#Othering
Note
Back when Encanto came out, I remember some girl made a post saying that she didn't understand why she hated the character Pepa so much. Then she realized it was because Disney reused Mother Gothel's character model for her. Disney has made a generation of kids subconsciously hate women with facial features like Gothel. Awesome.
Oh my god, that’s awful and messed up. Disney stans say this but then claim that gothel isn’t a harmful character and that people are imagining things.
Tangled was a mistake.
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I’m frankly amazed how quickly people are willing to dehumanise entire peoples and nations.
It’s quite frightening.
They call them rats, animals, pests, filth, monsters, beasts, apes, diseased, plague carriers, fleas, children of darkness (fucking main character shite), and many other sickening things.
It’s amazingly predictable stuff but no less sickening any time it happens.
These people have children, families, dreams and ambitions of their own. And you’re content to just view them as cattle to be slaughtered.
Amazing.
I guess some fuckers never change or learn anything from history.
And if they do they all too often seem to learn the wrong things.
How predictably inevitable.
I feel SICK!
Before anyone asks, NO, this sentiment does not apply to Nazis or any other fascists. The least those pigs deserve is a bullet.
#dougie rambles#personal stuff#vent post#fucking hell#bigotry#racism#hatred#conflict#war#fucking morons#dehumanising#dehumanisation#othering#fuck’s sake#sick shit#history#despicable#yes this is about Armenia and Azerbaijan#among other things#shut up#anti fascism#leftism
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Dark Forest Resident: Cliffprance
Aliases / Nicknames: Cliff, Clifffoot
Gender: tom
Sexuality: grey-pansexual, demiromantic
Family: Pebble (mother), Flail (father), Shellsmoke (mate), Redpoppy, Icykit (daughters), Croakpaw, Junipercloud (sons), Roachfreckle (mate, formerly)
Other Relations: Bluemouse (mentor), Dappledlight (wet nurse)
Clan: ThunderClan (formerly), WindClan (formerly)
Rank: rogue (at death)
Characteristics: curious, easily amused, likes telling stories (formerly), cold, emotionless, prefers silence, likes being left alone (currently), bossy, has constant joint pain
Murder Motive: vengeance
Number of Victims: 23
Number of Murders: 19
Murder Method: leading into wars, tricking into wars, have other cats fight for him
Known Victims: Dappledlight, Galepaw (accidently), Agavepaw, Roachfreckle, Flail (indirectly), unnamed foster sister, unnamed warriors, unnamed kits, unnamed apprentices, unnamed elders
Victim Profile: Clan cats [WindClan, ThunderClan], rogues
Cause of Death: redcough
Cautionary Tale: The kit rejected by the Clan will be the one to burn it down.
Story:
It is a long told saying, passed from mother to kit, father to brother, or mentor to apprentice. As generations passed, it became unclear of its origins. Did it start with Cliffprance? Or had his story simply been a result of the cats in his life neglecting to heed its warning:
The kit rejected by the Clan will be the one to burn it down.
Anyone who had met the tom when he was just a kit had been horrified to see the monster he had became, and anyone who had suffered in his reign of terror would refuse to believe that even he had once been an innocent, sweet kit.
In fact, many point to his very first murder, committed when he was only six moons old.
Cliffkit and his father, Flail, were welcomed into the Clan after he had just been born. His mother died while kitting, and between being unable to take care of him on his own and the rising aggression in the other loners, Flail had no other choice but to seek help.
The Clan was strongly against outsiders, but turning them away would go against the code. Flail was determined to prove himself and his son, which meant that he spent most of his time out of the camp to hunt, patrol, or gather supplies. Cliffkit, meanwhile, spent most of his time with Dappledlight, the queen that reluctantly and begrudgingly nursed him.
She was not his true mother, blood or adoptive or anything else, and she was keen to make sure he remembered that. She would growl and push him away if she thought that he was drinking too much milk so that her own kits would have enough, and she would make him sleep in another nest because she didn't want his loner-sickness spreading to her litter, only allowing him to sleep beside them when the nights were especially cold, though that was only because she got in trouble for neglecting his health when he caught whitecough.
Cliffkit was able to make friends in spite of this, and, surprisingly, his days in the nursery were the best he would experience in his entire life. Maybe if things had gone differently, if he hadn't made that one mistake that would lead him to a dark and bloody path, everything would have been better.
Perhaps it would have been better if it was his blood that spilled.
