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SarahTheCoat

@sarahthecoat

mostly Sherlock. The New Semester my dreamwidth
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still thinking about crowley's fall.

That one quote, more specifically. "How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?"

It's very possible I'm overthinking it. But it still reminds me so much of art and censorship, I wrote a poem on it just now, and I just wanted to elaborate on that, on why I said that an answer is judgement but a question is justice.

Back in Ancient Greece, Plato tried to outlaw writers, the storytellers. For millennia, those in power have feared people in arts, because we're not just dealers in aesthetics, we're dealers in ideas. Even in times of war, poverty, censorship, songs were sung, paperbacks exchanged in dark alleyways, stories whispered and walls covered with graffiti.

When stories are created, the writers have to balance both opposing ideas in their head, no matter how vile or repugnant. To prove that the protagonist is strong, you can't have a weak antagonist. The opposing idea has to be as strong as the one that will win for the victory to be meaningful.

Art, and stories, aren't about being right. People say we find answers in art, and maybe for some that's true, but I think what is infinitely more important are the questions it raises.

Because what is braver, what is more shattering to the status quo, than to question it? To dare to ask what if, to present an alternative, to pull an idea up to the witness stand and cross-examine it?

That's why when we see censorship, we need to look deeper. Because if an idea is truly that 'right', it will survive even the most intense of questioning, and even sceptics will have to accept its veracity. Why, then, are people so afraid of stories that question? Maybe it is because deep down, they aren't convinced themselves. They don't believe that their idea will survive the cross-examination. They are trying to keep a lie in power over the truth.

And art isn't about finding that elusive truth, it's about daring to look the lies in their face and say, maybe, maybe you're wrong. I don't know, you don't know, nobody may ever know, but maybe.

Like the Serpent of Eden, whispering, presenting that alternative of dissent to Eve. Not coercing. Not forcing her hand. But telling her that there is an alternative, whether good or bad.

That's why the writers, the artists, the musicians, those from every walk of the arts, are journalists interviewing society. We cannot allow ourselves to be silenced.

It's not about the answers offered, and whether someone agrees with them or not. It's about the questions, and if people fear the questions, maybe think about why that is.

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Anonymous asked:

At some point, when you have a moment and if you feel like it, I would love to hear your thoughts on Angel Crowley from [Before the] Beginning of S2. :)

I don’t know if I have anything too novel to say, but I am happy to type up some of my thoughts!

If we met the Starmaker without already knowing Crowley, I think he would seem kind, exuberant, and clever. But, of course, we meet the Starmaker when we already know who Crowley will be, and so the way he comes across, really, is naïve. Even while we are positioned to contrast the Starmaker with Crowley, we are also given ample opportunity to contrast him with Aziraphale. That’s what I find the most interesting, really: how the Starmaker differs from Aziraphale.

There are two interconnected questions that I am struck with, when I think about how the Starmaker compares to Aziraphale:

  1. Why is the Starmaker so much more naïve than Aziraphale?
  2. Why does the Starmaker fall, when Aziraphale didn’t?

Given the little we know, I believe there are personal, interpersonal, and social factors related to the answers to both questions.

Let’s start with the social factors. We don’t know where exactly the Starmaker is within Heaven’s hierarchy, but he’s at least reasonably high up. We also don’t know where he is, relative to Aziraphale, but it is reasonable to interpret Aziraphale’s introduction (and Starmaker’s lack thereof) as evidence that Aziraphale is lower in the hierarchy than him: he seems to anticipate that Aziraphale already knows who he is, whereas Aziraphale has no similar assumption. This is important, given how social position affects epistemological position.

Within a system of oppression, those who are in a position of privilege are less capable of recognizing and understanding the system surrounding them. This is how privilege functions: it obscures the reality of the oppression that makes it possible. In other words, social privilege implies epistemological disprivilege. The fact that Aziraphale is lower rank indicates that he likely is in a better position to recognize the oppressive elements to the Heavenly hierarchy. The Starmaker, on the other hand, is less capable of picking up on the problems inherent within the system, because he (generally, so far as we know, and up until this point) has benefited from that system. Aziraphale knows to be cautious about presenting criticisms, whereas the Starmaker does not.

