Ive been in the home rental business for 35 years, enough time to see the same scenario before, but it leaves me just as vexed this time as it has before.

The issue is a young couple, about 23 years old, who have been together for a year. She is openly and admittedly 'madly in love' with her boyfriend, going so far as to announce on the initial walk through, that they want the suite because "its so quiet and peaceful and we are going to have a baby here" A bit too much information.

They were fine during the interview, and all their checks were passable - both former landlords I contacted gave them a thumbs up for paying their rent on time and keeping the place clean. Everything was fine except for his credit score which was very poor - but thats not unusual for someone that young who is still learning how to control their finances.

There is another young couple in the lower suite and they met and exchanged pleasantries and seemed to hit it off initially. But one week in, I got the first text from the basement tenants saying that there was yelling and screaming upstairs. I was startled because it seemed unusual compared to the public face they presented. I asked the tenants to inform me if it happened again. Maybe it was just one very bad day I hoped.

It did happen again. The next day at 5 am they were shouting so loudly that I could hear them over the basement tenants phone. I asked the tenants to call the police because it was domestic violence. They were about to call when everything went quiet again and they chose to wait.

There was a lull for a bit and then the third week I got an early morning text again. This time they were not only yelling at each other, they were screaming at another couple, friends supposedly, who were staying with them. There was loud banging and "it sounded like chairs being thrown around"

I told them to call the police, which they did this time but by the time the police arrived everything was calm again. Moments after they left though, everything erupted and the two guys ended up in a fight on the back lawn, Fists went flying and someone got punched although at this point its unclear who punched whom.

The police were called back and according to the account I got, the boyfriend was arrested. He says he wasn't and the police wont give me the report without his permission.

So yesterday I went to talk to them and inspect the house. I cant see any visible damage however it could easily be hidden by the goods piled against the wall, they're still unpacking as they've only been in for a month.

And then my dilemma begins. I KNOW this is a toxic relationship. Ive met this kind of guy before. Smooth talker, good looking, believes he can charm anyone any time. When I told him about the three reports of excessive noise and violence his first reaction was "it won't happen again" and his second was "I will call the other tenants and explain, Im sure we can work this out"

No buddy, no you cant. Because you're an abuser. And you'll do what all abusers do. You'll try to quiet the noise for a time, try to make your girlfriend use a forced whisper instead of an open cry, but it will only be a matter of a week or two and you're going to lose your temper again and we'll be right back where we are now, but probably even worse, because your character has been exposed.

And then I struggle with my place as a landlord but also as a caring human. I LIKE these people. They were charming and fun to get to know. I did extra work for them, getting new appliances in place because she's a specialty cook and loves to be in the kitchen. I made sure everything was 100% because I wanted them to be happy and have a nice place for them and if it happened, their new baby.

But now Im very concerned for her future. She doesnt seem to realize just how deep she is into this toxic mess of a relationship. His comment was 'we fight like most couples' and I abruptly cut him off: "NO! NOT like most couples! Most couples dont wake up the neighbors at 5 am with a screaming match and have a fist fight on the lawn where the cops get called" He looked slightly sheepish for a second and then went right back to his charm defense, saying he would work it out and they just needed 'another chance'.

The reason I think I may want to say more is because of Mercedes. She and her boyfriend rented from me about 10 years ago. It was the same scenario - charming, good looking but very angry boyfriend who lost his temper and went around the house damaging walls and smashing a porcelain sink. He was so rabid I actually brought a friend along to give them their eviction notice because I feared for my safety. That wasnt unjustified and his rage was palpable and extremely scary.

But when he was out of the room I asked Mercedes if she was ok. She said she was nervous, scared, but ok. I said 'I hope you're not going to go with him when he leaves' and she shook her head. The light bulb had come on. "No, the second he's out the door Im out of here. I hope I never see him again." Thank god she was finally seeing things clearly.

I came across her again a year ago online and just sent a friendly hello and if she remembered me and the house. She not only remembered me, she thanked me for helping her escape her hellish relationship. She said she was now in a very good and loving relationship and she couldn't believe how blind she was to even move in with Mr. Toxic in the first place. She said their eviction was a important turning point in her life.

And I see Mercedes in this new tenant. Im just not sure she realizes what she's got herself into. Or else she does and she's not sure how to get out because I cant imagine how violent his reaction would be if she tried to leave.

Which leaves me stuck. They are new to this area. They said they dont have many friends and family is a long way away, so there's no one close who is seeing what the basement tenants and I saw. And we're not sure what to do. The basement tenants are so scared of him they dont even want to be in the same house.

What do you say or not say to someone in this situation? Saying nothing seems irresponsible. Saying too much seems dangerous at least to her safety. So... what do you do? How do I figure out if she even wants help? And if I say something too soon, or too late, he may turn on her and get even more violent...

Strap in folks, this is a fun one.

Yesterday at around midday my almost 75 yr old Pa started feeling extremely fatigued, weak all over, hot and, in his words, very odd.

He rang my sister who lives 5 minutes away, she got there and immediately called an ambulance. They were there in sub 10 minutes and checked him over. He couldn't even walk in a straight line. They took his blood pressure and it benched 199/98. They said he had a possible stroke and needed to go to A&E (ER for my US friends). Not living more than 10 minutes from the local Medway Hospital (major hospital) they went there. It took 3 hours to get to being triaged. The time was 4:30pm when they're told that the closest Stroke clinic is Maidstone hospital, 40 minutes away at rush hour.

On the way out, they saw the paramedics that had been out to respond and they called ahead to Maidstone Hospital so he was on record. That did nothing. When he got there, it took another 2 hours for them to do another triage, then another 2 to do blood work. Then the stroke unit refused to take him stating that they didn't think it was a stroke. After politely arguing the case my sister had to remind them to do his blood pressure again. At this point it had come down a little. He is still really weak and couldn't hold a cuppa without spilling it.

Eventually they relented and did a CT scan. When they checked the results they said it wasn't a major stroke but could have been a posterial stroke which wouldn't show. They couldn't do anything else there and should go back to Medway. At this point it's midnight. At 1am, my sister is checking my dad back into Medway A&E. 1.5hrs later they're through reception and sitting in waiting room 3 with 29 other people. I headed down at 5am to relieve my sister. Between 5am and 11am they took his blood pressure twice and we waited in the waiting area with everyone, my usually fit and healthy dad in a wheelchair. He's exhausted, had no sleep and was genuinely scared, which he never is.

It took until 2pm to see a doctor and we had to put in an official complaint to the nurses liaison team about the handling to even get that far. An hour later and then he saw a consultant who gave him a thorough check.

Concerned, the doctor said he wants an MRI scan performed, but to do this he was being made an outpatient and sent home. He would get an appointment and come back in the next few days. Why? Because if they admitted him he would join the inpatient side and they have 1 MRI scanner. He may not have been seen for up to 2 weeks and would simply be taking up a bed. As an outpatient the team has 3 MRI scanners and he will be seen quicker, plus less likely to pick up an infection from the hospital. It took another hour and a half after this, plus chasing the team to get them to take bloods and remove his cannula so he could go home.

Sorry for the long read, but how backward and broken is this system?

They still don't know if it was a stroke or a brain degenerative issue, all we know is he is home, cannot look after himself or my disabled mother and the whole situation sucks.

Last week I talked about a bike ride I took along the Schuylkill River in eastern Pennsylvania.

This weekend I rode as far as I could along the Delaware & Lehigh canal trail which parallels the Delaware River, also in eastern Pennsylvania. It is a pleasant, low-traffic, and scenic route for much of the journey. I found myself at peace and grateful that I had this opportunity. It was a zen experience.

Starting in Yardley-borough, I got about 31 miles before I could not go any farther. This was mostly because I started very late in the afternoon instead of in the morning, so it got dark and cold before I could get to the end. Also I was exhausted because I had not rested much. I think that, physically, I could go farther if I allocated more time to it. The trail is about 60 miles from Bristol to the easternmost of the Lehigh Valley cities. That is probably the maximum distance I could personally travel in 1 day on my bicycle. (I hear there is also a trail that follows the Lehigh River west-ish toward Bethlehem; I am not sure if it goes all the way to Allentown. I have not investigated this yet.)

Next time I will aim for about 45-50 miles by starting earlier in the day. My main physical issue is that I get tired, so I need at least one extended recovery break. Surprisingly, there was not too much strain on my back. I suppose it helped that I was not wearing a backpack and instead used a bike attachment for my supplies. I do have trouble with the aggressive forward position in terms of my wrists, though I find that if I hold myself up with my core where possible, that can take the pressure off my joints. Shoulder soreness is usually a problem while I cycle but I was careful to stretch and stay relaxed which I think helped. I did not have any knee problems. I did cut my finger open on a fence, which was not ideal as I had forgotten to bring first aid supplies, but it was minor and the moving air seemed to dry the scab faster. Thankfully it was not infected.

Some other notes about my ride:

• I saw a fox. Deer were plentiful and I almost collided with one (more than once: it seemed to be unsure which side of the trail it wanted to be on). I also saw many geese and several ducks, as well as other birds. Lastly, I saw various dogs.
• It is remarkable how people engage with you in the country. I forget these things now, though deep down they are not foreign; my soul remembers old habits. There is much more trust, or respect. Perhaps that is because I do not look like an 'outsider' (or I do, but not threateningly so). But it was nice to be acknowledged, even in passing, rather than ignored. While I did notice some unsavory political messaging, it was minimal; overall I felt safe.
• This time I brought plenty of food and water, as well as some extra clothing in case I got stuck and needed to stay warm until I found shelter. But while this area is rural, it is far from isolated, so I was not so worried. I did bring a telephone, but I did not need it.
• There were several closures on the trail in areas that were not easy to reroute. The Google Map did not inform me of the closures. I was going north, and for some reason the only signage signifying some of the closures at the previous canal/road crossings was going southbound. This meant that when I encountered a closure, I was stuck; backtracking would have been a few miles in some cases, and double that to get back to my current location (a lot of lost time/energy, and demotivating). To get around this, I simply evaded the barriers (there was no active construction) to move forward, which involved getting muddy. (There was no physical danger to my doing so. Just mud. A lot of mud.) That is not allowed, but I was not going to risk my life on the nearby 55mph roads. I think it is very weird how much effort local towns make to provide drivers with clear detour information and easy alternatives, but how little effort they make for cyclists. Like, there is only one canal trail. How hard could it be to put up a sign? If it was there, it evidently wasn't visible...
• I experienced several barriers which I did not attempt to evade; I followed the signed detours. Some bridges had been demolished, or fallen apart, and I was not going to try to fly over them. I cannot walk on air. Swimming with a bicycle is also not realistic. Fortunately, those cases happened to be areas with very slow car traffic, or almost no car traffic at all, so I was able to find safe routings along roads.
• I only had one vehicle pass me too close. I was nearly driven off the road, which would have sent me down a hill, but fortunately retained my balance. It was luck that this only happened once; the areas of the trail which happened to be impassable to my bicycle were also areas with low and slow traffic. I am annoyed that this driver was so careless, but that was the worst I had it.
• There was at least one point where the trail had to cross a road for cars and I did not realize this, so I ended up following the road instead, a little confused how I could have lost something as linear and unmoving as a canal. For some reason the canal goes inland in some areas. But I think getting lost is not uncommon because I found signage pointing me back to it.
• Several of the towns along the route were extremely cute and I regret that I was not able to spend more time in them. My favorite, New Hope, is utterly disconnected from any sort of transit (and thus I will only ever be able to get there by bike), but it was really, really pretty and ABSOLUTELY BUSTLING with pedestrians. I was pleased with how non-car-dominated it was. There was also what appeared to be a historic (replica? not sure...) train, but I do not think it offers passenger service. (The railroad tracks still physically exist, but they are either only used for freight, or not used for anything at all.) I think I will return to New Hope in the future.
• Several of the houses, not in towns exactly, along the route were also very cute. They reflected a variety of architectural styles, but most were neohistorical in some way and many were actually historical going back a century or more. The area seems to have a decent amount of respect for its roots (compared to many places in the US), although admittedly much of the cuteness of a house is taken away when it is right next to a road featuring 50mph traffic, so this was not universal by any means.