Cliffpaw didn't mean to do it. He and Galepaw were best friends! They had been excited to train together....but then Cliffpaw's muscles began to spasm. He knew what was happening, but he couldn't control it. His legged kicked out--
Cliffpaw only had a moment to stare in shock, horror, and dispair before Galepaw's mentor, Harefern, tackled him to the ground, hissing angrily in his face words that Cliffpaw's mind was racing too fast to understand, clawing at his pelt before Cliffpaw's own mentor finally bothered to pull him off.
He was shunned after that.
Cliffpaw's nest was pushed closest to the entrance, far from the others. Bluemouse, his mentor and Dappledlight's mate, hardly allowed him to train with the others following the incident, and on the rare chance that he did train with another apprentice, his once-friends would call him a murderer, and state that they didn't want to be killed as well.
Had they ever loved him?
Was his kithood filled with lies?
They now treated him the same way as the warriors did, if not worse. They spit awful words in his ears and poked fun at his lack of Clan heritage. Cliffpaw couldn't stop himself from wondering if they had always held these thoughts toward him...if they only bothered to be nice because Galepaw was nice to him. Now Galepaw was dead, because of him....
He tried to explain to them, to his mentor, the leader, anyone, that it had been an accident, that his muscles shake sometimes and he couldn't control it. But they pointed out that Bluemouse and Harefern would never had allowed the battle training to continue if that were the case, and neither mentor stepped in to corroborate his story, two worried for their own backs, because yes, of course they would have stopped the fight.
Bluemouse's lessons grew more violent. He had been assigned as Cliffpaw's mentor because of his strong prejudice towards outsiders. Duskstar had said that it was because Bluemouse would push him the hardest. Cliffpaw would later believe that that was just an excuse to allow one of his warriors to beat up the useless loner-blood.
The worst was when Cliffpaw began to spasm again. Whether they lasted seconds or longer, Bluemouse would kick at him with his claws unsheathed, demanding he cut it out.
Cliffpaw would beg Flail several times to leave. Though Flail loved his son and tried to protect him, he said that since they joined the Clan, rogues had entered the territories around the Clan, and that it was safer here than anywhere else.
Shortly after their conversation, Agavepaw offered Cliffpaw extra lessons. Cliffpaw happily agreed, all too eager for a friend. But when the two were alone, Agavepaw accused Cliffpaw of being part of the rogue gang, being sent here as a spy.
Cliffpaw was startled, and nothing he said could reason with her, not when her grief for her father--killed recently by the rogues--blinded her to his innocence. She leaped, bit and clawed--he had no choice. He was only defending himself.
Their words rang in his head.
Murderer!
Rogue scum!
Monster!
Killer!
Were they right? He was a killer...he killed two cats....he was a murderer.
But there was another voice, a burning flame that turned his tears to ashes.
They deserved it.
He dragged the body back to camp, explaining that they were attacked by one of the rogues. More than a few cats were skeptical, but it made enough sense for them to believe his story.
That didn't make things any easier for him. The apprentices hated him now more than ever. They refused to speak to him, to so much as eat near him.
The first was an accident.
The second was in defense.
But the third would be when his murderous deeds became fully and utterly intentional.
Bluemouse took him on a solo border patrol. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that, Bluemouse rarely allowed him to patrol or train with others, stating that he didn't want his foul stench to stain anyone.
They spotted a squirrel in a thin, flimsy tree. Bluemouse ordered Cliffpaw to go after it. Cliffpaw didn't protest--he had learned by now that it only lead to him being cuffed around the ear, or worse. His body weight caused the branches to bend dangerously, and his heart had raced--but when a yowl split the air, he realized he was lucky to be in the leaves.
He watched as three rogues attacked Bluemouse, pulling at him and slicing at his fur. They were clearly having fun as they bit, jumped away to avoid Bluemouse's swinging paw, and jumped back to bite him again.
Cliffpaw's alarm melted into dark pleasure. His heart was still racing, but differently now. It pounded in a way he never wanted to end, the thrill at seeing Bluemouse's pelt be torn to shreds bit by bit, the satisfaction as his angry growls became painful whimpers...Cliffpaw wished the show would never end.
When the rogues were long gone, he left the tree, gazed happily at Bluemouse's corpse, and trotted back to camp. His story this time was that Bluemouse got tired with him and sent him back to camp early. Since that already happened many times in the past moons, no one batted an eye.
Cliffpaw's apprenticeship had already been extended two moons for Galepaw's death, and now with his mentor dead, Duskstar saw no point to letting it go on any further. He named Cliffpaw Clifffoot. Of course he did. Even with Bluemouse gone, Cliffpaw couldn't forget.
The cheers of the crowd were low and half-hearted, all but Flail's, who shouted it to the Stars.
Clifffoot tried not to care. He didn't need them. They were too weak for him. But though the darkness had gripped its ugly claws in his heart, it still ached to belong, to be loved, to just have one friend that wasn't his father.
