farming unions

At 87, Dolores Huerta is a living civil rights icon. She has spent most of her life as a political activist, fighting for better working conditions for farmworkers and the rights of the downtrodden, a firm believer in the power of political organizing to effect change.

And yet, her role in the farmworkers movement has long been overshadowed by that of Cesar Chavez, her longtime collaborator and co-founder of what became the United Farm Workers of America union. That’s true even when it comes to credit for coining the movement’s famous slogan, Sí se puede — Spanish for “Yes, we can” — which inspired President Obama’s own campaign battle cry and has often wrongly been attributed to Chavez. (Obama acknowledged Huerta as the source of that phrase when he awarded her the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2012. She talks about its origins below.)

Dolores, a new documentary from director Peter Bratt, aims to finally set the record straight.

Dolores Huerta: The Civil Rights Icon Who Showed Farmworkers ‘Sí Se Puede’

Photo: George Ballis//George Ballis/Take Stock/The Image Work

Children of farm workers! Please don’t let your parents struggles go unnoticed! The hardest thing for undocumented workers is to speak out; whether it be from fear or embarrassment, which is why their children, our youth, need to demand justicia. Especially for our our hermanas who have been sexually harassed out in the fields. Survey says 90% of the farm working women in California have listed sexual harassment as a major problem. These women are exploited and traumatized. An Equal Employment Opportunity Commission lawyer in Fresno, CA said that hundreds and thousands of women had to have sex with supervisors to get or keep jobs and/or put up with grabbing and touching and propositions for sex by supervisors. Undocumented female farm workers are often times too scared to speak up for fear of getting deported. We have to be the voice, we have to speak up for them and let their stories be heard. Give them a chance to demand rights and let them be heard. Use your platforms. These are not just some immigrants picking your food, these are real people.
Romania's peasants: standing in the way of foreign investors making a lot of money | Luke Dale-Harris
Luke Dale-Harris: The other side of the 'Romanian invasion' is Bucharest opening its land market – to the detriment of the local farming economy
By Luke Dale-Harris

Amid the hysteria surrounding Romanian immigration at the beginning of this year [2014], something crucial was forgotten: borders open both ways. As the English tabloids were throwing a tantrum about the impending “Romanian invasion”, the would-be-intruders were preparing for an invasion of their own: 1 January 2014 marked the day when Romania’s honeymoon period as a new EU member came to an end and, under EU law, the country was obliged to open up its land market to foreign investors.

As a country with almost 5 million peasant farmers – a quarter of the population – this was a matter of serious concern. The peasant farming economy has long been eroding under the open-market policies pushed by the European Union and the Romanian state. Squeezed out of the market by the agri-investment giants who take the bulk of the EU’s common agricultural policy subsidies, small farmers are facing a difficult choice: sell up and move west to look for work, or hold tight and navigate a life of increasing rural poverty.

But this isn’t really new. Over the past decade, almost 1 million hectares of Romania’s land have been bought up by foreign companies, using legal loopholes left open by the state. As part of Romania’s transition from communism to a modern, neoliberal economy, the movement of peasants off the land has been billed by the government as an inevitability, a hitch on the road to becoming a prosperous, western economy. Eventually, the government insists, everything will level out: the old will die off and the young will move away. This, as Achim Irimescu, the former secretary of state for agriculture, puts it, is “the natural solution” to Romania’s peasant problem.

Yet this isn’t social policy but market mechanics, the amalgamation of Romaniainto a global economy that is driven solely by the accumulation of wealth and facilitated by politics. Peasants are an obstacle to this because they are not great wealth producers, yet they are the owners, collectively, of a resource that is worth a lot to investors – land, and everything that lies below and sits upon it. The antipathy towards peasants is motivated purely because they are standing in the way of a few people making a lot of money.
skywalker and sky-walker - dirgewithoutmusic - Star Wars Original Trilogy [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death

anonymous asked:
What if Luke and Leia were “switched at birth” (or rather, the difference is how they were split)? Prince Luke Organa? Leia Skywalker?


