residence-permit

anonymous asked:

Could you imagine if Kara kept trying to tell Lena she was Supergirl, but Lena just thinks she's messing around. So Kara get's fed up of with the gentle approach and ends up doing what she did when she told Winn; she just stomps out onto Lena's balcony and flings herself off...

She’s just so frustrated! Apparently,

-from Alex’s point of view… and Maggie’s….. and maybe the barista at Noonan’s who keeps winking at her and commenting on her ‘nice saves’…… and maybe her neighbor downstairs???-

she’s not even subtle!! So why Lena won’t believe her is completely beyond Kara. And she’s tried to tell her multiple times at this point and Kara’s really running out of patience.

So maybe she’s a tad dramatic. And maybe the kick in Lena’s heartbeat as she tips off the side of the balcony isn’t worth it. Maybe she should have just floated above the couch….

“KARA!!”

Yeah, maybe this was a bit much… but Lena wouldn’t believe her and Lena-

Lena’s flinging herself from the balcony too??!??!! And she looks surprised too when Kara catches her, full front of her body just crashing into Kara, and Kara just stares at her, mouth agape.

“You just leapt off a building!!”

Lena grapples at her shirt, eyes boggling at the drop off over her shoulder, “You can fly??”

“Lena! I told you, I’m Supergirl.” Lena’s bag thwaps against her arm and Kara frowns at it. “You lept off a building, but grabbed your purse first?”

Lena’s squinting at her face, “of course, it has my grappling hook in it.” It’s dismissive and she reaches up tentatively to remove Kara’s glasses. “Oh.”

She doesn’t get why it took so long for Lena to get it. But they shouldn’t just lay about above L-Corp all day, so Kara floats them back up over the balcony edge and sets Lena down.

Lena doesn’t give her glasses back, just twirls them and frowns. “I thought Supergirl permitted my residence here because you asked her to. I couldn’t put your faces together.”

Kara blinks, “Permits? Lena I don’t permit you to do anything! You make your own choices. You’ve earned my trust, both as Supergirl and as Kara Danvers.”

She nods, but her lip is pulled white against her teeth. Her heart rate spikes and Kara frowns. “Uhm, the time, I uh-” she trails off and gestures, willing Kara to understand an incomplete thought.

But Kara just tilts her head in question.

Lena clears her throat and there’s a tinge of red on her ears, “The time I asked Supergirl if, well, you and her-”

“OH! Oh, yes ah-” Now she’s blushing too, but it’s roaring up her neck and cheeks. Damn her metabolism and response rate. “Yeah, no, we’re not, obviously not. Uh, yeah, nope.”

“Ah, yes, obviously.” Lena bites at her lip again and it’s really kind of distracting. “Kind of a shame though.”

Kara stops mid-scratch at her ear and whirls her head back up to stare at Lena. “What?”

Lena twitches and now her heart rate skyrockets. “I mean. No, you two- one, just you, uh. Well, your both personalities? Facades? You alone? Look this is very confusing, you’re both just very attractive and it was just a thought and with the Cadmus and my mother and everyone in the galaxy attacking my building or kidnapping me, I never actually talked to you.”

She’s searching Kara’s face but Kara’s just confused and she goes over Lena’s ramble twice in her mind before it clicks. Like a lightbulb finally flickering on. “Oh. Oh, oh, uh, oh.” She gestures at Lena and back at herself. “Oh.”

Lena bites at her lip again and motions to her office door, shimmying over. “I should just, I’ll go, sorry.”

“No wait!” Kara’s in front of her before she can blink and maybe, again, not the smartest move when Lena’s just found out, but really, Kara tends to make dumb moves around Lena most of the time anyway so what’s new?

“A date? With me?” Kara stutters and shakes her head, “Will you go on a date with me?”

She hears Lena’s heart stutter and for half a moment she’s cast back to when Alex taught her the symptoms of a heart attack and the best way to treat patients but then- “Yes, yes, of course, tonight?”

Kara’s nodding before Lena even finishes her question and Lena smiles, mimicking her own expression. “If it gets these kinds of results, maybe I should throw myself off of buildings more often.”