After his vigil, he spent the day curled alone in his nest and crying into his paws.
Whenever his emotions were especially getting to him, he would send silent prayers to his mother. He had never been able to meet Pebble, but Flail had talked about her often enough for Clifffoot to picture her perfectly in his mind. From there, his imagination built her more and more, as he pretended she was curled around him or watching him play so that he had someone other than his father to talk to.
That day was no different. Alone in the den, his shaking voice called to her, begging for her forgiveness as he cried that he didn't want to be a monster. He begged her to take him from this place, something he had begged of her many times in his kithood, when he pretended that someone was curled around him in the nursery. But like all the times before, there was nothing but silence.
He was dumbfounded when Shellsmoke, a pretty she-cat, confessed her feelings for him. He had thought that everyone in the Clan either hated him or tolerated him, so he met Shellsmoke's words with skepticism.
But the more time they spent together, the more open he became. It took a moon, but finally Clifffoot was able to realize and accept that he loved someone and someone loved him.
Someone loved him!
Curse StarClan for taking that away.
Moments before a rainstorm broke, a patrol returned with her bloodied body, stating that rogues had attacked and killed her.
Dappledlight spoke up first, voicing her doubts of Flail's innocence--who had been on the patrol. After all, everything had been fine until 'those two' arrived, then suddenly cats were dying like flies and rogues were getting bolder.
Her words were quickly joined by her remaining kits, Clifffoot's once-friends who now demanded he be exiled into the unknown.
With so many warriors against them, Duskstar listened and sent the father and son into exile.
Flail was determined to keep his spirits high. He told Clifffoot not to blame the Clan, that they were scared and needed someone to blame. Clifffoot didn't listen, too bitter to. He didn't even get a chance to grieve for his mate before he was kicked out just because of his origin.
Flail began to say something else dull and supposedly encouraging again when the pair were jumped. They hissed and clawed at the rogues, and when they were shoved to the ground, the weights were lifted and they found themselves facing Clan cats. Different Clan cats.
Flail thanked them, and right when he was about to introduce them, Clifffoot stepped in and announced them both as kind loners--Flail and Cliff--looking for shelter from the rogues.
Flail privately questioned him after they were welcomed, but Cliff figured that they wouldn't have as high a chance if they told them the truth. How would they explain why they were exiled, and how could they prove their innocence?
It was only luck that Duskstar decided to keep the loners a secret from the other Clans, and that the rain had washed most of the Clan-scent from their fur.
All was peaceful, at least on the surface.
Cliff's Clanmates were warmer, though still wary due to the rogue attacks. They were still willing to share prey and a den, and when they patrolled with him, they were more than happy to engage in small talk. One of the cats, Roachfreckle, even asked him to be her mate! He agreed, only to keep up the appearance of a trusted Clanmate. One of them.
But he wasn't. He spent too many seasons having that lesson beaten into him.
It could have been a second chance for Cliff to finally live happily.
But it all came too late.
He was denied a mother that loved him.
He was denied a mentor that didn't take every opportunity to beat him.
He was denied littermates, blood or otherwise, that cared for him.
He was denied friends.
Even before he was born, he was denied health.
And when he finally found love, it was struck down from him and he was kicked out of his and his father's home.
Cliff couldn't easily forget.
He couldn't easily forgive.
All his life, he was pushed and pushed and pushed, each shove adding a sliver of ice to his heart. There was no longer warmth, no longer affection, and there was not a single trace of the gentle kit he had once been. It was all frozen, forgotten and buried, and there was nothing left but bitter resentment--resentment for his old Clanmates, resentment for the rogues that first caused their distrust, even resentment for the Clanmates he had now, and for his father that hadn't even noticed how much pain his son had suffered. They were all worthless, and they all deserved to die.
It was the only logical next step, wasn't it? After all, he was already a murderer in seemingly everyone's eyes.
He didn't care if he was killed, and that kept fear at bay. It was why he could take some extra prey from the pile late at night, when he was the only one awake--sitting guard.
With no terror against the rogues and what they could do, he walked through the moors unbothered until he came across a scent trail. He followed it, growing larger and larger until cats sprang out and demanded what he was doing so close to their home.
Cliffprance spat what he carried to the ground and offered them the food.
While they eagerly ate, Cliffprance noticed how skinny they were. Bones with a veil named 'cat.' It was no wonder they were crossing over the borders. They must have been starving!
Cliffprance tried not to show his delight at seeing their suffering. He hated the rogues just as much as the Clan cats.
