hold back his biting remarks.

“Damn it,” she sighs. “I took the whole fucking back off.”

“That’s a dollar in the swear jar,” he tells her. While Claire swears that she had a swear jar in her kitchen for almost a decade now, JD can’t help but wonder if she read his file and put it in for his arrival. He knows that for some people, “troubled kid” =cursing a lot. He guesses it comes with the territory. Pity she didn’t make a ‘gets into fights in school’ jar instead, then they’d have had a vacation to Hawaii booked and paid for by now. And at least 51% of the dollars in the jar are Claire’s anyway.

“Maybe we’ll have to use that jar to get a new TV,” she sighs. “I’ve had this thing since about 1973 anyway. Maybe it’s time for an upgrade.” She cocks her head, mentally assessing it, weighing up the pros and cons before shrugging and turning on her heel. “I’ll give it another grilling tomorrow when I’m well rested.” She puts her glasses on and sits down on the opposite arm of the couch, her chin propped up on her fist. “So what do you need from the grocery store?”

“Uh… flour, sugar… eggs I think. I’ll double check the recipe.”

“You’re baking?” she asks, grinning.

“Yeah,” he replies, feeling both dread and excitement, the latter winning out. “It’s Veronica’s birthday on Saturday.”

“Aww.” With a look from JD, she calms herself, dialling the ‘gushing foster mom’ stuff back down where it belongs. “That’s sweet Jason. Literally I guess.”

“Oh that was bad,” he replies, laughing. “Anyway I’ll double check. I think we have a lot of the stuff here.”

“What are you making her?” she asks, following him into the kitchen and leaning on the counter.

“Red velvet,” he says softly, taking the recipe book down from the shelf. If nothing else, he lucked out by being taken into a house with more recipes than he’d know what to do with. He holds it open at the right page with one hand and goes through the cupboards with the other one. “It’s her favourite.”

“Make a little extra one for me?” she asks.

“Make that saffron risotto and I won’t say no,” he tells her. He isn’t kidding. He’d do many things for that risotto.

“Oh, I managed to run out to the pharmacy today,” she says, looking through her bag. He keeps looking at the book, knowing what she’s bringing out of her bag. “Picked up your next prescription. You said you’re running low, right?”

“Yeah,” he says flatly. He must sound nearly as bad as he feels because Claire puts the bag down and comes slowly to his side.

“Everything okay, kid?”

“Course it’s okay,” he sighs, looking up at her quickly. “Thanks. Thanks for picking them up for me.”

“Jason,” she says, a little firmer this time. “Anything you need to talk about? Or is this a Rachel thing?”

A Rachel thing. That’s what he calls something only to be discussed between himself and his therapist. The real dark stuff that sometimes he can’t understand. He can understand this, of course, but it’s just…

It’s embarrassing.

“It’s fine,” he sighs, closing the book, his finger keeping his page. “It’s just…” He looks up, Claire’s face the classic parental concern (or foster-parental concern), gentle and coaxing. He tells himself hes only talking to her because that’s what she’s here for, it’s what the system pays her for. “I just… I don’t like having to be on them.”

“Jason,” she sighs. After a moment, her hand is on his shoulder and it’s… not unwelcome.

“I know I need them,” he says. “I know that. And I’m not… It’s not like I hate them. I just…” Big truth time. He scratches the cover of the book in his hands. “I don’t want to need them. Not forever.”

“Oh, kid,” Claire breathes. “I know. I know it’s a lot right now.” He hums in agreement. “Would you feel better if I told you that you get used to it?”

“I will?” he asks.

“Of course you do,” she says. “Like these.” She touches the frame of her glasses. “I got them when I was 12. And I get used to them. Putting them on every morning. Taking them off every night. Sometimes I forget they’re there sometimes. And then I break them.” He at least chuckles at that. “And I don’t want to need them either.” She rubs his shoulder in a gentle motion that comes close to wiping his worries away. If only. “And that’s not going into all the other meds I’ve had to take before. It’s all just stuff I need. And there comes a point where it feels like second nature.” His head moves a fraction of its own accord, less than a breath away from Claire’s shoulder. It’s close to comforting, a line he’s seen more than once in his time. She squeezes his shoulder tightly and a rush of feeling comes over him, half-confused, half okay. “I know it sucks right now, kid. It’s just something you need. No shame in that.”

“Thanks,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

“Any time,” she replies softly, her breath tickling his hair. She pats his shoulder again before getting up and moving over to the counter to pick up her car keys.

“Also I’m going over to Veronica’s early on Saturday,” he tells her, taking out his notebook and writing ingredients on a back page. “She wants me to meet her parents.”

“Oh, it’s that serious?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Should I do the same? You bring her over, we have dinner, I grill her about her intentions with you and threaten to skin her if she hurts you?” He bites back a laugh; it’s not that Claire doesn’t pack a punch sometimes, but she’s 5 foot nothing and has a penchant for pastel jumpers and home crafting. He can’t see Veronica being scared much by that, especially not that she knows her now.

“I’ll make notes of what her dad tells me,” he replies. “To give you pointers.” He pauses, his pencil twirling in mid-air. “Although… maybe that wouldn’t be too bad. You, me, her. Real dinner.”

“Pick a date on the calendar,” she tells him.

“Maybe,” he says again. He used to love that word, ‘maybe’. When he’s moving every 3 months, it’s a nice way of saying ‘I’d like to, but realistically, it’ll never ever happen because I’ll be gone soon’. In recent years, he’s liked it less and less. “Okay, let me just leave my stuff upstairs.”

He takes the stairs two at a time and throws the bag down on his bed before taking his wallet out of it. It’s meant to be less than a minute, but something catches his eye; the reflection of himself in the mirror propped up against the wall, the way the sleeves of his coat fall over his hands and the collar is flipped up to his cheekbones, the way the black stands against the pale wall of his bedroom. He’s barely paid attention to it despite wearing it practically every single day since he got it. He likes it, doesn’t he?

For the first time in years, he’s not so sure about it.

******

Veronica takes her finger out of her mouth, scowling at the chipped nail. To her credit, Heather Chandler probably put more effort into getting her to kick the nail biting than into anything else. She curls her hand into a fist, sitting at the kitchen table and waiting for her boyfriend to knock the door. To meet her parents. To actually talk to them. For them to talk to him.

Surely it’s not too late to cancel.

“Are you sure this is enough?” her mom asks from the counter. Two plates of sandwiches, a pot of coffee, a jug of ice water and a plate of homemade cookies. Her mom’s gone all out in more ways than one. She’s wearing the Easter blouse. If her dad’s over protectiveness doesn’t send JD running, her mom just might.

“It’s fine, Mom,” she says. “We’ll get food after bowling tonight.” She looks up, frowning. “Where’s Dad?”

“Probably at the front door,” her mom says. “Waiting for him.”

“Oh God.” She gets up from the table and runs into the hall, then the living room, where she sees her dad sitting in his armchair and facing the window. “Dad!”

“What?” he asks, a little startled. He pulls at his shirt collar, trying to perform relaxed. He’s doing worse than her, which is an achievement. “I’m just waiting for lunch to be ready.”

“Can you wait in the kitchen?” she asks. “You know, where there’s no windows?”

“Ronnie-”

“Dad.” She contemplates batting her eyes at her, trying to play up ‘Daddy’s little girl’. “Dad, I’ll let him in.” Her dad sighs and pulls himself up, crossing the room over to her. She pats his chest lightly. “And then you can scare him all you like.”

“All I like?”

“Okay, not all you like.” He laughs and ruffles her hair before setting off to the kitchen, not before taking one look at the front door, peering through the stained glass.

“Dad!”

“I’m going!” She laughs behind her hand as she herself turns to look out the window, her eyes scanning for a familiar coat or shock of dark hair passing by her window. She guesses she must have been concentrating too hard, because when the doorbell does ring it makes her jump out of her skin.

Before she opens the door, she does have to dead-stare her dad in the eye until he backs up back into the kitchen.

“Hey,” she whispers as he steps in. She pulls him into a soft, fast kiss, one eye open in case her father decides to ‘accidentally’ walk in on them. Her hand doesn’t grasp the collar as it normally does but falls flat against his chest. “You ready?”

“Of course I am,” he says with a shaky grin. “I was born ready.”

“Okay tough guy,” she laughs, running her hand down his arm to hold his. A snarky remark forms and dies on her lips when she takes him in fully. “Is that a new jacket?”

“Oh, this?” he asks, stretching out his arm. It’s dark blue and soft and stops at his waist rather than his usual floor-length coat. “Um yeah. Christmas present from Claire. You like it?”

“Yeah… it’s nice.” She clears her throat, bringing herself back to the present and grabbing his hand. “Come on. My mom’s probably going to hunt us down if we stay out here any longer.”

When they get into the kitchen, her mom is at the counter, working at nothing, while her dad puts on a show of reading the newspaper next to her. They’re both a little too into their feigned ignorance; Veronica has to clear her throat to alert them to their presence.

“Mom… Dad,” she begins as they both look up, regarding JD with broad smiles. Her catches for a second and she wraps her hand around his arm. “This is JD. This is my boyfriend.”

“JD…” Her dad repeats, strolling up to them. He’s just about eye level with JD. He tenses next to her, his fingers curling tighter around hers. His mouth opens but for a second no sound comes out. Veronica bites her cheek, trying not to laugh at his wide eyes, or the way he covertly wipes his hand on his jeans before holding it out to her dad.

“Um, Jason Dean, sir,” he says. “But… most people call me JD.” Her dad shakes his hand, the beginnings of a grin on his lips. When JD winces just slightly, small enough for just her to see it, Veronica swallows a snicker, but also makes a mental note to buy him liquorice on Monday to make up for it.

“Nice to meet you, son,” he says, clapping JD on the shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down?”

And it’s at that moment she hears Jason Dean, her JD, her unbreakable and unshakeable JD, squeak.

And she’s not sure she isn’t dreaming.

“I was not scared by your dad!” he insists as they walk through the parking lot to the bowling alley. Veronica had allowed half an hour before insisting they had to motor to be ready. Although her parents had a little more time with him than she had planned, thanks to her dad’s insistence that he wait down there while she ran upstairs to get her jacket and do her make-up. He said that him and JD would have plenty to talk about while she was gone. Well, her dad did anyway, and JD had plenty to smile and nod at and plenty of time to watch the stairs anxiously.

“You were so scared by my dad,” she corrects him, running her hand up and down his arm and resting her cheek on his shoulder. “But he liked you.”

“He did?”

“Mm-hm. I can tell. He didn’t like Heather Chandler and I could tell that. He was different with you.”

“How different exactly?” he asks, pride clinging to his every word. She doesn’t need to look up to see the satisfied smirk on his face.

“Mm. He was happy with you. Underneath all of the Dad stuff.”

“Way, way underneath all of that,” he agrees, pressing his lips to her hair. She takes his hand and turns around under his arm so that she faces him, sees the amused, soft smile on his face. She places her hand on his chest, just a little north of his heart.

“Thanks for coming over,” she says sincerely.

“Like I said in school,” he replies. “Anything for you, Ronnie.” He places his hand over hers. “And you’ve met my biological parent and my foster parent, I think it’s only fair I meet yours now.” She huffs a laugh, shaking away the usual prickling discomfort that comes around in the rare occasion his father is brought up. She takes hold of his jacket instead and pulls him towards her instead, grinning against his lips at the feeling of his hand tangling in her hair.

It’s not that she’ll miss the trench coat, she thinks as she wraps her arms around his waist. It was just a coat after all. But damn if it wasn’t fun grabbing the labels.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Not good to keep your friends waiting.” She hums in agreement, wrapping her arms around his and letting him lead her inside.