Interpersonal factors. We know extremely little about this. If we take seriously Crowley’s comments about “Lucifer and the guys” in S1, then it seems plausible that the Starmaker had a reasonably sized social group. He had friends, perhaps. And we all know what they say: if all your friends decided to get pushed off a cliff, you’re probably going to get pushed off, along with them.

It is very hard to read Aziraphale, on the other hand, as anything but very lonely. There are other angels working on the same projects, and maybe we just don’t see his meaningful connections to others. However, it seems likely to me at least that Aziraphale just didn’t have friends the way that the Starmaker did. This means that, to some extent or another, the Starmaker was better positioned to feel safe, loved, and protected, compared to Aziraphale.

(On a side note, I am also very curious about what sort of relationship, if any, the Starmaker had with Gabriel. Did they know each other? Did they work together? Could they possibly have been like brothers? Crowley knows Michael well enough to know that they're a "wanker"--when did he come to make that judgment?)

Personal factors. The one thing we know about the Starmaker is that he makes stars. He’s an engineer, in other words. Now, there are certain styles of thought and engagement with the world that tend to be common among those who go into engineering. It’s a problem-solving profession: you see a problem, you solve it. Engineering usually also prioritizes simplicity-as-elegance in solutions. The idea of there being a problem that can’t be solved is intolerable. The idea of a problem that is allowed to continue even when a simple solution is available is even more intolerable. Engineers are also susceptible to what is sometimes called “Engineer’s Disease,” or an overextended confidence in the correctness and universality of one’s own perspective. Consider the idea of a suggestion box. The Starmaker would appreciate it, and so he is certain that everyone else would appreciate it as well.  He dismisses Aziraphale’s warning because he isn’t used to the idea that what is apparent to him might actually be false.

It also seems pretty clear that the Starmaker really enjoys the work that he does. He’s been working on a project (for how long? With whom?), and he absolutely adores this project. He gets real meaning and joy out of tinkering with the universe in order to bring his star factory into existence. He's happy, and that matters.

Additionally, let’s think about how Aziraphale and the Starmaker (might) process information differently. I think Aziraphale is introverted while the Starmaker is extroverted. I don’t mean in terms of how “energized” they feel about being alone or with others, but instead about how internal or external their thinking and feeling processes are. The Starmaker tends to process things through external faculties. He talks out his thoughts, he gesticulates, and his emotions are immediately apparent in his expression and mood. (Crowley is far less externally apparent with his thoughts and feelings. I take this to be a learned behavior. But still, this snake slithers when he needs to think.) Aziraphale, on the other hand, can keep his thoughts and feelings a lot closer to the chest. It is easier for him to notice something, solve a problem, experience a reaction, form a belief, etc., without showing it to the whole world.

So, let’s put these pieces together.

Why is the Starmaker more naïve than Aziraphale? The Starmaker is in a more privileged position, which means that it is harder for him to identify the oppressive system surrounding him. He additionally has friends and meaningful work that leave him fulfilled and satisfied. He is predisposed to expect those around him to see things the same way he does, and that means that he expects that problems will be solved and questions will be answered.

Why does the Starmaker fall while Aziraphale doesn’t? Recognizing the flaws in the system is not as sudden or dramatic for Aziraphale. He’s in a better position to recognize the flaws in the system. He also, it seems, is far better able to tolerate apparent problems. He doesn’t encounter the world with a clear certainty that solutions can be found and will be accepted. He also can think his thoughts and feel his feelings without making them apparent to others.  He doesn’t have friendships the way the Starmaker does, and so he is less likely to be caught up in others’ drama. He has less experience feeling safe and trusted, and so it is easier for him to recognize how he isn't safe and what/who can’t be trusted.

In other words, it’s what we’ve all known all along: the Starmaker fell because he couldn’t imagine it would be dangerous to ask questions. Aziraphale didn’t because he wouldn’t have tried asking them in the first place.

That’s where my thoughts are, right now, at least.

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The average person has two thoughts a day about Crowley's psychology, whereas Crowleys Georg...