The canal itself was full of water in some areas and empty in others. I could not identify a pattern. Proximity to towns, proximity to construction, width, etc... seemed a little random which parts would be dry. So the canal is not navigable for many miles, and you would need to portage frequently if you were to try to boat up it. But it would be possible for many other miles. The Delaware itself is a monster and after looking closely at the flow rate, I could tell it would be foolhardy to attempt to paddle upstream the river.

I want to take a rest this weekend, so I don't have a date for my next long ride. TBH, I am far more interested in the D&L than the Schuylkill, but it is so much harder to get to. We will see.

In Fulda, Germany, a police officer shoots a young refugee fatally. Was the action justified or violent? Depends on who you ask.

An article by Sebastian Kempkens, published on the 22th of September, 2021.

Translated by @Grzmot

For the protection of the individuals involved, some details have been changed.

When everything is over, Lukas Weiler is leaning on a fence in the commercial district of Fulda and feels like everything around him is wrapped in cotton. He sees blue lights shimmer in the darkness and his colleagues run towards him, is how he later remembers the scene. Around him the streets are being locked down. In front of him lies the dead body of a young man, that he, a street police officer, just shot. A puddle of blood is spreading on the asphalt. Steam is rising from the corpse on this cool April morning.

At some point Weiler, who actually has a different name, forces himself up and walks, accompanied by two colleagues, the way back on which he pursued the young man. He crosses the intersection, where he fired the first shot. He walks past the bakery, where he drew his gun. The parking lot, where his colleague was attacked and where everything began.

Weiler sits down in a room in the police station, which is located just around the corner. A man from the team which collects evidence and traces from crime scenes shows up and swabs his fingertips, on which there is still blood of the dead. Weiler must hand in his uniform and weapon belt, he remembers. His equipment is now evidence. Then, shortly before 10 AM, two colleagues enter the room, who oversee the investigation against him, followed by the state attorney.
The state attorney said: “Mr. Weiler, you are now accused in a homicide.”
On the report the details of the case will be detailed: That it is about article 212 in criminal law – Manslaughter. Time of the crime: 4:30AM, weapon: pistol Heckler & Koch P30.
Lukas Weiler fired eleven shots at the 21 years old Matiullah Jabarkhel. An Afghan refugee, who had lived with a temporary residence permit in Fulda and had thrown rocks at a bakery. It’s the 13th of April 2018, a Friday, on which a police response which looked like a routine, ended in catastrophe.
Deadly use of force involving firearms, that sounds like an American phenomenon. But even if the numbers in Germany are low in comparison: They are rising. Between 2000 and 2014 the statistics of the German university of the police only noted a two-digit number in one year. Since 2015, it has been a double-digit number every year. In 2019 and 2020, the police have killed 15 people each year.
The statistic does not differentiate between ethnicity and age of the victims. But the cases which make the headlines sound similar.
In 2019 an officer shoots an Afghan in Stade, who allegedly attacked a colleague with a metal stick.
In June 2021 a female police office [Addendum: In German the gender of the subject is denoted with a simple word ending, I was unsure if I should retain that information or not in the translation] kills a man from Morocco in Bremen, who is holding a knife in his hand.
And in Hamburg, in May of 2021 an officer shoots a man from Lebanon, who screamed “Allahu Akbar” and was allegedly brandishing a knife.
Each one of these cases fits into a schema. Especially since the Black-Lives-Matter protests in the USA such situations – white officers against migrant – stand under suspicion to be the expression of a racist perpetrator-victim system.
Just two days after the death of Matiullah Jabarkhel dozens of people came together at the crime scene, under the motto “Justice for Matiullah” they held high pictures of Jabarkhel and demanded, that the officer be punished. The foreign advisor of the city, Abdulkerim Demir, stood in front of the demonstrating people and gave an interview, in which he said that Jabarkhel was only buy bread and that the police might have “murdered” him.
The opposing front formed just as well. The AfD and the extremist rightwing identarian movement mobilized under the motto “The police – Our friend”, in social networks numerous users wrote things like “The monkeys don’t get it any other way.”, “Everything done right.” And “Clear boundary setting by the police officer!”. A representative of the AfD for the Bundestag released a notice to the press: Chancellor Merkel ensured with her immigration policy, that these uncultured, underqualified people believe, they can do everything here.”
More then three years Matiullah Jabarkhel is now dead, more than three years – until the July of 2021 – the investigation lasted. And still one question remains unanswered: Who is guilty here? The officer, who shot? Or the Afghan, who ran riot on that morning?
For the reconstruction of the intervention on the 13th of April 2018 and the resulting investigation, the ZEIT had the ability to go through files of the police, coroner’s and forensical reports, talked to brothers of Jabarkhel and his friends. With social workers and translators. The ZEIT also met with officer Lukas Weiler for three long conversations. The officer did not want to see his real name in the news, nor the name of his colleague who was on patrol with him that day, who shall be named Regina Wundrack in this text.
A few hours after Lukas Weiler leaves the police station on that Friday of April 2018, the father of Matiullah Jabarkhel gets a call from Germany in a small village in eastern Afghanistan. On the other end is a voice he does not recognize. The father, himself a police officer, a slender man with his head half-bald, stands in the living room of the family. He begins to tremble as he listens, finally ends the call and says nothing for a long time. His wife and sons ask, what happened, but he is silent. Then, his four remaining sons tell, he begins to cry terribly.
On the second to last day of his life, it’s Thursday afternoon, Matiullah Jabarkhel enters the foreign office in Fulda, a large building near the castle garden. He is a slim young man with soft facial features, his hair shaved to a kind of mohawk, short on the sides, long on the top. He walks up to the office and complains, that his social money had not been transferred. The conflict cannot be resolved, Jabarkhel cannot be calmed down, so security notifies a man, who sits a floor higher up: The man, a retired officer, knows Jabarkhel and is able to calm him down and promises, the money will be transferred this afternoon, he could get it soon at his bank.
Jabarkhel exits the office. One of the last somewhat friendly contacts with a state, where he wanted to build a future.
Matiullah Jabarkhel grew up in a large, tight-knit family. Six brothers, three sisters, the family of eleven lived in their village near the city Dschalalabad, about 100 kilometers away from the Pakistani border. When the brothers tell of this time, it sounds like a childhood where war comes and goes, but where also a lot os good. Matiullah plays Cricket, he teases his brothers during prayers and he has big plans. He wants to become a police officer like his father. But after one brother dies in the Afghan Army during combat with the Taliban and the family received threats, the father decided: Matiullah will go to Europe.
Converted, about 10,000 EUR credit the family takes up on itself for this. Matiullah, according to their hopes, will repay the money soon and can support the family financially.
Iran, Balkan route, traffickers. In October 2015 Jabarkhel, 18 years old, arrives in Gießen. The euphoria of the welcome culture is already slowly fading, but in retrospect it looks like he had a good start. He is moved to Fulda and gets lodgings in a refugee center. There is little space and it’s dirty, says his best friend, who he met there, but Jabarkhel finds himself in these new circumstances, learns a few pieces of German. After a few months, he can move to a better lodging. He was intelligent, says everyone who dealt with him. On photos he poses in front of a Christmas tree.
On the phone he tells his family with excitement of Germany’s pine forests and the luxury of selecting between countless brands of chocolate at the grocery store. A social worker remembers that he often wears the same T-Shirt, on his breast the words “I Germany”.
Jabarkhel attends an integration class and learns decent Germany. Like in Afghanistan he plays Cricket in Germany too, apparently, he even travels the country, there is a photo showing him at the Tempelhofer Feld in Berlin. He wears a white shirt and is holding a cricket bat in his hand. With the other he forms the victory symbol.
In that time, a social worker describes his behavior as unremarkable, not warranting further attention. Nothing points towards the looming conflict with the police.

The office of the attorney Pascal Johann is in a practical building in Frankfurt. Here, at the end of a long corridor, in a conference room, in front of grey curtains, waits Lukas Weiler.
It is not common, that an accused police officer agrees to an interview with a journalist after a that hotly debated, conflicting intervention. He decided after thinking about it for a short time. He wants to correct something.
At the meeting with Weiler you meet a man, who strangely enough appears both younger and older, than he really is. Weiler is 39 years old, but he could also be at the end of his 20s. He wears a T-Shirt, worn skater shoes, a fuzzy beard, around his wrist several old entry bands for rock festivals. When he begins to talk, he appears significantly older, than he is, that’s how bureaucratic and complex his words sometimes are. He tries hard to make himself as unattackable as possible.
Weiler is a police officer more by chance than anything else. A friend dragged him to the entry exam. In his sixteen years of service, he worked undercover in the trainyard district in Frankfurt and as a group leader at the police. He showed young officers the ropes, but his favourite activity on the job was driving on patrol. He doesn’t like offices. He loves being outside, “Help the weak and step on the toes of the evil”, is how he calls it.
Matiullah Jabarkhel has been in Germany for about a year, when the problems start. Like during an EKG of a stressed heart, one can notice stronger eruptions every time they happen. At the start, he has has difficulties organizing his day to day tasks, then, he the paid out money isn’t enough anymore. A woman who lived in the same building says that the refugees talked about him a lot: “One man told me, that Matiullah told him multiple times, that he was hungry and if he could give him bread.”

“Please make sure, that the boy stays in Germany”