When she is nine, Leia sits her uncle and auntie down and, small face screwed up with determination, asks for an increase of her allowance. She has prepared points and counterpoints. She cites both local and intergalactic codes of labor law.

Her uncle frowns at her for a long minute once she’s done. She holds his gaze, stare for stare, chin untrembling, because that’s how he’d taught her to when they went to barter for parts at Toshi Station.

“Alright,” he says.

“My bedtime should be pushed an hour later, too,” Leia tries and her aunt laughs and tells her to go do the dishes.

When Leia is twelve, she organizes all of the children of local farms into a union. Their parents think they’re kidding until they hold their first strike.

Star Wars Rec List for Maggie’s friend and other fanfic newbies who have only ever watched the original trilogy

@avelera sweet fanfic sis who had the unluck to ask for fic recs from a rabid sw fan *blows kisses*

Criteria: Star Wars gateway fic for people who haven’t really been exposed to fanfiction before and have only watched the original trilogy, gen or canon pairings only

no one can stop me, not even gravity or nasa by magneticwave

“Fuck you,” Leia says. “Who said anything about getting married? Did Luke say anything about getting married?”

“Luke is not involved,” Luke says, not looking up.

“Hey, Luke is not involved,” Han says, pointing at her. She’s going to bite his finger off, then they’ll see how much pointing he can do with it. “This is about you and me, princess.”

“There’s not going to be a you and me,” Leia says. “I’m going to have this baby with C-3PO.”

C-3PO says, “Madam,” tremulous.

A CLASSIC.  Definitely has been rec’ed before but I’m adding to this list bc I’m a completionist.  Wonderfully characterized Leia and great trio interactions overall.  

a pocket full of sand by philethestone

“I’m Leia Skywalker,” she says, and there is something unfathomably life-changing about that little declaration. “We’re here to rescue you!”

ANYTHING BY PHIL IS EXCELLENT TBH.  This is only the first in an entire series of fics and they are honestly all worth the read, the Skywalkers are happy and nobody is dead and sand trash child Leia will happily kick anyone’s ass.  If you’re interested in delving into EU territory their Organa-Solo kids fics [x] are also absolutely terrific.   

Double Agent Vader by fialleril

The one where Vader turned double agent for the Rebellion about three years after ROTS, and Leia is now his primary contact with the Rebellion.

This entire series is a Star Wars fandom mainstay and has inspired countless offshoots of fanfic, worldbuilding, and meta.  I would personally suggest starting with Decryption Codes [x] before starting chronologically because Leia makes a good introductory POV for someone who’s never watched the prequels, but almost any order works.  

skywalker and sky-walker by dirgewithoutmusic

anonymous asked:
What if Luke and Leia were “switched at birth” (or rather, the difference is how they were split)? Prince Luke Organa? Leia Skywalker?


When she is nine, Leia sits her uncle and auntie down and, small face screwed up with determination, asks for an increase of her allowance. She has prepared points and counterpoints. She cites both local and intergalactic codes of labor law.

Her uncle frowns at her for a long minute once she’s done. She holds his gaze, stare for stare, chin untrembling, because that’s how he’d taught her to when they went to barter for parts at Toshi Station.

“Alright,” he says.

“My bedtime should be pushed an hour later, too,” Leia tries and her aunt laughs and tells her to go do the dishes.

When Leia is twelve, she organizes all of the children of local farms into a union. Their parents think they’re kidding until they hold their first strike.

Short and sweet, another great take on the age old question of “what if Luke and Leia’s guardians had been switched?”

reincarnate by lupinely

Leia wavers. “I’m not like you, Luke.”

Luke’s face turns puzzled, bemused. Leia hurries to continue before he can stop her. “I don’t have a great destiny. I haven’t been to any swamps seeking old mentors, I don’t have Kenobi looking over my shoulder to make sure I do the right thing.”