“No! Please don’t!” Kara rushes to stop her thought process but Lena’s already laughing, already leaning up to place a kiss on her cheek.


“She threw herself off a building??” - “She carries a grappling gun in her purse??”

Alex and Maggie turn to each other and can’t hold back their laughter anymore. Kara groans, “Come on, guys, you’re supposed to be helping me pick something to wear!”

Maggie slaps at her leg and nods, “Sure, sure, but oh my god, I didn’t know Luthor was so overt in her lesbianism!! I mean, we all knew, popped collars Kara, but even a grappling gun? The lady has moves, watch out!”

Alex bats at Maggie’s leg, doubled over with laughter that seems to have no end in sight. Kara groans again and Maggie winks.

“I bet she’d rather you wear your suit.”

The blush that rages over Kara’s face is nothing compared to the coughing that Alex’s laughter turns into, and when both Danvers sisters turn on Maggie with an indignant “Maggie!” It’s the detective who has the last laugh.

Help get me home

So despite the politics of the nation, I need to get back home to America. I moved to Sweden to be with my fiancé just over a month ago and the way things are going here, I don’t think it’s going to work out. Relationship is now bordering on the abusive side, and since I have no income (I’m unable to get a job with the temporary residence permit I have), I’m coming to Tumblr for help. Any support, even in the form of reblogs would be appreciated. I have not drawn in quite some time, so I apologize in advance for any inconsistencies with the samples.

Commission prices (lineart/flats/shaded)
Bust/icon: $5/$7.50/$10
Halfbody (anywhere from waist to knee): $10/$15/$20
Fullbody: $15/$22.50/$30
Colored Lines/Lineless: Not currently offered* 
Multiple Characters: Multiply price by characters, price can increase depending on complexity (any price discrepancies from what is listed here will be discussed after seeing the request and determining if any extra cost is necessary)

*You may have one single background color and color for lines per character free of charge (if you want one character with green lines and another with blue lines with a grey background, you would not factor colored lines or backgrounds into the price)

✔️ Females
✔️ Males (please note mine tend to look a bit feminine but this is improving)
✔️ Fanart
✔️ OCs
✔️ Gaia avatars

✖️ Furries/Animals (can draw ears and tails without issue, paws and faces are the difficult areas)
✖️ Mecha
✖️ Guns
✖️ Muscular characters
✖️ Backgrounds
✖️ NSFW/Gore
I think pedophilia is my only hard limit, everything listed above are just subjects I’m not yet confident in and therefore less likely to accept.

If you need clarification or want to ask about something not listed, please ask! I can be reached at Simply.Indescribable@yahoo.com (also my PayPal email) or through Tumblr. Please note I am currently in GMT +1 (I’m awake during the shitposting hours lmao) and my fiancé is a bit controlling with my schedule and time on the internet, so it may take a few hours to a full day to get back to you, depending on when you contact me (please don’t mention anything about my situation in any contact you have with me so I don’t have to worry about opening messages with him sitting next to me). Thank you for any and all support!

Name/URL:
Character Reference(s):
Size (icon/bust/halfbody/fullbody):
Colors (none/flats/shaded):
Colored Lines? (indicate single color request if so):
Pose/Expression Request:
Extra:

the ikea stabbings

swedish crime pt.4 

On August 10th 2015, an attack on two people occurred when at 12:47, 36-year-old Abraham Ukbagabir walked into the kitchenware department of an IKEA store in Erikslund shopping centre, Västerås, with his 23-year-old friend. He picked up a knife from the shelf and ripped of the packaging. a 55-year-old woman and her 27-year-old son became the victims of Ukbagabir, the woman was stabbed first and the son directly after. They bled to death at the scene. The police arrived quickly, as they had responded to a different assault earlier, and found the now badly wounded Ukbagabir a few feet away from his two dead victims. Ukbagabir had stabbed himself in the abdomen and was rushed to the hospital.