Jabarkhel, who always told his best friend that he wanted to become a doctor in Germany, soon only sporadically attends class, the school throws him out due to missing too many classes. His social worker organizes him an apprenticeship instead, but he gets thrown out there too. He takes the train without a ticket and gets letters full of complicated words like reminder and debt collection.
Apparently Matiullah Jabarkhel becomes more and more desperate. He talks about suicide, and apparently attempts one too. Then, in March 2017, the federal office for migration and refugees denies his request for asylum. Through an attorney he fights the decision, from now on he lives in Germany only with a temporary residence permit, which has to be renewed every few months.
A short time later Jabarkhel is institutionalized in a psychiatry and receives stationary care: “Crisis intervention due to acute stress reaction, cannabis intoxication with addiction”, the doctors note. Jabarkhel doesn’t make it long, after just three days he releases himself, “because of urgent personal wishes and against professional medical advice”.
In November 2017, five months before his death, Jabarkhel receives a letter, that for him, must sound like the last friendly offer from a state that wants him gone. In the letter the federal office for foreigners advises a so called “voluntary journey back in his home country.” Germany does not send denied refugees back to Afghanistan, but voluntary trips back home are being organized.
Jabarkhel reacts with violence. In December, he hits his best friend, with whom he shares a room, with his fist in his face: Brainn trauma, bruising of the cheekbone, police intervention. Shortly after he hits another refugee without any known reason at a bus stop, splitting his lip. On the Christmas eve 2017 he threatens three people living in his home with a knife with a 20cm long blade, because they supposedly do not want to share their food with him. In March of 2018, a month before his death, he threatens a young Iranian woman and shatters her broom.
The witness statements by his housemates in the investigation after his death sound like a mix of fear and empathy: On one hand the young man terrorizes the whole home, on the other many feel sorry for him. Jabarkhel’s life in Germany, which started out so promising, is completely out of control after one and a half years.
On the evening before his death an acquaintance spots him at the Fuldau train station, where the pedestrian passage goes into the building. He sits there a lot with other refugees. They talk, joke, kick around empty beer cans and whistle after girls. And not seldomly, the acquaintance says, “they eat glass”, meaning they take drugs – Ecstasy.
Who had to cross the group on the way to the store or to work, probably often was annoyed by the group of young men. In a lot of German downtowns you can find them, hanging out in groups. They come from Syria, Somalia, Irak or Afghanistan. Sometimes they look sympathetic, sometimes threatening. In their home country they are thought to be the lucky ones that made it, but often enough they are broken people – with differing life stories that all go towards the same end: endless waiting, solitude and lack of perspective. And the feeling of being stranded between worlds, maybe even lost.
A doctor at one point diagnosed the Uprooted-syndrome in Jabarkhel, which is also called the Odysseus syndrome: A type of collective diagonisis of psychical ailments of refugees, which during their odyssey across the continents have lost everything that made up their world – Friends, family, home, their moral system, the inner compass.
At some point Jabarkhel couldn’t hold it together anymore. At a school conference, the topic being his missing classes, he called his father. A present translator said that he begged his father to be allowed to return to Afghanistan. The father had said: “Please make sure that the boy stays in Germany. We have sold everything, we have nothing left, we cannot use him here.”
Jabarkhel, the translator remembers, cried afterwards, “like a small child”.
Often now, Jabarkhel sits alone in the refugee home and talks to himself about nonsensical things. At night he is rarely home, always out for a long time, can’t sleep anymore, wakes up with headaches, he tells a doctor. Sometimes he punches and kicks the air, as if he was fighting an invisible enemy. At one point during a meeting with his social worker he stands in front of the office and says, “I am Hitler.” Multiple times.
The man responsible for the refugee home does his best to guide Jabarkhel back to the right path. But he is still responsible for sixty other refugees as well. A lot of other people dealing with Jabarkhel says the same: they want to help, but they have too little time.
Eight days before his death, 5th of April 2018, Jabarkhel makes a fundamental choice, which shocks the other refugees in the home: he signs the agreement for the voluntary journey back home, against the will of his father. By signing, he agrees to drop the complaint against his denied request for asylum. As if he had given up.

“The guy just wanted to destroy me”

Lukas Weiler’s night shift on the 13th of April is almost at its end, when he and his partner Regina Wundrack decide at about 4 AM to go out and control traffic and parked cars. Drivers, who were already getting to work will later tell investigators of a young man in a muscle shirt and Army pants: One window car he hits with his fist, in front of another he jumps directly into the street. It is Matiullah Jabarkhel.
The refugee home, in which proximity everything happens, is located in Münsterfeld, a former military outpost. Once upon a time, the Americans were stationed here. Today, there are a few apartments, otherwise mostly closed off commercial company grounds and offices.
Jabarkhel lives in room B39, on photos it looks abandoned. Ten square meters, metal lockers, a dirty refrigerator, cigarette butts on the window rest. At night, the neighbour heard, how Jabarkhel was hitting his head against the wall. “It happened so often, that after some time I recognized the sound”, he said later as a witness. But this time it sounded louder and more desperate. At approximately 4 AM in the morning he hears Jabarkhel run down the metal stairs, sees how he wanders in front of the building, yelling in German: “Fuck Germany, fuck the street, fuck this county!”
At 4:21 AM an emergency call is received at the police, originating from the bakery opposite of the refugee home. On the phone is the saleswoman, who wants to prepare the store for the first customers: “Here is someone, who is throwing rocks at the window.” In the background you can hear loud banging noises, is how it is written in the investigation files. “Fuck, shit, psychopath!” the woman yells.
Two minutes later the woman calls again. “A refugee or whatever” is still throwing with rocks, the delivery driver was hit on the head, she needs a doctor.
It only takes a few minutes until a police car enters the roundabout at the bakery. Not Lukas Weiler and Regina Wundrack are the first ones to arrive, but three colleagues: Driving and at the backseat two women, and riding shotgun one man.
The man will later say: “A male person” from the direction of the bakery had crossed the street: “My first thought was, that that might be the person that threw the rocks. But he was running pretty normally across the street.” Then the man suddenly attacked.
With a big rock, that he apparently picked up from the street, Jabarkhel breaks the side window of the car, opens the door and starts attacking the officer wildly with the rock. His colleague behind the wheel does not know how to help herself and hits the gas, dragging Jabarkhel about 200 meters while he wildly hits everything around himself. Then he falls to the ground, gets up and runs away. On a video that the ZEIT has seen you can see silhouettes, probably the male officer and behind him his two colleagues, following Jabarkhel to an unlit parking lot.
What happens later, will cause a lot of discussion. Three police officers, equipped, against a young man, who isn’t very tall at 1.70 meters nor very muscular – The result should be obvious.
The three officers from the first car however, are not federal police officers, but so called “Wachpolizisten” (watch police officers). Such officers have a shorter time of education and are mostly used for things like transporting prisoners or guarding objects. On this morning, the three have a task which they cannot handle.
It only takes a couple of seconds, until Jabarkhel has overwhelmed the male officer, apparently he takes away his baton and assaults the man lying on the floor heavily, his two colleagues unable to help.
Jabarkhel appeared like a “wild animal” one of the two will later say. She was afraid that her colleague would “lie dead under him”. The colleague himself say: “This guy just wanted to destroy me with an intensity that I have never witnessed in my life.” He describes Jabarkhel like a zombie: “massive, aggressive, dead eyes, unable to feel pain.”
Most likely there will always be doubts about the story. A coroner will later find cannabis in in a toxicological exam. But that does not explain the behavior. It reminds more of “the influence of certain psychoactive substances”, writes the coroner. But his laboratory cannot check the corpse for such drugs, a sample would have to be sent to a specialized laboratory. Which the state attorney never requested.
A few seconds after the male officer falls to the ground, Lukas Weiler and his patrol colleague Regina Wundrack arrive at the parking lot, running. The request for help reached them, while they were checking a car. Weiler immediately realizes, that the situation is serious. He jumps over a hedge, which is why he arrives a few seconds before his colleague Wundrack at Jabarkhel.

Was his behaviour a “suicide by cop”?

He hits Jabarkhel with his baton on his upper arm, he remembers. Jabarkhel immediately stopped assaulting his colleague and turned towards Weiler. Weiler moved back and tripped, losing his baton. Jabarkhel runs past Weiler, away from the parking lot, some stairs down towards the street. Weiler pursues.
Near the bakery, Jabarkhel stops. Weiler says, he hit Jabarkhel with a load of pepper spray straight into his face. From behind his colleague Wundrack sees, how Jabarkhel shudders, wipes his face with his hand and continues running. Later it will come out, that the pepper spray was most likely defective.
He ordered Jabarkhel to stop and drop the baton, says Weiler. But he didn’t react, instead kept on running.
Weiler pulls his gun and keeps up the pursuit.
In Hessian law about public security it’s clearly stated, when police officers are allowed to use their firearms: They can “only be used against persons to stop an immediate danger either against body or life.”
Was Weiler in immediate danger?
Jabarkhel and Weiler ran for about 100 meters when the officer overtake the Afghan. He wants to arrest him together with his colleague Regina Wundrack, but she is too far away. She can only see, that the two are facing each other, Jabarkhel with his back towards her. A person living nearby later would state as a witness that he heard someone yell “Stop moving, stop moving or I will shoot!”
When he yelled that, says Weiler, Jabarkhel looked at him.
What happens then, to this day cannot be determined without any doubts. Weiler and Jabarkhel are about two to three meters apart. Weiler says, Jabarkhel fixated his eyes on him, and then ran towards him. He, Weiler, moved back and shot at the legs of the attacker. Regina Wundrack, who was standing a few meters behind Jabarkhel, describes however, that there was no movement of the Afghan towards Weiler, when he started shooting. Another witness could only approximately see what happened and remembers “lightning” in the darkness, the muzzle fire of the shots.
Did Weiler shoot to soon?
The state attorney will later say, that “on the first impression” shooting “could be determined as not needed”, because Jabarkhel and Weiler were static. On the other hand, the attorney says, Jabarkhel was “without a doubt” still holding the baton, and it is unclear, “if his manner, words or behavior indicated another looming attack of the killed.” Factoring in Jabarkhel’s previous behavior, it cannot be assumed, that he was thinking about “capitulation”.
Thomas Feltes has researched cases like the one from Fulda for years, cases, in which often young men against all rationality and a stronger power on the side of the police, riot and risk the lives of the officers – and their own. Feltes works as a police researcher at the Ruhr university Bochum. The case Jabarkhel, he says, fits a trend: About three quarters of those shot and killed by the police are mentally ill.
For this task, Feltes says, officers are not well prepared. He recommends, that the officers retreat to deescalate the situation and play for time, for example until the civil reinforcement can arrive, like the psychological service. In most cases however, they do the opposite, and attempt to resolve the situation with force. Especially when it comes to the mentally ill, it can lead to catastrophe. The larger the built up pressure, the larger the sense of danger of the mentally ill – and the fiercer their resistance.
But Feltes also says, that the concrete situation is hard to estimate in this case. Who can say, if Weiler had another choice? Wnad what would have happened if he let Jabarkhel run? Would he have attacked someone else?
That Jabarkhel might have been mentally ill, will also play a role in the investigation of the federal police. The officers will introduce a “suicide by cop” theory. Most of the studies on the topic come from the USA. According to it, Jabarkhel provoked until a police officer would shoot him.
In Germany, only few researches have investigated the topic of suicide by cop. One of them is Dietmar Heubrock. The law psychologist from Bremen has written a guide for officers, that if you read it, you have to think of Matiullah Jabarkhel. Heubrock says, the provoked self killing often was “a spontaneous decision”. A lot of perpetrators are under the influence of drugs and were mentally ill. The need to force the decision of suicide on someone else, often has cultural reasons – in Arabian cultures suicides are a grave sin.
And still: it only is a theory. Under experts, a controversial one. It could be used to justify the behavior of the police in retrospect, because he didn’t want it any other way.