“Happy birthday Ronnie!” Before Veronica can even take anything in, a small flash of yellow crashes into her side and nearly knocks her over despite being practically half her size.

“Thanks Heather,” she laughs, wrapping her arms around her in return. Heather lets her go for less than a second before grabbing her hand and pulling her along with so much strength she slips out of JD’s hold.

“Come on! We set up down here!” Heather pulls her down past the lanes of other families and groups of teenagers or little kids bowling, so caught up in their own games none of them can spare a glance at them.

When Heather drags her down to the last lane, their lane, she’s close to speechless.

She doesn’t know how they swung it, but Heather (she imagines with Martha’s help) has tied blue and white balloons to the backs of chairs and even stuck a few to the ball dispenser, along with silver streamers that catch the red and green and yellow overhead lights. On the table there’s three different wrapped boxes and a white cake, which, if the red flakes are anything to go by, is red velvet, as well as a bottle of Coke and a bottle of Fanta. They caught Martha in the middle of placing silver candles on the cake, which right now spell out “Happy Bir”.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, hiding behind her hands, looking from Heather to Martha. “You guys did this?”

“Well, it was mostly Heather,” Martha says sheepishly.

“Oh, bullshit,” Heather says, skipping over to Martha and wrapping her arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Martha told me what I should get. I just followed her advice.”

“Well…” Her friend’s cheeks turn red, both from the praise and the public displays of affection from her girlfriend.

“You’re the best,” Veronica says, running over to Martha and throwing her arms around her “Seriously the best.”

“A little,” Martha allows herself to admit. “JD made the cake though.” Veronica turns to him, looking at him scratching the back of his neck, looking anywhere but his cake on the table.

“Oh did he?”

“I did promise you a red velvet cake,” he reminds her, sitting on the one free spot on the table.

“You guys are amazing,” she says.

“We know,” Heather replies, resting her cheek on her shoulder. “Now come on, are we bowling or what?”

And that’s how they spend their night. While Veronica relies on her old instincts from middle school birthday parties, JD turns out to be surprisingly bad at it (leading to quite a few hugs from Veronica). Heather, swearing she’s never bowled before, insists on Martha helping her. No one can miss how much she leans into her girlfriend’s embrace, how she deliberately pulls on Martha’s hand to tighten her grip on her waist. Or the not-so secret kiss Martha places on the back of her ear. Veronica celebrates every victory with a larger than life victory dance and high fives from all three of them and takes every defeat with a kiss on the head. She alternates between sitting on the table next to Martha and standing wrapped in JD’s arms while waiting for her turn. Even when waiters come down with French fries, hot wings and mini hot dogs they can’t calm down, high on their own buzz, play fighting over who’s winning, who has the better partner, who is the better partner, whether JD is really getting distracted or if he’s just… bad. She laughs until her face hurts and when in the moments when it starts to fade, she either leans on Martha or JD (one time Heather) and just for a second, she doesn’t even need to think about or say anything. She just sits in the moment and laughs and it’s perfect.

When she blows out the candles on her cake, she just wishes that they can always stay like this.

#heathers the musical #jdronica #heathers fanfic #veronica sawyer #jason dean #fic: not beyond repair #me to my followers: you can have a little update. as a treat #also me updating in less than a month? who is she?

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marginalgloss · 5 years

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different and worse

‘…There were so many ways in which the vast army of the dead could be drilled, classified, inspected, and made to present their ghostly arms. No end to the institutions, civilian and military, busy drawing up their sombre balance sheet and recording it in wood, stone or metal. But if there was no end to the institutions there was no end to the dead men either. In truth, there were more than enough to go round several times over…’

Troubles was not the first novel by J.G. Farrell, but it was the first to achieve really significant literary success. Farrell wrote three novels set in a loosely connected trilogy set in the twilight of the British empire — I read The Singapore Grip last year, and I’ve been meaning to revisit this one, which I first read many years ago. It might be the best thing Farrell ever wrote, though I now find myself wanting to reread The Siege of Krishnapur as well.

Troubles is set in Ireland, in the immediate aftermath of the First World War. Having been freshly discharged from the army, Brendan Archer (mostly known as ‘the Major’) travels there to visit Angela Spencer; Brendan is more or less convinced that he and Angela are engaged, having met previously while he was on leave from the front lines. They have exchanged letters since, but on arriving at her home — the Majestic hotel — he finds her distant. Her father, Edward, is a model of English strength and reserve. And then there is the hotel itself: a gothic revival falling apart at the seams, overrun by potted plants and cats, populated by a skeleton crew of staff and flocks of elderly women.

The hotel is labyrinthine and seemingly fathomless, like something out of Ballard or Borges. It is an unmappable confection of turrets and towers, sewn up with catwalks, stairwells, secret corridors. The tennis courts are thick with weeds; the glass ceiling of the ballroom is on the verge of collapse; there are strange things swimming in the murky remnants of the swimming pool. Here, at the end of a lonely peninsula, the residents are cut off from the outside world. The only reminder that the Irish exist at all comes from the figures glimpsed at the roadside, sometime seen standing in the fields, or rummaging in the bins at the house. (Many of them are starving.)

We soon realise that the Major lives in a state of post-traumatic myopia. Everything around him seems to take place in a sort of dreamlike haze. Like a typical man of his class he makes a point of not seeing things about how the world is operating, but his experiences in the war place him at a further remove from the rest of society. He is typically English; he adopts an attitude of perpetual befuddlement, leaning heavily on privilege and impatience to get himself through the day. He is inflexible and uncommunicative. But he is also deeply traumatised. His memories are shot full of holes:

‘Although he was sure that he had never actually proposed to Angela during the few days of their acquaintance, it was beyond doubt that they were engaged: a certainty fostered by the fact that from the very beginning she had signed her letters ‘Your loving fiancée, Angela’. This had surprised him at first. But, with the odour of death drifting into the dug-out in which he scratched out his replies by the light of a candle, it would have been trivial and discourteous beyond words to split hairs about such purely social distinctions.’

Ireland is riven by violence. Rumours of killings are rife around the hotel. People are shot in ones and twos every day, apparently at random. Interspersed throughout the book are newspaper clippings, many of which seem absurd. It seems a bleak, purposeless cycle of assault and recrimination. But in spite of the resident paranoia, next to nothing actually happens on the grounds of the Majestic. No republican ‘shinners’ appear intent on massacring the residents in their beds. But regardless, the English are determined to make a stand — even if it is only in the bar of the local pub.

This novel was first published in 1970, at a time when Northern Ireland was seeing some of the worst violence in the latter half of the twentieth century. By comparison the level of strife depicted here seems almost parochial by comparison. But this is because the whole text of the novel is sunk within the consciousness of an observer who is too broken himself to see what’s really happening. After all, this is 1919: in historical terms we are in the thick of the Irish war of independence. The country would finally become its own nation state a few years later. But none of it feels that way to the characters in the book.

Perhaps there’s something about it that approximates the feeling of watching the news in the late sixties or early seventies— while living in England, of course. It is a constant drip-feed of appalling atrocity, delivered with the benefit of distance so that the expected response from the audience is to feel exactly as the Major does: ‘An old man is gunned down in the street and within a couple of days this senseless act is both normal and inevitable,’ reflects the Major. For him these killings might as well be happening in a vacuum. Names like De Valera float through the air, but they might as well belong to legendary beings. There’s no awareness of history or context. There is barely a line in this book which affords a glimpse of the world from an Irish perspective. We don’t know how they might feel about it because we aren’t told.

‘The Major only glanced at the newspaper these days, tired of trying to comprehend a situation which defied comprehension, a war without battles or trenches. Why should one bother with the details: the raids for arms, the shootings of policemen, the intimidations? What could one learn from the details of chaos? Every now and then, however, he would become aware with a feeling of shock that, for all its lack of pattern, the situation was different, and always a little worse.’

We are stuck in the belly of the beast, and the beast is dying. The Major is trapped in ‘the country’s vast and narcotic inertia’. The hotel is falling apart. Angela vanishes not long after the Major arrives, and then she dies. Somehow this is not a cause for much regret. From then on, he has no reason to stay in Ireland, but the place has a strange gravity that seems to draw him back. And there is Sarah, a local woman who seems to have taken an interest in him. She is fiery, direct and open — far more than he — and initially she is mostly confined to a wheelchair. There are shades of Stefan Zweig’s Beware of Pity in their relationship: the Major is a model of polite restraint, while Sarah is openly flirtatious, at times frantic with emotion:

‘One day when he had been speaking, though impersonally, about marriage and its place in the modern world, she interrupted him brutally by saying: ‘It’s not a wife you’re looking for, Brendan. It’s a mother!’ The Major was upset because he had not, in fact, been saying he was looking for either. ‘Why are you so polite the whole time?’ she would ask derisively, while the Major, appalled, wondered what was wrong with being polite. ‘Why are you always fussing around those infernal old women? Can’t you smell how awful they are?’ she would demand, making a disgusted face, and when the Major said nothing she would burst out: ‘Because you’re an old woman yourself, that’s why.’ And since the Major maintained his hurt and dignified silence: ‘And for Jesus’ sake stop looking at me like a stuffed squirrel!’’

It’s a very funny book. Farrell was a masterful stylist, and he wields irony here like a weapon. There is humour to be had at the expense of the English in a way that recalls P. G. Wodehouse. But with Jeeves and Wooster there is the pleasure of retreating inside a world which is entirely its own — for the most part, nothing really awful can happen there. Whereas here, we are never allowed to forget that something awful is perpetually happening only just outside of that friendly bubble. And it isn’t so cosy inside the bubble either.

Either way, we cannot forget that the characters of the novel are all implicated, if only through their vast unthinking ignorance. There is something very dark crouching at the heart of this book, something made all the more tragic by the Major’s essential simplicity, by his constant air of strained incomprehension. We know that he will never learn, that he will never grow. Somehow he is both entirely innocent and fully responsible for everything that goes wrong.

He is not the only pathetic creature here. The author reserves a special combination of pathos and threat for the animals that reside at the Majestic. They are vehicles for fables in this story. There are the countless stray cats, which ride the dumb-waiters, climb through the chimneys and nest inside the wrecked sofas. (The biggest cat has orange fur and bright green eyes; a noteworthy colouring, perhaps.) And there’s Edward’s old dog, Rover, who has an especially hard time of it:

‘By degrees he was going blind; his eyes had turned to milky blue and he sometimes collided with the furniture. The smells he emitted while sitting at the feet of the whist-players became steadily more redolent of putrefaction. Like the Major, Rover had always enjoyed trotting from one room to another, prowling the corridors on this floor or that. But now, whenever he ventured up the stairs to nose around the upper storeys, as likely as not he would be set upon by an implacable horde of cats and chased up and down the corridors to the brink of exhaustion. More than once the Major found him, wheezing and spent, tumbling in terror down a flight of stairs from some shadowy menace on the landing above. Soon he got into the habit of growling whenever he saw a shadow. Then, as the shadows gathered with his progressively failing sight, he would rouse himself and bark fearfully even in the broadest of daylight, gripped by remorseless nightmares. Day by day, no matter how wide he opened his eyes, the cat-filled darkness continued to creep a little closer.’