“You’re my sister,” Luke says, and she doesn’t know how to make him understand.

OR: The one where Leia trains in the Force.

This fic is near and dear to my heart if only bc it shows the messy anger and unfinished business of the rebellion after their big victory on Endor; Luke is struggling, Han gets into fights, and Leia, well.  Leia trains in the Force.  Another great fic for trio dynamics and how the three of them support each other through difficulties.  

The Sith Who Brought Lifeday by ophelia_interrupted

An Imperial officer loses a bet and has to get Darth Vader a present for Life Day.  

WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN.  Immediately believable original characters that bring the bureaucratic humdrum evil of the Empire to life, wonderful writing, THE PREMISE.  Will leave you ugly laughing.  

renewal by ignitethestars

It’s the smallest ripple in the Force.

It happens every day. Significant on the individual level, but a hopeless mass of noise from a distance. Luke only notices this time because it’s Leia.

Something is there that never was before.

Another short and bittersweet ficlet feat. anger!flirting Han/Leia and terrified wonder “i’m going to be an uncle!!!!” Luke

the family amidala by dirgewithoutmusic

Padme lives. She runs.

Leia is growing in fits and spurts, eating greedily and crying loudly. She stays in a sling on Padme’s chest when they move, Luke held snug in a sling around Obi Wan’s. Luke gets a whole head of thick brown hair while Leia’s is still patchy and bald, but he never matches his sister’s powerful lungs.

When Padme had been sitting in her high senatorial apartment on Corsucant, holding Anakin’s sweaty hand, she had never imagined she’d be murmuring desperately soothing noises to her fussy daughter while she shot around a corner at stormtroopers, while R2D2 meddles with a ship’s blast doors behind her.

Luke starts teething on a hot jungle planet where they hunker down for three weeks, sleeping in an abandoned old temple and catching the local wildlife for dinner. Leia takes her first steps in the belly of a Corellian freighter they’ve stowed away on. She wobbles between Padme’s outstretched hands and Obi Wan’s knees and boxes of smuggled luxuries. When she falls down, Obi Wan surges forward, heart in his throat, but Leia laughs.

OKAY TECHNICALLY THIS IS NOT PURE ORIGINAL TRILOGY but it’s still wonderful and honestly if someone’s never watched the prequels they could still 100% enjoy it and understand what’s going on.  A personal favorite and a fanfic gold standard.  

This should be a solid enough list to get anyone started; if you’re willing to delve into more prequel or sequel trilogy inspired stuff there’s also a lot of fic with timetraveling shenanigans, inter-generational family drama, and Luke, Leia, and Han trying to solve the galaxy’s problems during any given era.  

Happy reading!  Hope this was helpful, feel free to hmu if you’re wondering about anything more specific.  


A steady rain falls on velvet green terraces, releasing a powerful scent of newly harvested tea. A ripple of voices tumbles down the hillside as a man barks orders.

The tea pickers, all women, many in bare feet, expertly navigate the leech-infested slopes. Balancing hampers on their backs loaded with freshly plucked tea leaves, they descend for their morning tea break.

It could be a scene out of the 19th century, when the estates of the southern Indian state of Kerala were first cultivated on the mist-shrouded highlands of Munnar. Today, the manicured tea terraces sprawl across the landscape.

The verdant bushes grow year round, spilling down the hills to meet the curving roads. The beauty of these gardens belies the hardships of workers, who produce nearly 50 million pounds of tea a year here at the Kanan Devan Hills Plantations Company.

For all the timelessness of the place, there’s a very modern twist — the tea pickers have defied the male hierarchy of trade unions who represent tea workers and stood up for their rights.

Indeed, life on tea estates reflects the economic and social challenges facing women across India.