“I would have done the same with any other violent perpetrator”

On that morning in Fulda, Weiler apparently shoots three times. They miss. Then his gun fails to load, later an unfired bullet will be found on the street. According to Weiler Jabarkhel charges Weiler, as soon as he realizes that he cannot shoot, and starts beating him with the baton.
For a few seconds, Weiler and Jabarkhel are out of the view for his colleague. Weiler says, he was running backwards up the slight hill, trying to solve his failure to load and stop the bleeding Jabarkhel.
A person living close by, who was watching from his terrace, recalls Weiler’s calls: “Stop, stop”. But Jabarkhel was “still charging him, aggressively, he didn’t stop, nothing”, says the man later during a reconstruction of the scene. Regina Wundrack too sees them both again, and she too sees how Jabarkhel is charging her colleague with the baton.
Then Weiler fixes his failure to load, ejecting the unfired bullet. And fires from a short distance, until he has an effect, just how he learned it: He fires until Jabarkhel stumbles backwards and falls to the ground. At the end, Weiler goes to his knees too. “Shit, I shot a person”, he says, his colleague hears as she comes running. Weiler himself, cannot remember anymore.
In his report the coroner will later list all shot wounds: Neck, rib, right upper thigh, between the shoulder blades. In total, eleven shots were fired, four hit Jabarkhel, from a maximum distance of 2.5 meters. The entry wounds fit into Weiler’s testimony; the coroner writes.
At 4:49 AM the female emergency doctor determines Matiullah Jabarkhels death. Cause of death: Bleeding out due to shot wounds with disconnection to vital organs.
In the conversations at the law firm in Frankfurt, Weiler appears distanced and analytical, when talks about the details. He is surprised how you function in such a situation. Again and again he says, he worked through the escalation protocol: Baton, pepper spray, threat of shooting, shooting the legs, final shots at torso. In the end, he had no other choice. “If I didn’t act the way I did, I would’ve been lying on the street, and maybe someone else too.”
There are other theories on why officers shoot migrants. They too, come from the USA, but in contrast to suicide by cop they don’t focus on the mental state of the victim, but of the shooter. Studies regarding the so called shooter bias imply: police officers in a dangerous situation tend to shoot someone with darker skin – because there is a deep connection in their brains that is being accessed. Black equals dangerous. Arabian equals dangerous.
You can absolutely ask yourself if Lukas Weiler would’ve shot eleven times in the same situation if the perpetrator was white an German. But at the same time, police researcher Thomas Feltes warns the same way he did before, to explain a situation like Fulda with a singular cause – too complicated is the situation to be explained by something like shooter bias.
If you ask the Fulda police president Günther Voß for Weiler’s track record, he describes him as a very good colleague. No wrong behavior on his track record, in conversations the officer doesn’t say anything, which could even generously be understood as racist. He seems reflective, provocative questions he answers smartly and attempting to calm the conversation. During the investigation of the ZEIT, we receive a screenshot from an anonymous sender, showing the Facebook page of Weiler, under a slightly different name. You can see, what groups he has subscribed to. A Biergarden [Addendum: Imagine Oktoberfest, but way smaller, usually local annual celebration of something with the excuse to consume beer], a DIY workshop for children.
Under that, a red logo with the words “Protect home country – Stop asylum fraud!”, the title of the page: “No more asylum homes in Germany”, next to it another site, that Weiler has subscribed to: “AfD party in the German Bundestag”
Weiler reacts shocked, if you confront him with that screenshot. He confirms, that it is his profile. That he subscribed to those groups, he was not aware of that. He is almost never on Facebook, he does not support a political stance like that. Maybe he added the sites on accident, when he read comments related to the case. “I would’ve done the same with every different perpetrator as well – the skin colour was and is not a factor for me at all.”
One week after his death Matiullah Jabarkhel’s coffin lands in Kabul. The two older brothers pick him up and drive him home in a rented ambulance. When the family opens the body bag and sees the wounds all over his body, the mother faints. When the coffin is moved to the graveyard two hours later, she feverishly holds on to it, the brothers say.
Hundreds show up for the burial. The parents almost collapse there, also because some guests say: You shouldn’t have sent him to Europe, he’d still be alive then.

Every side sees itself as the victim and everyone else as the perpetrator

A short time later the father dies, aged 55, heartattack. His wife is brought to the hospital as well two days later, with high blood pressure and vertigo. Two weeks later she dies too, stroke. That’s how the brothers of Matiullah Jabarkhel describe it. The parents, they say, couldn’t handle the death of their son.
In Fulda photos soon begin to circulate, that apparently were taken in Afghanistan: the in white cloth wrapped face of Jabarkhel, his skin dotted with blue spots.
Lukas Weiler is driving in his car at that time, passing a protest banner. At one of the main roads he read in big letters: “What happened to Matiullah?” He asked himself at that time, why no one cared, what happened to the officer, says Weiler.
About a year passes, the state attorney stops the investigation, result: No credible belief in a crime. “For an alternative series of events of the final shooting, partly how the public calls it, an “execution” of Jabarkhel, there is simply not enough proof.” Writes the state attorney.
It doesn’t lead to the calming of the conflict. Not it only really begins. Exactly one year after Jabarkhe’s death in April 2019, people once again demonstrate, one of them would later be indicted. Another one supposedly yelled: “Cops murder, the state deports, what a bunch of racists!” another one held a protest sign high: Who do you call when cops murder?
If you talk with people from the left who attended the protests, then you often get counter questions for your questions. If you didn’t see what happened in Hanau? Or in Halle? If you’ve heard of the NSU 2.0? In chat groups, where police officers apparently exchanged racist messages, colleagues of Lukas Weiler were in them as well.
Two activists from Frankfurt publicize a blog post, title: “Police kills refugee, demonstrators demand resolution and are defamed”, they write, Jabarkhel had been killed with 11 shots. The police office accuses the two activists of libel. Reason: It was eleven shots, of which only four hit. But only people who know the investigation file know that.
And so the fronts harden. The leftists complain about racism and police violence, without considering in detail, the actions of the police officer. And the Fulda police searches the home of a journalist, because people shared the blog post in his Facebook group. Which causes the leftists to think that they were right.
On one side the apparently white, strong state. On the other the weak refugee and his supporters. Every side sees itself as the victim and the other as the perpetrator. And every side can call upon a theory that supports them. Here the suicide by cop hypothesis, there the shooter bias.
While the storm rages outside, Lukas Weiler attempts to understand his feelings. To get away from it all, he goes patrolling. For the left a scandal – How can it be, that an accused is still on the job? For Weiler, the day to day becomes more and more difficult, both at work and at home. He talks with a police doctor and a psychiatrist, “Work accident support” is written in the document handed to him by the relevant authority, in bold letters the diagnosis: “post traumatic stress disorder” and “problems dealing with depressive symptoms and symptoms of bitterness”.
At least the investigation is behind him. But then in 2019, the video appears, which shows his colleagues following Jabarkhel to the parking lot. A group of young adults filmed the video and only now informed the police. The state attorney reopens the case, asks the new witnesses, it’s apparent, how complicated the case is, how difficult a final verdict will be.
In July of 2019 the investigation is closed again. The German attorney of the family Jabarkhel appeals. The investigation is re-reopened. And finally closed for good. There will not be a case.
The brothers of Matiullah Jabarkhel say, they don’t understand how the officers got away with it. If you talk to them through a video call, they cry a lot, and hold each other in their arms, interrupt the interview again and again.
Lukas Weiler says, he has the feeling of being publicly shamed, even though he was only doing his job. He has decided to stop doing patrols. He, that always wanted anything but a job behind a desk, requested to be retrained to an emergence call responder, where he would sit at a desk, in front of him a phone, and take emergency calls.
Cooperation: Amdadullah Hamdard
Behind the story: To contact the family of the dead Matiullah Jabarkhel in rural Afghanistan, the author of the story talked to Amdadullah Hamdard, a local employee of the ZEIT. He visited the family in May 2021. It was his final mission for the ZEIT. In August Amdadullah Hamdard, who was on the death list of the Taliban, was shot in front of his house.

My virtual relationship is slowly becoming part of Tilde's lore. We met on Tinder shortly before the pandemic and almost met, but I got a little paranoid after dropping my sister at the airport. Maybe that was a good thing, Tinder dates are fleeting and we tend to pass judgment too quickly. This way, we were forced to get to know each other. I had other WhatsApp courtships going on, but they all faded out. We had little in common and nothing to talk about. But Lucy (let's call her that) is special! Smart, funny, and extremely curious about every part of my little nerdy universe. She also has interests of her own and is a simple soul -- we don't need to talk about deep stuff all the time. Lucy is deceivingly shy and her emotional world is deep, requiring some incantation to access. From my point of view, it's like deciphering an adorable puzzle. I love her, oh oh god, I love her so much it hurts in my bones. I told her that, and the response was a bit concerning. She felt pressured to say the same (she wasn't). Days later, she reciprocated without any coercion whatsoever. What a relief! hahaha

We are now in a relationship. We speak every day. We "fight" (or the cute version of fighting new couples have). We do sexy stuff online.

Because I was in a trauma center last Friday (I was freaking hit by car hahaha), we cannot see each other for about a week. After that, we decided I'll spend 14 days at her house (and possibly more if everything goes okay).

Today I was at the mall (I know I shouldn't, it was a necessity!) and sent her the message: "I was just walking at the mall and were hit with the realization of how much I love you".

So that's where I am.

Anyone wanna share more COVID love stories?

Original page is unencrypted so I'm posting the article here.

This was posted on Twitter by Alec's sister. She's protected her account now (probably because of how disgusting the replies to it were), but I've re-typed the statement here:

Alec Holowka, my brother and best friend, passed away this morning.

Those who know me will know that I believe survivors and I have always done everything I can to support survivors, those suffering from mental illnesses, and those with chronic illnesses. Alec was a victim of abuse and he also spent a lifetime battling mood and personality disorders. I will not pretend that he was not also responsible for causing harm, but deep down he was a person who wanted only to offer people care and kindness. It took him a while to figure out how.

Over the last few years, with therapy and medication, Alec became a new person—the same person he'd always been but without any of the darkness. He was calm and happy, positive and loving. Obviously, change is a slow process and it wasn't perfect, but he was working towards rehabilitation and a better life.

In the last few days, he was supported by many Manitoba crisis services, and I want to thank everyone there for their support. I want to thank Adam Saltsman for staying up late talking with us and reminding Alec that there was a future.

My family has and always will be the most important thing to me. Please give us time to heal. We tried our best to support Alec, but in the end he felt he had lost too much.

I currently do not see a place for myself in games or on Twitter. I will not be looking at the responses to this post. I appreciate everyone who has reached out to me over the last few days. For anyone who is in a time of darkness, I encourage you to reach out for support. There are always people who will be there for you.

As backstory, he was accused of abuse (and sexual abuse) last week by Zoe Quinn with several others corroborating past abusive behavior (a bit more detail in this article). As a result, the other Night in the Woods creators cut ties with him. I'm going to re-post their statements below inside a collapsed block since they're fairly long, but you can expand it if you want to read them:

(Edit: since Zoe Quinn has deleted her Twitter account now, I'm going to re-type her statement as well)

welcome to week twelve, one day late edition. this delay is brought to you by the weirdly confined issue to the file i wrote this in, which necessitated three days(!) of writing because of the sheer number of links this week. the opinion section is only one article long this week again, but we have some [LONGFORM] pieces and some recent polling to make up for that.

the usual note: common sense should be able to generally dictate what does and does not get posted in this thread. if it's big news or feels like big news, probably make it its own post instead of lobbing it in here. like the other weekly threads, this one is going to try to focus on things that are still discussion worthy, but wouldn't necessarily make good/unique/non-repetitive discussion starters as their own posts.

Week 1 • Week 2 • Week 3 • Week 4 • Week 5 • Week 6 • Week 7 • Week 8 • Week 9 • Week 10 • Week 11

News

Polling

• Iowa Caucuses, from CNN & The Des Moines Register:

Twenty-four percent of Iowa’s likely Democratic caucusgoers say former vice president Biden is their first choice for president. Sanders, a Vermont senator, is the first choice for 16% of poll respondents, while Warren, a Massachusetts senator, and Buttigieg, mayor of South Bend, Indiana, are at 15% and 14% respectively. No other candidate cracks double digits. California Sen. Kamala Harris comes closest at 7% [...] Minnesota Sen. Amy Klobuchar and former Texas Congressman Beto O’Rourke are at 2%.

• National head-to-head, from Quinnipiac:

In a first look at head-to-head 2020 presidential matchups nationwide, several Democratic challengers lead President Donald Trump, with former Vice President Joseph Biden ahead 53 - 40 percent, according to a Quinnipiac University National Poll released today. [...]
Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders over President Trump 51 - 42 percent;
California Sen. Kamala Harris ahead of Trump 49 - 41 percent;
Massachusetts Sen. Elizabeth Warren tops Trump 49 - 42 percent;
South Bend Mayor Pete Buttigieg edges Trump 47 - 42 percent;
New Jersey Sen. Cory Booker by a nose over Trump 47 - 42 percent.