At 13:30 information is spread of the possibility of a second perpetrator, and Ukbagabir’s friend was arrested after fighting off the police. Soon enough the man was freed from any suspicions and removed from the investigation completely.

The possible motivation behind the attack was revenge for his denied asylum he had received just hours before the attack, Ukbagabir was a refugee from Eritrea, and was planned for deportation to Italy where he had acquired a residence permit. He later stated he chose the victims because they looked Swedish. Ukbagabir also had traces of methamphetamine in his urine.

“I felt that when everyone else can stay in this country, but not me, I considered it to be a crime against me. To show that I was unfairly treated and to get peace, I attacked. It’s a kind of a defense. That was my thoughts”, he said during his trials. Ukbagabir was sentenced to life imprisonment on October 30th the same year.

The results of the attack led to threats to the asylum accommodation he had lived at, and sparked discussions regarding the high number of immigrants in Sweden and the possible consequences.

I have to drop 450€ total for my long-term residency permit and visa application for Belgium which I do not currently have, plus the cost of traveling to New York and getting a doctor’s visit from a Consulate-approved physician for my certificate of good health. I also just had to spend ~$80 getting my fingerprints mailed to the FBI to get a federal
background check for said visa application.

Help a girl achieve her dream of studying old white dudes and their metaphysics in another country - donate to my PayPal at anarchoanimeism@gmail.com so I can both eat and get to work for the next month and also figure out how to move across an ocean.

anonymous asked:

Could I get number 7 with xiumin? For the drabbles? Thanks anyway

I swear, if I see that damn slip of pink paper on my car one more time-

You were fuming as you walked across the parking garage.

The source of the problem began two months ago, when the apartment complex you were staying at released an announcement that they were undergoing significant ‘improvements’. And by improvements, they really meant that there would be a newly renovated list of demands and restrictions from the Residents’ Board. One of these ‘improvements’ was the implementation of a new parking policy; one that said that there would now only be five parking spaces available for each floor. With five separate apartments on each floor, this would normally be a non-issue.

However, it became an issue three weeks ago, once your imperious new neighbor, Kim Minseok, decided to move into the empty apartment on the floor of which you currently resided in: the fourth floor.

Your first impressions of Minseok were rather positive. At least, they started out that way. It seemed as though every encounter you had with Minseok aside from the courtesy introduction was one of malcontent, leaving you infuriated more often than not.

The animosity you held towards him originated once you travelled down to the parking garage three weeks ago to find a small, pink slip tucked neatly against the windshield-wipers. It read promptly:

     “Ms. (y/n) (y/l/n),

We regret to inform you that you have violated the official Resident Board’s protocol initiative #0083, stating that a limit of five parking spaces are permitted per resident floor. Each floor is assigned their respective parking spaces. It has come to our attention that your vehicle is not parked in one of the assigned spaces, and the following fine will be sent to your address accordingly.

     Signed, The Residents’ Board”


Well no dip, Sherlock, of course my car isn’t parked in the assigned spot.

There was a simple reason why you couldn’t park your car in your own spot. And this reason belonged to Kim Minseok. Or rather, his moped. Because not only did Minseok own a black sedan, but he was also the resident owner of a rusty, ancient scooter that you were pretty sure could have been invented in the late 19th century.

A scooter that he believed deserved its own parking spot.

In essence, you had been booted from your own parking spot, and now, the Residents’ Board had so kindly taking the initiative to fine you for not magically replacing the rackety old moped with your car.

For the first offense, you brought this conflict up with Minseok calmly and professionally. If handling measures professionally entailed writing your own letter and sticking it to his moped, then yes, you considered yourself a professional. The first note you sent was thoroughly formal and respectful, as you assumed the receiving party to be understanding and cognisant.

Well, if that were the case, you wouldn’t be here facing the same dilemma as you have been for the past three weeks.

Minseok had been kind enough to respond to your note with one of his own. Put in simple terms, he denied your request up-front. He apparently valued this moped so much that it deserved its own space. As far as you knew, he never drove the damned thing: you’ve never seen him so much as touch it. He was permanently stuck on his high horse, and considering the way he talked about it, this moped could have been one.