Female Tea Workers In One Indian State Fight For Their Rights

Photos: Julie McCarthy/NPR


Nikita Khrushchev and the Great Soviet Corn Project,

In almost all Communist countries a new leader’s first political move is to institute a revolutionary new program to help further his goals for the nation.  For Stalin it was a program of collectivization and modernization, while Mao’s Great Leap Forward was an attempt to rapidly industrialize China, and for Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev, his bets were hedged on corn.

Ever since the 19th century the United States has been the King of Corn.  The US tops corn production by far, accounting for almost 42% percent of world production.  In contrast, 2nd place China only produces 17% of world production.  Ever since the founding of the Soviet Union, the country had suffered chronic food shortages.  Khrushchev had an ambitious plan to solve this problem, the adoption of American style corn agriculture in Russia.  Khrushchev hoped not only to solve his nation’s growing food problems, but to challenge America’s crown as King Corn.

In 1955 Khrushchev visited the United States and was invited by a farmer named Roswell Garst to tour his farm.  Khrushchev was impressed by the Garst enterprise, which inspired him in his corn campaign.  Garst sold the Soviet Union 4,500 tons of seed corn, which would form the basis of Soviet corn agriculture.  Garth warned Khruschev to only plant in southern parts of the USSR, and to use plenty of fertilizer and pesticides.  Khrushchev ignored Garst’s advice.  In fact he went corn crazy, founding state programs to plant corn all over the Soviet Union regardless of climate or soil.  He created state programs to plant corn on virgin land, he even created programs to plant corn in Siberia.  Khrushchev’s corn frenzy was so wild that corn farms were built by the state even though there were no farmers to operate them. Meanwhile Khrushchev toured the country’s agricultural communes to encourage farmers to give up barley, wheat, and potatoes, the traditional cereal crops of Russia for centuries, and to start planting corn.  

The corn project had its problems.  Although Khrushchev intended Soviet agriculture to use the techniques of the Americans, most of those techniques were not heeded.  Soviet corn often fell pray to pests, disease, and land exhaustion.  More importantly Soviet farmers lacked the equipment and know how when it came to harvesting corn. Despite these problems corn harvests thrived… at least at first.  Corn cultivation rose from 4 million hectares in 1954, to over 37 million hectares in 1962.  This abundance of growth was buoyed by several successive years where the weather was unseasonably hot for Russia.  It was only a matter of time before the natural climate of Mother Russia burst Khruschev’s corn bubble.

In 1964, after the hottest year on record, Russian temperatures suddenly dropped to their regular levels.  With the blink of an eye 70%-80% of all of the new corn acreage planted died from the cold.  Farmers were thrown out of work and forced into bread lines for food.  In a cruel irony, there was little food to be had, since the Soviet Union had invested so much into the failed corn program.  Added to this problem was the fact that the nation’s wheat and barley crop had been devastated by the earlier hot years.  What resulted was another terrible shortage of food that plagued the USSR. 

Nikita Khrushchev would be ousted from power in October of 1964, in part because of his failed agricultural plans.  He passed away in 1971.  Today, the United States is still King Corn, and unlikely to be challenged anytime soon.

It is “authority” rather than “power” that Stalin himself possesses. Though his standing is far higher than that of any other man in the Soviet Union, though he is cheered and quoted at all congresses, whether of governmental delegates, trade unions or farms, yet no one inquires what is Stalin’s purpose or Stalin’s will. They inquire what is Stalin’s analysis of the situation, his summing up of problems and most important steps. I was struck at once by the contrast when I left the Soviet Union and visited Berlin and Washington. In Berlin I saw motion picture films bearing inscriptions: “Approved by Herr Von —, leader of our youth,” and was startled. No individual “approves” a film or book or drama in the U.S.S.R. In Washington I heard men say: “We do not yet know what the President will decide. No one is yet quite certain of his intentions.” Men do not speak thus in the U.S.S.R. of Stalin.