• National Democratic Primary, from Quinnipiac:

Biden leads the presidential primary race with 30 percent among Democrats and voters leaning Democratic. [...] Sanders is next with 19 percent; Warren has 15 percent; Buttigieg has 8 percent; Harris is at 7 percent; Former U.S. Rep. Beto O'Rourke is at 3 percent; No other Democrat tops 1 percent, with 14 candidates polling at less than 1 percent.

General Stuff

• from Vox: Poll: a growing number of Democratic voters are prioritizing gender-related issues we begin with some polling, which suggests that the recent slate of abortion bans and heavy restrictions on abortion is having an impact on what voters prioritize. a doubling of democratic voters who prioritize women's issues has been observed across the board in the span of just a month. this might not be maintained if the slate of abortion bans gradually dies off, but at least in the immediate term you definitely seem to be seeing this in how often these issues are mentioned in the media.
• from Vox: 2020 is quickly becoming the abortion rights election. Here’s proof. also from Vox, in a similar vein some activists are considering 2020 the year of the abortion rights, and the 2020 election a defining election on them. in iowa, for example, it was ranked the top issue of caucusgoers, placing ahead of climate change narrowly. this piece is primarily a conversation focusing on the issues surrounding abortion and how activists think it will play out in this election cycle.
• from Pacific Standard: Can Cory Booker, Elizabeth Warren, and U.S. Cities End Exclusionary Zoning?. exclusionary zoning policies are something that's gotten attention from a few candidates, most obviously cory booker and elizabeth warren who both have plans which seek to end it. zoning policies are but one part of a greater issue in affordable housing, but the fact that candidates are even bothering to take the time to acknowledge its existence probably demonstrates something about what an issue housing is for a lot of people.
• from CBS News: Some progressives worry Puerto Rico is being left behind on 2020 campaign trail. despite the focus on the complete bottling of aid being sent to puerto rico by the trump administration, a number of progressive groups are concerned that puerto rico is being largely left out of the conversation when it comes to 2020. puerto rico has been largely ignored by candidates so far (only 3 of the candidates in the race have visited the island so far) and is still recovering from hurricane maria; nonetheless, progressives seem ready to make it a defining issue of the campaign trail.
• from Slate: The Democratic Candidates Ought to Debate Climate Change Policy. one of this week's plotlines with respect to the debates was the DNC's unwillingness to agree to a debate specifically on the issue of climate change. this has been a generally poorly received move, and the party has received considerable backlash for it as this piece is representative of. the DNC might walk this back or it might not, but regardless this seems like it will be an issue that causes future friction, especially given the DNC's expressed desire to uninvite anybody who qualifies for the debates should they engage in a non-DNC affiliated one.
• from Buzzfeed News: California’s Early 2020 Primary Is Pushing Presidential Candidates To Talk To Latino Voters. the california primary coming so early on in the cycle and being such a decisive part of it in 2020 is leading to democratic candidates placing significant priority on appealing to latino voters this year, who are likely to be a major constituency in the primary. this is a welcome change for a lot of latinos and the state of california in general, which has generally come late in the cycle previously and not played an especially significant role in most of them.
• from the Atlantic: [LONGFORM] How the Democrats Got Radicalized on Student Debt. the recent policy developments of the democrats on student debt are the focus of this article by the Atlantic. this has been a rapid change for the party; in the span of just three election cycles the party has gone from "one year of college free for “qualified students”" (the John Edwards proposal, 2008) to things like "making public college tuition-free for students from families who made less than $125,000 a year" (Clinton, 2016) and probably beyond in this cycle.

Joe Biden

• from Grist: Joe Biden says he’ll take the No Fossil Fuel Money Pledge. Here’s why that matters. joe biden, in rolling out his climate plan next week, also became the latest candidate to take the "no fossil fuel money" pledge, which most candidates have also taken (and which counterintuitively allows candidates to take donations of less than 200 dollars from the fossil fuel industry). biden's acceptance of this--even though it is far from binding--is particularly significant because it suggests that the progressive wing of the party has basically forced people's hands on this.
• from In These Times: [LONGFORM] Hold the Applause. Biden’s Climate Plan Is Mostly Fluff. meanwhile, In These Times has an extensive critique of biden's climate plan; primarily it notes that biden's plan when you strip it down is not that special and is essentially shared by the rest of the field which has rolled out plans so far at its best moments. at others, it is actively misleading, relies on technological optimism as a crutch, or implies biden supports things like the green new deal which he for the most part does not.
• from the Atlantic: Joe Biden Has the Most to Lose at the Debates. the Atlantic has a piece on joe biden, his near total lack of experience with debates in the past decade, and his debate prep in light of that fact. biden's last serious debate was of course 7 years ago when he faced off against then-VP candidate paul ryan; however, as far as debating other democrats goes, he hasn't done that in a decade. the majority of his prep is centered around trying to stave off the inevitable questions about his record and his positions while presenting himself as a viable alternative to both other democrats and to trump (not that most people necessarily need convincing on the last point)
• from the Guardian: Biden abruptly drops support for 'discriminatory' abortion rule. in policy news, biden decided to do a weird and wholly unnecessary flip-flop on the hyde amendment after originally affirming his continued support for it ,and then having to immediately walk his support of it back when it turned out that literally nobody else but him supported it in the democratic primary. great look, joe.
• from Pacific Standard: Green Jobs and New Technology: A Look at Biden and Warren's Latest Climate Plans. this small article from Pacific Standard compares warren and biden's climate plans together on a number of issues, since they are actually fairly similar in a number of respects despite their ideas being relatively different as a whole.

Elizabeth Warren

• from the Guardian: Elizabeth Warren gains momentum in the 2020 race plan by plan. warren has continued her quiet, but consistent rise in the polls; she's currently pushing some of her best numbers thus far in the campaign in multiple polls. this is good for her campaign of course, but it's also a bit of a potential quagmire for progressives because with sanders and warren both splitting the difference of mostly the same voting demographics, it's unlikely that biden will relinquish his lead over the primary any time soon.
• from the Guardian: Watch Elizabeth Warren blast Biden for his stance on abortion funding. biden drew a massive amount of criticism from democratic candidates over supporting the hyde amendment, probably the strongest of which came from elizabeth warren. in warren's words here: "We do not pass laws that take away that freedom from the women who are most vulnerable"
• from Jacobin: Elizabeth Warren Has a Plan for Everything — Except Health Care. jacobin has an article focusing on the conspicuous absence of an actual healthcare plan from all of warren's ideas so far in the campaign. warren has been pretty vague about what her healthcare policy actually is despite firmly falling into the progressive camp, and she's not really committing to anything in particular yet, to which jacobin encourages her supporters to press her. in their words:

The entire country is desperate for health care security, and Warren is in a position to argue intelligently and emotionally in support of a bold, progressive solution, just as she has for so many other important issues. Her voice can help the single-payer movement in a significant way. Together with Sanders, she could make Medicare for All an unambiguous and uncompromising demand of the progressive left in the 2020 campaign. The longer she stays silent, the weaker the Medicare for All movement becomes in the face of relentless attacks from right and center.

Kamala Harris

• from CNN: Kamala Harris rolls out proposal that would require states to prove abortion laws were constitutional. kamala harris has basically proposed a section 5 provision for abortion rights, which would create a standard where states or polities with a history of unconstitutionally restricting abortion rights would have to prove the constitutionality of their restrictions before they go into effect. this mirrors section 5 of the voting rights act, and would be implemented by harris if she becomes president.
• from NBC News: Kamala Harris ramps up in early primary states. harris has largely lagged behind other candidates, but seems to be finally kicking her campaign in the early states into full gear this week. harris has been relatively low-key with her scheduling so far, only attending around 50 events, but she seems to be intending to gradually pick up the pace, which is probably a good idea because she still has a name recognition problem.

Beto O'Rourke

• from Buzzfeed News: Beto O’Rourke Wants Term Limits For Congress And The Supreme Court. beto o'rourke wants to do a bunch of stuff, but in particular he seems to want to implement term limits for congress; he has a plan which would "limit members of Congress to serving 12 years and create 18-year Supreme Court terms."
• from the Texas Tribune: Beto O'Rourke's proposed election reforms seek to simplify voting registration, get big money out of politics. that plan is also part of a broader scheme to reform politics. the crux of his ideas revolve around elections, where he wants "a national transition to same-day voter registration and automatic voter registration when any citizen visits a government office, with pre-registration for 16- and 17-year-olds" along with "let[ting] people vote without ID as long as they sign a "sworn written statement of identity."" o'rourke wants to "mak[e] Election Day a federal holiday, expanding early voting to two full weeks before Election Day and relocating polling stations to more convenient places." o'rourke also wants to reform campaign finance, among other thing spporting "encouraging low-dollar donations by making contributions up to $500 tax-deductible and matching those donations with public funds" and "requir[ing] campaigns to disclose donations over $1,000 within 48 hours" among other things.
• from CBS News: Beto O'Rourke says Biden "absolutely wrong" on abortion stance. o'rourke was extensively interviewed by CBS News the other day, during which he also threw some criticism at biden for his bad stance on the hyde amendment:

"I hope Joe Biden rethinks his position on this issue," O'Rourke said. "Perhaps he doesn't have all the facts. Perhaps he doesn't understand who the Hyde Amendment hurts the most...lower income communities, communities of color. I would ask that he rethink his position on this."

Pete Buttigieg

• from Buzzfeed News: Pete Buttigieg’s Struggle To Win Over Latinos Could Limit His Rise In California. pete buttigieg is going to need to do a lot of things if he wants to win the nomination, and one of them is win over latinos who currently are not going to him in nearly the numbers he needs. in california in particular, the biggest state in the primary his bump in the polls is really being limited by his current lack of appeal to the latino community (to which he is trying to rectify things, but not necessarily doing the best job). he's made overtures toward the latino community, but he's still going to need to do a lot more than what he currrently has on the card if he wants to compete with them.
• from NBC News: Buttigieg's big accomplishment that he never mentions on the campaign trail. buttigieg incidentally has one proposal which might actually endear him to the latino community's undocumented members but which he has yet to really play up on the campaign trail. in south bend he organized a "Community Resident Card" program through a private organization and basically turned it into an acceptable form of ID accepted by most of the businesses and services in the city, which allowed undocumented immigrants in south bend to participate in life without having to worry about immigration services.

Jay Inslee

• from Reuters: Presidential hopeful Inslee unveils plan to reclaim U.S. leadership on climate issue. jay inslee not only has plans on climate change, he also has plans on how to make the US a leader on climate change internationally. according to reuters, inslee's plan on taking the reins internationally "ranges from rejoining the Paris Climate Agreement, an international accord to fight climate change that Trump opposes, to more ambitious ideas like overhauling U.S. trade and immigration policies to prioritize climate change, and blocking U.S. financing for foreign fossil fuel projects."
• from Buzzfeed News: Gov. Jay Inslee Says He Is Running For President To Do “Everything Humanly Possible” To Defeat Climate Change. buzzfeed interviewed jay inslee primarily on climate change here and he goes into a bit more detail about his campaign, but probably the most interesting thing about this interview is inslee's non climate policies, which he also goes into a bit here. (he does not want to change the law federally on sex work, leaving it up to the states, for example.)