There’s another elderly dog in Farrell’s later novel The Singapore Grip — an elderly spaniel who is nicknamed ‘The Human Condition’. The irony there is a bit less subtle, but the implication is equally bleak. By the end of this novel Edward and the Major will both be reduced to growling at shadows, each in their own way. But perhaps the Major has more in common with the deserted pet rabbit who has been left to fend for himself in the grounds of the hotel:

‘…Old and fat, it had been partly tamed by the twins when they were small children. They had lost interest, of course, as they grew older, and no longer remembered to feed it. The rabbit, however, had not forgotten the halcyon days of carrots and dandelion leaves. Thinner and thinner as time went by, it had nevertheless continued to haunt the fringes of the wood like a forsaken lover…’

Of course the rabbit ends up riddled with bullets. He is shot to death by British soldiers for fun. But the twins are not as upset as the Major expects them to be. They only want to know if they can eat him.

#books #j.g. farrell #troubles

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some-flyleaves · 6 years

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Impromptu media thoughts of the day, two for the price of one: graphic novels by Alan Moore, Watchmen and V for Vendetta. Major spoilers ahead, if people need spoiler alerts for graphic novels from the 80s.

People have written really deep and long essays about both, but here’s my discombobulated twenty cents (in bullet point format because I fucking love bullet point infodumping):

Read Watchmen first, for a variety of reasons included but not limited to:

First heard about it ages ago as if not an influence then for major parallels to The Incredibles, which is one of my favorite movies. I think I was aware of Watchmen's presence at my local library for a good while, but flipping open to a random page and seeing a technicolor old-style comic kinda lost me right off the bat. (I’m still not super partial to the art style in either graphic novel, actually, but they’ve grown on me.)

More recently I watched the 2000 X-Men movie, and not gonna lie, it was actually pretty good. Not stellar enough to warrant a post-movie thoughtdump like this, and granted I don’t go into superhero films with high expectations on the rare occasions I watch at all, but y’know. If I remember correctly this was also an influence on The Incredibles and it sure as hell shows. Also, Rogue deserved better.

You’d think that this means I picked up Watchmen because of an Incredibles kick, right? (Saw that too recently, was good but not as much as the original & with post-movie hype having died down it miiight not stand up to rewatch, I’ll see.) That... might’ve been a factor, sure.

Mostly I just noticed it in the recent return pile along with a note on the back about it being a MUST-READ for graphic novel fans, and since I’m interested in the comic medium and all, why not. Also, work was slow. Funny how stuff works out.

ANYWAY point is I read that one comic with the bloody smiley face on the cover, and you know what? It took about two days and three reading sessions (short one at work, shorter one at home, then a long dedicated few hours within the week) and I was fucking wrecked. You know, the “just read a damn good book/watched a damn good movie/consumed some good fucking media, what do you mean I gotta continue with life as normal” buzz? That, but with a graphic novel.

I’ve mentioned before that I have a weird habit of spoiling myself before I even get into something, whether it means reading the Wikipedia plot summary or reading a sentence in the middle of a book, even skipping to the end of a book and skimming the last paragraph if the middle sentence hooked me. For Watchmen this translated to knowing right off the bat that some big weird scifi thing was involved, and there was a Moment between two characters right before then that packed a punch even without context. It took the longest time for either of these to become clear as I read proper, and once I realized who those two characters were... oh. O u c h.

Somehow I managed to not do this with V for Vendetta. I kinda wish it’d been the other way around, in retrospect, but oh well. Both were solid reads, though I liked Watchmen more.

okay personal anecdotes/context aside NOW for the actual review-y thoughts

Despite the Incredibles comparisons, I didn’t actually find Watchmen very similar, nor would I call Incredibles a retelling. In Watchmen, “superheroes” are outlawed and all, but there’s like... two characters with actual powers. One of them is just “I am really smart (and have remarkable reflexes, but then so does Vendetta guy and there’s no supernatural influence in that story).” Instead it’s an alternate history where something something Vietnam and Nixon and it’s the 80s, and jesus christ was the Cold War “we could literally blow up any day now” atmosphere palpable.

There were definitely a few moments where I’d read a scene and be like, “shit, was this really what the 80s were like?” both because A) hey, we almost DID blow up the goddamn planet, and B) general fraught “everything’s fucked, world is ending” atmosphere still rings too goddamn true today. The ending also leaves me with a distinct sense of dread, like that’s the shit that’ll need to happen for us to get our shit together, if only for a little while.

It’s not a happy story, no. Having read a few of the aforementioned scholarly articles on Watchmen, I guess this kicked off the current generation of gritty superhero comics--even though when Watchmen came out, it was revolutionary in NOT being a technicolor happy-go-lucky hero-always-wins moral romp. (Again, superhero comics ain’t my forte.) That said, Watchmen is clearly not being dismal and cynical just for the heck of it. It conveys this with the subtlety of a sledgehammer at times, but an overarching narrative judgment is thankfully absent, leaving readers to draw their own conclusions. Love me some moral ambiguity.

On that note, characters are well-drawn (both in terms of psychological profiles and actual illustration), and while I wasn’t inspired to get too deep into any of their motivations or the like, Rorschach was... something. His identity reveal was a little anticlimactic (as were... lots of the backstory exposition sections, in retrospect), but necessary. Twenty bucks says he’s autistic. I feel like there’s something to be said about Irish-American discrimination and Rorscach but that is by no means my area of expertise, so just throwin’ the thought out there.

Between this and V for Vendetta, Moore really likes social rejects turned masked vigilantes, huh? Vendetta frames V (Guy Fawkes mask dude) as more a symbol than a character; he has a backstory too, but not once is his face shown, and it works.

That said, I just found something kinda... lacking, about Vendetta. Maybe it’s the fact I couldn’t tell half the characters apart and spent most sections not focused on V and Evey wanting to get back to them. Like Watchmen, Vendetta is set in an alternate history (or, er, near-future given when the comic was actually written/published), but whereas Watchmen scatters historical details throughout the narrative via character development and intriguing tie-in snippets, Vendetta kinda just dumps them unceremoniously when needed. It’s... meh.

Well, at least I can say I know what the Guy Fawkes mask as a revolutionary/counterculture symbol originated from. And I did like the little identity twist at the end, much as I saw it coming. (By the way, is that “reports of my death were exaggerated” line from a different piece of media? I could’ve sworn I heard it before but heck if I know where; Google suggests Mark Twain but that doesn’t ring a bell.)

Also, while it could be total coincidence, I kinda wouldn’t be surprised if this influenced Naoki Urasawa’s Monster somehow. (Monster spoilers ahead.) For one thing my first impression of Evey was “fuck, that’s Nina Fortner in dystopian Britain,“ but both stories are set on a backdrop of genocide and feature a character who went through extensive... examination & later broke out in a plot that encompassed the deaths of nearly everyone involved. Said character also has a fucked up relationship with Nina/Evey that involves psychologically screwing with her in an attempt to make her see things his way. (Or, uh, I think that’s what Johann was up to? It’s been a while.) Fun stuff!

Watchmen ends with a very, VERY bittersweet reflection of humanity, and Vendetta draws the curtain on the spark of revolution. Both are impactful in their own rights but the first seems much more relevant today, at least to me as a contemporary American. Also, I can kinda see why Anonymous picked up the Guy Fawkes mask even though vigilante justice isn’t quite what V was going for.

Art-wise, though, Vendetta wins. Rather than cleanly outline everything it makes copious use of negative space and bold inks, foregoing outlines where color contrast will do, and I might mess around with a mimcry some time because got dang does it get that dramatic, noir-esque mood cross. (Watchmen does too at times, but not throughout the whole book. It’s also a matter of clean flats vs semi-blotchy watercolors.)

They are both firmly on my hypothetical list of stories to revisit a few years down the road, because why not, but even if I never get around to that I’m glad I read ‘em at least once.

I end this bulletpoint text wall by saying you should check both graphic novels out if you have a few hours to spare and are game for some challenging psychological thrillers; they earned notoriety for a reason.

Watchmen will take your faith in humanity and hold it over a pit of rabid dogs, but it’s up to you whether or not it drops. It has its gentler moments, but you’ll probably be reading for the themes and mystery above all else. Also, comic people take note--there are some great choices in the imagery and paneling. It probably is worth reading just for the visual storytelling.

V for Vendetta is almost more of a superhero story than Watchmen, hooking you on the identity of its central character but leaving on a universal political moral. Don’t let the smiley mask fool you--this one might not challenge your goodwill as much, but it will throw demoralizing events at you one after the other, for a payoff that holds greater meaning in the bigger picture than anywhere. Again, wasn’t my favorite, but you too can finally understand why Guy Fawkes masks seem to be a symbol of Chaotic Neutral (or Good or Evil, depending on political leaning).

Anyway, what do you think of my desktop?

#nothin like having tumblr open fullscreen to say I Am Procrastinating #as usual there's not a Thesis to this or anything just -dumps everything onto keyboard and publishes it without editing-#.rtf #also scratch what I said about readmores a while back #turns out scrolling through my own darn blog is a bit of a pain :V

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mixedfeelingsproject · 7 years

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Anonymous

Where are you from? California, United States

How would you describe your race/ethnicity? My mother is Vietnamese and French. My father is German and Irish. I'm Asian American.

Do you identify with one particular aspect of your ethnicity more than another? Have you ever felt pressure to choose between parts of your identity? I was mostly raised Caucasian, in a white neighborhood with few minorities, and I have difficulty feeling connected to my Asian heritage. It was easier when I was younger, because we spent time in Hawaii with my mother's family, so I was surrounded by Asian people, language, and food. I actually don't think I realized the connotations of different races when I was really young, because I was surrounded by mixed race people all the time. When I was a little older, maybe 7 or 8, it occurred to me that my friends in California were mostly white, and that all my cousins in Hawaii weren't, and that the difference meant something. I couldn't really process why that was important at the time, but I'm glad now that I spent time in Hawaii where there was a rich blending of culture, at least to my young eyes. But I did feel the divide between California and Hawaii.

One big regret is that I never learned to speak Vietnamese, nor can I cook any Vietnamese food or speak confidently about the culture. Vietnamese wasn't a language offered in any level of the schools I attended, even in college, and my parents encouraged me to learn Spanish, even though my mom also spoke French. My mom claims she didn't teach my brother and I to speak Vietnamese because my father didn't want her to, but I don't know if that's entirely true. She immigrated when she was 21 and suffered many horrors during the Vietnam War that she doesn't talk about. I wish she would tell me more, but I understand how difficult it must be for her, so I don't want to pressure her. She wanted to leave the past behind and start over, but one consequence is that I never felt like she insisted on sharing our family history or that my father made efforts to celebrate my mother's heritage or include it in our Californian, American lifestyle.

It's awkward sometimes when I'm in an Asian part of town or business, because I get asked about my ethnicity, and the reaction is ALWAYS surprise that I'm part Vietnamese. It's practically shocking to other people. When I reflect on how I was raised, and the conversations that happened around me, I feel that I was strongly encouraged to be "American," which I now think of as a kind of whitewashing, because to be American meant to assimilate to the predominant cultural values portrayed in the media, which were always based on the white experience, on my father's experience. And as my mother drifted away from her relatives for various reasons, I've felt more and more isolated from my Asian heritage, because the Asian family members I felt close to as a child were no longer people I spent time with or could feel positively about.

However, I never felt close to my father's side of the family, because he was from Pennsylvania and, unlike my mother, didn't like traveling to visit them. It's actually sort of funny, because I don't feel particularly German or Irish. My father didn't like to discuss his family history either, so in my head he just sort of defaults to "white American man." I'm not even sure if we really are Irish, or if it's just something my grandmother made up during WWII so the family wouldn't solely be associated with the Germans (this speculation comes from my mother, who long insisted that my father made up every story he told me about his childhood; now that I'm a lot older, I certainly see the "Big Fish" quality in his stories). Both sets of grandparents died before I was born, so I don't have their perspectives on family identity and heritage.