The leader of the small group introduced himself as Domino, and questioned Cliffprance's reasoning for helping them. Cliffprance told them the truth, part of it at least. He told them that his parents had been starving just as they were, and that he, too, suffered by the Clans' cruelty.
The more they talked, the more he learned.
As far as these rogues--'loners' they called themselves--knew, they only tried to hunt, but anywhere there was plentiful food, there were Clan cats who chased them away. Of course, some of the loners became aggressive. Wouldn't anyone who was desperate to eat? And with more cats becoming aggressive, less Clan cats were tolerant of the remaining loners.
Cliffprance offered them help.
He would be their 'saviour.'
He snuck out food to them once a day, whenever he could sneak out. With that, he gained their trust. More and more cats heard about the generous Clan cat offering meals, and more and more cats trusted him with their lives.
He spent moons feeding them, talking to them like they were buddies, and soon enough, training them to fight. You know, in case those Clan cats give them trouble.
Slowly, he planted the seeds.
First it was just a thought, a joke, a random thing. "I wonder why Clan cats think they're so much better than everyone else. Can't they see others are starving?"
Then it was feeding their resentment. "I can't believe anyone would turn their backs on those that need help! How cruel can they be?"
Then it was hypothetical. "What would you do if you could say something to a Clan cat, other than me?" "What would you do if you could take vengeance?"
Then it became planning.
But while the gears were still turning, voices became doubtful. Domino was the most loud of them all.
Cliffprance had to show them that harming the Clan cats was the only way, while squashing all doubt.
He acted distressed when he returned to them one day with food and they told him that Domino had been killed by the Clan! They had found him with his throat slit, a mouse in his jaws. He only wanted to feed them--there weren't even any signs of a fight! They just jumped him without warning him or chasing him off! They wanted him dead!
Things became incredibly easier after that. Moons of being chased away from good food that they desperately needing, of being torn into for 'trespassing,' and now for being killed, all for being different than a precious Clan cat made all of the loners, rogues, whatever, willing to follow whatever Cliffprance said that they needed to do in order to serve justice.
He didn't want to attack all at once. Instead, he lead the occasional patrol in a certain direction, and would return home panting and distressed that the rogues! The rogues had attacked them!
Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to lead all of the patrols that died. Sometimes, he happened to be out at the same time and told them of this great place for hunting he found the other day.
It was only after two and a half--the final patrol was just two cats--were killed that Featherstar declared that no cat should leave the camp unless accompanied by four of their Clanmates. Cliffprance figured that that was a good enough time to strike.
He lead the rogues under cover of darkness, their scent hidden by the lavender fields they rolled in.
Cliffprance took out the guard before she could raise the alarm, his identity as a fellow Clanmate allowing him to get close enough before she realized something was wrong.
Every den was attacked. The warriors, the elders, the medicine cat, the queens and even their kits were thrown into the fight.
If there was one thing that Cliffprance had convinced the rogues of, it was this:
the Clans had to be culled.
Flail had looked at his son with such horror, begging, asking why he was doing this.
Cliffprance only stared at him coldly, maintaining unblinking eye-contact as Flail was jumped.
Then, when he was satisfied with the damage--he yowled into the air. "ThunderClan! Retreat!"
The trick had worked.
After they had rolled in lavender, the rogues caked themselves completely in mud. Their scent had been disguised and so too their appearance. Cliffprance had given them the names of his old Clanmates to use during the attack. "Duskstar, over here!" one cat would say to another.
WindClan had believed that Cliffprance--and possibly Flail--were traitors all along, sent by ThunderClan to infiltrate them. The irony. That's just what ThunderClan used to think of them.
Cliffprance only had to sit back and watch gleefully as WindClan and ThunderClan tore each other apart.
He returned to the ThunderClan camp one day, while most of the warriors were away in one of the many battles. Any remaining cats that tried to force him away were easily beaten by the five rogues that accompanied him.
Cliffprance followed Dappledlight's scent and found her, amazingly, in the nursery. But she wasn't the one that had had kits. No, the vile she-cat was an elder now and merely visiting her daughter, one of Cliffprance's foster-littermates-turned bully.
Cliffprance didn't do the killing himself just yet. No, he sat back, wanting to watch the carnage as well as the horror on both she-cats faces as the rogues did what had to be done to their kits. Only after bathing in the cries of their anguish did Cliffprance rise to silence them.
Now both Clans knew of Cliffprance's horrid actions. Both knew he was a monster--not the kind they imagined him to be. No, he was much, much worse.
But the battles would continue a while longer before either Clan figured the connection and realized that they had been tricked. Knowing now that they had a common enemy, they joined forced against the rogues.
But by then Cliffprance had already left.
