occupy peace

Harbor In the Tempest (3/5)

After an attack by the Lost Boys, Emma and Killian find themselves in an impossible situation. Canon divergence from 3x07.

A/N: This chapter is the reason I wanted to write this fic in the first place. Please don’t kill me. Endless gratitude to @caprelloidea for letting me yell at you about this.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4272

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

AO3 | ff.net

The sun slowly crawls across the sky, passing its zenith and giving way to soft late-afternoon light. Neither Killian nor Emma really know what to do with themselves, and they fall into an odd type of silence the likes of which he’s never felt before. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, not even sitting as closely as they are, not even with the full weight of what’s happening to her hanging between them. It’s not uncomfortable but defeated, like waiting for a ship to slowly sink on the open sea.   

Every time he’s lost someone it’s happened quickly, going far beyond just Liam and Milah. Crewmen lost in battle or knocked overboard in violent tempests, first mates taken down by a knife fight in a tavern, a father gone without warning in the middle of the night. Death and loss are abrupt, sudden things for him, a simple flick of a wrist and a severed hand.

This is new. He knows what’s happening as well as she, both of them helpless to do any more than listen to the cliff up above, hoping for the sound of her parents or Regina coming through the woods overhead and frightened that it will never come. That’s new for him too, the fear crawling up his spine, an emotion that hasn’t seized him so completely in centuries.

For awhile he contemplates taking her hand again, lacing his fingers with hers to keep them warm, give her something to hang onto. He eventually decides against it. She’d accepted his touch earlier, even seemed to welcome it when he placed his hand to her forehead. But a sort of grim acceptance seems to have come over her ever since Pan’s visit, and he’s reluctant to try and talk much - he knows the topic of conversation would likely drift into unpleasantness soon enough.

He doesn’t know how to be there for her, but he aches to try.

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anonymous asked:

Hi, can u link me some references on how Assad treats Palestinians? I'm trying to learn more about this

(i answered your question thinking you were asking generally and not specifically for resources, but i linked to a number of them below!)

let’s start off by laying the basics fact that, just like all of the arab governments, the assad government treats the palestinian cause as a fig leaf and a political tool — nothing more.

the syrian regime has a history of atrocities against palestinian camps. for as far back as 1976, when syria intervened in lebanon (with israeli consent of course), the aim was to crush the palestinian resistance. hafez al assad aligned himself with the lebanese facist phalangists who were fighting palestinians in refugee camps; his forces aided in the siege against tel al zaatar refugee camp and later in the massacre of over 2000 palestinian refugees mainly in tel alzaatar, jesr albasga and dbayeh. [x]

now, the syrian regime still uses the same tactics against palestinian refugees in syria. once the biggest palestinian refugee camp in syria, yarmouk had been under brutal siege for three years imposed by the syrian regime. the regime used numerous ways to insure the annihilation of the camp such as excessive shelling and dropping barrel bombs and trapping its residents in with no access to food, water or medicine to the point where some of its residents died of starvation. over 180 residents have died as a result of the siege. 

but not only in yarmouk, palestinian refugees of al sbeina camp have been prevented from returning to their houses for close to three years and have been internally displaced along with 450,000 others. also, dara’a camp has been without water for over 2 years and almost 70% of its buildings were demolished. and let’s not forget how the regime marked the 68th anniversary of the nakba by bombing palestinian refugee camp of khan eshieh killing two

today, there are over 1090 palestinians in syrian prisons  including more than 75 women. many of the prisoners won’t make it out due to torture and medical neglect. an example is palestinian-syrian ghiyath matar, who used to hand out flowers to the syrian security forces back when the revolution started in 2011 as a way to show the peaceful means of the demonstrations. soon enough, he was kidnapped and tortured to death. so far, there has been at least 448 palestinians who were tortured to death in assad jails.

until the end of last year, the action group for palestinians in syria has documented the deaths of more than 3080 palestinians in syria and more than 100,000 of the 560,000 palestinian refugees previously living in syria have since fled the country due to assad’s terror. 

the assad regime continues to portray itself as a revolutionary force while committing all of these atrocities against its people as well as palestinians who sought refuge in syria. the regime also shamelessly poses as a fighter of imperialism and colonialism while the occupied golan remains a peaceful “military zone” where israel gets to occupy lands rather peacefully, without a single case of disturbance since 1967.