The two of you had been passing heated notes back and forth since the issue began. Each time you would explain the selfishness apathetic nature of his actions, he would respond with such a haughty attitude that you had to physically restrain yourself from walking right up to his doorstep and blowing a fuse. Despite the childish nature of the notes the two of you had been passing back and forth, you liked to consider yourself more mature than that.

But this was where you drew the line.

You had received the fine for ‘erroneous parking’ seven times now. You didn’t know how much more of Minseok’s ceaseless arrogance you could take.

So here you were, stalking angrily across the parking garage’s cold, concrete floor as you spotted the little pink dot plastered to your car in the distance. Once you made it to the front of your car, you snatched the pink paper away from where it had become quite comfortable. It was another fine.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You tore the piece of paper in half, continuing to rip it into fourths, then eighths, then sixteenths, and so on until the floor had been coated in tiny pink lint. In the midst of your heinous fit, you decided it was a good idea to kick something.

Bad idea, (y/n), bad idea.

You immediately doubled over in pain as your foot came into contact with the curb of the sidewalk. You could’ve sworn blood was forming in your mouth with how hard you bit down on your tongue to stop from crying out in pain. Falling on your butt, you pulled your legs to your chest and clutched the injured foot as it throbbed in excruciating pain.

“Well, that’s tragic.”

Your head whipped in the direction of the voice.

Your teeth gritted together in a mix of pain and disgust as your eyes met those of Mr. Kim Minseok himself.

“Would you like some help?” You were taken aback at the genuine concern in his voice.

After studying his face, you noticed that where you had expected there to be a look of amusement or superiority in his expression, there was only worry.

“I have nothing to say to the nation’s biggest moped lover.” You huffed, turning your gaze away in contempt.

“Hey, look, about that,” Minseok looked at the ground as he scratched the back of his head. “I didn’t realize it was really stressing you out this much.”

“What did you expect?” You spat childishly, too focused on the intense throbbing of your foot to think about civility. “I’m being fined a hefty sum of money every day you decide your moped is more important than your neighbor’s sanity.”

“That moped is more of a keepsake for me,” He looked back up from the ground to look you in the eye. “But I had no idea that the Residents’ Board kept fining you like that. You should’ve just told me that in the first place, other than angrily scribbling insults, violent threats, and aggressive demands.”

Right… That might’ve helped, (y/n).

“I thought it would be rather obvious, considering it’s the apartment complex’s policy.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize, but I did just move here a few weeks ago. I didn’t see anything about a parking fine in any of the bulletins.” Minseok looked genuinely apologetic, causing you to consider your spiteful attitude.

“Right, well-” You coughed, trying to retain some ounce of pride after being proven the idiot in this instance.

As you tried to stand however, you recoiled almost instantly. It felt as though fire was spreading from the balls of your feet up to your knee.

Minseok immediately stepped close to you, kneeling down and reaching an arm behind your back for support.

“I swear,” You muttered, more angry at yourself than at Minseok, “If I broke a toe or something because of this whole affair-”

“Here,” Minseok cut you off, helping to position you to sit against the door of your car. “Let me take you to the hospital to get it looked at.”

“No, that’s fine,” You lackadaisically shoved his hand aside and sighed deeply. “Besides, it’s all for nothing if you won’t move that damn scooter.”

Minseok sighed and let out a short laugh, running his hand through his hair as he did so.

“I’ll tell you what,” His smile was something you didn’t expect to affect you so deeply, but it did. “We haven’t had a proper opportunity to get to know each other, as neighbors. If you agree to grab some dinner with me tonight, then I’ll rent a spot for my moped and give you back your hard-fought parking spot.”

You blinked several times, speechless in utter surprise.

“U-um… I guess…” You took a deep breath, hardening your expression. “If you swear that I won’t have to see another one of those damn pink papers again as long as I live-”

“Agreed.” Minseok’s smile widened, and you could’ve sworn that some small part of you felt the urge to swoon, coming to the realization of just how abnormally handsome he was. “But first-”

Before you had the chance to utter a single word, Minseok’s arms swept underneath you. In the span of a second, he scooped you up into his arms, securing you in place with more strength than you thought possible. You had no idea how well-built he was, as his figure hid it rather well.