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I’ve seen it said quite a number of times now that in OFMD piracy is a metaphor for freedom, especially freedom from societal oppression, and, honestly, I’m not a fan. There is some merit in that analysis but as is, it’s so broad it actually undermines the real metaphor the show is going for.

The core issue here is when we talk about piracy in OFMD, there are actually two separate subtypes of piracy that fall under that label. The first is the way piracy is practiced by the broader pirate culture within the universe of the show — best represented by Izzy, Calico Jack, and Spanish Jackie and her husbands — and the second is the type of piracy that Stede is trying to create and which the rest of the crew of the Revenge eventually adopts. For brevity going forward I’ll refer to the second group as just the crew of the Revenge (or sometimes just Stede, as appropriate) and the first group will be the “real” pirates, as that group spends a large amount of their screen time telling us the crew of the Revenge aren’t real pirates.

Both of these types of piracy can offer escape from the dominant power structures, especially for people of marginalized groups. Every pirate we see in the show either is confirmed or implied to be at least one of POC, queer, disabled, neurodivergent, or from a low economic status. We see these people are able to flee from the society that oppressed them and potentially gain success as a pirate. It’s certainly worth calling out that one of the people we see at the top within the world of the real pirates is Spanish Jackie, a polyamorous disabled black woman.

But that is itself the problem. While it’s great that Spanish Jackie was able to find success, the fact that she is at the top necessarily implies that there is a top to be at. The real pirates still have a hierarchical structure that is maintained through violence. Spanish Jackie has a jar full of noses that she’s cut off people who have crossed her. We see one person who she decided to inflict this punishment on, Stede, who was guilty of accidentally knocking over and breaking the nose jar. Despite our escape into piracy, the property of those with power is still more important than the well-being of those without.

And it’s not just that they’ve copied over the idea of a violence-enforced hierarchy. Some of the oppressive structures they’ve just copied over wholesale. Izzy Hands is a racist, homophobic, misogynistic poster boy for toxic masculinity. And on the poster right next to his would be Calico Jack, toxic masculinity: frat boy edition. Even our one woman in power — because it is just the one — is complimented by her husband Geraldo by saying she has “the biggest balls of all.”

By maintaining these power hierarchies rather than gaining freedom from the oppressive structures of the dominate culture, the real pirates just end up feeding back into it. This is even played out literally when it’s Izzy’s toxic attitudes and beliefs that cause him to make a deal with the English Navy which in turn leads to the pirates Stede and the famed Blackbeard himself being forced to join the Navy. There is no freedom from oppression here; some of the rules may have changed, but the game is still the same.

Let’s turn our attention now to the crew of the Revenge. Here is where we start to see the true freedom from oppression begin to form. Stede stated mission statement for the Revenge in the very first episode is “Piracy is a culture of violence and abuse. But what if it wasn’t?” He is trying to create a place where people of all marginalized groups are welcomed and respected and have their unique talents & skills appreciated, where everyone can express themselves and be supported, where everyone gets a say in the decisions, where violence is eschewed except as a way of protecting oneself and others from violence, including violent words & systems, and where everyone can be assured of their basic needs being met plus having access to some luxuries.

Now, that’s not to say Stede is perfect in his attempts to build this community. He has his flaws, most notably that he is self-centered (not selfish as in prioritizing himself over others, but self-centered as in often forgets that others have different perspectives and experiences than he does), which combined with the way his past privilege sheltered him means he’s ignorant of many of the different ways systemic oppression has affected those without his same privilege. And beyond just ignorant, he is often ignorant of his ignorance, which leads to overconfidence. Still, in spite of the learning he still has to do, it’s clear that his intentions are on the right track. Significantly this is why the two crew members we see on his side from the first episode are Oluwande, the dark-skinned black man, and Lucius, the most outwardly and visibly queer member of the crew.