Title: Sith Lords Don’t Sunbathe
Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader
Genre: So floof, SO FLOOF, but also a lil spicy bc i was feelin it
Warnings: Language
A/N: Just some cute but also zesty fluff for the soul. It was really nice out today and I freakin LOVE spring (it’s basically spring here now ok) so this happened lol. Happy Valentines Day! :-)

Originally posted by theworldisworthagif

Originally posted by coolfayebunny

The sun above you warmed your bare legs, giving the skin there a subtle glow. You flexed your toes and stretched, lifting your arms up above your head and letting them fall backward into the grass. It had started out soft but now you were beginning to feel the underside of your legs sweat, and you bet that if you looked, there would have been thousands of tiny, grass-shaped imprints against your skin. A breeze floated by, carrying the scent of the flowering tree above you on the wind and filling your nose. Taking a deep breath you closed your eyes, letting the air roll over your skin. While it wasn’t exactly warm, it wasn’t cold, either; it felt like the weather couldn’t make up its mind on if it was still winter or late spring. It was the perfect temperature.

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anonymous asked:

More space AU headcanons pretty please!!

DAY 36

It’s silent in the old viewing module. Or, at least it’s as silent as an old module will ever get, beeping and sometimes creaking just a little. Still, Jyn’s calm breath as she floats next to him reminds him of waves hitting the shoreline, loud in a way that is also comforting, and Cassian is sure he has never noticed this about her before. Of all the times they have been just floating next to each other in this particular module, looking out, this is never an observation he remembers having made previously.

She’s been silently watching the blue world below them through the thick glass windows for close to 10 minutes now. And for the past seven or so, Cassian’s been watching her loose hair move weightlessly around her head like she really was caught up in a wave on the ocean below. (That’s his rough time estimate anyway. He’s… distracted.)

Subconsciously he can’t help but make the connection between the ocean, a still surface hiding a force to be reckoned with, and Jyn who is… well, she’s Jyn, and Jyn is more than far-fetched comparisons to the blue waters back home that he longs to dip his toes into again.

He drifts a little closer, upside down compared to her. A wisp of her hair sneaks across his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Jyn mumbles distractedly, and draws her hair away from him. Gazes below for another long moment or two.

“Do you ever just…” Jyn pauses, searching for the right words, “do you ever just think that it’s absurd? How much of it there is, and how little you’ve seen?”

Cassian shrugs as much as possible when he is in fact weightless in space.

“Well, technically, you and I have seen the whole world together.”

Jyn snorts in that Jyn-like way that somehow makes it look cute, and makes him feel like he just won an award, except he doesn’t know what for.

“I’d never been outside Europe before this, you know? But I don’t miss it. Too many people, too much noise. I like the quiet here.”

They float side by side, Cassian’s mind occupied by peaceful blue seas. Looking down on them from up here is a sight for sure, but no way to experience them properly.

“There are quiet places in Mexico. Maybe not as quiet as here, but still… It’s nice there. By the ocean I mean, on the beach, away from the tourist towns.”

“Do you miss it?”

Warm sand between his toes, water lapping at his feet.

“It was the first place I was planning on going when I got home.”

“Hmmm,” Jyn looks up at him sideways, “maybe I’ll have to go there sometime too.”

“Maybe I’ll take you,” there’s a small smile on Cassian’s face, “you’ll need a guide to find the best spots.”

A tendril of her hair touches his cheek, and this time she says nothing to apologise or wipe it away.

(Maybe there’ll be someone else’s footprints in the sand next to his.)

I’m from Hong Kong.
Even if you’re not from here please take a minute. Young people from high school and university have sacrificed their time, safety and even their potential futures to protest in unison against the PRC (People’s Republic of China). Hong Kong has been promised democracy and it has not been kept. These young people know the value of solidarity as they protest peacefully. Last night the police have fired tear gas and rubber bullets at the civilians. The police are doing their jobs and the civilians want a peaceful resolution.
As of now they are ignored and have not been given what they as the people of the city have been promised.
Please reblog or share this with the world to show your support for HK and its amazing young generation.

Image from Heman Chong source unsure.

anonymous asked:

Demiromantic demisexual demiboy Remus becoming qpps with aromantic asexual agender (who still uses he/him pronouns) Sirius, panromantic asexual trans man James, and aromantic polysexual bigender Peter. (After she and James start dating, Lily comes out to all of them as a demiromantic bisexual trans girl.)