Did your parents encounter any difficulties from being in an interracial relationship? I feel like my mother was raised to be obedient, passive, self-sacrificing, forgiving of all faults. I don't know how much of that is cultural vs. how much is how my grandparents in particular raised her, especially since I see her so differently compared to her brothers and sisters. She has worked so hard to be successful in America. She has commented on how I am so different from her in my confidence, in my independence, in my smart mouth, that me at 16 was so much more self-assured than her at 25. I feel like this cultural divide has impacted the dynamics of my parents' relationship negatively, because my father is older than her, and quite sexist and controlling. It took many, many years for my mother to stand up to him, and she still has trouble with demanding what is hers by right. I never witnessed my father's colleagues or strangers insult my mother's ethnicity when we were all together, though I've seen racist reactions to my mother when she wasn't with my father. I assume this is because no one wanted to insult her in front of her husband, but no one had a problem being a racist person when there wasn't another white person there to judge.

How has your mixed background impacted your sense of identity and belonging? I don't feel wholly represented in the culture I consume, and certainly not represented in politics or the media, a feeling that was greatly heightened during the 2016 election. Asian Americans make up a small percentage of the American population, even compared to other minorities, so I often feel that we are glossed over entirely in mainstream discussions about culture, race, etc. I want to stress that the issues specifically pertaining to other minorities, such as African Americans and Mexican Americans and Native Americans, are incredibly important and deserving of attention. But in my personal experience, I have felt my mixed background is mostly invisible to the larger population, and Asian Americans are mostly forgotten in mainstream media unless there is yet another whitewashing controversy over a film or tv show. I feel representation is so important not only because it impacts people's sense of identity and belonging, but also because it affects how people perceive those who are 'other' to themselves. True representation, rather than token, stereotypical casting, creates empathy and normalizes the differences, which hopefully leads to respect and appreciation for the many cultural traditions that make up our country. I was born in America, my father was born in America, his father was born in America, my mother became a citizen decades ago. I am American, and most of the time that sense of identity is unshakeable; but sometimes I don't understand how disparate the definition of "American" can be to people in our country. I am mixed and I am American, because America means different things. And I want the rest of America to catch up with that truth.

Have you been asked questions like "What are you?" or "Where are you from?" by strangers? If so, how do you typically respond? Yes, many, many times. My response depends on the situation and how annoyed with the world I am that day. "What are you?" is the most typical question, as if I wasn't human. I had someone yell that at me as I walked to teach a class on my college campus, and he even followed me for about 20 feet or so before I yelled back at him to f*ck off before I called the police to report a stalker. I've had lots of guys approach me and try to hit on me with cheesy, often racist lines about how I look, or how I'm not fully white and that's so cool. If I'm asked where I'm from I say, "California." If they respond, "No, really, where are you from?" I give the stranger a hard look and slowly repeat "California," like they're ignorant--cause they are. If someone asks about my racial background, I usually give an honest response, though sometimes I shoot back, "Why do you care?" or "Why does it matter?" People usually get overly defensive when their nosiness is called out.

Have you experienced people making comments about you based on your appearance? The most typical descriptor is "exotic." I have "an interesting face." They "would never know" I was part Asian. I'm so tall for an Asian person, it must be from my father's side of the family, right? (Yes, but still, that's rude of you to speculate.) These type of comments are from people of every race. My brother looks more like my father; he has lighter brown hair and hazel eyes, so he passes very easily as white. I don't think he's ever been stopped on the street or asked what race he is. He's only ever been told he's handsome (which he is). I've been told I'm pretty, but only after I've been asked my race and/or been told I'm "exotic looking."

Have you ever been mistaken for another ethnicity? Yes. Most white people think I'm part Spanish/Latina. Some Asian people recognize me as part Asian, but a lot don't.

Have you ever felt the need to change your behavior due to how you believe others will perceive you? In what way? I love getting pedicures (who doesn't love foot rubs and pretty polished toes?), but I often feel weird when an Asian person is kneeling at my feet. I feel like my choice to get a specific beauty service that's often handled by one race abjects my Asian identity in favor of my white one; like only one can exist because they are separate parts and I'm denying my Asian heritage by getting the service, because the dynamic of Asian person serving white person is so rarely reversed. I always make it a point to ask the attendant's name and provide mine, to ask about their lives, and I've actually volunteered my Asian heritage before in some misguided attempt to mitigate the guilt I feel. Part of me thinks there's nothing wrong with soliciting a business and tipping well for a service, but the other part of me thinks service should not be the default, stereotypical vocation for a particular race.

What positive benefits have you experienced by being mixed? I feel like being mixed forced me to think in different perspectives, to think of myself as an in between person, as more than just one race, and therefore I tried to understand and empathize with other people's perspectives that were different from mine. I don't know that I would have this perspective if I was wholly white or Asian, though I like to think that I would. When I attended graduate school I was one of three half Asian women in my year (10 total students accepted, all the rest were white). It was great to have a unique bond with those other women, and to have another person talk about how they felt like biracial people slipped through the cracks in identity politics or in cultural representation.

Have you changed the way you identify yourself over the years? I've always marked Asian American on forms that requested/required my ethnicity, because I would be denying my mother if I simply put Caucasian. But sometimes I feel hypocritical, because I don't know that I exhibit a lot of "Asian" qualities, and I haven't tried harder to learn about my mother's culture. But it feels wrong to go about it behind her back; I want to learn from her, not in spite of her. But then I also think it's wrong for me to think of "Asian" in such a flat, one dimensional way. I've realized that in certain respects I've fallen into the Western trap of thinking all Asian people are alike, despite the clear differences between Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Korean, Philippine, etc cultures. I was talking with a friend about the lack of Asian representation in film, and she pointed out that in my examples I was only thinking of Eastern Asia, and wasn't considering Indian people when I thought of "Asia." She was absolutely right, of course. Even though I think of myself as Asian American, I don't have the knowledge base that many other Asian Americans have when it comes to family tradition, and the blending of Eastern and Western cultures. My family doesn't really have traditions, and I wish we did.

I want to visit Vietnam one day, but I want to do it with my mother. I want her to show me the culture she came from, the culture she left behind in order to succeed in America. I'm hoping that this comes to pass one day, and that seeing Vietnam through her eyes will help me root myself more firmly in this part of my identity, this part of my mother that is always within me.

Are you proud to be mixed? Yes

Do you have any other stories you would like to share from your own experiences? I can readily admit that one of my 'hot button' issues is that I have a knee jerk reaction whenever I think someone is slighting or insulting my mother because she's Asian, or when someone tells a racist joke about Asians. I'm immediately angry and upset and confrontational. But I will not apologize for it, because the number of times I've had to bite my tongue when I was younger and someone made a casual racist comment about my mother or myself is infuriating.

I had a white high school teacher say my father was so "progressive" and "open-minded" for marrying my mother. How is a thirteen year old supposed to challenge the person in charge of their grades, in charge of their future education, in front of the whole class?

In college my theater department staged The Mikado, and the white director had the nerve to explain away the racism of the musical by telling us it was satirical commentary on British colonialism, so we shouldn't worry about characters named "Yum Yum" or the stereotypical portrayal of Japan because of the historical context in which it was written. I wish I had spoken up about it, because it should never have been chosen to be performed in the first place. But I wasn't initially involved in the production, and again, I was barely eighteen years old and didn't have the proper vocabulary, or felt the necessary confidence, to express my frustration and objection over the production to my teacher who had just preemptively dismissed racism concerns before they could be voiced.

I've had friends comment on my mom's "crazy" accent--which I can't hear, even though it's probably there even after 45 years in this country. My mother is so smart, but since English is her third fluent language strangers often assume she is stupid if she doesn't know a particular word or piece of slang. At the same time, I know my mom has totally played up the "stupid foreigner" card when she's on the phone with a customer service rep, because she'll just act like she doesn't understand what's going on until they give in to what she wants in order to retain her business. But this is one of the rare exceptions that proves the rule.

My first boyfriend, who was white, once joked at a party that he didn't need to visit a strip club/brothel (can't remember now which it was) because he had "his own Asian Palace right here," gesturing to me. I was fourteen years old to his seventeen years old, and even though I couldn't properly articulate in the ensuing fight that I was upset because he'd implied I was a whore AND made a racist comment, I'm glad I had the nerve to immediately stand up and walk away. Now I wish I had yelled at him in front of everyone instead of when he followed me as I walked home, apologizing but clearly not understanding and dismissing my anger. Over the years I've heard white people comment that they could never be attracted to an Asian man, that Asian men weren't sexy. When I was younger I couldn't really wrap my head around the idea because I was the sole girl in a sea of Vietnamese male cousins. I didn't really know what to think, because for me every Asian man I knew was related to me, so my automatic reaction was, yeah, sure, whatever, I don't want to have sex with my cousin either. But now that I'm older, I have two words for you: John Cho. Here are another two words: Rick Yune. And a few more: Lewis Tan. Adam Lundberg. Kolten Jensen. If you don't find these Asian American men, the last four of whom are biracial, beautiful and sexy and all manner of attractive, then I don't think you have eyes in your head.

This is the last thing I want to say: I have never been ashamed of my mixed heritage. I have never thought there was something wrong with it, it has never been a "problem" for me, only a problem for other people, because I didn't easily fit into whatever box they wanted to put me in. I am so proud to be my mother's daughter, my father's daughter.

#mixed #vietnamese #french #irish #german #asian american #identity

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nicolesaltou-blog · 7 years

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Week 8

Art is very influential. It can make you feel, think, and believe in something just by looking at it, but the question this week's reading brings up is; What influences art? Is it a religion? Is it the government or political organizations? Is it simply the artist's values and beliefs? Or maybe there is a set of rules that forbid you from getting influenced by religion, politics, and/ or your values and beliefs to create art. According to Muhammad’s teachings and the Koran, it is forbidden to create a representation of Allah and his prophets. It is forbidden to be influenced by their own religion to create art, and that is the primary reason why Islamic art mostly consists of abstract geometric and floral patterns.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for abstract paintings and fields of flowers. Take the mosaic-filled Dome in front of mihrab in Great Mosque, Córdoba, Spain. This Dome is part of The Great Mosque of Córdoba. For those of you who don’t know what a Mosque is, it is a building where Muslims come to pray; they kneel and face Mecca. The dome is filled with inspiration from Byzantine mosaics and backdropped by shining gold. It is a shame that King Charles I of Spain ordered to build a cathedral inside of it ultimately damaging it. Luckily most of the Mosque was saved and shining brightly in Spain, today.

When I continued to read Chapter Eleven I was pleasantly surprised when I came across Hiberno-Saxon Art which originated in Ireland. I just so happen to be 48% Irish and I absolutely love to learn new things about my heritage. We all know Saint Patrick was the one that ultimately spread Christianity to Ireland in the fifth century, however, it was in Britain that Christian art spread drastically. This style was called Hiberno-Saxon Art and the word Hibernia is Latin which just so happens to means Ireland.

Christian art produces many thinks but what really catches my eye is the manuscripts that were created by monks in Irish and English monasteries. The Lion Symbol of Saint John, from the Book of Durrow, is extremely intricate with a number of swirls and dots that borders a warrior of a lion in the middle. This piece is very unique in the fact that they only use a max of three colors, red, yellow, and green, but their use of those three colors makes the piece burst with unseen color.