He knew what was going to happen--he had known since the beginning, and he smiled as he walked as yowls rang out in the distant air.
All it took was a little bit of manipulation and he had started a war. Two, in fact, depending on how long the rogues lasted.
It was the fault of those filthy rogues that had ThunderClan distrust Cliffprance so much, and it was ThunderClan that had treated him like filth most of his life.
He only had to be friendly with one before he he got them to kill each other.
He knew that ThunderClan would live on, and so would WindClan--though with much smaller numbers. The rogues were more of a mystery, but he guessed one or two may live.
There was one thing that was certain:
they would not forget him anytime soon.
Additional Information:
--Cliffprance was a cat collectively created by many of us! Together, we designed him in Clangen and gave him his conditions, and decided via poll the range of his victim number. I decided to specify his story using some ideas from things that happened in Clangen.
These things include his father's name, becoming mates with the two named, and dying as Clifffoot (and me reviving him as Cliffprance and writing it as him being exiled and finding a new name that way).
You can see who did what here
--Base: Full Reference Cat FTU Base by Naxolite on DeviantArt
Yes I realized I messed up his foot placement on the refs.
--It doesn't show too much on these refs but he is a longhair!
--It didn't make it into the story because I couldn't find a spot that flowed right, but Cliffprance lost his paw in a training accident by a twoleg trap. Bluemouse likely left him there.
--I might explain it in a more detailed post, but basically some loners became more aggressive as they became more desperate. One accidently killed a Clan cat, causing many ThunderClan cats to hate them and become more violent when they chased them off, in turn causing the rogues to become more violent against them.
I might also make a thing where the ThunderClan cat was actually murdered and it was pinned on the rogues?
--While ThunderClan did majorly suck in not noticing Cliff's pain and not stepping in, many of them did not hate Cliffprance as much as he believed they did. But who could blame him for thinking what he did?
--Roachfreckle either died in the ambush or in one of the battles against ThunderClan.
#long post#long long post#super long post#cliffprance#wc loners#wc rogues#thunderclan#windclan#abuse tw#abuse mention#othering#child murder#kit death#wc#warriors oc#warrior cats oc#warriors#warrior cats#warriors horror#kinda?#dark forest profile#dark forest resident#dark forest oc#dark forest character#dark forest warrior#place of no stars#place of no stars oc#thunderclan oc#windclan oc#clangen
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Thinking About the “Othering” of Japanese Media
For those who keep up with Japanese video games, you may have heard comments from a prominent Japanese video game producer about how a certain term labeling a video game genre felt discriminatory in his own eyes. A recent Polygon article about that term made me think about how the Western media has “othered” Japanese pop culture media for as long as I remembered.
The producer I’m talking about is Final Fantasy XIV and XVI producer, Naoki Yoshida (known as Yoshi-P to his fans). Back in February 2023 in an interview, Yoshi-P said that the term “JRPG” (short for “Japanese RPG”) was considered discriminatory to him and his peers in the Japanese video game industry. Polygon took a look at how Japanese RPGs and JRPGs became a thing in the late ‘90s (starting with Final Fantasy VII’s North American release in 1997) and how media outlets in the West never seemed to take them too seriously. Even worse, the outlets shoved Japanese developers into a sub-category they never asked to be a part of once Japanese RPG popularity started to wane in the mid-2000s’.
After reading the article, I actually thought about manga and its perception when I first started reading comics. When I first discovered what manga was back in 1995, I learned about Ghost in the Shell from an issue of Wizard Magazine (a North American-based magazine highly dedicated to Western comics). The first thing that came to mind when I read what Wizard wrote was that it had a cybersex scene and very adult in nature. My mind was somewhat blown since I was in 7th grade at the time. Now that I think about it, almost 30 years later, I wonder if Wizard was trying to say that Japanese creators were super-perverted compared to Western creators. I still remember a non-fan a friend of mine met at Otakon one year who asked “Isn’t anime sexual?” when inquiring bout anime.
With regards to manga, for most of its history in the overall comics world, it has been othered in the U.S. due to how successful it’s been in reaching out to “non-traditional” comics-reading audiences. Statements like “Oh, it’s just a fad!” and “Manga doesn’t have dedicated buyers (i.e. adults with disposable income) like Western comics does!” were thrown to discredit manga’s popularity. Christopher Butcher (of Mangasplaining/TCAF fame) talked about this in a 2015 article on his website, which still holds some truth today. Even though manga sales have peaked around the pre-vaccine COVID time period, they are steady today. New York Comic-Con in 2022 had a substantial anime/manga presence compared to years past. Anime and manga can’t be ignored any longer.