Let me give a brief example of how Stalin functions. I saw him preside at a small committee meeting, deciding a matter on which I had brought a complaint. He summoned to his office all the persons concerned in the matter, but when we arrived we found ourselves meeting not only with Stalin, but also with Voroshilov and Kaganovich. Stalin sat down, not at the head of the table, but informally placed where he could see the faces of all. He opened the talk with a plain, direct question, repeating the complaint in one sentence and asking the man complained against: “Why was it necessary to do this?”

After this he said less than anyone. An occasional phrase, a word without pressure; even his questions were less demands for answers than interjections guiding the speakers’ thought. But how swiftly everything was revealed, all our hopes, egotisms, conflicts, all the things we had been doing to each other. The essential nature of men I had known for years and of others I met for the first time came out sharply, more clearly than I had ever seen them, yet without prejudice. Each of them had to cooperate, to be taken account of in a problem; the job we must do and its direction became clear.

I was hardly conscious of the part played by Stalin in helping us reach a decision; I thought of him rather as someone superlatively easy to explain things to, who got one’s meaning half through a sentence and brought it all out very quickly. When everything became clear and not a moment sooner or later, Stalin turned to the others: “Well?” A word from one, a phrase from another, together accomplished a sentence. Nods—it was unanimous. It seemed we had all decided, simultaneously, unanimously.

That is Stalin’s method and greatness… “I can analyze and plan with the workers of one plant for a period of several months,” said a responsible Communist to me. “Others, much wiser than I, like men on our Central Committee, can plan with wider masses for years. Stalin is in this our ablest. He sees the interrelation of our path with world events, and the order of each step, as a man sees the earth from the stratosphere. But the men of our Central Committee take his analysis not because it is Stalin’s but because it is dear and convincing and documented with facts.”

When Stalin reports to a congress of the party, or of the farm champions, or the heads of industry, none of his statements can be ranked as new. They are statements heard already on the lips of millions throughout the land. But he puts them together more completely than anyone else…

Men never speak in the Soviet Union of “Stalin’s policy” but always of the “party line,” which Stalin “reports” in its present aspects, but does not “make.” The party line is accessible to all to study, to know and to help formulate within the limits set by the Revolution’s goal. There have indeed been statements by Stalin which have ushered in new epochs, as when he told a conference of Agrarian Marxists that the time had come to “liquidate the kulaks as a class.” Yet he announced merely the time for a process which every Communist knew was eventually on the program.

—  Anna Louise Strong, “Dictatorship and Democracy in the Soviet Union,” 1934, pp. 16-18:

anonymous asked:

What if Luke and Leia were "switched at birth" (or rather, the difference is how they were split)? Prince Luke Organa? Leia Skywalker?

When she is nine, Leia sits her uncle and auntie down and, small face screwed up with determination, asks for an increase of her allowance. She has prepared points and counterpoints. She cites both local and intergalactic codes of labor law.

Her uncle frowns at her for a long minute once she’s done. She holds his gaze, stare for stare, chin untrembling, because that’s how he’d taught her to when they went to barter for parts at Toshi Station.

“Alright,” he says.

“My bedtime should be pushed an hour later, too,” Leia tries and her aunt laughs and tells her to go do the dishes.

When Leia is twelve, she organizes all of the children of local farms into a union. Their parents think they’re kidding until they hold their first strike.

Luke grows up in a green world. He still learns to fly early, eager to get empty air under his feet and never quite sure why. His father is a senator. His mother is an academic and she tells him stories and stories about faraway worlds– snowy planets and desert ones, lava and ocean, the places fire and ice meet.

Luke does well in schooling, or well enough for how often he spends staring out the window at blue skies, staring at the bottoms of clouds and imagining what they look like from above or within. Every elective he has to take he turns toward flight– physics, physiology, aeronautics, history.

He listens at the dinner table when his father talks about right and wrong, about justice and democracy, but he responds with engine makes and models and what new simulator scores he’s earned.