What you weren’t expecting more than that, however, was the mischievous wink he sent you to accompany his amused smirk.

“I really think I should take you to the hospital.”

Originally posted by xiundeer


A/N: It’s still the 26th over here in America!! Happy Xiumin Day!! I sincerely apologize for the fact that here haven’t been any updates in the past two weeks. As spring break, for me, is in a week, my teachers have been piling up the projects and tests and its just been aksdjsftrhldfqdfjsk. Despite this, I have been working on updates, just not enough to complete them ;~;

Thank you so much for continuing to be patient with me! Everyone’s love and support means so much to me and it continues to encourage me to keep writing! I hope this satisfied your request, hun! <3

~Nunchi

The Swedish word uppgivenhetssyndrom sounds like what it is: a syndrome in which kids have given up on life. That’s what several hundred children and adolescents have done — literally checked out of the world for months or years. They go to bed and don’t get up. They’re unable to move, eat, drink, speak or respond. All of the victims of the disorder, sometimes called resignation syndrome, have been youngsters seeking asylum after a traumatic migration, mostly from former Soviet and Yugoslav states. And all of them live in Sweden.

Read the article from The New Yorker: The Trauma Of Facing Deportation
Rachel Aviv, a staff writer at The New Yorker, described these children in the April 3, 2017, article “The Trauma of Facing Deportation.”

The children go into these comalike states when their families are notified that they will be deported. The only known cure is for their families to receive residency permits allowing them to stay in Sweden. It’s not a sudden, magical reawakening when family members read the approved residency permit in the nonresponsive child’s presence. Somehow, the information gets through. While there are no long-term follow-up studies, Aviv says, over a period of days, weeks, sometimes a few months, the child begins to eat, move, react and come back to the world. Goats & Soda talked with Aviv about the story.

http://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2017/03/30/521958505/only-in-sweden-hundreds-of-refugee-children-gave-up-on-life

now this shit pisses me off, because if the person would spend 10.5 seconds on google, they would find that

(1) you don’t need to be a US resident to have an SSN. I have an SSN, and I am on a student visa. People on H1B have SSNs. You don’t even need to have an immigrant status to have an SSN.

(2) Green card is another name for the US permanent resident permit. Like, they are literally the same thing. None is a subset of the other, or different in any way. The name comes from the permanent resident card being green (not anymore iirc)

(3) If the person meant citizenship as opposed to permanent residence (how many of the people with strong opinions about immigrants even know the difference?..), then bad news: you have to have lived in the US legally for a certain number of years before you can get a US citizenship. You can’t just “come into US legally“ and be granted citizenship immediately.

(4) While this is not mentioned in this post, it always, always comes up: taxes. Immigrants do pay taxes. Non-immigrants like people on H1B still pay taxes. I pay taxes. In fact, since I lived in the US for more than 5 years, I am already something called resident for tax purposes, meaning I pay just as much taxes as anyone.

if you have bad opinions at least don’t justify them with something that can be verified by literally looking at the first result in google search.

Fake Dating AU

1) “My best friend thinks you are my girlfriend/boyfriend, though I just met you and this is awkward but let’s pretend we are a couple, I don’t want my best friend to tease me anymore tbh”

2) “It’s bloody Valentine’s Day and there is a discount in the cafe for a couple and I don’t have enough money and oh hey you are single too so let’s pretend we are a couple and get this fucking discount I am bloody starving”

3) “I’m on my sister’s wedding and everyone thinks we are dating so let’s have fun and make everyone believe that we actually are a couple”

4) “My ex comes home to pick up his/her things and you came by after your shift at work and now my ex thinks you are my new girlfriend/boyfriend, so let’s play it cool”

5) “We were drunk and confessed love to each other and on the next day everyone congratulate us about getting together and this is awkward because we don’t remember anything”