I am not one that openly shares her beliefs on religion and politics in general, but this class is kicking me in the butt and telling me to get over hiding your beliefs and just simply write about it. It is hard with the way today’s society is. It is hard to come out and say what you want to say without getting completely bashed and criticized for it. Sure, I am still a little shy to say what I want to say, but what I am starting to realize is that art is nothing but reflections of your beliefs, whether they be reflections on your religion or on politics. Art is art; I can’t believe I am just now realizing that.

Works Cited:

Picture: Lion Symbol of Saint John, from the Book of Durrow; "Manuscripts." Art History Leaving Cert. N.p., 21 June 2014. Web. 03 July 2017.

Book: Adams, Laurie Schneider. A History of Western Art. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill, 2011. Print.

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theoptimisticpatriot · 7 years

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Labour and saints day holidays - odd policy but important step forward

First posted on HuffPost on 25.4.17.

Labour plans for four new saints’ day bank holidays break new ground. It’s an England-only policy (because the devolved administrations decide their own bank holidays). It’s not just an English holiday for St George’s Day; everyone in England would get to celebrate all the other British saints’ days too. This would probably make England the first nation to have more national holidays for other nations than for its own.

The underlying assumption may be that identities stemming from the other UK nations are so strong that a purely English holiday would be too divisive. But how true is that? New research from the Centre for English Identity and Politics, and Prof Richard Webber of Newcastle University sheds some intriguing light on what happens to the Welsh, Scottish and Irish when they move to England. By matching nearly 6,000 responses to a YouGov poll to a data base of 25,000 surnames, it’s possible to see how the ��national identity’ of English residents varies according to their nation of origin. The results will surprise a lot of people.

The survey confirms that increasing tendency to be more English than British. 34% of all respondents are ‘predominantly English’ and only 19% predominantly British. (38% say they are equally English and British). Celebrating England’s national day would be in line with the national mood.

Not surprisingly, the most strongly English are those with English surnames whose family names originated in the same part of England where they now live. (If you’re called Webber, for example, your family almost certainly lived in Devon or a neighbouring county at the time of the 1881 census). 38% of these less mobile families say they are predominantly English. Others with English surnames are also strongly English (36% predominantly English).

It’s the Celts who are threw up the most surprisingly responses. Those with Welsh, Scottish and Irish heritage are somewhat less likely to say they are English, but not as much as you might think. And, like the English in England, they are much more likely to say they are English than British. Those with Scottish heritage surnames are 34% predominantly English and only 20% predominantly British. The Welsh are 31% English and 22% British, and the Irish are more English (30%) than British (18%). (To be fair, one in seven of those with Irish surnames don’t identify with British or English, much more than the rest of England’s population.)

We need to be cautious about drawing too many firm conclusions. It’s a reasonable assumption, though, that over time the influence of those around you has a stronger impact on your family’s sense of identity than your own origins and history. The limited data on much newer migrants goes in the same direction. British dominates amongst BAME groups but, even here, over 60% share some level of English identity.

By bending over backwards to reflect the identity of all the different UK ‘tribes’ living in England, Labour may have underestimated the extent to which English is now the most widely shared identity.

Given that only 12% of our sample of British surnames were Scottish, 8% Welsh and 5% Irish, and given how English they feel, it is worth asking whether these minority identities justify an English bank holiday.

Still, it would be wrong to be curmudgeonly. Most people have multiple identities. It’s highly likely that Celtic migrants combine their heritage with their English or British identity. What most English people want is not that everyone should just be English, but that Englishness should be accorded the same respect as other identities.

Labour has often seemed uncomfortable acknowledging English identity. Gordon Brown strongly resisted ministers like me who wanted to argue for a St George’s Day holiday. Ed Miliband dipped in, and out, of Englishness. This may be changing. On St George’s Day Mayor Sadiq Khan declared he was ‘proud to be a Londoner, proud to be English’, a symbolic statement in what some assume is only a cosmopolitan British city. Putting England up there with the other UK nations is a real step forward.

Prof John Denham is director of the Centre for English Identity and Politics at Winchester University, and a former Labour MP and minister

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kunkutarpulla · 6 years

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Rant: 18 things white people seem not to understand (because white privilege)

Hello, everyone! Since “white privilege” is a famous topic in this century, let’s talk about it. I took the text from Macy Sto. Domingo.

Remember guys: I’m not mocking her or hating her because of her skin color. Racism isn’t accepted. I despise her as a person.

I was originally going to post this on deviantART, but I post it in Tumblr instead, because these people need to listen the voice of reason.

Let’s start.

“I don’t wake up every morning with the intention of pissing you off, I swear, and whether or not you believe it, I’m here to help you. “

No, you’re here to show how stupid and ignorant you are, since you’re talking about something non-existent like white privilege.

“I want you to recognize that on a daily basis, you hold a set of advantages and immunities that are a direct result of the oppression of people of colour. “

No one in civilized countries like the USA isn’t advantaged or immune because of their skin color. Stop disgracing Albert Fish’ black child victims or Native Americans who were slaughtered by pioneers.

“That doesn’t sound nice, does it? Makes you squirm in your chair a bit and maybe feel a little uncomfortable, right?”

More like annoyed.

“But here’s the thing – I’m not here to make you feel comfortable, that’s not my job. I’m here to erase the invisibility of the privileges you have that continue to help maintain white supremacy.“

African slavery and apartheid already ended in the USA. Racism doesn’t equal white privilege. Using single racism cases to “prove” white privilege exists in the USA is like using single child abuse cases to “prove” oppression on children exists in the USA.

“I’m here to show you what your White Privilege is.”

I can show you what white privilege is.

“White privilege (or white skin privilege) is a term for societal privileges that benefit people identified as white in some countries, beyond what is commonly experienced by non-white people under the same social, political, or economic circumstances.”

Is anyone tolerating discrimination? No. There are no discrimination laws in your society, everyone are treated equally, no matter with the skin color. Do you have non-white politicians? Yes. You even had one as a president. Can black folks be rich? Yes. There are for example 29 black rich celebrities in US we all love and know. And do you know what’s funny? Asian people are getting richer and richer in America, they have highest study rankings and they have the best possibilities to get a job. Yes, even whites are losers compared to them. Why don’t you invent a new word and call it “Asian privilege?”

“1. White Privilege is being able to move into a new neighborhood and being fairly sure that your neighbors will be pleasant to you and treat you with respect.”

That’s called been able to move where ever you want and get good treatment, and it has nothing to do with white privilege. Except in some African countries, where white-only cities and discrimination laws are still common. Why don’t you go there to complain about white privilege? Oh, I forgot. You’re an SJW. Their lives don’t matter, because they don’t concern around you and your first world problems. My mistake! ;P

“2. White Privilege is being able to watch a movie, read a book and open the front page of a newspaper and see yourself and your race widely represented and spoken for.”

Show me one recent movie or book where white race is praised, and other races are mocked. And praising a one single person doesn’t equal praising a whole race. Donald Trump gets lots of negative criticizing for being an asshole and he’s white.

“3. White Privilege is being able to seek legal, financial and medical help without having your race work against you.”

That’s corruption, not white privilege. Just like money, corruption knows no skin color. There are still places where gays aren’t allowed to donate blood, because people still believe in that ridiculous AIDS myth. And in the “Bible belt”, Atheists aren’t allowed to hold the office. In Oklahoma, they can’t even get married. And there are much more Atheists can’t do, because they’re Atheists. Majority of gays and Atheists are, surprise surprise, white. Where’s that white privilege you’re talking about now?

“4. White Privilege is living in a world where you are taught that people with your skin tone hold the standard for beauty.”

No. They. Don’t. Every country has their own beauty standards and they change according to the culture, and they have nothing to do with skin color.

- In Ehtiopia’s Karo tribe, women create scars to their bodies, because body scars are considered beautiful, and they help you to get a husband.

- In Kenia’s Masai tribe, long eardrops and shaved heads are attractive.

- In Burma and Thaiwan, long, giraffe-like necks are an ultimate sign of beauty.

- In China, Thailand and Japan, being pale as a porcelain doll is considered beautiful. In Japan, women avoid the sun, while in China and Thailand; women are whitening their skin with skin-care products. Whitening skin was a thing before whites even came there.

- Maoris in New Zealand, take face tattoos.

- In Mauritania, being overweight is beautiful. That what SJWs like you love. My God, that’s cultural appropriation! Majority of overweight SJWs are white, so they have to go lose weight quickly!

- In Iran, surgical bandages are the most beautiful thing ever. It’s a sign of their social status and their path on the route to beauty.

- In India, women decorate their skins with beautiful paintings for festivals and celebrations.

- In Japan, stick straight hair has always been a norm and a sign of beauty. Again, noting to do with white people.

If white skin tone holds the standard for beauty, these beauty standards I mentioned wouldn’t exist.

“5. White Privilege is never being told to, “get over slavery”.”

Because white slavery is never talked about in school. Believe me, if it was, we would get a comment like “Our enslavement was worse than yours, get over it.” White Brittish sailors were kidnapped and sold as slaves in Africa. White women have been sold to Arab sultans. Germanians and Gallians were enslaved by Romans. Europeans ran serfdom. And the term “slave” originated from Slavic language, because majority of the slaves were white. Read history.

“6. White Privilege is having the prevalence and importance of the English language and finding amusement in ridiculing people of colour/immigrants for their accents and their difficulty in speaking a language that is not their native tongue.”

English is important language, because it’s an international communication language. Whenever you’re white or not, you must to study it. And if you move to country where people speak different language (France, Turkey, China), of course you study their native tongue. I’m a Finn, which means my native tongue is Finnish. But I still have to study both English and Swedish, which aren’t my native tongues, because English is important and Swedish is compulsory.

“7. White Privilege is arrogantly believing that reverse racism actually exists.”

Reverse racism isn’t a real term. It’s just racism. And yes, racism on white people actually exists.

Are you denying how Brits referenced Irish as “white niggers” or how they can’t go to heaven because of their hair color? Or that how Finns were savages in pioneers’ eyes just like Native Americans? Are you saying white Romanians aren’t Romanians? Or Albert Einstein and Anne Frank weren’t Jews, because they’re white? Or Sami are less important, because they’re white? History has lots of examples of anti-white racism. In American universities, white people’s rights are limited because of their skin color. How that’s not racist? And what about BLM? They hold lots of anti-white ideals, shout anti-white slogans like “Hunting season on whitey” and have even committed crimes for them. Just go to YouTube or any other sites you know and see what bad things they have done. And Asia has the most racist people; they don’t allow non-Asian immigration at all.

You are racist for denying existence of racism on white people and saying only whites can be racist.

“8. White Privilege is being able to stay ignorant to the fact that racial slurs are part of a systematic dehumanization of entire groups of people who are and have historically been subjugated and hated just for being alive.”

More like vice versa: You can say “cracker” without being labeled as a racist. But if we say “nigger”, we are racist, even though we wouldn’t be.

8 mile, albino, blue-eyed devil, cracker, dog-fucker, egg, flour bag, gringo, haole, ivory, Johnny Red, lobster, maggot, nigger magnet, ofay, pig-fucker, redneck, serial killer, tornado bate, umlungu, vamp, white trash, yogurt and zeeb.

Guess what these are? Racial slurs against white people. And that’s not even all of them. You can view the whole list in rsbd.com.

“9. White Privilege is not having your name turned into an easier-to-say Anglo-Saxon name.”

My name isn’t Anglo-Saxon, it’s Finnish. Nordics also had to adopt Anglo-Saxon names to use when they were baptized to Christianity, which originates from THE MIDDLE EAST, not Europe. You’re not that special.

“10. White Privilege is being able to fight racism one day, then ignore it the next.”