Remus was lying with his head in Sirius’ lap, gentle fingers stroking through his short locks, while Peter worked on braiding Sirius’ long hair, babbling away about how he (for today) thought the potions test went. Another of their dormmates had some music on low, which was seriously relaxing Remus. His eyes were fluttering, and he was ready to drift off when James’ burst in.

“Marauders unite!” he yelled, then flung himself on Sirius’ bed, which they were all currently occupying. There went Remus’ peace. He narrowed his eyes at his excited friend, unhappy to be displaced from Sirius’ warm pillow-legs. “Lily said yes!”

Sirius’ eyebrows rose. 

“Congrats!” Peter beamed, thumping James on the shoulder in a rare show of physical affection. “Now maybe you’ll stop moping every time she walks by.”

James ignored the tease. “We’re meeting up for Hogsmeade this weekend, just the two of us! And we’ve got a study date for tomorrow night,” he bragged, puffing his chest out in pride.

Sirius laughed. “Oh, Merlin, he’s going to be even worse from now on, isn’t he? Before at least, he had a life aside from Lily, but now it’s going to be all about her, isn’t it?”

“Undoubtedly,” Remus agreed. “Just promise you won’t forget the little people who brought you to this moment, Prongs.”

James rolled his eyes. “We’ve already qpp’d. Besides, I kinda doubt Lily’s gonna wanna spend every waking moment with me. I’m not sure she can handle my energy.”

Peter laughed.

“Very true! And thank Merlin for that!” Sirius said. “But seriously, bud, congrats.”

“Yes, congrats - and thank you. I believe that’s five galleons my way,” Remus grinned at Sirius and Peter, who grumbled. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your money, Moony - but later!”

“What exactly was the bet, and why wasn’t I let in on it?” James asked.

“Dates by when Lily would accept a date with you,” Peter admitted, looking down at his loss. “My bet wasn’t for another month. I thought you might play it safe.”

James laughed. “Sorry, Wormtail. You should have known me better than that! I bet Remus had inside information and weaseled out of Lily how she was feeling.”

“Hey, I’m no cheater. Besides, you forget how friendly she and Padfoot here have gotten.”

A look of realization and betrayal flittered across Sirius’ face. “She swindled me! She told me she’d refuse you for another week!”

Everyone but Sirius howled with laughter at his revelation. 

“I think I’m in love,” James admitted, still chuckling. 

Bright, young, expectant green eyes brought Remus back to the present. He wanted to tell the poor child in front of him how angry their parents would be at their struggles and denial of identity, something that never would have happened like this if their parents had lived, but that wasn’t what was needed. “Both of your parents were queer, you know. They were both trans, and your dad was a panro ace, your mom demiro and bisexual. Actually… we - the Marauders and your mom - all were - are queer. None of us were - are cis or straight. Has anyone ever talked to you about this stuff before?”

“My mum and dad were… trans? Really?” Harry sounded so young, and it broke Remus’ heart. It almost made him want to go to McGonagall and accept her offer to fight for Remus to stay at school and teach.

Instead, he simply replied with a soft, “yeah, they were. Your dad didn’t come out until his fourth year of Hogwarts, but your mom was out far before she came to Hogwarts.”

“So… so they’d be okay if… I was maybe a girl? Or sort of a girl? Or, at least, am not really a boy?”

“Of course.” Remus placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and looked the child in the eye. “They’d be so supportive of whatever gender and sexuality you were. They would have encouraged you to experiment. They’d have bought you whatever clothes and used whatever name for you. What matters is what’s inside here,” he said, pointing to Harry’s heart. “And trust me, they’d be very, very proud of what’s in there.”

“So what - what did you say? Demiro? Panro? Ace? What do those mean?”

This was not exactly what Remus thought he’d be teaching at Hogwarts, certainly not to his qp and friend’s kid, especially after he’d resigned, but it was also something Remus would never back away from. “Well,” he started, abandoning the idea of packing for now, “let’s start with the basics here.”

~Hufflepuff Mod


Redacted Tonight with Lee Camp | #116

September 16, 2016:

“It’s been fifteen years, this week, since 9/11 and yet we’re still bombing the Arab world. It’s been five years since Occupy this week, and yet people are still slaving away for $8/hour while the big banks pillage our everything… just everything!… So what’s the answer? Well, okay look, to do anything it takes practice. Right? It often takes a lot of practice. All the greats practice thousands upon thousands of hours… To be really good at anything it takes an insane amount of practice…

Yet some of the things we supposedly want in a society, we put no practice into whatsoever. For example, peace; achieving peace. We put no time into perfecting or obtaining peace. There’s no Department of Peace, no Unit of Peace, there’s not a single guy tasked with bringing peace. And if there were, some asshole would shoot him. I guarantee you. This week was fifteen years since 9/11 and we’re nowhere near closer to a more peaceful world. In fact, we’re closer to full acceptance of infinite war.