6) “You are my nemesis but I have no choice so I had to ask you to be my boyfriend\girlfriend because my parents want to meet my significant other”

7) “Let’s prank everyone and say we are dating wait they actually believed it oh my god”

8) “This creep on a train keeps flirting with me and seriously this is really scary would you please play along and pretend my boyfriend/girlfriend or husband/wife”

9) “We are celebrities and our fans ship us so let’s make them happy and pretend we are together, let’s call it an experiment”

10) “I am going to be fired if I won’t obtain a residence permit in another country and you are my co-worker and happen to be from this country so let’s get marry pls I don’t want to lose this job”

Park Dae-im was drafted by the Japanese Imperial Army in 1934 and forced into prostitution in the service of the Japanese troops invading China. She was sent to a euphemistically-named comfort station in Mukden, now Shenyang, China, where she received a residence permit for foreigners, which she has kept with care as proof of her past.

Some tell of a devoted wife, some of her abandonment, but hear today of a princess– endowed with her mother’s beauty, and stubborn as her father:

A maiden in want of the perfect husband, Nalayani would take no suitor unless he fit her vision of a husband perfectly. When her parents failed to look for a satisfactory match, the girl took the task on herself. She set out to the forests, leaving a trail of saddened friends and worried parents behind.

She wasted away in penance: air her only food, boon her only reward. Although the austerities of her undertaking would put many-a-sadhus to shame, she was still a girl. And as all lively children are, she was easily excited upon the dawn of the realization of near success.

As the God stood before her, waiting for the fated to happen, she happily obliged.

“A husband, a husband! I want a husband, my God, give me a husband, a husband!”

A chuckle rumbled from the ash-caked lips. “My child, have patience. What is this husband you so ardently desire?”

“Have him be honest, and learned. Have him be strong, his arms encapsulating the strength of a thousand elephants. Have him be brave, and dexterous, and valiant, equipped with every knowledge of weaponry and battle. Have him be handsome, his visage surpassing Indra in beauty. And above all, my God, have him be wise and intelligent, and have him love me with endless passion,” the daughter of Nala breathed, her eyes glazed with restless adoration, her smile a cut of expectations across her bony face.

The God’s eyes shone with a conspiracy that was woven long ago in indelible ink. Damayanti’s daughter played her part well, her soul a bundle of joy and gaiety in a body a frame of bones in a blanket of flesh.

“Hmm,” he said, humoring the child in mock dilemma. “The nature of mortals does not permit the residence of all those virtues in one body, child,” he said, looking at her from under twisted eyebrows.

“But– ”

“However,” he said, a small smile teasing the corner of his mouth, “You shall have your wish: I bless you with five husbands in your next reincarnation, with all your desired virtues collectively endued in them.”

Nalayani’s jaw fell in horror. “You call this a boon? My God, would you mock my devotion so? You know that the society does not look favorably on maidens with many men in their beds!”

“Worry not, child. Your chastity shall remain intact. You will live a virgin, and die one too.”

And that was that. Nalayani was reborn as Draupadi from fire, Draupadi who was divided among the five Pandav brothers, Draupadi who kept the five united.

INDIA, Abhaneri : Indian men walk down the steps of the historic Chand Baori stepwell  in Abhaneri village of western Rajasthan state on September 24, 2015. For a few hours on one day each year, local residents are permitted to descend into the 100-foot-deep, 1,200-year-old stepwell, as Hindu devotees in the area mark a local festival, at the same time as Hindus worldwide observe Ganesh Chaturthi festivities. Chand Baori is one of the oldest and largest stepwells in the world, with some 3,500 steps laid out in a geometric design down to the water at its base. AFP PHOTO / ALEX OGLE                        

Lol I emailed the person who is responsible for handling the residence permit appointment for international students here and he replied saying that he doesn’t work here anymore and doesn’t care about students anymore.

He couldve just said that he doesn’t work here and be done. Why the fuck include that not caring about students shit lol

I literally forwarded the mail to everyone idc

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.

anonymous asked:

Kaixo! I have a 2 part question, I hope that's okay. Firstly, are there schools in Basque country to teach foreigners how to speak Basque? And secondly, if I was to live there and was still learning Basque would I be able to live there and do all my business in Spanish until I know enough Basque to speak that instead? Eskerrik asko!