Yet I know that some things haven’t changed in industry recognition. I will use the Eisner Awards as an example. For those who don’t know, it’s a prestigious awards ceremony that happens around San Diego Comic-Con every year and honors the best in comics. However, their recognition of manga is spotty. There has been recent criticism towards the Eisner committee for recognizing only the “hot” manga creators (i.e. the ones with best-selling manga titles on book charts). The best example I can give is Junji Ito. A lot of his works are nominated despite there being better works worthy of recognition out there. There has been some criticism in the manga circle I’m in about how Eisner judges/representatives don’t seem to take the time to explore the greater breadth of what manga has to offer in its new golden age.
Of course, when awards ceremonies like the Academy Awards don’t really seem to care much about praising Japanese pop culture media, what hope is there, right?
Which brings me to a point that the Polygon article elaborates on the West’s insistence on particular views of Japan.
“It’s clear that the mainstream only courts a specific idea of Japan as being acceptable — often reinterpretations of feudal Japan, largely spanning from the 1500s to late 1800s, when the samurai were still part of Japanese society.“
I do notice that Japan is supposed to be this “quirky” and “weird” place with wild imagination. If somehow a Japanese title has themes common in Western media/culture, but lacks the exotic style Westerners prefer, it’s sometimes heavily ignored in the mainstream eye. I don’t know. What do you guys think?
Polygon does mention that we’re living in some really good times with regards to Japanese video games being popular again. Many fans, including myself, know that too well. I enjoyed gaming again due to the variety of Japanese-developed titles that came out since 2016 (the start of the Japanese video game industry revival). I see parallels in manga and anime reception too. All of Japanese pop culture media is celebrated overseas. Fans that consume all things Japanese are living through amazing times.
That doesn’t mean that it’s going to last forever. I do know at some point, Western media will find new ways to scrutinize Japanese media and our time in the spotlight will fade again. Some degree of othering will always happen due to human nature and I know that we can use that term for positive purposes. Manga is about how “others” that are different from the norm can become celebrated by the world. Reading this post about manga reminds me that comics of any kind can cover any topic imaginable and definitely be made for “other” people to read.
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CIVANTICISM
Softhearted Compassion | Hardnosed Coherence
https://www.civanticism.com/
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It was because he wanted there to be conspirators. It was much better to imagine men in some smoky room somewhere, made mad and cynical by privilege and power, plotting over brandy. You had to cling to this sort of image, because if you didn't then you might have to face the fact that bad things happened because ordainry people, the kind who brushed the dog and told their children bedtime stories, were capable of then going out and doing horrible things to other ordinary people. It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone's fault. If it was Us, then what did that make Me? After all, I'm one of Us. I must be. I've certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them. We're always one of Us. It's Them that do the bad things.
Terry Pratchett, Jingo
#currently reading#the human condition#othering#us vs them#discworld#novel quotes#op#jingo by pterry#quotes#page 221 in 2013 paperback edition#sam vimes#book rec
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Speaking of empathy, considering Prey and all, I think part of why I don't trust the humans' framing of the Typhon as lacking empathy is due to a mix of things:
There are different forms of empathy and expressions of it. This is common with autism and other divergences from the norm, where the assumption is that the person lacks empathy, but the reality is that the empathy is there, it's just in a different form than neurotypicals expect. They're projecting very specific social mores as being the Real Way to Be Empathetic instead of acknowledging the social construction of those mores as a signal of those doing that song and dance as being Us instead of Them.
And, if I'm being frank, a concerning number of neurotypicals show extreme callousness and, ironically, a lack of empathy toward divergences, treating said divergences as being fundamentally broken and unworthy of existence. Which says more about how many seem able to just... turn off their empathy if they deem a group an Other. That's kind of the reasoning behind the process of dehumanization in general in humans, the stripping of personhood from other humans in order to make it easier to do horrible things to them because they don't really count as people...
The humans are using a myth ("mirror neurons" are kinda junk science) as the basis for assuming empathy is a specific way. It's a bioessentialist way at that, that presumes that empathy can only be had by virtue of a very specific way that you are either born with or not (unless you do some horrific Mengelian experiment to someone). Everyone that doesn't have it is conveniently then left out of true personhood.
They're refusing to empathize with the Typhon's perspective at all. I know if I was medically tortured and torn apart by people and kept in a tiny cage literally named "cage" with no stimuli, I'd start killing them as soon as I escaped, too, if I was trapped inside a spaceship with them.