In 2015 we had a declared military budget of $601 billion dollars; over 50% of our discretionary spending. What do you think we’re going to do with that money, equipment, manpower, we’re going to find a way to f*cking use it! Alright? You gear up for war, you go to war. No one dresses like Rambo and acts like Gandhi. That’s not a thing…

Our Military Industrial Complex it a massive potential energy; trillions of dollars and millions of people all getting ready for when that energy becomes kinetic, becomes active. They spend all day, every day, preparing for that. So of course they’re going to make that happen. Not to mention, we have to keep war going because there’s so much money in it for the contractors. Our military is the largest money laundering scheme in history. Trillions of taxpayer dollars are taken and turned into Raytheon and Lockheed Martin dollars. And some people don’t even seem to think that’s a problem.” - Lee Camp @redactedtonight 

The Philippine-American War in the 1900

“The Philippines, with more than seven thousand islands and ten million brown-skinned inhabitants, had been ceded to the United States by Spain (in 1898) for twenty million dollars. I was an infant when this happened, but I was to be nourished to manhood on the indignation and despair of my elders who had fought in the revolution against Spain and known the sweetness of victory only to find that victory tossed aside as a sop to appeasement.

This was the way the Filipinos felt when their country was taken over by America. We would suffer from this resentment many years. 

To be frank, the Philippines were acquired by America in her only outburst of imperialism. The outburst did not come from a desire for power. It was salve applied to the wounded pride of a great country. It was a response to a slogan: "Remember the Maine!” 

The American military authorities explained why they were in our country. “To develop the country. To open up the Philippines to commerce.”

Such phrases were fine-sounding, like Dewey’s statement that he came to protect the Philippines. The usually good-natured, easy- going Filipino had discovered much in his brief war against Spanish tyranny. He had learned he was a fighter. He had won his revolt against Spain. Had he turned against one foreign rule only to submit to another? No matter how beneficent that rule might be, in the minds of men who had fought for independence it was still tyranny. 

The insurgents rallied in swelling forces around Aguinaldo. On February 4, 1899, hostilities broke out in a Manila suburb between American and Filipino forces. 

Our revolution against America which the Americans would term “insurrection” began. 

As A NATION we were thoroughly aroused by 1899. 
“The Filipinos are not a warlike people,” General Arthur Mac-Arthur said of us at this time.But we had waged and won our revolution against Spain and had no intention of submitting to America’s claims on our country. The Americans were in the Philippines without our consent. 

It was the determination of every Filipino man, woman, and child to drive them out. 

We fought American occupation for three years. From the beginning it was a hopeless contest. The United States was rich in resources and man power; it could pour whole armies of soldiers, well trained and well equipped, into our country. Within four years American transports had landed 125,000 khaki-clad Yankees on Luzon. 

Without proper training or organization, with primitive weapons and ancient guns, the Filipinos fought to hold the Philippines. Tribes from remote -provinces swung bolos beside their college-educated countrymen. Natives of types we of the cities had never seen came down from the hills to fight with bows and arrows. Even the children formed brigades and threw rocks at the American soldiers, who stood helpless before such ludicrous but telling onslaught. 

Both armies fought mud, pestilence, and the dangers of the jungle. Aguinaldo’s men had the additional handicaps of lack of food, equipment, and transportation. It was the same sort of hopeless war that would be waged forty-two years later on Bataan, when Filipinos and Americans yielded to the superior forces of the Japanese 

Major General Henry W. Lawton of the American forces said of the Filipinos during this time: 

‘Taking into account the disadvantages they have had to fight against…they are the bravest men I have ever seen.“ 

American occupation was achieved by 1900. 

After hundreds of small battles the revolution ended from the American point of view when Aguinaldo went into retreat in the mountains and organized warfare stopped. But the Filipinos did not know they were beaten. Aguinaldo was still their King Bernardo, held captive in the mountains and waiting his chance to free the Philippines. The Filipinos went on fighting as guerrilleros. 