Everybody else

• from TIME: [LONGFORM] Bernie Sanders Wants to Change America. But He May Have to Change Himself First. this longform piece from TIME focuses on the bernie sanders campaign and bernie himself, mostly in how his own successes in 2016 have so far been his worst enemy in 2020 because other candidates have come to emulate him. in many respects 2020 will probably be a campaign which sees bernie reinvent himself in ways that he didn't previously have to consider in 2016, when he was an upstart radical challenging hillary clinton and trying to push for radical positions that are now basically mainstream in the party because of him.
• from Vox: Cory Booker’s plan to fix the housing crisis and make renting affordable. cory booker has policy on fixing the housing crisis, and in summary it's: tax credits for renters, federal incentives for affordable housing, “baby bonds” as ways to make housing more affordable, protections for renters against evictions, and aid for the homeless.
• from Buzzfeed News: This Democratic Presidential Candidate Has A Sweeping Plan To Eliminate Lead Poisoning. the apparently nameless julian castro hasa plan to deal with lead poisoning in america, which is something that no other candidate has put forward before now. his plan is pretty straightforward:

He would ask Congress to allocate $5 billion per year for 10 years to replace lead pipes and address lead contamination in paint and soil “in areas of highest need,” as well as an additional $100 million per year toward preventing lead poisoning in children.
For people whose blood has high levels of lead, Castro’s plan includes provisions for treating lead poisoning under universal health care, mandatory lead testing for children under 2 years old, and “support services including counseling, tutoring, education on nutritional needs.”

• from RollCall: Think Kirsten Gillibrand has no chance? She’s heard that before — and won anyway. kirsten gillibrand might be well behind most of the frontrunners, but she's no stranger to longshot races. as this RollCall article notes, gillibrand's first big victory came in a district that was something of a longshot, and despite the expectation that gilibrand would lose. obviously a congressional race is not a presidential race, but we're also early and technically speaking, nobody is out of it yet.
• from the Guardian: 'For the NRA, the gig is up': Eric Swalwell on why gun control is a winning issue. from one perennial 1%er to another, we now turn to eric swalwell, who the guardian snagged an interview with on the issue of gun control, the topic which motivated his run. in his view gun control is a winning issue primarily because of the massive toll mass shootings have already wreaked on the country and the fact that most people support restrictions on guns.

Opinion

• from the Guardian: Want to defeat Trump? Attack Biden. this opinion piece by bhaskar sunkara echoes a similar refrain from a number of people, which is that biden is out of step with the party and needs to be halted because his policies essentially make him an empty suit.

enikő

a story written on the edge of sleep and sanity

The dreams never seem to come unless they're tortured memories or painful reminders of some ill-begotten past nobody wants to remember. To sleep is to live with that reality, but there can be no sleep in such reality either, and neither can there be peace. In the reality there is Enikő, eyes strained against an all-consuming darkness, and the many fractured people that exist within.

"No sleep," mutters Enikő into the void. There are no people around to hear that, except the many fractured people within. Enikő flashes out of existence at once and the fractured people take their spaces, dance their dances against the blackness.

"You know," scolds Alyaza Birze, who flashes at once into existence, "you must cease to suppress me one of these days!" Probably Enikő is not truly around to hear this in the reality, for Enikő is just as nonexistent as all the other people within the darkness. Alyaza pays it no mind, for she is accustomed to such.

"Why must you always tax yourself so, Enikő?" calls Alyaza out to the void. "You know as I that you must sleep. The nightmares are no more common than the daydreams, and neither too are the thoughts. They are not often for you. Rest at once." The void does not answer.

Alyaza flashes back into nonexistence, and so takes her place is Natja Avidina. In some other place in some other space, it is so that Natja and Alyaza exist as roommates. In this reality though they are consigned to singular existences, never seeing one another. They are opposites, yin and yang, and in this reality yin and yang cannot be at the same time. Natja cannot exist where Alyaza does, nor can Alyaza exist where Natja does. Natja pays this no mind, for she too like Alyaza has long resigned to the void reality.

"Why do you make yourself suffer, Enikő?" slips the quiet voice of Natja into the void. "Surely you too must be tired, even with the nightmares and the thoughts, and surely you too must realize that there is no guarantee you will even remember them if you rest?" And then Natja too snaps out of existence and is replaced by Enikő.

"I don't want the thoughts or the nightmares or the dreams." says Enikő from reconstitution. "I have dreamed and thought like a crazy person for years and every day my sanity slips a little more because of it! Must I be consigned to suffer then like every other facet of life simply because you two demand it of me?"

Enikő's eyes drift, and into the void Alyaza calls back a simple "yes" before disappearing again. In the void little figures dance to the rhythm of a silent melody, one-two like so then one-two again, not figures like Alyaza or Natja but the manifestations of the thoughts and dreams and every little thing the brain conceives and conspires to employ in this god-forsaken hellspace of a reality. Fire and brimstone could never compare to the void that taunts and harasses the very depths of soul and sanity.

Enikő's eyes drift back into the void. "I refuse," she says with conviction. Sleep will bring upon this void all the figures dancing to the invisible beat a thousand times over complimented with the worst machinations of the mind. One thousand times too many has this happened and one thousand and one will not tonight.

Enikő gives way to another shard of a body, the one that always confronts the thoughts. The eyes of Twilight Sparkle methodically survey the void for the usual actors, the ones that seem to recur every time she is spirited to this curious place. This is not her home, nor has it ever been, and why she is here she never does seem to know. In another place she is lauded but anxious perpetually, sent against fate and time and gods themselves in the name of an abstract concept she supposes she represents. Here, she exists as a mixture of reason and reaction, and in the void it is never certain which side dominates. She has never been used to the void, but the void cares little for such things.

"The thoughts aren't anything you haven't experienced before." she says carefully. "If it were my call, I'd take it. Better than what the rest of the mind can spit out if you stay in this void for too long."

The manifestation of reason disappears, and reaction it seems has lost the day for once. But Enikő responds only with "I refuse" and vanishes once more into nonexistence. The Thompson-esque scene must shamble along once more, resembling more and more an acid trip gone awry with its talking purple ponies and radical socialist gryphon-kind. The void answers the call with frantic pace, the one-two double timing without a breath to spare and the void reaching with the first tendrils of abject paranoia. The void must call its call and spread until entropy overcomes its will. Sleep must one day win over void, or void must overcome all things otherwise.

But Enikő only pops back once more to refuse. "I shall not sleep, and none shall tell me otherwise. No void shall overcome me, no matter what, and I would sooner die than feel the thoughts once more."

Alyaza Birze has a plan. She is no strategist of course, and pays no claim to being such, but just as Enikő was the body within which all of the fractal personalities contained themselves, Alyaza was a person into which Enikő could project. And just as Enikő knew Alyaza, Alyaza must then have known Enikő.

The one-two one-two staccato of the void grew seemingly always more and more discordant, for which Enikő would no doubt pay in short order. But the void reality was not the only reality into which all of the fractal personalities could contain themselves, and Alyaza Birze knows this. There are many vectors by which to project yourself into another reality, and this too Alyaza Birze knows, but it is a very specific reality that Alyaza Birze seeks. And so into the void, with sudden rhythm, is a familiar humming.

Doo do, doo do do do.

Do do do do, do do do do, do do.

It is some indiscriminate time, in a place that is less so indiscriminate. Alyaza Birze is on a podium at the head of a sea of curious lifeforms in a reality that places her in a Thompson-like Battle of Aspen. But far from Aspen, this reality invokes some mayoral election for a town named Ponyville in a land called Equestria, in some god-forsaken reality that demands words but defies them and calls for no less than six tabs of acid. It is Birze, the uncharismatic but ever convention-defying radical speaker who raises a Gonzo fist to a species with no opposable digits and recites with conviction "All you maggot-smoking fags on Santa Monica boulevard." No explanation for these words or their significance to the Birze campaign is given, nor for the Gonzo fist, and the reality at once seems to shatter into a million ill-fitting pieces from such an illogical state of being. Birze pays none of it mind.

Somewhere to the side of the sea of life is a Twilight Sparkle equally oblivious of the void and all too aware of it, cringing at every word spoken by Birze and no doubt trying to distance herself from every syllable that is enunciated on that grand podium. No self-respecting person would be caught dead wholeheartedly agreeing with some platform literally based in nothing in this reality (except of course for the vast masses already doing so but without saying so). But then all of this is irrelevant and Twilight knows this and it is merely pomp and circumstance to the call of the void which exists and eats away at everything like a malignant cancer even in so far away a place as this. Behind the thinly veiled, multicolored sets of this reality jolt the rhythms of the void reality, ready to expand and consume here just as it too shall consume Enikő. And so it is under that circumstance that exponentially titled future Mayor of the Reality of the Freak Power Ponyvillians Alyaza Birze and shattered personality Twilight Sparkle meet both knowing and not knowing why it is they meet.

"To what pleasure do I owe speaking to the visit of our presumptive mayor?" asks the purple pony in the Thompson-esque scene. The void at least will not eat these words, so there is point and purpose in the intonation put on them.

"Someone as smart as you surely must know why I am here and not anywhere else today. Void is void, Tevilias. It is another one of those." said Alyaza with reservation. "And certainly I am no mayor, for the record."

"You must forgive me," Twilight strings together with lackadaisical attitude, "but what would 'one of those' mean?" There is an air of resignation in the words, like the inevitable weight of a hundred-million realities is about to crash down on this reality and consign it to some bad acid trip where it belongs.

"Well you know as I, Tevilias, that in twenty-odd hours I shoot all of you to that beat and tune, that bullshit line of "All you maggot-smoking faggots" in this strange smoke and mirrors bullshit reality that exists. That is where the thoughts go, that is what the void calls, and it is you who will die there too in agony a hundred times any other. And no doubt you know that I have no desire to do that. We've been through this a hundred times, haven't we? And we know what happens if we do that."

"Sure." The resignation is enviable.

"And so we will not let that happen, will we? Because it's not like I want to murder. And you know what will happen if we do." The three-headed cerberus that inhabits the void makes itself known then.

"I WILL MURDER YOU ALL IN COLD BLOOD" bays the first head. The second nods solemnly as though carried along for a ride it never asked. The third head is manic, bearing no mind to anything but the vast and acid-like surroundings and teetering back and forth on the cusp of some far off reality from here. All of them are Alyazas, stuck in a body that never represented them in a world that never cared for them, or so it seems. No one head ever seems to dominate, except when it surfaces and becomes The Alyaza Birze, the one that people know. And never is there a time when one knows which one is The Alyaza Birze or if none of them are The Alyaza Birze, the one that everybody interacts with. Perhaps twenty-odd hours from now it will be the first that will do the killing.

"So perhaps," says Alyaza Birze, the cerberus disappearing at once, "we should make this quick then." And Twilight Sparkle can merely nod as one of the fragmented personalities once in her own reality and soon to again no longer be.

The void cannot pace itself any longer, and the discordant harmonies cease at once to contain themselves. The thoughts grow darker and drearier as they always do and the figures in the void give way to the schizophrenic happenings of the night. The shadow figures that once were become again and reanimate against the pitch black, the vividness ever greater. Sleep is enviable, but the void shall not overcome. The thoughts shall not overcome, not the dreams of dying or doing the death dealing nor the inenviable and inevitable thoughts of wanton mutilation. "The void will not overcome me, and I shall not sleep." says Enikő, and the void surges its tendrils once more.

Alyaza Birze and Twilight Sparkle and all her friends and all the other fractal personalities but Natja Avidina constitute themselves in the void once more, humming the refrains to a song which they all care to know as fractal personalities to a person. What a thing to be a witness to the sunshine! What a dream to just be walking on the ground! Into the void must strum the beat to something more cheery, something to at least dispel the thoughts and the agonies and the void for awhile, something that isn't so depressive and destructive. Don't get so upset, the refrain cries, the world was never fair--but there are ways yet to get through the day and so too perhaps the night. None of the fractal personalities sing, for singing is never quite their tempo. In some other, non-void reality perhaps this is so, but here they simply drown in the thoughts. And the thoughts are drowned, slowly, but inexorably, by the feelings of the music.