His parents wanted a child, though, more than anything, and this is the one they got. They wanted a child and they wanted peace. There are so many ways to save the universe. When Luke asks for their blessing to apply to the flight academy, his father kisses his cheeks and his mother tells him how proud they are of his choices.

When his father’s favorite protege goes off on what is supposed to be a routine diplomatic mission, Luke is the pilot. He sees the Imperial cruiser coming in and cannot outrun them, though he tries.

When he sees the junior senator (Isabel, 22, she came to dinner at his parents’ and made his mother laugh about ancient literature) face Vader and spit calm lies in his face about diplomacy and innocence, Luke wishes he could be so brave.

He is bundled off with the rest of the civilians on board. They are herded into pens like cattle somewhere in the Death Star’s bowels, waiting for shipment to mines or weapons factories or, who knows, gladiatorial arenas– whatever it is the Empire does with prisoners.

Meanwhile, on Tatooine, Leia’s uncle has just bought two new droids. When she cleans the R2 unit she finds a recording of a beautiful young woman in senatorial white calling for Obi Wan Kenobi.

But the R2 is a flight risk and Leia ends up out in the badlands, chasing it down. She is in Old Ben Kenobi’s little house when the Stormtroopers come to burn her farm. She feels it happen, but she doesn’t recognize it in the pit of her belly. She has never lost anything before, nothing that large.

She thinks it must be excitement, as she turns her father’s lightsaber over and over in her hands. Her stomach sinks to her toes. Bile rises in her throat. She smells smoke and she thinks she must just be nervous. New futures do that sometimes, spreading out open wide at your feet.

(Luke feels it when Alderaan dies.

He doesn’t know what it is, but he feels it all the same as he sits crammed in a windowless metal room with the rest of the crew. Someone is crying. Someone is praying. 

He gets a waft of his mother’s perfume– lilacs and old pages and dried ink– and it hits him like a blow. A world is dying, gone. He doesn’t know.

He feels his father’s broad hand wrap about his shoulder. He thinks he is just homesick.

He will be homesick for the rest of his life.)

Obi Wan and Leia find Han in the bar, hire the Falcon, hit the sky. Leia’s never been off world before and she feels the ground disappear from under her feet. (The ground vanished the moment she stumbled out of her speeder, smoke on the wind, and saw skeletons fused into the sand).

Luke waits in the dark. He thinks about his mother’s stories of epic adventurers, great deeds, heroes. He feels very small. He thinks about the young senator stuck somewhere in this base in a cold room, secrets buried under her ribs. Someone here in the dark is crying. Someone is praying.

Luke moves once, slowly, around the room. He spots the calmest person he can see (a fifty-something woman with wide hips and her knitting needles out). “We need to figure out what we have among us,” he says. She looks at him and he adds, “I don’t want to die here. Do you?”

“Su-Lin from Maintenance has got a concealed blaster in her purse, I think,” says the woman, whose name he will discover is Mabel. “And Ricky from the cafeteria plays a lot of strategy games. Let me fetch a few people. You go talk to the flight crew.“


The Millennium Falcon arrives as Luke’s escapees are marched onto a supply freighter ship by four of their own in stolen Stormtrooper armor. Luke slips off the freighter right before they close up and Mabel lets him. “I’m going to see if I can get the senator,” he says. “You get these lot off, okay?”

“You take care of yourself, kid,” says Mabel. “You need another pair of hands?”

Luke shakes his head. “It’s a long shot either way. Just get them home.” (None of them know yet that home is no longer there.)

He meets Leia and Han in the hallways, because they almost shoot him before he yanks his helmet off and his flailing hands convince them he’s for real.

When they get the senator out of her cell she groans aloud at the sight of Luke. “Your dad’s gonna kill me,” Isabel says, and then she goes pale, remembering. Luke’s belly fills with ice.

She tells him about Alderaan. She stumbles over a sorry but Luke grabs her hand and tries a smile and says, “No, c’mon, Isa, senator, ma'am, we’re going to get you out of here.”