Guerrilla warfare began in 1900 with the new century. This mode of fighting, as old as war itself, is particularly adaptable to the Philippine terrain. There are forests in Luzon so impenetrable that they are capable of sheltering entire armies. Thick foliage forms a waterproof roof against the torrential rains. There are trees with hollow trunks that can provide shelter for half-a-dozen men, and caves behind shores and rivers impossible for any but a native to locate. In such places the scattered forces of Aguinaldo went into hiding, to sally out in surprise raids that harried and baffled the 
American forces. They were aided and abetted by the townspeople. Again, it was everybody’s war everybody was in the fight. 

There was no "walkie-talkie” then, no telephone to carry communication between the secret lines. Orders in code were drummed through the forests on bamboo. This was the bamboo telegraph that would sound again in the Philippines when the Japanese invaded. Guerrilla warfare was revived after the Philippines fell to the Japanese. Modern devices aid its efficiency, but as a mode of fighting it remains savage and elemental. 

Guerrilla warfare comes from the inside of a people it is waged, encouraged, and aided by the people. It cannot exist without the loyalty of the general population. The guerrilla army must be fed, armed, sheltered, protected, and kept informed by the civilians. 

As the son of a guerrillero father I learned much of the methods of these fighters. 

Townsmen, countrymen, or guerrilla at large worked under the very noses of the occupying forces. The most peaceful citizen by day might be a prowling tiger by night. Your next-door neighbor, a man of sedentary occupation and mild manners, might be the leader of a guerrilla band. Such men were inured to dangerous living and hardship. The guerrilla fighter trained by night. He became a master marksman who used his gun only when necessary not only to save ammunition but to keep from exposing himself to the enemy. He carried food on his person and went hungry, to accustom himself to semi-starvation. He learned to suffer pain without whimpering, because a sound might betray him to the enemy. He learned to endure rain and heat and jungle discomfort and knew which herbs of the forest were useful in warding off jungle diseases. Wounded, he nursed his wounds in silence until he could reach a physician that could be trusted. Captured, he died without speaking. 

The guerrillero of the town was in constant touch with the guerrillero in the hills. He sent messages of advice or warning to those in hiding by the bamboo telegraph, church bells, or messenger. Arms, ammunition, and provisions were received and dispatched in strange ways, under mounds of dried cogon grass or in carts heaped with buffalo dung. 

Women played an active part in the campaign. They maintained much of the communication between the guerrilla forces. Housewives haggling with vendors in the market place might be discussing in code the movement and troop numbers of the Americans. Mango and guava prices they argued were translatable into terms of arms and men to the farmer-vendor, who served as courier to the forces hiding in the surrounding hills. At nightfall, driving his empty cart homeward, he would pause to relay his information to other couriers waiting along the roads. 

Women patched the clothing of the fighters, prepared bandages, medical kits, and food, and left these on kitchen tables in the evening. In the morning all would be gone. 

The youngest child knew he must observe much and tell nothing. He might be playing ball outside his home when an American sentry appeared at the corner. The ball would fly in an open window the guerrillero father within would be warned in time. 

War such as this is impossible to stamp out. The Americans realized it would continue indefinitely in the Philippines unless some means could be found to convince the Filipinos that American intentions were friendly. 

Certain officers decided upon more violent steps to quell what the Americans called the “insurrection,” but which we of the Philippines termed our second revolution. The American forces continued to spread through the occupied towns and fought back as best they could the surprise sallies of the Filipinos. But to bring the guerrilla forces to terms they would have to learn two things: where were the guerrilla leaders hiding, and where were the ammunition and guns hidden? 

American soldiers asked these questions of captive Filipinos. The ugly chapter began. 

Filipinos were encouraged to talk by means of the rope and water cures. The rope method was a slow strangling and a painful release to life. This was repeated. 

The water cure was revived from the Inquisition. A man’s stomach was pumped full of water and then jumped upon until it emptied. This was repeated until the victim was unconscious. Then he was revived, and the process repeated. 

But the tortured Filipinos did not talk. The hidden guerrilla army remained hidden. Even Filipinos who by this time had become sympathetic to the Americans and were willing to accept the occupation refused to talk under torture. 

All through the year 1900 the guerrilla fighting continued. By this time a great deal about the Filipinos and the Philippines was finding its way into the American newspapers. Americans talked of Luzon, Zamboanga, Iloilo strange names for American-held places. 