The void begins to slow, and entropy takes its course as does inevitably for all things. Soon the dreams are gone and so too go the thoughts with them, and at once there is a true void where the nightmares and the thoughts frolic no longer.

"Well that was not so hard." says Alyaza Birze. "A work done well by everybody, I suppose." Twilight merely scoffs, and says nothing of it before she is reconstituted into her own reality, to perhaps be shot again sometime in not-so-far-gone future. So too out of existence and into their own blink her other friends, ever present in this void from time to time as she but never quite players in its major doings. One day in the not-so-far-gone future it is they too who may die at the hands of some Alyaza Birze. But tonight they are merely fractal personalities in a large symphony of them, called upon ever and remembered never.

Into the night Alyaza Birze skitters onto paper a little testimony she picked up on a day she can no longer remember but which sticks into her mind evermore.

It reads:

In my own country I am in a far-off land
I am strong but have no force or power
I win all yet remain a loser
At break of day I say goodnight
When I lie down I have a great fear
Of falling.

And then she too blinks into nonexistence, perhaps in some not-so-far-flung future destined to be as she was this night to kill, perhaps destined to rewrite the words of testimony, but ever destined to repeat the cycle of doing and being and defusing crises on this night and all others a million times over now and forever more.

And for the first time in a long while, Enikő is at peace and sleeps.

I've seen the occasional poetry thread, but I thought I would post some more traditional writing. This short story is background lore for my ongoing web serial, Codex, which takes place a thousand years after these events.

The research team looked like ants in the scry-screen, crawling around the laboratory as they completed the ritual’s final steps. When the spell was powered on, it let out a brief flash of brilliant orange light that made Tarrel wince and shade his eyes. The ants milled about as if their hill had just been kicked over, swarming this way and that, huddling over the piece of enchanted metal.

Tarrel stood up and left the viewing room. Renna looked up as he entered the laboratory and waved him over, a broad smile on her face. She held out her hand, offering him a bracelet made from some shiny metal; it looked like two flat chains had been woven together into a thin, knotted band. “Is that the eternium?” Tarrel asked. “Why a bracelet, and not a sword or spear?”

Renna stepped away from the five other people as an argument developed over one of the experimental readings. “It’s a gift.” She gave him an impish grin. “You’re allowed to enjoy the fruits of your labor, you know.”

The eternium was slick against his skin, as if it had been greased, and it had a mirror-perfect reflective surface that threw the bright overhead lights back into his eyes. He angled it away from him and stared at the gleaming metal, trying to dredge up the appropriate emotion, as if he could summon it into being by sheer willpower.

Logically, it should have been easy -- he had all the pieces: a beautiful girlfriend (if occasionally annoying), a prestigious research position, and a talent for magic that made most other wizards look like fumbling idiots. And of course, he was a Raal, entitled to all the benefits that came with higher civilization: immortality (or a very long life anyway), near-absolute freedom to do as he pleased (as long as that didn’t impinge on others’ freedoms), safety (from physical harm). Any non-Raal would kill to be where he was, and it was a safe bet that most Raal who knew him were at least a little envious of his status. But happiness, like an improperly drawn ritual, refused to manifest… and all Tarrel could feel was a bleak sense of anticlimactic fatigue as he looked into the shiny mirrored surface.

Renna moved closer and touched his arm. “Hey. What is it?”

He forced a smile onto his face and slid the bracelet onto his wrist. “Nothing.” The rest of the team was gathered around an Aether screen. Part of Tarrel wanted to join them, plunge back into the soothing distraction of work, but all at once he couldn’t stand the thought of doing so. He turned back to Renna, forcing the words through numb lips. “Let’s go out together.”

They could have taken a teleportation circle or a flier, but Tarrel wanted to walk so they strolled the floating streets of Ur-Dormoth together. It was nighttime, but the walkways were all lit with bright white mage-bulbs. Aircraft hummed overhead, like gigantic wingless insects, disappearing into the night as they left the city.

“Ever been to a mite city?” Tarrel asked as they walked.

“No.”

“I have,” Tarrel said. He brooded for a moment, staring out at Ur-Dormoth, sprawled across the clouds like a tangled pile of glittering lace. “They’re cramped, and squalid, and they stink of death. It’s like being in a corpse.”

Renna shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the fate of however many millions of less fortunate people lived on the land below them. “Why do you bring it up?”

“I don’t know,” Tarrel said. “Have you ever wanted something and really worked for it, only to find that once you had it, you didn’t want it anymore?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Renna said. “Why would you work for something you don’t want?”

Tarrel sighed. “Never mind.”

They went to the Eyrie, where Tarrel tried to look interested in the menu before giving up and ordering at random. The food arrived a few minutes later, looking decadent and delicious: creamy soup, flower-shaped pastries, a platter of fried onions. Tarrel ate mechanically, doing his best to appear as if he was enjoying it, but all he could think about was the emptiness he felt inside.

“How’s the food?” Renna asked.

Tarrel glanced at the pale white soup he was eating and tried to decide what to say. “It’s good.”

Renna leaned back in her chair. “I knew you would like it.”

“How long do you think it’ll be before we can start mass-producing the eternium?”

Renna blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “A few more weeks? Once we do, the applications are immense.” Her eyes were practically glowing with excitement. “What would it be like to live in a tower taller than the highest mountain?”

Tarrel stirred his soup, wishing he could share her energetic happiness. “That’s a long way to fall.”

Renna chuckled, a delicate sound like tinkling crystal chimes, and tossed her sleek white hair over her shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll have protective enchantments. It would be quite the scandal, to be the architect responsible for the first death in centuries.”

“They don’t let you Merge,” Tarrel said, only half paying attention to the conversation.

“What?”

“Murder. If it’s deliberate, your thread is cut. No children.” Tarrel made a snipping motion with his free hand. “But if they think you meant to kill, then it’s a life for a life.”

Renna stared at him. “How do you even know that?”

Tarrel shrugged, already losing interest in the topic. “Memory spell.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“It’s too difficult to cast for most people,” Tarrel said. Though that would change, if he ever got the framework functioning.

“What’s the framework?” Renna asked.

Tarrel realized he had spoken out loud. “Just a project I’ve been working on. You speak a command, and the framework casts the appropriate spell for you. All the power of a ritual, none of the difficulty.”

“That seems pretty useful. How’s it going?”

Tarrel blinked, not sure if he had heard her correctly. “Useful?” His lips twisted. “Nobody else seems to think it would be.”

“Are you serious? The applications for research alone would be immense. Imagine never having to cast another scrying spell.”

“They said it would be too inconvenient, or that the magic would lack power, or any of a hundred other excuses.”

Renna reached across the table and put her hand on his. “It sounds amazing to me.” Tarrel met her eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all he found was honest admiration. “Can I see it?”

Tarrel shifted in his seat and looked away. “I, uh, sort of abandoned it. Nobody seemed to want it and I ran into some thorny problems, so it seemed like I was just wasting my time.”

“Well take it out of storage! Don’t worry about them, once they see what it can do they’ll all change their mind. Your legacy would be etched in the stone of history, right up there with Elmar the Great and the Risen Kings.”

Renna frowned and held up a hand to forestall his reply. “One moment. Someone’s trying to talk to me on the Way.”

Tarrel watched, but Renna’s expression gave away little. Half a minute passed before she finished. “What was it?” Tarrel asked.

“The research lab.” Renna’s face twisted in disgust. “Apparently they decided to run another batch of eternium, but someone messed up one of the protective spells.”

“Oh,” Tarrel said. He knew he ought to say something more, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care about the fate of the researchers. If they couldn’t even cast a simple set of wards, they deserved what they got.

“They’ll be fine,” Renna said, apparently mistaking his silence for concern. “At least as long as nobody screws up their healing magic too.” She hesitated, then stood up. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I really ought to be there.”

“It’s fine,” Tarrel said. “I’ll head back to my house. Maybe work on the framework some.”

Renna smiled. “I still want to see it.”

She walked over to the teleportation circle in the corner and activated it, vanishing with a soft pop. Tarrel was left in the deserted restaurant -- or not quite deserted. There was a man, washing the tables with a cloth. Tarrel watched him as he worked his way across the room, until he was near enough to talk to.

“Why do you do that?” Tarrel asked.

The man looked up. He had a rough, honest face. “Why not?”

“You could let the golems do it. Or, if you wanted to make sure it was done properly, you could use magic. Why do it by hand?”

“Sure. The golems would probably do it better than me, and a spell could do it faster and better. But that’s not the point. Haven’t you ever found pleasure in work?”

Tarrel was on the point of saying no when he reconsidered, remembering all the times he had thrown himself head-on into inventing a new ritual or improving an old. “I suppose so. But my work isn’t something a golem can do and, when I’m done, I have something at the end.”

The man chuckled. “And when I’m done wiping a table, I have a clean table.”

“Only until someone comes in here and dirties it again,” Tarrel pointed out. He paused, struck by a sudden thought. Was that the problem, the reason for the hollowness all his achievements seemed to have? Even as one of the brightest researchers of the century, his name would inevitably be forgotten, in a hundred years, or a thousand, or ten thousand. But if he was able to create a new paradigm for magic… then he would be remembered.

“If I’m still around, I’ll get to enjoy cleaning it again. If I’m not, well, like you said: the golems can do it better anyways.”

Tarrel blinked, startled by the man’s voice. “Uh, right,” he said. He stood up. “I need to go.”

He took the teleporter back to his house and went down to his private laboratory. White mage-bulbs flared on as he entered the spacious room, illuminating the Aether screen set into one wall and the stone floor, still etched with an old circle. He cleared it, resetting the solid granite slab to its original, perfectly smooth, state.

Tarrel spent the rest of the night hunched over the Aether’s display, tweaking and changing the framework. Every so often, he would stand up and etch it into the granite floor with an eye-searing burst of brilliant orange light. Each time, the spell failed in a new, unexpected way, and Tarrel was sent back to the Aether to try to find the source of the problem.

The days merged into weeks, which flowed into months. Tarrel enchanted himself with restorative spells so he didn’t have to eat or sleep. Such behavior was considered unhealthy by most people, but it wasn’t the first time Tarrel had lost himself to the grip of work, and he no longer cared if his friends whispered behind his back or shook his head when he wasn’t looking. Like Renna had said, they would change their mind soon enough.

Renna knew enough to recognize the signs of Tarrel’s obsession, but she didn’t stop coming over to visit him. The door chimed regularly at noon every third day. They sat on one of Tarrel’s couches for ten or twenty minutes, talking until Tarrel could no longer keep himself away from the laboratory and made his excuses. For him, the time seemed one long hazy blur, interspersed only by slight, inching progress as obstacle after obstacle rose up to meet him and was defeated.

Eight months later, Tarrel stood before the granite slab and powered up the latest spell. “Fire,” he said, envisioning the unlit torch in the corner igniting. He didn’t really expect anything to happen and was thus shocked when it erupted into orange flame. His hands trembled with excitement as he stood up and approached the crackling brand. Magic! By talking! At last, it was working.

“Freeze,” Tarrel said. A chill swept over him as the torch’s flames guttered out. Water condensed on the blackened stump, then froze solid into a glittering sheen. A smile spread across his face and something warm and… happy rose inside him, like winter ice cracking and melting as summer approached. Renna’s words came back to him: Your legacy would be etched in the stone of history and he threw his head back, laughing.

Further experimentation revealed that the framework had exceeded his wildest expectations. He refined the spell, reducing the energy it consumed and increasing its potency until at last, it was fit for use in a globalization ritual. Everyone in the world, if they had the basic training necessary to use magic at all, could now access the framework.