They do. They lose Obi Wan to Vader, none of them knowing it is a fight between brothers happening in the belly of that ship, that it is a death long overdue, one Obi Wan has clutched to his chest for years.

But Obi Wan was the last piece of home Leia had with her, except for the clothes on her back. She cries, curled up in a seat on the Falcon, and not even Han is brave enough to say anything about it.

Luke sits behind Chewy as they fly through the rock and debris that had once been Alderaan. The only thing he has ever wanted to do in life was fly. He closes his eyes. Someone is weeping, here in the dark.

When they reach the base, Luke, an Alderaan pilot’s wings still on his uniform, volunteers for the rebel attack force. Leia shadows Isabel, swallowing up the chaos and rapid-fire conversation of the rebel base as people shove report and requests and questions and admonishment and greetings at the rescued senator.

The first time Leia hands Isabel the report she was looking for before she even reaches for it, Isabel turns and takes it and grins. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Leia,” she says. “Skywalker.”

“Well then, Ensign Skywalker, you stick with me till this over, okay by you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When Luke fires the shot that takes out the Death Star, it is not with Obi Wan whispering in his ears. It is his old flight instructors, his fellow pilots– a bunch of adrenalin junkie kids, desperate to fly. He wonder if any of them were off-planet, if a single one survived. When Luke fires that last shot, he hears his father’s voice at the dinner table, talking about right and wrong, diplomacy and faith.

The shot flies true.

Leia touched the lightsaber first, but it’s still Luke who goes to train with Yoda. Leia doesn’t have time for that– she’s stumbled into a rebellion she’d barely even heard rumors of and she’s drowning herself in it. Isabel makes excellent introductions for her. Leia eats breakfast with Biggs, one of her old union buddies, one of her first henchmen, and it’s almost like having a little piece of home with her.

Luke had grown up on his mother’s stories, and he knows how badly she would have wanted to meet the last Jedi living. Yoda tries to teach him to lift planes and face fears, to listen to silences, but Luke keeps on asking him about their Code, their history, how all this came to be. He takes notes. He has Yoda teach him how to build a lightsaber before he ever lets him teach him to wield one.

When the dreams come– about Leia, about Han, about pain– Luke doesn’t let Yoda stop him. He had already been absent, once, when the people he loved had died.

But they lose Han. Luke loses a hand and Leia finds him.

While they plan their attack on Jabba and their rescue of Han, Luke takes a few minutes to digest what Vader told him on that platform and he decides he doesn’t give a crap. He has a father. His name was Bail Organa.

When they attack the second Death Star, Luke does not turn himself in. He gives Anakin Skywalker no second chances. He pilots an X-Wing, guarding the fleet as they wait for Leia and Han to bring down the shields, which they do. Vader and Palpatine burn on the unfinished hull of the second Death Star.

Luke hugs his sister and tells her about Vader. She hugs him back and doesn’t bother with the rest of it. She didn’t have a father, but she had an uncle and an aunt and they had been enough.

After things settle, Luke gets Han to take him on as a third hand on the Falcon. He wants to see every world his mother ever told stories of, and there is Leia to make sure that the Falcon is doing Good in the universe as well as just making the occasional reasonable profit.

Leia goes from rebel lieutenant to politician– it’s a line she’ll cross back and forth many times for the rest of her life, complaining that she doesn’t quite see the difference.

When Leia finally gets important enough to be worth kidnapping, Isabel makes sure she’s in the rescue party that brings her home just so Leia can laugh and roll her eyes and tell her she’s too short to be a Stormtrooper. (”Stormtrooper?” says another rescuer to his friend, glancing down at their New Republic greys.)

Luke writes Mabel every now and then to let her know he’s still breathing. She sends him back pictures of her grandchildren and knitted caps to keep his silly head warm. It’s cold out there, after all.