If you oppose racism, you always oppose racism. If you support racism, you always support racism. Political side isn’t a piece of cloth you change every day. It’s on your side for the rest of your life.

“11. White privilege is having your words and actions attributed to you as an individual, rather than have them reflect members of your race.”

Actually yes. People can referenced for saying “that white person” or “that black person”, and there’s nothing wrong with that. People do that, because they want everyone to know who they are talking about.

12. White Privilege is being able to talk about racism without appearing self-serving.

I don’t understand. How is a black girl who’s taking about her misery self-serving? That doesn’t make any sense.

“13. White Privilege is being able to be articulate and well-spoken without people being surprised.”

Show me one case where non-white person surprised everyone for being intelligent, because I have never seen a reaction like that in my whole life.

“14. White Privilege is being pulled over or taken aside and knowing that you are not being singled out because of your race/colour.”

Morgan Freeman is known as his own person, and he’s black. People love him, because he’s wise and knows what he’s talking about. They don’t give a shit about his skin color.

“15. White Privilege is not having to teach your children to be aware of systematic racism for their own protection.”

My God, don’t make me laugh! Everyone can be racist towards everyone, that’s how human race works. Learn the definition of racism and stop being so biased. And if you’re afraid to go out, study self-defense or move to safer place.

“16. White Privilege is not having to acknowledge the fact that we live in a system that treat people of colour unfairly politically, socially and economically and choosing, instead, to believe that people of colour are inherently less capable.”

We acknowledge that as well. How do you think there are white people in anti-racist organizations, if they deny the existence of racism?

“17. White Privilege is not having your people and their culture appropriated, romanticized or eroticized for the gain and pleasure of other white people.”

Firstly, we’re not claiming we own dream catchers, sombreros or kimonos. It’s not cultural appropriation. It’s cultural appreciation. You’re confusing us with Hitler.

Secondly, Kim Jong-un claims he invented hamburgers and sauna to spread the propaganda about that how great he is. These two are from white cultures.

Thirdly,

- Medieval Age is romanticized all the time.

- There are overly sexualized Viking and Scottish outfits.

- German Oktoberfest leads tourists all around the world.

- Sylvanian Families toys romanticize 50s’ England.

- Italian pizza has become majority’s favorite food.

- Greek cheese, olives and wines have lost of popularity everywhere.

- Finnish “Ievan Polkka” and Swedish “Carameldansen” are hits in Japan.

All these examples are from white cultures. This should also be cultural appropriation, according to your logic. Over 90 % of everyday stuff we do is cultural appreciation. Don’t oppose cultural appreciation if you support multiculturalism, hypocrite.

“18. White Privilege is being able to ignore the consequences of race.”

That’s simply called being racist, not having white privilege.

I know what white people have done in the past, and as a white person, I’m sorry about it. But every race in the world history has done exactly the same thing, even to people of their own color. This doesn’t give you any privilege to be racist today’s generation because of that what their ancestors did.

As a Finn, I understand what your ancestors have faced. Finns have been oppressed by Swedes and Russians in their history. And also kidnapped elsewhere to slavery.

I don’t hate modern generation of Swedes and Russians, or descendants of other oppressors, because it’s not their fault what happened. Without them, Finland wouldn’t be what it’s today. I have forgiven that, because it’s in the past. You should do the same.

Sorry hun. With your claims you just proved me white privilege doesn’t exist. That text was illogical, ignorant, arrogant and annoying, and it was difficult to take seriously. My final rank is 0/5.

Poverty rate (change percents into numbers): https://www.kff.org/other/state-indicator/poverty-rate-by-raceethnicity/?dataView=undefined&sortModel=%7B%22colId%22:%22Other%22,%22sort%22:%22desc%22%7D

History of Ireland: http://www.libraryireland.com/HistoryIreland/Title.php

History of Finland: http://motherearthtravel.com/history/finland/index.htm

History of Poland: http://www.intopoland.com/poland-info/history-of-poland.html

Finndians: https://brucemineincident.wordpress.com/related-places-of-interest-2/finndians/

Sami people: https://intercontinentalcry.org/new-finnish-forestry-act-could-mean-the-end-of-sami-reindeer-herding/

Barbary slave trade: https://face2faceafrica.com/article/the-shocking-history-of-enslavement-of-1-5-million-white-europeans-in-north-africa-in-the-16th-century

Ottoman Empire: https://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/religions/islam/history/ottomanempire_1.shtml

Mongol Empire: https://qph.fs.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-13e0517e00721e2bcff06236f46edc75

Armenian Genocide: https://www.history.com/topics/world-war-i/armenian-genocide

Political oppression in Iran (as far as I know some Iranians have white skin): https://www.hrw.org/world-report/2017/country-chapters/iran

Nazis and Jewish Holocaust: https://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10008193

Anti-Semitism: https://www.britannica.com/topic/anti-Semitism

German culture: https://www.livescience.com/44007-german-culture.html

French culture: https://www.livescience.com/39149-french-culture.html

Russian culture: https://www.livescience.com/44154-russian-culture.html

Commercial of Japanese toys: https://image.rakuten.co.jp/ribbon-m/cabinet/epoch/sylvanian/dh-05_01.jpg

Sign which says “No Spanish or Mexicans allowed”, and as far as I know, Spanish people are white. http://www.texasstandard.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/03.Photo_No_Mexicans_Allowed1.jpg

Video about enslaving Slavics (Note: It’s a two-parter): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IILgM74iYZQ

Yes, racism against white people exists in South Africa. I don’t play favorites here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jq0GReiZyKc

McDonald’s in the Middle East: https://delhi4cats.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/saudi-queu.jpg

Asian little girl eating pizza: https://d3jkudlc7u70kh.cloudfront.net/children-eating-pizza.jpg

Black kids celebrating St. Patrick’s Day: http://annandamy.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/St.PatsParade_kids.jpeg

POC woman in Viking outfit: https://images.halloweencostumes.com/products/22657/1-1/womens-forest-princess-costume.jpg

Ievan Polka from 1937: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myzO3eZh22E

Ievan Polka from 1952: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L8fW2n_ma9Y

Original Caramelldansen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBOWWbCf-KU

That’s all, folks.

#white priveledge #cultural marxism #cultural appropriation #anti sjw #anti pc #sjws are cancer #sjw cringe #sjw logic #sjw stupidity

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journalofsportsmedicine · 4 years

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Juniper Publishers-“Soccer Hooligan” Studies: Giving the Marxist Approach another Chance

Abstract

In this article I review key studies in the academic literature on soccer hooliganism. This review does not aim to be complete because this literature is voluminous and growing day by day. The academic theories can be divided into: the early-dominant "figurational” or "process- sociological” approach of Dunning et al.; the "anthropological” approach of Armstrong and Harris; the post-modern approach of Giulianotti; the Marxist approach of Taylor, Clarke, and Hargreaves; the "ethogenic” approach of Marsh; the "psychological reversal theory” approach of Kerr; and the historically sensitive / historical approaches of King and Robson. Later in the article I revisit the Marxist theoretical perspective, originally associated with Ian Taylor. I argue that, although Marxist perspectives are now unfashionable throughout academia, this perspective still has something to offer.

Keywords: Australian soccer; Crowd behaviour; Football hooliganism; Marxism; Melbourne Knights; Neo-tribes; Soccer hooliganism; Sports history

Abbreviations: ICF: Inter City Firm; IMF: International Monetary Fund; MCF: Melbourne Croatia Fans; NF: National Front; BNP: British National Party; BBB: Bad Blue Boys; NSL: National Soccer League; IRA: Irish Republican Army

Introduction and The Punk Rock Connection

In this article I review key studies in the academic literature on soccer hooliganism from the UK and around the world. This review does not aim to be comprehensive or complete as this literature is growing day by day. I also consider the growing number of popular "confessions” books written by ex-hooligans. In fact, the legendary "black Hammer” turned author Cass Pennant seems to be the main culprit [1-4]! A large number of these confessions books have been written since the hooligan scene wound itself up in the late-1980s. Later in this article I revisit the Marxist theoretical perspective, originally associated with Ian Taylor. I argue that, although Marxist perspectives are now unfashionable throughout academia, this perspective still has something to offer.

Several authors touch on the fascinating intersection between punk rock music and soccer hooliganism. Pennant [1] considers the case of punk rock bands Sham 69 and Cockney Rejects whose East London identifications are well known. These East London identifications made sense within the punk rock scene which has always had a sociologically informed emphasis upon place which can be traced back to the Sex Pistols and the SEX shop run by Westwood and McLaren at 430 The King's Road, Chelsea [5,6]. Local East London historian John G Bennett (who led a "Jack the Ripper” guided tour I attended in Whitechapel on 10 June 2010) cites Sham 69's song "George Davis is Innocent” from the band's debut album 1978’s Tell the Truth: "They're never gonna leave you alone / They’re never gonna leave you alone / You know where you bloody live / East London is your home!” 1As Sham 69 was in fact from Hersham in outer south-west London, this song suggests that East London had by 1978 become a romanticized spiritual locality uncontainable by its actual geographic boundaries. However, despite song lyrics such as these, the close links between West Ham United's Inter-City Firm (ICF) and band members of The Business, Cock Sparrer, Cockney Rejects, and Sham 69 are less well documented. A famous picture shows the Cock Sparrer band members proudly posing inside the gates at West Ham's Upton Park stadium2 . As Pennant [1] writes, this known link between certain East London punk bands and West Ham's ICF resulted in Cockney Rejects’ concerts in the Midlands becoming sites of soccer-related violence3 . Moving on to today, Cockney Rejects released a very moving new single and videoclip on 11 April 2016 titled "Goodbye Upton Park” about West Ham's permanent move from the Boleyn Ground to the London Olympic Stadium4 .

It is important to point out that British soccer hooliganism, like British punk rock, was a unique product of time and place. Peter Marsh 1978 explains as follows: "aggro always reflects, in the particular form it takes on, the social forces of a given era”. Sociologically soccer hooliganism belonged to the 1970s and 1980s, the time when the post-war "consensus” between the two major political parties had broken down; unemployment was rising appreciably for the first time since the end of World War II; the Labour Party under the late James Callaghan faced the indignity of enforced civil service cuts under an International Monetary Fund (IMF) austerity package; and (later) Mrs Thatcher's economic rationalism and anti-trade union stance rendered life much more difficult for what remained of the industrial working-class [6]. Even in a different era in the UK hooliganism may not have happened or probably would not have happened. Key authors such as ICF leader Cass Pennant and Portsmouth 6.57 Crew’s Rob Silvester are happy to talk about hooliganism in the past tense although some firms, especially those from outside London, still operate on a regular basis.

Pennant and Silvester [3] suggest that socio-economic conditions and cramped housing today in Cardiff mean that alienated young gang members will continue to gravitate towards Cardiff City's Soul Crew. This point is somewhat surprising, within the overall context of their book, given that Pennant and Silvester [3] point to the harshness of life in Portsmouth as a factor behind the size of Portsmouth’s firm in the 1970s and 1980s but then argue that hooliganism is a fashion which Portsmouth youth have lost interest in. Why then did Portsmouth youth view hooliganism as a passing fashion but Cardiff youth view it as something more integral to their lives? Pennant and Silvester's statement is not necessarily incorrect but it does suggest areas where more detailed research is needed to shed light on regional characteristics and anomalies.

The article is also informed by the author’s group interview with Melbourne Croatia Fans (MCF) Pave Jusup and Kova at Melbourne Knights FC, Sunshine North, Australia conducted on 11 January 2011.