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I feel the most affinity with Marriott’s writing when it illuminates blackness as a structural position, as an ontology rather than an identity or sociological experience, though the latter is usually what we mean when we say “race.” Too often our work is singularly focused on individual experience or relies on a Cartesian form of consciousness. Such work focuses on black people’s identities or stops at what black folks say about their experience without interrogating the conditions that make such speech possible and without interrogating the limits of consciousness itself. I worry that in this work, history and structure disappear. It is my view that the lives of black people of all genders are structured in the context of antiblack existential negation, but it is rare to have our position as shattered subjects theorized and even rarer for it to be theorized with deep attentiveness to gender and sexuality — as Marriott does. His scholarship speaks to the existential paradox of blackness, what I refer to as “existential negation” in this essay —namely, to have subjectivity while one’s subjecthood is constantly negated, one’s voice made inaudible by cultural fantasy, and one’s ego assailed by an Other that is inseparable from the self.[3] Marriott is known as an elegant theorist of psychoanalysis and culture. But I have been most struck by the ethics of his writing — in particular, by its ability to bring into focus the world’s collective disavowal of the violence subtending the production of blackness. This collective disavowal exists despite or because of the centrality of antiblackness for the production of the world’s sociality. The imagistic quality of the prose is the stuff of nightmares: the dread- inspiring quality of the unconscious life of race, a nightmarish vision of black men that has been imposed across the color line.
Zakiyyah Iman Jackson - Waking Nightmares—on David Marriott. [GLQ 1 June 2011; 17 (2-3): 357–363]
#zakiyyah iman jackson#david marriott#thinkers#intellectuals#theory#afropessimism#anti-blackness#subjectivity#othering#negation#psychoanalysis#blackness#existentialism
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In order to exploit somebody, you have to dehumanize them first. People think that slavery was the result of racism. But it was actually the other way around...In order to make slavery acceptable, you have to reduce the slave to something less than human...
Any means is justified to win the battle because they are evil and we are good. As long as our political culture is stuck in that, as long as we refuse to let the truth in, or any inconvenient truth in, because the narrative itself is a weapon... As long as that happens, we are never going to have coherence in the body politic. And we need coherence right now. This is the biggest problem facing the world. It's not climate change. It's not ecological disintegration. It's not the economic crisis. It's not even .the threat of nuclear war...The biggest problem is polarization. It is war mentality.
- Charles Eisenstein in The Secret to Changing the World (The Origin of Wrongness)
#q#quotes#charles eisenstein#interpersonal#sociology#discrimination#exploitation#conflict#mindful consumption#mindful living#mindfulness#holistic leveling up#leveling up#that girl#green juice girl#war mentality#othering#individualism#collectivism#solarpunk#yoga#ahimsa#karma#late stage capitalism#sidewalkchemistry
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Lucie breaking into the house — and promptly dispatching the family that lives within it — is also deeply violent, though in many ways it pales against the rest of the film. The Belfonds are initially introduced as a familiarly tropey, nuclear, white heterosexual family. There’s a mom and dad, two kids, sibling squabbles, parents getting a little fed up with their willful elder son, etc.
It isn’t long before they’re thrown into dealing with the intrusion of an “outsider.” The presence of said outsider already begins to expose some of the fault lines in a family that, in another film, would be a “perfect ideal.” This is a familiar storyline from many a slasher and home invasion film — I’d be here all day if I talked about the implicit queerness of slasher villains — as it’s the entrance of the “other” that starts to expose the rot lying underneath the “perfect” family.
— Zoe Fortier, Women and Queerness in Horror: Martyrs (2008)
#gettin tired of all horror talks havin 2 involve slashers but .still a good take#horror#Martyrs#Martyrs 2008#words#quotes#lee postz#lucie jurin#meta#horror meta#new french extremity#lgbt#lgbtq#queerness#on queerness#othering#nuclear family#queer
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Other Pride Flag
Othered: someone who belongs to the socially subordinate category of the Other.
Within LGBT+ perspective, people represented by the plus in the acronym are usually considered the "others" (it can be a reclaimed slur), but queer people as a whole can be othered, as well as any sociopolitically marginalized people as anomie in biopolitics.
Otherness, othering and alterity are also conceptualized in philosophy and psychology. Similar to subalternization in postcolonial studies and critical theory.
#othered#othering#otherness#other#others#subaltern#philosophy#postcolonial theory#critical theory#poststructuralism#anomie#biopolitics#society#sociology#psychology#mod ap#lgbt+#anomic#marginalized people#marginalization#marginalised#otherkin#alterhuman
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“It’s all political, isn’t it?” The short yet surprising answer is yes, but the politics at the Eurovision Song Contest may not be what the general public understands political nature to be. Dr Jamie Halliwell looks at part of the politics of our Song Contest, the role 'othering' plays as part our Song Contest, and how it negatively impacts the public perception
#esc#eurovision song contest#eurovision#politics#voting#othering#representation#media#perception#terry wogan#europe#united kingdom
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Othering, scapegoating the vulnerable and minorities to distract from failings of the government has been around for centuries. It is one tradition that this government would do well not to continue. The brave speak out.
