so I’m kind of a sucker for Redemption Equals Death because it’s sad and I’m a sucker for sad. but I also…idk, sometimes I wish it weren’t such an overwhelming trend, not only because All My Faves Wind Up Dead but also because…I want to see more villains actually going through the hard, messy work of redemption, that it can’t just be done and over with, that it’s not as simple as One Good Heroic Act and everything is better.
I want the awkward and painful and difficult aftermath.
like, what I really want is the villain seeking redemption who is genre savvy enough to go for a redemptive death, figuring that’s their best way out – and who survives, and has to live up to what they meant to be their last act.
rather than death as the end of a redemptive arc, near-death as the beginning of one.
Back in college, Sanket and I would hang out in bars and try to talk to women but I was horrible at it.
Nobody would talk to me for more than thirty seconds and every woman would laugh at all his jokes for what seemed like hours.
Even decades later I think they are still laughing at his jokes. One time he turned to me,
“the girls are getting bored when you talk. Your stories go on too long. From now on, you need to leave out every other sentence when you tell a story.”
We were both undergrads in Computer Science. I haven’t seen him since but that’s the most important writing (and communicating) advice I ever got.
What bothers me is that people are continuously surprised by things like this. If this shocks you, if you feel amazed, then you have been a victim of the erasure of the true legacy of POC. The real truth is, that in the history of this country and species humans of all skin tones were absolutely indispensable, and that the horrifying trials of the slave trade produced some of the strongest human beings this planet has ever known. That people are surprised to learn that there were men and women of tremendous fortitude, quality and skill, is very sad to me. But…I am glad that many have refused to let these facts about the past die.
My concern is that by being placed in this constant narrative of “Look at this striking story that isn’t ever taught as the critical, integrated piece of information that it is” will mean that the erasure of Black, First Nations, and Latinx culture will continue to happen. Especially in this current political climate. That children know of Wyatt Earp, and not Bass Reeves is a travesty, and it won’t change as long as white culture continues to discount black stories as being unnecessary to tell, as being ADDENDUMS to white stories.
Why aren’t children taught of Robert Smalls? The slave who commandeered a confederate ship, sailed it with a crew of slaves through hostile waters to join the union fleet, and then became a South Carolina State Legislator, founded the Republican party in that state (a division which I am certain not only wishes to erase this legacy but also spend a great deal of time working to actively forget it) penned legislation to begin public education in that state, and eventually bought the plantation house in which he was born and raised.
Do your research. Stop being surprised by the exceptional people who have come before. Expect that every POC around you is an incredible and unique person, and that most of them face a daily and constant dismissal of them, imagine what that must feel like. Learn your history, and make certain these stories are not only preserved, but taught alongside all the other stories.
If you ask me, and you might, Reeves and Smalls did far more in their lifetimes of importance and merit than their more illustrious white counterparts. And yet, few people seem to remember they existed.
That is a tremendous disservice to their legacy.
Since the history books fail to teach Bass Reeves, it falls upon Drunk History. This is a pretty good summary of the amazing work and unrecognized legacy of the real Lone Ranger.
ok so let’s talk a bit about jobs vs passion. my last fulltime job was at a big game development studio; the kind of job you’re (supposedly) passionate about. most of my colleagues adored the games we made, and so they didn’t care that the company had a major diversity problem, that our salaries were below average, that we didn’t get overtime compensation yet stayed ‘til 11PM more often than what’s healthy, and that the company promoted an unhealthy alcohol culture. because we were passionate. this was the kind of job you grow up dreaming about; don’t go throwing it away because some colleagues are harrassing you or because you get no recognition for your efforts!
for more than a year I was tired. stressed. in constant pain. my anxiety was through the roof. I worked on these “dream projects” and I felt dead inside.
when I quit that job I started freelancing as a writer. I got some really good jobs. I also got a bunch of small-time, low-paid, “hey at least your name is on it so isn’t it enough to pay 10$ for this text?” kind of jobs.
with the typical millenial housing situation of an apartment that I could barely afford on a fulltime pay and a constant stream of job offers that were underpaid I spent four months doing what I love, while constantly overwhelmed by stress. my insomnia got really bad, and when I managed to fall asleep I would dream about my bank balance. I would dream of losing whatever stability I had left in my life, simply because I couldn’t afford a “normal adult life”.
and so, today I got a job. it’s a fairly standard QA job at a medium sized game development studio. unlike any other game companies I’ve been at they offer humane working conditions. they don’t expect me to show up too early and stay too late because I’m passionate. the hours are nine to five, and they disapprove of overtime. the pay is slightly above average, and I get health benefits. I’ve been through several interviews, and at no point has someone tried to belittle my career or tried to convince me to work for less than I’m worth.
for the first time in many years of my career, I’m happy. I’m at ease. I applied for this job because I wanted to get away from the passionate part of the industry. I wanted a job where I could go home at five and dedicate my freetime to my own writing projects. I wanted to work at a place that didn’t eat my heart and soul and energy as I contributed to projects that wouldn’t even bear my name in the end credits.
so what I’m trying to say is that there’s nothing wrong with having a “normal” job. you’re not giving up on your dreams if you take a job outside your main interests. if it offers stability in your life, it’s enough.