Popular and Academic Theories of Soccer Hooliganism

Dunning et al. [7] outline the major "popular” theories of hooliganism put forward by non-academics in the media and politics. After this they outline the main academic approaches used by the academic researchers. The popular arguments tend to be difficult to shed light on through empirical research and hence difficult to conclusively accept or reject. No doubt most of them contain some degree of correspondence with reality. Another point to note, highlighted in Dunning, et al. [7] review chapter, is that some of the popular theories contradict each other. For example, the theory that hooliganism is due to unemployment appears to contradict the theory that hooliganism is due to affluence. The popular theories are as follows: soccer hooliganism is caused by: "(1) excessive alcohol consumption; (2) violent incidents on the field of play or biased and incompetent refereeing; (3) unemployment; (4) affluence; and (5) 'permissiveness'”.

The academic theories can be divided into: the early- dominant "figurational” or "process-sociological” approach of Dunning, et al. [8,9]; the "anthropological” approach of Armstrong [10,11]; the post-modern approach of Giulianotti; the Marxist approach of Taylor, Clarke, and Hargreaves; the "ethogenic” approach of Marsh [12]; the "psychological reversal theory” approach of Kerr; and the historically sensitive / historical approaches of King and Robson (cited in Dunning, et al. [7]). Of the important Australian researchers, cultural studies author John Hughson can be grouped with the Anthropological School or its close-relative the Ethogenic School while sports historian Roy Hay, a stalwart of the North Geelong Croatia club, belongs to the historically sensitive approach.

The anthropological studies, whilst not denying the importance of social class to an understanding of hooligan associations and behaviours, move away consciously from the Marxist position that would portray hooliganism as simply another form of working-class resistance. A Marxist position might either view hooliganism in a very positive light as straightforward working-class protest or shift to the neo-Marxist stance of the philosophers of the 1960s Theodor W Adorno and Herbert Marcuse who emphasized how the working-class had been bribed and co-opted to serve capital and how challenges to the system as a whole were diverted to ends that were either unproductive or blatantly served capitalism. The neo-Marxist position might then point to hooliganism as a basically negative and reactionary phenomenon whereby members of the working-class waste energy and resources fighting among themselves. Hooliganism could then be interpreted as a form of fascist behaviour in a society where the working-class revolution never happened. This analysis could be supported by the unfortunate association of some hooligans with the National Front (NF), British National Party (BNP), and other organized fascist and borderline fascist groups. This alleged fascist connection has been viewed as important by some authors in the case of Sydney United's Bad Blue Boys (BBB) which has in the past revered Croatia's World War II leader Ante Pavelic. In various places Hughson [13-17] has explored at length the issue of the extent of actual fascism within the BBB.

Dunning's Theory of “Fault-Lines”

Dunning [8] theorizes that soccer violence occurs around a given city or region's "fault-lines” which might be class-based (as in England); religion-based (as in Glasgow (Flynn [18])); ethnic-based (as in South African soccer and Australia’s former National Soccer League (NSL) (1977-2004)); or regional-based; or city-versus-country-based5. The equivalent term to "fault-line” within Maoist theory might be "principal contradiction” [19]. In Portsmouth we see fault-lines which are class-based but also centre on the classic city-country divide whereby Portsmouth fans believe that their city and its residents are laughed at by Londoners due to their perceived country backwardness and lack of fashion sense.

Interestingly, Pave Jusup and Kova of Melbourne Croatia Fans (the current hooligan firm of ex-NSL club Melbourne Knights) distinguish Melbourne Knights' "political” rivalries with Yugoslav communist clubs such as Footscray JUST and Serbian clubs such as Springvale White Eagles with the (nonpolitical) "football” rivalries with old NSL clubs such as the Italian community's Adelaide City Juventus and the Greek community's South Melbourne Hellas (group interview with the author, Sunshine North, 11 January 2011). Pave argues that the rivalries with Adelaide City and South Melbourne are "nonpolitical” since they resulted simply from on-field events such as Melbourne Knights' grand final defeats at the hands of those two clubs rather than to Italian-Croatian or Greek-Croatian issues.

Attempting to transplant tension caused by one fault-line to a place where that fault-line is not dominant creates comical or ridiculous outcomes such as when Rangers supporters chant "we’re up to our knees in Fenian blood” in the freezing, half-empty stands at Inverness Caledonian Thistle in the Scottish Highlands (where Irish immigration has been minimal). Rangers and Celtic find it difficult to market their clubs overseas, and especially in Asia, where the religious fault-line of Catholic-versus-Protestant has not been a part of the religious histories of those countries most of which have non-Christian majorities [20].

Melbourne Victory A-League fans in Australia have attempted to label Sydney FC "Scum” (while Adelaide United is the "Pissants”) but this has not been altogether successful. It may well have been an attempt by English or Scottish Melbourne Victory fans to replicate the Portsmouth versus Southampton rivalry in Australia since Sydney is also the neighbouring club "just up the coast” from Melbourne. These same Victory fans might then have felt somewhat silly given that new club Melbourne Heart, cross-town rivals to Victory, began playing in the Southampton jersey of red-and-white vertical stripes (before being bought by Manchester City). Will the real Scummers please stand up?

Dunning's Theory of Fans' Identification with and Pride in the Team

Dunning [8] theorizes that working-class people identify with their football team to the extent that they feel pride and self-respect when the team does well and loss of pride and loss of self-respect when the team does badly. Regarding Australia's ethnic soccer clubs in the former NSL (which was replaced by the A-League in 2004-05 [21], Lynch [22] write that: "Nationalistic loyalty also played a part: a club victory could take on the stature of a ‘victory’ for a homeland, just as a defeat was also somewhat about loss of national face”.

The strength of these feelings of pride / loss of pride is based on the degree of the person's identification with the team and with the district and the number of interests that she / he has outside of soccer. For the person with strong identification with the district and few outside interests, the pride or loss of pride felt when the team does well or badly is at the maximum level. This theory can explain the strength of the ICF and Millwall’s Bushwhackers during the 1980s as these two clubs are based in the poorer and more stigmatized and isolated regions of East London (West Ham) and south-east London (Millwall), rather than in the west or north. In another Cass Pennant book, about the proto-West Ham united firm Mile End Mob from the pre- ICF era, Millwall fans are derisively termed "gypsies” [4]. Fans' identifications with the club and district merge here with class identifications and perspectives.

Furthermore, West Ham’s performances have generally been disappointing to fans over the past 30 years. However, the team did manage to avoid relegation for the main years of the casual firms, 1981-86. ICF lead man Bill Gardner [23] has said that the West Ham fans of the 1970s and 1980s were dispirited and felt a loss of pride because of the first XI's poor showings and lack of effort; this inspired the ICF to become the strongest football firm in the country. The fans felt a lack of respect from other Premier League team followers, and this was a more severe blow than if the club had actually been relegated and performed highly among a less capable set of teams.

In addition, the 6.57 Crew's activities became more committed and serious in the late-1970s when the Portsmouth club was rapidly falling through the divisions. Having had the unique and rare experience of rapidly falling through the divisions, Portsmouth fans in the 1970s were especially touchy. Frequent violence became necessary in order to restore the universe to its rightful order in the fans' own eyes and to ensure that the firm and the city were accorded proper respect by rivals [10,24]. Portsmouth's on-field experiences also meant that Portsmouth hooligans experienced hooligan firms in all the divisions which increased their profile. Armstrong [10] writes that Sheffield United and Sheffield Wednesday hooligans had the same experience as well as the reverse experience of their team being promoted.

Pennant and Silvester [3], consistent with the "popular" unemployment theory of hooliganism, point to the layoffs and decline in work prospects on the Portsmouth docks in the 1980s and suggest that it was a factor fuelling the growth and activities of the 6.57 Crew if only in the sense that it gave people more "free time" to attend away and mid-week matches. Several names are given by Pennant and Silvester [3] of key 6.57 Crew members who suffered unemployment in the city in the 1980s.

Fluid "Post-Modern” "Neo-Tribes"

Next I move on to review the ethnographic academic research on hooliganism that began in the 1990s with two landmark PhD theses, one in the UK by Gary Armstrong on Sheffield United’s Blades hooligan firm (later published as Football Hooligans - Knowing the Score) and one in Australia by John Hughson on Sydney United’s Bad Blue Boys NSL firm from the early-1990s. Subsequent articles by Hughson [13-17] synthesize key findings of these two studies and relate some of Armstrong's key findings to the unique context of south-west Sydney's Bad Blue Boys (BBB), a group of Croatian-Australian teenagers who are, or perhaps were, hardcore supporters of the former NSL's Sydney Croatia club (which was renamed Sydney United in the 1990s). It should be pointed out that these "anthropological" authors have been criticized on a number of grounds by other academic researchers (see, for example, Dunning, et al. [7]). Armstrong [10] has also criticized the early-dominant Leicester University School approach of Dunning and Williams.

Using the anthropological approach, Armstrong [10] focuses on the disorganized nature of Sheffield United’s Blades' firm and the fluidity of group membership. People come to and go from the Blades according to the needs of their lives at particular stages and no-one is ever "bound" to the Blades in any sense. People connected with the Blades acknowledge that hooliganism is an acquired taste and a profession at the edge of even hardcore fan support [24]. Armstrong [10] talks in terms of fluid "postmodern" "neo-tribes" and this terminology and its associated logic is taken up by Hughson in his ethnographic study of Sydney United’s BBB. Armstrong disputes the hegemonic theory of the police and the media that hooligan firms are extremely organized armies. The popular hooligan literature, including Pennant and Silvester [3], largely supports Armstrong's observation.

Armstrong [10] points out that firm allegiance is bounded and held in tight check. It is generally subordinated to ordinary relationships so that a Blades member would put to one side (or suppress) his hostility towards Sheffield Wednesday’s "Owls" hooligans when relating in the normal way to friends, family members, and work colleagues. When Blades and Owls meet outside of match days the context is often ambiguous and people have to determine whether this is a "football context" where fighting is justified or not. When groups of Blades or Owls invade each other's pubs on London Road or West Street on a Friday night this is a football context whereas if Blades or Owls are socializing with women or with non-hooligan mates this is not a football context and so football-related violence is unacceptable.

Similarly, Blades and Owls rarely meet outside of the football season [10] because such meetings are ambiguous and hard to interpret as being football-related. Armstrong (1998, p. 268, emphasis original) writes as follows: The raison d'etre of the Blades was a football match, and a collective identity more or less died outside the football season, to be resurrected at the early August pre-season friendly games". On the other hand, it was possible for the Blades’ collective identity to assert itself as dominant at gatherings outside of the football season such as a marriage celebration and a 30th birthday celebration. Armstrong [10] states as follows: "Blade identity could therefore be automatically sustained away from the club and the match in other contexts that did not need a game of football [nor even the football season]".

In one-club cities, such as Aberdeen, Airdrie, Cardiff, Leeds, Middlesbrough, Motherwell, Newcastle, Portsmouth, Sunderland, and Swansea, firms have often been stronger than in two-club or multiple-club cities because identity of club and city are conflated and this simplifies matters. It also reduces the chance of having to relate regularly to opposition firm members in ambiguous non-football contexts. Armstrong’s [10] book shows that the priority of Blades football-wise was always to confront Owls and these confrontations often occurred on Friday nights in and around city-centre pubs when visiting club supporters from outside the city had not yet even arrived in Sheffield for their Saturday fixture(s). Dunning, et al. [7] claim that one weakness of Armstrong's [10] work is his failure to take into account sufficiently the special reality of Sheffield as a two- club city.