There was much sympathy for the Filipinos in the United States. A definite wave of “anti-imperialism” swept the country. Added indignation followed reports of the “cures.” Aguinaldo of the Philippines became surrounded by a symbolic aura, not only to his own people, but to many sympathizers in theUnited States. 

No less an authority than Washington investigated the reports of the rope and water cures. Officers who had been in charge of such cases were found guilty, reprimanded, fined, and dismissed from the Army. Several received prison terms. 

Impossible to translate the effect of such reprisal on the military mind! Consider, then, its effect on the simpler reasoning of the Filipino. He was impressed and awed that the United States he had been fighting as a tyrant should take such pains to uncover and punish tyranny. 

It was our first experience with American justice. Its effect was recognizable. As American officers were punished, more and more Filipinos brought in their guns and ammunition and yielded to the American military heads. Among these one of the most respected by the Filipinos was the father of Douglas MacArthur. General Arthur MacArthur was one of the first of the Americans to win our wholehearted trust. 

As Military Governor he held the Philippines under martial law, policed the country, imprisoned and tried captured insurgents, and deported those found guilty. He was stern, courteous, and fair. He issued the proclamation of amnesty that promised a reward and no punishment to anyone turning over a rifle to the American authorities. 

Thousands of Filipinos took advantage of the amnesty by turning in their arms and taking the oath of allegiance to die United States. 

General MacArthur established in the Philippines the writ of habeas corpus which is the foundation stone of the American Bill of Rights. This was a daring act in a country still at war. And in this turbulent year 1900 he organized the Filipino Scouts, the military organization composed of Filipino soldiers under American officers which later became the nucleus of the American armed forces in the Philippines. 

Many of these were Filipinos who had fought in the revolution against Spain and the revolution against America. Proud of their new organization and their new uniforms, they told their friends: “This General MacArthur is a great man!” 

Stories spread of this American leader. His friendly, democratic attitude toward the Filipino soldiers was often cited. He was one with his men, they said. He was also a hero he had been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for valor in the Civil War. His son would wear that medal later in recognition of Bataan and Corregidor. 

Officers like General MacArthur helped quell the revolution by the weight of their personal integrity. But the guerrilla fighting continued. Without sufficient arms, food, medicines, or hope the guerrilleros carried on the three-year-old fight against America. 

It was General MacArthur who reasoned that the resistance would never end while Aguinaldo remained free. The Philippine leader, who was encamped in the mountains with his movements handicapped by the sick wife who had to be transported by litter, had become a legend and the symbol of freedom to his people. 

“Capture Aguinaldo,” MacArthur ordered finally, “but capture him alive.” 

In March 1901 Aguinaldo was taken prisoner by General Frederick Funston, by a ruse.Pro-American Filipinos went to the leader’s camp pretending to be Aguinaldo sympathizers. With them were American officers disguised as prisoners. General MacArthur received the captive Aguinaldo with the respect one military leader tenders another. The result of their meeting was agreement and complete understanding, and out of that understanding came the full capitulation of Emilio Aguinaldo with his historic proclamation that brought peace to the Philippines: 

“The country has declared unmistakably for peace… By acknowledging and accepting the sovereignty of the United States throughout the entire Archipelago, as I do now without any reservations whatsoever, I believe that I am serving thee, my beloved country.” 

The words ended protest against America. 

Following Aguinaldo, leader after leader, fighter after fighter, made his way into Manila and took the pledge of allegiance to the United States of America. 

Aguinaldo retired under pension to serve as head of the Philippine Veterans* Association. 

So the last of the fighters for freedom laid down his arms. 

- Excerpts from the book of General Carlos Peña Romulo, Mother America

“To know nothing of what happened before you were born is to remain forever a child.” - Cicero







Credits as well to YouTube User: http://www.youtube.com/channel/UC93ugQlICVXItOg_ShkIe0Q

(( The Amigo Movie gave us both chills and feels. ;;A;; ))
(( So you guys see, the illustration I did was very much based on the movie AMIGO by John Sayles which is by the way, one of the most well-written movies I’ve ever seen. ;v;b ))

(( The actors were very well-chosen and ugghhh, look at the art therreeeee!! ;A; ))

(( So yeah, it could be an AU something-something…. *coughsIt'sPartOfTheColonial!PhilippinesAUThoughcoughs* ))

The Captain of Köpenick

110 years ago, on October 16, 1906, shoemaker Friedrich Wilhelm Voigt successfully staged an outrageous charade, which became legendary in Germany and beyond.