Obviously yes, provided you’re talking about Hegoalde. Everybody here can speak Spanish perfectly, bilingual people exist and won’t care to speak in Spanish with people that can’t speak Euskara, for God’s sake, you have crazy ideas, anon…

About the Basque courses for foreigners, the University of the Basque Country offers summer courses. If you live here for long enough to get a residence permit, you can go to any euskaltegi (Euskara teaching centers) or Official Languages School.

chaptersonetoinfinity  asked:

Hi I'm pestering you again! German and Norwegian, for the language ask? <3 I hope your day is filled with new pictures of Max!

You’re not pestering me. You’re wonderful ❤

* German: When did you use another language for the last time?

- Right now since English is not my native language 😀 and a few days ago I used German in my fic.

* Norwegian: What drove you crazy once in your language studies?

- German vocabulary always drives me crazy. I learn words that I forget the next day. I remember two words in particular that took me forever to study: Aufenthaltsgenehmigung (Residency permit) and dringend (Urgent) don’t know why though 😄

Thank you again my lovely friend ❤❤

Scan - The notice of deportation given to George Harrison, dated 1 November 1960.

Signed by Bruno Koschmider, it reads:

“Hamburg,
November 1st, 1960

Notice

I the undersigned, hereby give notice to Mr. GEORGE HARRISON and to BEATLES’ BAND to leave on November 30th 1960.

The notice is given to the above by order of the Public Authorities who have discovered that Mr. GEORGE HARRISON is only 17 (seventeen) years of age.”

“When the group accepted a position at Hamburg’s hottest venue, the Top Ten, the owner of the Kaiserkeller, the club they’d been playing, retaliated by notifying local authorities that George Harrison was still under eighteen - and thereby was playing adult clubs illegally. Within twenty-four hours, the police raided the Beatles ‘looking for the one called Harrison.’ Lennon replied, 'What the fuck do you want him for? He hasn’t done anything.’” - A Rolling Stone Tribute to George Harrison

“At all clubs, they used to read out a notice every night saying that all people under 18 had to leave. Someone eventually realized I was only 17, without a work permit or a resident permit. So I had to leave. I had to go home on my own, I felt terrible.” - George Harrison, The Beatles Authorized Biography

George was brought to the train station by Astrid and Stu; as Astrid remembered in the Davies penned authorized biography: “Little George, all lost. I gave him a big bag of sweets and some apples. He threw his arms around me and Stu, which was the sort of demonstrative thing they never did.”

Keep reading

but I’m seized each autumn by a certain anxiety—am I still a writer? Who will provide confirmation?…

So every year—since the residence permit had to be renewed yearly—I carried my handful of books to the rue Saint-Dominique, a few steps from the splendid boulevard Saint-Germain, which was and remains one of the greatest streets created by Western culture, to confirm that I was in fact a writer. I presented the same books every year, occasionally enhanced by some freshly printed collection of poems or essays, in translation or in my native tongue, and when I returned to collect my document, the tomes, or rather slim volumes, were handed back to me. So I was a writer with a yearly expiration, like some medications, or canned food with a date stamped on its tin bottom. Every year, at the end of September or the start of October, I began to have doubts—was I still a writer? I accepted the commission’s decision with relief, I could rest easy for another year. But had the commission chief studied my books at home? Had he liked my poems and essays? Such questions remained unanswered, the certificate was couched in maximally dry, efficient prose, it drew no evaluative conclusions, it spoke only of “literary activity.” A minimalist review, so to speak. Not much different from most ordinary reviews, at least from the laconic reports on recent publications that appear in the daily papers. I stopped carrying my books to the rue Saint-Dominique long ago, but I’m seized each autumn by a certain anxiety—am I still a writer? Who will provide confirmation?…

~ Adam Zagajewski, Slight Exaggeration: An Essay (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, April 4, 2017)