This really resonates with me because I left the architectural industry last year. The hours were unreasonable, work stressful and devolved into the new projects filling me with dread. My boss kept hinting I wasn’t doing enough, I wasn’t passionate enough… I finally left, and after a difficult half year, I finally found a job outside the industry. It is not a dream job, and it is not where my passion lies, but the work lets breathe. And I tell you, I now value “breathing” over “making my dream come true” any day.
if you have a job that you can do reasonably well without intense stress and leave at the office when you leave, you can actually spend as much free time as you like Making Your Dream Happen
like, yeah, you can settle down in a cafe on sundays and write your novel, because you have that time carved out and you can afford it. you can put extra money towards materials for your sculpting project. save up for a kiln or fancy paints or whatever. get a gopro and convince your friends to act in your arthouse zombie movie on the weekend because it’ll be fun.
dreams can be dreamed on many levels. jobs only have to be successful on one level, and that is the level where you make enough money to live your goddamn life.
Yacouba Sawadogo is an exceptional man – he single-handedly managed to solve a crisis that many scientists and development organizations
could not. The simple old farmer’s re-forestation and soil conservation
techniques are so effective they’ve helped turn the tide in the fight
against the desertification of the harsh lands in northern Burkina Faso.
Over-farming, over-grazing and over population have, over the years,
resulted in heavy soil erosion and drying in this landlocked West
African nation. Although national and international researchers tried to
fix the grave situation, it really didn’t really make much of a
difference. Until Yacouba decided to take matters into his own hands in
1980.
Yacouba’s methods were so odd that his fellow farmers ridiculed him.
But when his techniques successfully regenerated the forest, they were
forced to sit up and take notice. Yacouba revived an ancient African
farming practice called ‘zai’, which led to forest growth and increased
soil quality.
OK LEMME TELL YOU STRAIGHT UP ABOUT OSKAR SCHINDLER.
Everyone knows the story, right? His protected workers? How none of his ammo worked? The full story is a lot more complex and a hell of a lot more breathtaking.
He wasn’t a saint. in fact, he was a bit of a douche, all things considered. Whored around on his wife, worked for the Abwehr, he was a member of the nazi party – not a particularly devout follower, but because he was a big fat remora fish who realised this particular shark could give him business opportunities, and if he wined and dined the upper crust that scored him even better ones. He realised very quickly he could make an absolute killing on the black market and dove in headfirst with the profiteering. Hell, he initially hired Jews in his factory because nazi strictures made them much much cheaper labour than hiring normal Polish labourers.
But the thing is, once you start surrounding yourself with a particular, persecuted demographic, you begin to notice things. You hear things, things you aren’t insulated from. You begin to realise something.
And Oskar Schindler began to dimly grasp what was happening and he realised that it was not something he could countenance. And his whole gameplay changed.
He no longer wined and dined for business opportunities, but to protect his workers. He went flat out fucking balls to the wall to rescue a group of his workers from the jaws of Auschwitz, and built them a “camp” that offered at least the barest of human comforts, right under SS supervision. He moved his entire fucking factory to save his workers, he realised an SS-provided list of names was left with blank spaces and just started filling in more. He blew everything he had made profiteering and scheming to protect 1200 people because he found that there was a fucking line and it had to be drawn. He arranged for three thousand Jewish women to be moved to textile factories in the Sudetenland to give them a chance of surviving the war. He blew all his money, resources and time on feeding, caring for and trying to protect as many Jews as he could.
After the war he failed every business venture he tried. He became a raging alcoholic, surviving on donations sent by Schindlerjuden. According to some, he traded the ring gifted to him by his workers for Schnapps. He died in relative obscurity, almost penniless.
He wasn’t a great man, or a saint. He was an average schmuck, and spent most of his time fucking around until he abruptly found himself in a situation where he couldn’t. He almost stumbled into his decency. But once he had, he absolutely took hold of it, and directly because of him 8,500 people are alive today.
Never, ever doubt the ability of a single human to RISE.
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