Friedrich Wilhelm Voigt was born in 1849 in Tilsit, which is now the city of Sowjetsk in the oblast Kaliningrad, Russian Federation. He learned the shoemaker’s business from his father, but started a criminal carreer from the age of 14 onward. He spent most of his life in jail and was released after a 15-year sentence in early 1906.

He tried to settle down and work as a shoemaker, but was repeatedly getting ousted from several counties due to his criminal past, the last time being banned from Greater Berlin, where he lived with his sister in Rixdorf in the ouskirts of Berlin and earned a small income working in a shoe factory. He decided to stay in Berlin illegaly. Finding himself in a catch-22 situation (no legal address = no opportunity to get a job = not to be able to pay for a residence = no passport = getting ousted = no legal address), he fell back to illegal means to finance his existance.

Using his small savings and borrowed money from his sister, he purchased the uniform of a Prussian captain in a number of second-hand stores. He tested the authority of his appearance in uniform towards soldiers several times, thereby rehearsing an authoritarian demeanor, and found out that especially young soldiers were timidly obeying his orders.

On October 16, 1906, it was time to carry out his plan. He waited in front of a military bath house in Berlin-Plötzensee for a troop of particularly young-looking soldiers returning to their barracks and told ten of them they would be under his command due to highest orders. They boarded the tram to travel to Köpenick (then still a sovereign city). In Köpenick, Voigt paid his subordinates a beer and explained that he had to arrest the mayor of Köpenick and probably some more individuals due to unlawful handling of public money. The fake captain and his soldiers recruited local policemen to cordon off the town hall and preserve public peace, occupied the town hall, prohibited any traffic on the corridors, stopped phone calls, and arrested the mayor and the chief municipal director “in the name of His Majesty”, accusing them of embezzlement of public money. Pretending that he had to seize the city treasury, Voigt ordered the paymaster to make a statement of account and to hand him the money, 3557.45 Mark (today’s value about 22,000 €) in cash. As there was not enough cash in the safe, the money had to be retrieved from the local post office.

A receipt requested by the treasurer was signed by Voigt using the name of his last prison director, using the military grade of a captain in the first guard regiment. Voigt then used the money to rent taxis to transport the mayor to the New Guardhouse in Berlin, told his soldiers to keep the town hall occupied for half an hour while he had to leave to report to his superiors, and marched off under the eyes of hundreds of curious onlookers to take a train to Berlin. Soon after, he changed his uniform with the clothes of a decent citizen, which he bought at an expensive gentlemen’s outfitter’s shop.

Voigt was arrested only ten days later while having breakfast in a cafe and sentenced to four years in prison for the unauthorized wearing of a uniform, the violation of public order, the deprivation of liberty, fraud, and the falsification of documents. The court, however, also cited as an alleviating factor that Voigt’s attempts to become a useful member of society after his last release from prison were repeatedly thwarted by the authorities, which refused to grant him a secured residence status.

The whole episode was broadly covered in the newspapers, half mockingly, half seriously pointing out the obvious flaws of the Prussian principle of unquestioning obedience. Some commentators even went as far as requesting to abolish the prevalent “uniform fetishism”. Many Germans could not hide a clandestine joy about the fact that Voigt was able to use the intimidating omnipresence of the military to his advantage, exploiting the widespread subservient obedience to authority imprinted to the German population since childhood age by the authoritarian education system. In fact, the whole incident became the first first crack in the façade of Prussian militarism. This way, Voigt became a folk hero, and a new word was coined: Köpenikiade, denominating a form of recklessness in which obediance is obtained by the unauthorized assumption of authority. Due to the immense popularity, Voigt was pardoned by Emperor Wilhelm II. after only two years of prison.

Voigt subsequently used his popularity to make money with public appearances, which were not exactly welcomed by the authorities. On the day of his release, he earned 200 Mark (1200 €) for making a record on which he stated: “My longing to walk as a free man amongst the free grew ever greater in me. I am free now, but I wish and ask God to keep me from becoming an outlaw again.”

The record became a bestseller. Two days later, a visit to his sister in Rixdorf caused a mighty concourse of prople which made an intervention by the police necessary. His autobiography published a year later became a record-seller. He went on tour in Germany (where his appearance sometimes caused riots between visitors and the police), Europe and even the USA and Canada. As he was still unable to obtain a secured legal residence permit in Germany, he mover to Luxemburg, where he worked as a waiter and shoemaker after his publicity had subsided. In addition, he received a pension by a rich dowager from Berlin. He had acquired a certain wealth and was among the first citizens of Luxemburg who owned a car.