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"Nudists are the most non-judgemental and accepting people on the planet!"
No we're not. We're just people like everyone else.
We are the most non-judgemental to fellow nudists and most accepting of fellow nudists on the planet. So, just like every other group.
Before I was a nudist, I was an Evangelical Christian. (Some people are both of these things at the same time, but they didn't overlap in my life.) I can tell you that to Evangelical Christians, fellow Evangelical Christians are the most accepting people on the planet -- despite how very different they look from the outside.
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When I was eleven, a group of twelve-year-olds at my intermediate school took it upon themselves to deconvert me from Evangelical Christianity and, in particular, to cure my Christianity-induced phobia of sexuality and nudity. They told me they were Satanists, and they were going to drag me into the girls' toilets and force me to look at girls' bodies.
I was terrified beyond words, to the point that I couldn't bring myself to go outside at lunchtime that day, and when a teacher told me I had to go outside I broke down in tears, and this led to the twelve-year-olds being yelled at and made to apologize (in very blasé tones, I might say), and the threatened intervention never happened.
At the time, of course, what I thought was "What horrible people non-believers are! How they hate us! And how blatantly they revel in obscenity!"
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But, you know, it's really strange. As soon as I left Evangelical Christianity, suddenly there were hostile Evangelicals everywhere. Members of my former church followed me down the street haranguing me about my salvation.
On the internet, which was becoming a Thing around that time, it was even worse. Suddenly the Hateful Right-Wing Christian Fundamentalist wasn't the baseless stereotype we'd always assured each other it was.
There wasn't social media then, but there were forums for getting into arguments with strangers on. Christians arguing with atheists lied and obfuscated, spouted insults and threats of violence.
It almost came to seem as if Christians were the horrible people and the non-religious were the nice ones.
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On any side of any kind of dispute, people have this ingrained idea that their own side are better, nicer, more moral people than their opponents.
It's maybe clearest and funniest with shipping wars in fanfiction. I swear, I have seen people say, in full seriousness, "Zutara shippers don't abuse and threaten others. Only Kataang shippers do that."
It makes me want to buy a megaphone and yell in their ear, "Your own side don't abuse or threaten you, but that's not because they don't abuse or threaten anyone, it's because you're on their side."
And now I've figured that out, I can't un-figure it out. I see it in every political dispute at every level of importance.
This is why (e.g.) so many Evangelical Republicans can't believe their fellow Evangelical Republicans did the January 6 insurrection -- because from their point of view, Evangelical Republicans are the good guys, and the good guys would never.
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Nudists, naturists, whatever you want to call us, are no different.
Six or seven years ago, the naturist organizations where I live had some kind of falling-out with each other. I've still never heard the full story of what happened; I only know that one side invited me back to their events and the other didn't.
Not long before that there was an international falling-out in the world of naturism when Sieglinde Ivo got voted out as president of the International Naturist Federation, only to have the vote overturned the following year.
This is not how the most accepting people on the planet would behave. It's how averagely accepting people behave.
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The We Are Good And They Are Bad mindset is on track to kill us all if we let it. And I'll admit that We Are Good And They Are Meh is not as bad as that. But I think it's better to practise thinking We Are People And They Are Also People.
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I’ve had people accuse me of being “unpatriotic” in the past.
Yeah.
Maybe I am?
So what?
My politics are above petty jingoism or loyalty to a nation. (In that I look at the bigger picture)
Or to a people.
Besides, many people in my country view me as some kind of unwanted undesirable “other” who shouldn’t be trusted, no thanks to partitionist thinking AND neurotypical ableism!
Why should I be patriotic knowing that a good deal of my own supposed “community” would sell me out at the first chance they get?!
Most of my so-called people have a sickening herd mentality and they scorn and ridicule anyone like us at the first chance they get.
It must be nice to HAVE a community what’ll defend you and each other.
But I’ll never know!
Because folks like us are always left to fend for ourselves and then get called criminals or terrorists for trying to do so!
Fucking hell.
#dougie rambles#personal stuff#vent post#political crap#ireland#northern ireland#Partitionism#partition#fucking hell#fucking morons#neurotypical ableism#fuck’s sake#fucking Neurotypicals#othering#bigotry#ableism#autistic#autistic things#actually autistic#being autistic#neurodivergent#autism#community#or lack thereof#bullying#leftism#internationalism#irish republicanism#brainrot in action#human cattle
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