At this point we don’t know what Olu’s backstory is, but just based on his name, Oluwande Boodhari, it seems very likely that he knows where he comes from. His name implies he is of mixed Somali and Yoruba descent, and that he had at least one parent around that knew that and was able to give him a name that reflected that heritage. A parent who could have also taught him about the history and the culture of his people. That means that Olu is the one person on the crew most likely to be familiar with what a society that was initially built without the influence of colonialism might look like. And he is in turn the one person who is onboard with what Stede is doing from the beginning. Granted, he doesn’t have a lot of faith in Stede’s ability to actually pull it off (it is easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism colonialism), but he wants to give Stede a chance to give it his best shot.

Lucius takes a little longer to come around, which is appropriate as he frequently serves as our audience surrogate. He initially sees Stede as we might, a mediocre rich white man inserting himself into a culture he doesn’t understand, assuming that he knows better than everyone there, and expecting everyone else to just accommodate him. Of course Lucius wants to mutiny against that guy; he sounds like a jerk. But then we get tea with Nigel Badminton. And we watch Badminton subject Stede to homophobic (and ableist, but the homophobia is what’s relevant here) bullying, and Lucius sees red. So when Stede later calls for help after having gone off alone with Badminton, Lucius is the person in addition to Olu who responds. Then at the end of the episode Lucius stands in solidarity with Olu, both of them lying to protect Stede’s ability to captain the ship for as long as he can.

It’s important to understand that this change of mind from Lucius is not simply a moment of pity and queer solidarity. Seeing Nigel Badminton’s treatment of him has fundamentally changed Lucius’s understanding of Stede as a person. Stede is a wealthy white man, yes, but that privilege ultimate was not enough to protect him. Stede has suffered oppression, the very same kind of oppression Lucius himself has faced, and has known pain. Stede’s venture here is not then the whim of an ignorant rich man, but the deliberate efforts of someone who has experienced hurt to create a place where no one else has to go through that. While Lucius may not have any more faith in Stede than Olu does, he does understand what Stede’s trying to do now and see the value in it.

Somehow, despite the odds and our complete lack of faith in him, the stupid fucking puppet manages to pull it off. If we compare episodes 1 & 9 we can see how the crew has rallied around Stede and transformed into the community he wanted to build. During the firing squad scene we again see Lucius and Olu protecting Stede (with the journal entry and plant respectively), but rather than protecting him from the crew, the are protecting him from the machinations of Admiral Badminton (dominate societal structures) and Izzy Hands (real pirates) with the crew standing in solidarity behind them. The aforementioned plant is the half-dead one Stede “plundered” in the first episode which is now green and thriving. And of course this time when Stede says “talk it through” we get the reply “as a crew” despite Stede not even appearing to be trying to do a call and response at the moment.

Perhaps even more significant is the comparison of the two mutinies from episodes 1 & 9. In the first episode, the crew plans to mutiny against Stede because they want a real pirate for a captain. This is clear both from the general way they discuss it and from the two candidates they suggest for the new captain: Jim, whose personality is the closest to the real pirate ideal, and Pete, who is the most invested in the real pirate ideal of all of them. By episode 9 they have a real pirate for a captain — Izzy is the most prominent representation of real pirates in the show — and they have realized that isn’t what they want actually. This time Oluwande is unanimously chosen as the new captain explicitly because he will be concerned with everyone’s wellbeing and because he doesn’t want to be captain, which is presumably meant to be commentary on him not being interested in acquiring power. It also should not be lost on us that Olu was the first one to understand and support what Stede was trying to build and that in a show where our major oppressive structures are patriarchy and colonialism our choice for new captain is a emotionally intelligent, soft, queer, black man with a native African name.

So what happens when you say “piracy is a metaphor for freedom” you turn the world of Our Flag Means Death into a dichotomy of the English (and French and Spanish, etc.) vs pirates where one side is oppression and the other freedom. And in fairness, that does seem to be how many of the characters in the show perceive it. Even Stede doesn’t seem to realize the false dichotomy here as he is actively taking a third option. The reality of the situation is the English et al. are the oppressive mainstream society. Then we have the real pirates as a counterculture, but a flawed one that has recognized the problems of the mainstream culture, but incorrectly believes the solution is to have different people at the top. And then we have the Revenge as true revolution. It’s the the ideal world, or at least the first fumbling but earnest steps toward the ideal world, where things are just and fair and there is freedom from oppression.

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