When Luxemburg was occupied by the Germans during world war I in 1914, he was once again questioned by the police. The officer noted: “It remains puzzling to me how this wretched man could once shake Prussia.” Due to the war and the subsequent inflation, his wealth was ruined, and smoking had ruined his health. He died in 1922 in great poverty, aged 72. Legend has it that his funeral procession encountered a French squad stationed in Luxemburg, which asked for the identity of the dead. When the funeral party answered that he was the Captain of Köpenick, the French soldiers let them pass with military salute, believing that a real military member was carried to his grave.

Voigt’s charade was immediately subject of satirical theatre plays. The day after, a Berlin cabaret played a piece in which a squad of soldiers was silently nodding to everything their superiors said, no matter how stupid and ridiculous it would be. Less that three months after, three independent short films appeared in the cinemas. A comic entitled “The Captain of Köpenic, an eerily beautiful story of dim-witted subservient spirit” appeared. A first feature film written and directed by Siegfried Dessauer appeared in 1926 (it was largely destroyed by the Nazis in the 1930s). The Captain of Köpenick became a literary figure in 1931 when Carl Zuckmayer wrote a very successful stage play, which served as the script for several feature films in 1931 (with Max Adalbert), 1956 (with Heinz Rühmann), and 1997 (with Harald Juhnke).

An English adaptation of Zuckmayer’s stage play appeared in 1971. In 1968, a schlager appeared, first interpreted by Drafi Deutscher and since covered by many bands and singers.

Since 2006, the play is staged every yar in the ceremonial hall of the town hall of Köpenick. Each Wednesday and Saturday at 11 a.m., the charade is reenacted in front of the Köpenick town hall, the original location. The film museum of Berlin has an original clip showing Wilhelm Voigt in 1908.

The original uniform used by Voigt is preserved and on display in the town hall of Köpenick.

In 1996, a statue was set up in front of the town hall of Köpenick.

There is also a memorial plaque, which reads: “In this town hall, the shoemaker Wilhelm Voigt (February 13, 1849 – January 3, 1922) seized the city treasury in the afternoon of October 16, 1906 as ‘Captain of Köpenick’. This act went down in history as the Köpenickiade. He became a literary figure by the eponymous stage play by Carl Zuckmayer (1931).”

His grave is preserved in Luxemburg and kept by a group of members of the European Parliament.


A Plan so Crazy it Just Might Work

During the Napoleonic Wars in 1805, two weeks after the Battle of Austerlitz, the Austrian Army had been destroyed by Napoleon Bonaparte and the Russians were in full retreat.  The Emperor of Austria sued for peace, thus occupying Napoleon’s time.  He left the French forces in command of his two most trusted Marshals, Joachim Murat (pictured left) and Jean Lannes (pictured right).

Napoleon’s orders were for Murat and Lannes to advance against the Russians, preventing the Russian Army from meeting up with reinforcements.  The only problem was that lying between the French Army and the Russian Army was the Danube River and a single bridge.  There was no other intact bridge across the Danube, nor was there a suitable crossing place.  Worse yet, the bridge was heavily guarded with Austrian infantry, cannon, and was rigged with explosives.  Both Murat and Lannes knew that there was no way they could take the bridge intact by force.  Instead the two Marshals of France  resorted to guile and trickery instead.

To the amazement of the Austrians, Murat and Lannes confidently walked across the bridge alone holding a banner of truce.  Then to the Austrian general’s surprise, they claimed that an armistice had been reached between Napoleon and the Austrian Emperor, and that the bridge was to be momentarily occupied by France.  When a disbelieving engineer tried to blow the bridge, Lannes grabbed the torch from his hand, angrily scolding him that he was in violation of the armistice and could be held for court martial.  The Austrian general was so taken by their act that he concluded their claims of armistice was legit.  He ordered his men to grab their gear and vacate the bridge.  

Incredibly Murat and Lannes had successfully taken a heavily fortified bridge without firing a shot or shedding blood.  The Russians would later use the same tactic to escape, with the Russian General Bagration suggesting that they should negotiate terms. During the negotiations, Gen. Bagration quietly evacuated his army from harms way.  Needless to say, Napoleon was furious at Murat and Lannes could so stupidly be fooled by their own trick.