The "Phases of Hooliganism" Theory (Leicester University School)

I now move on to discuss the "phases of hooliganism" theory as outlined in various places by Dunning and his Leicester University School. In the first phase, Dunning argues that violence mostly involved attacks on players and officials. It emerged from uncontrolled passions inspired directly by events on the field [25]. This type of violence, referred to as "spectator disorderliness" by Roversi and Balestri [26], was not preplanned. Duke and Slepicka [25] explain that, in the pre-1946 or pre-communist era in the then Czechoslovakia:

"Most of the crowd incidents ... were match related. Attacks on players and officials were characteristic of football spectator behaviour in the first Czechoslovak republic. Battles between groups of rival fans were not common, and there were no reported examples of the police coming under attack from gangs of fans”.

After the 1960s "core football hooliganism” emerged in England which was rival gangs of super-fighters intent on fighting each other; in this phase the violence was often pre-meditated [25]. Through a process of diffusion, the English hooligan style aka the "English disease” diffused firstly to Western Europe in the 1970s [25,27] and later to communist or post-communist Eastern Europe. In the then Czechoslovakia, Dunning's second phase did not diffuse into the local setting until the mid-1980s. The reason for the slow diffusion was "because of the relative isolation, restricted media coverage and rigorous repression under the communist regimes”.

Duke and Slepicka [25] also allege that communist rule was associated, especially in its early years, with a reduction in all types of soccer violence. Spectator disorderliness decreased from its pre-communist levels and core hooliganism started much later and on a much lesser scale in the then Czechoslovakia compared to Western Europe. Duke and Slepicka [25] attribute this to mass communist repression being effective in its early years but declining in its effectiveness by the 1980s. It was not until the 1990s that the new Czech Republic experienced its first cases of fan attacks upon police. Overall, Duke and Slepicka [25] concludes that "developments in the Czech Republic occurred later both in terms of the degree of organisation involved and the nature of the violence”. This suggests that hooliganism diffuses at different speeds and to various extents to different regions and that some types of hooliganism are never diffused to some locations.

The Leicester University School's "phases” theory has been developed beyond that discussed in Duke and Slepicka [25] and explained in the previous paragraph. According to Dunning, et al. [7], there were three phases of English soccer hooliganism in the post-war era. Firstly, in the 1950s and 1960s, "the conflicts on the terraces were interpersonal in character, took place mainly in the soccer grounds and on trains, and were for the most part directly related to the outcome of the match”. Secondly, during the 1970s, "football hooliganism was transformed into mass violence, which took place outside as well as inside the grounds and took the form of violent collective, or crowd, behaviour”. During the last phase, since the 1980s, "hooligan violence has been displaced from the grounds and diffused into city centres, suburbs and even further away from the ground itself and may take place independently of the outcome of the game, for fighting can begin before or after the game and can continue for a long time”.

It is better to view these phases tentatively as suggesting a broad trend line and they should not be taken too literally There was fighting outside of English grounds in the 1970s although, in that era, attempting to take over the opposing fans' end was an important ritual. Roughly, and in terms of fashion, the second phase was the "skinhead era” and the third phase was the "casuals’ era”. Portsmouth hooligans, interviewed by Pennant and Silvester [3], talk of an away game ritual which involved going first to a pub near the main train station and then heading to the city-centre looking for the rival firm or sub-gangs of that firm. Fans taking the 6.57 train would reach London by mid-morning and the north of England by 1pm so violence could occur well before the standard 3pm kick-off time. The timing of the violence and the entrance to the away team’s city became important parts of strategy which began in the 1970s but which were further refined in the 1980s. Another key element of strategy was exiting at a different train station than the one expected and then walking the rest of the way. Attempts to take ends died down as a fashion by 1980 as security and policing methods improved.

In Pennant and Silvester's [3] book there are chapters that discuss what the Leicester University School refers to in terms of fighting taking place in "city-centres” or "suburbs”. Fights in London would occur frequently, either on a pre-mediated or a spontaneous basis, as supporters of south-of-England teams returning from a day in the north would all arrive back in London at Euston Station. Here they would also meet north-of-England hooligans who had followed their team down to London or to the south coast [10]. Portsmouth fans, before returning to the south coast often in the early hours, would congregate in the evenings around Covent Garden before heading to Waterloo Station. As a result, fights also took place in these three locations [10,24].

Portsmouth supporters were also sometimes involved in hooliganism at matches not involving their club. This was not commonly done by other firms (except for the ICF, Millwall, and Hibernian's Capital City Service) and it shows a higher level of both strategic thought and determination to engage in confrontation. The 6.57 Crew would sometimes attend Millwall home games to trouble the home fans or otherwise go to the hated Southampton to join forces with the away team firm. This was more often done in cases of early or late kick-offs for the Portsmouth game or as spontaneous last-minute responses to cancelled Portsmouth matches.

The Leicester University School's "phases” categorization fails to take into account the alleged general hardening up of attitudes and behaviours in England which took place around 1974. We recall that Pennant and Silvester [3] nominate 1974 as a key dividing year in terms of attitudes. Perhaps the 1950s and 1960s phase should be seen as extending as late as 1974.

If there is a fourth phase to be added, for the 1990s and 2000s, I suggest that it might be called the "internet era”. In this extremely self-conscious and politically-correct post-modern era, past events are mythologized, rationalized, and justified online and in the pages of the myriad cheap-paperback "confessions” books penned by now 40-year-old or 50-year-old ex-hooligans. In the present era violence is reserved for a few important strategic self- and others-defining clashes such as West Ham versus Millwall and Arsenal versus Tottenham. Only the uncool northerners or Welshmen continue with hooligan activities on a regular basis. Armstrong [10] ends his book by describing how Blades would sometimes in 1997 watch games at pubs close to the Bramall Lane ground partly as a protest against rising ticket prices. This is the beginning of, in Armstrong’s words, "post-fan" behaviour. Armstrong's data ends in 1997 and so we do not how the Blades are functioning in the new millennium. Generally rising season ticket prices and the rising cost of train travel have meant that the demographic of football support has changed while improved policing methods are a further factor in creating disinterest in hooliganism.

The Sub-Gangs

The various sub-gangs of the 6.57 Crew had their own very informal structures and usually people spent time within their own sub-gangs unless they were split up in unforeseen circumstances in which cases the "lost" people would hook up with other sub-gangs. Each sub-gang was associated with a particular government housing project in or on the periphery of Portsmouth. Each sub-gang also had one or more key pubs on its territory from which people would depart from and return to on match days and congregate in at other times. The formation of football crews as amalgamations of neighbourhood gangs may have had a side-effect in certain cases of reducing violence between such neighbourhood gangs. Marsh [12] explains as follows: "By channelling the competitive hostility outwards towards the tribe on the other side of the [usually metaphorical] hill, social bonds within one’s own group are reaffirmed and maintained".

Armstrong [10] also produces very interesting data in the form of a list compiled in April 1987 of 190 Blades with ages, occupations, and criminal record (if any) listed. He classifies these into sub-gangs and some of the sub-gangs might have had as few as two or three members. Larger sub-gangs which were part of the Blades include Old Lads, Drug Squad, Suicide Squad, Max's Coach Blades, Villagers, and Rotherham Blades. These last two groups were the most obviously separate since their outside-of-Sheffield locations influenced how they viewed themselves, other Blades, and other firms, and also influenced their willingness to fight. They felt that certain City Blades were too close to certain City Owls and hence sometimes not willing to confront them. Clearly, the out-of-Sheffield Blades were more idealistic and less pragmatic than the City Blades. Being from outside-of-Sheffield it was easier for them to cause trouble and then run away to the relative safety of Rotherham or their villages. Armstrong also recounts the interesting and ironic case of Rotherham Blades fighting Rotherham Owls or outside supporters and, in doing so, defending the honour of a city they do not live in.

Casual Nature of Group Ties

Armstrong [10] emphasizes the casual nature of group ties and the recognition that a person was not morally bound to the firm in any way if he / she decided to give up football or give up hooliganism as part of a natural evolution within his / her own personal life. Some people might "come out of retirement" for big matches against the Owls or if a confrontation came to them. They would often continue to go to games and London Road Friday night pub sessions but sit with non-hooligan mates or sit with Blades but not leave the pub to meet a challenge outside. Generally, Hughson’s research of BBB supports this. He tells the humorous example of one Croatian-Australian hooligan with his girlfriend being ridiculed by the group for his love interest to the extent that over time he, and others in similar positions, disappeared to the fringes of the group or left it entirely. This hooligan was taunted by the Croatian word for "slippers" which signifies domestic bliss and a certain married lifestyle. Key members of the BBB at Sydney United and the MCF at Melbourne Knights believe that one's obviously displayed loyalty should be to the gang, to the soccer club, and to the Croatian community. The fault-line here is the ethnic and religious tension between Croatia and Serbia [21,28]. An additional fault-line today is between the Croatian-Australian youth at MCF, and successor firms to the BBB in Western Sydney such as South West Firm and Edensor Park Ultras, and "mainstream" assimilated and Anglo- Celtic Australians who support "non-ethnic" A-League clubs, Australian Rules, and / or rugby league clubs .

Giving the Marxist Approach Another Chance

I believe that the Marxist approach can be restored if it is sufficiently nuanced and applied directly to specific localized contexts rather than left to remain in the form of generalizations applied to the whole of a society. The study of Portsmouth FC by non-academic authors Pennant and Silvester [3] opens up with some insightful sociological rumination by the author pair, the ICF’s "black Hammer", Cass Pennant, and Portsmouth 6.57 Crew’s Rob Silvester. Their book Rolling with the 6.57 Crew includes the usual stream-of-consciousness discussions of key matches by a number of different authors grouped together in chapters according to team played and other headings. These long quotations, all in italics font, tend to run into each other and, since they are anonymous, it is hard to be sure how much credence to give to them. They tend to describe only events and people's feelings about the events in hindsight. Since there are so many events, for non-participants reading the book, they tend to run into each other and the incidents become indistinguishable and forgettable. The in my opinion, more interesting sociological rumination is left to the two principal authors and especially to the book's opening pages.

The interesting sociological question, in my view, is why a seaside city of 200,000 inhabitants produced one of the best and largest hooligan firms in England whereas neighbouring town Southampton had hardly any firm to speak of? Silvester argues that Portsmouth being a navy town gives it a completely different character to Southampton which is a town of farmers. After World War II large numbers of high-rise council tower blocks were built in Portsmouth and in various estates located at the fringes of the city. These were designed to house military officers returning from the war. Portsmouth was a convenient location to house these people. The city now has a very high population density among cities of a similar population in the UK. All of these facts have produced an alienated proletariat or lumpenproletariat (to use the traditional Marxist terms) in the council housing estates. These estates contributed their own sub-gangs to Portsmouth's 6.57 Crew in the 1980s. Each subgang was based around one or more pubs located usually within but sometimes just outside each council estate. Pennant and Silvester [3] also talk about navy people marrying Portsmouth girls and remaining in the area permanently thus increasing the percentage of the population with military attitudes and training as compared to other population centres.

The inter-generational hatred in Portsmouth towards Southampton is indicated by the nickname "Scum” or "Scummers”. Pennant and Silvester [3] indicate just how widespread this is by telling an anecdote of two elderly men in a Pompey (Portsmouth) pub. One has a newspaper in front of him and says to the other: "I see the Scummers lost again last night”. Although one might think the origin of the name is lost in time, Pennant and Silvester [3] trace it to a strike on the Portsmouth docks defeated by the importation of non-union "scum” labour from Southampton. This indicate the original class basis of Portsmouth’s residents' dislike of the inhabitants of their neighbouring town.