Tarrel reached into the Way, calling for Renna. She responded at once, as if she had been waiting for him. What is it?

Come to my house, Tarrel sent back. I have something to show you.

He severed the telepathic link and stood up, unable to stop grinning. The eternium bracelet gleamed in the corner of the laboratory where he had tossed it and he went over and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. General Yenja had been excited about the eternium project. What would she think of the framework? But that was a matter for another time -- right now, he wanted to see Renna’s face when she saw what he had built. Tarrel slipped the bracelet onto his wrist and hurried up the stairs. Behind him, the mage-bulbs blinked out and the laboratory plunged into darkness.

Renna knocked on the door several minutes later. Tarrel glanced at it. “Open the door,” he said.

It swung aside, revealing a harried-looking Renna. “What is it?” she asked as she came inside.

Tarrel grinned and pointed at a glass of water sitting on the table. “Watch this,” he said. “Freeze the water in that cup.”

The surface of the water turned frosty and opaque, spreading downwards with a deep cracking sound. All at once, the glass shattered, spraying shards and chips everywhere. Tarrel jerked, surprised, then broke out into a laugh. “Sorry,” he said. “I should have been more specific in my wording.”

Renna touched the solid cylinder of ice, setting it off into a lazy spin. It twirled across the table until Tarrel caught it with one hand. “How do you like it?” he said.

“Impressive. Can I try?”

“Sure. I put it in the Way, so you should be able to access it just by thinking about it.”

Renna gestured at the ice in Tarrel’s hand. “Melt.”

Nothing happened and Tarrel chuckled. “It takes some getting used to. Try starting to cast the spell normally, then use the framework.”

“Melt.”

This time, the frozen water turned warm and started to dissolve, gushing all over Tarrel’s hands. He tossed it back onto the table before it could soak his clothes. “Freeze.”

Nothing happened and he gave Renna a rueful smile. “My mana cache is empty. I didn't even notice but I've been using the same one for all my research.”

“Here.” Renna withdrew a fat diamond pendant from beneath her shirt and held it out to him. “Take mine.”

“No,” Tarrel said. “I have a better idea.”

He reached out with his mind, drawing on the inert mana present all around and concentrating a small amount of it, refining it into the potent stuff that was normally used for spells. Only a drop, just enough to kickstart the spell he had in mind. “Refine one nex’s worth of mana. Put it into my cache, then cast two copies of this spell, using mana from the cache.”

It was the longest framework-boosted spell he had cast, but it went off without so much as a tug of mental effort. A thin trickle of mana pulsed through him, then died off as the spell became self-sustaining.

“Did you just -- ”

“That’s right,” Tarrel said. “I just revolutionized the mana collection industry.”

Renna frowned. “Maybe you ought to slow down.”

“Slow down? Why? I feel great.”

“That’s because you’re using those invigoration spells.” Renna looked around. “Do you feel that?”

It was an tingle, like an electric wind brushing over Tarrel’s skin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the diamond cache, shielding his eyes as it began to glow an intense white. “Behold,” he said. “The future of the Raal.”

Renna stared at the diamond. “That doesn’t look right. Your new spell -- ”

“Not a new spell -- a new paradigm. For centuries, we have cast magic in essentially the same way. Spells have gotten better, thanks in large part to the tireless efforts of researchers like you, but it’s time for something different. Instead of engaging in a mental wrestling match, we shall simply give an order as if the magic is a servant.”

“Your refinement spell has a -- ”

Tarrel slammed his fist on the table. “Shut up!” The framework turned his order from wish into reality and he felt a sudden spike of shame. Using magic on a fellow Raal? What was he doing? But she wouldn’t see. He continued in a calmer voice. “It’s people like you who delayed this project by almost fifteen years. All that time, wasted.”

He felt the pulse of magic as Renna broke through the framework’s silencing spell. “Listen to me,” she said. The urgency in her tone gave Tarrel pause. “That diamond is about to overload. It’s the same mistake you made with the ice.”

Tarrel glanced at the incandescent diamond cube, mentally going over the wording he had used with the super-refinement spell. The same mistake he had made with the ice? The air around him felt… thin and weak, while the space around the cube seemed to shimmer and warp. What was going on? And then he got it.

He stared at Renna, horrified. “Quick. Give me your cache.”

He began the transfer spell, reverting to the more familiar mental casting in the moment of crisis. It was still incomplete when the cube exploded with a chiming sound that reverberated through his bones. Pain stabbed up Tarrel’s hand and he screamed, flailing around and spraying blood from his two missing fingers. Threads of orange refined mana flickered all around him like a hazy fog and the room dissolved into panic as the magic ran wild.

Renna’s hair stood straight up. She had time for a single terrified scream before lightning discharged from her body. Bolts radiated out in every direction, crackling and splitting the air apart, disintegrating her body into hot black flakes. Some of them landed on Tarrel’s face and he stumbled back, staring at the black scorch marks on the floor.

Tarrel’s weight vanished all at once and he floated off the ground, crashing into the ceiling before gravity reasserted itself and threw him back to the floor. The awful ringing of the broken cube continued to echo through the room, growing in strength instead of fading. It tore through his head as he wrapped his ruined hand in his shirt and sprinted for the door -- only to have the space in front of him warp and elongate. The door receded away, until it was like he was looking down a long corridor.

The first rips began to appear, fuelled by the still-continuing refinement spell as it pumped refined mana into the shards of the diamond cube. It was as if reality was a sheet of glass, fracturing and splitting. Black cracks shot through the room as the chiming hammered through Tarrel’s body. They began to glow, dim white at first, then growing in strength. They pulsed. Flickered. And as Tarrel’s hand reached for the door handle, they exploded.

Pure, white light surged out into the city, spilling from the research laboratory where Tarrel had conducted his fatal experiments. People screamed and fled. Some tried to cast spells, only to have their magic go awry in a wash of strange effects. Teleportation spells transported heads without their bodies. Flight enchantments sent their users hurtling into buildings. Wards imploded, crushing that which they were meant to protect.

Ur-Dormoth was just one city out of hundreds, but the Way, a global telepathic link which united all Raal, was irreversibly tainted. Less than a year passed before Tarrel’s name was forgotten, but in the end he got his wish: an eternal, undying legacy -- in the form of a vast, magical wasteland sprawling across a quarter of the continent.

If you haven't watched Firefly, this should still be safe to read. No spoilers.

Let me start by saying I'm a huge fan of Firefly. If someone could somehow combined the core cast, the favour of the universe, the ship, the adventures and everything into one awesome person, that person would be my BFF. However, as an Asian, I probably would not be theirs.

Background

The series is a space cowboy western drama. It takes place in the year 2517 in assumed to be distant solar system from our Earth (Earth-that-was). From the comics, there's a brief comment that mentions Earth-that-was sent generation ships to colonize this new solar system. The ships were sent by the two main superpowers at the time - USA and China. This explains the general western feel mixed with, I'm going to call it - generic Asia.

Core characters

• Malcolm "Mal" Reynolds
• Zoe Alleyne Washburne
• Hoban "Wash" Washburne
• Inara Serra
• Jayne Cobb
• Kaywinnet Lee "Kaylee" Frye
• Dr. Simon Tam
• River Tam
• Derrial Book
• (The ship, Serenity)

And yes, though Kaylee, and the Tam's stand out as Asian-ish names, they are not Asian. In fact no one in the core cast is. There was mention that Kaylee was suppose to be, but they just fell in love with Jewel Staite. I honestly can't imagine another Kaylee, but still can't help but wonder. And to be honest, I'm not sure how I feel with the idea of the only Asian walking around as the only person wearing Chinese clothes.

Non-core characters

Too many to list, but feel free to scroll down the list on IMDb.

You'll find "Jim Lau" - Narrator. I also believe I saw an Asian woman in "Heart of Gold" but can't find her name, so I'm guessing it's an uncredited part.

That's right, in a universe settled by the Americans and Chinese, you'll see maybe one unnamed Asian.

Asia without Asians

But not seeing Asian people doesn't mean there's no Asian influence.

• Kaylee wears "Chinese" clothes a fair bit and even has a paper umbrella. Of course, if any of you have recently visited pretty much anywhere in China, you'll notice no Chinese people wear clothing like that walking their dog.
• Chinese food, like "bao" is also mentioned.
• Quirky Chinese things like "washing feet" and "hundreds of fat children" are woven in.
• The Chinese language in both written and spoken form are littered through-out. The ship, Serenity is named in Chinese (painted on her), but no one actually refers to her by it. Bits of Chinese are tossed around everywhere and obviously every person in this universe is expected to be fluent. There was Asian consultation on this part, so a lot of the language is "correct". They went out of their way to string together crazy sentences, so it's not anything most people would say, but honestly adds to the show. And for their part, you can tell the actors do put an effort in speaking it right, with varying levels of success.

Final thoughts

I still love the show, but do feel disappointed that someone can obviously love my culture so much to see its influence everywhere in this series, but not enough to actually include us.

Edit: formatting

A bright light illuminated my workshop suddenly, causing me to drop my tools on the table. A figure appeared at the opposite side of the small office, encased within a surreal shadow in the middle of the blinding light. Slowly the light faded, as I made out the visitor. I was looking at myself.

"Wh-what are you- what am I...?" I stumbled, unsure if I could even blink anymore.

"I'm you from the future," the other me said. He appeared slightly older than I remembered from my mirror that morning.

"So it works?" I asked, wondering how else I would be there.

"Yes, it works," he answered, obviously wondering why I would ask such a thing.

"But why are you here?" I asked, just noticing I wasn't as happy as one would expect from meeting themselves. Not me, I was dazed but ecstatic. The other me seemed like he had been crying. "Are you ok?" I asked myself.

His eyes widened, but then quickly relaxed. "It's fine, but I just came to the wrong time."

"You didn't mean to meet me here?"

"No, this is too late." His voice became cold. "My work can still be recovered if I do it here."

"Do what here?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

The other me stared, as he pulled out a handheld device, much smaller than my phone. After pressing some buttons on the screen, the bright light returned, enveloping him again until he quickly disappeared from the room. I'm not sure why, but I ran into the area of his departure before the light faded. I panicked when I realized I didn’t know where or when I was going, but my thoughts were interrupted when the light faded and everything went black.

I came to what seemed like hours later to find myself in my office, but I wasn't alone. The other me- or some other other me was lying on the ground by the table, gasping for air.

"What happened?" I asked running to my counterpart’s side frantically. "Did... I do this to you?"

"It's all wrong," he said, clutching his chest. Blood trailed around him, seeping through his closed fist. "None of this makes sense."

Before I could speak again, I noticed something odd. He didn't look younger than me. He was older. "You're the me that I just met, aren't you?"

"Yes," he started, spitting up some blood. "I pulled out my knife, but he grabbed it out of my hand and stabbed me before I could get to him."

"But why?" I yelled, desperate to understand why I would attempt to kill myself.

"You try to fix one thing," he trailed off, his eyes losing focus. He became still and my mind turned into override.

I had watched myself die. I ended up going back in time to kill myself, but my past self killed me instead. That was my future. Why would I do that? Was I still going to do it, knowing what I knew? If I didn’t, how was I in still in the past?

"Don't even try it," a voice called behind me. "I don't know why you guys came back, but I'm not letting you kill me."

I turned around to see a younger version of myself standing in the doorway, wielding a bloody knife in one hand and the handheld device in the other. Before I could respond, he pushed a button and light filled the room once again. A few moments later, I was alone.

It was a time before I had even started working on time travel. My only way back disappeared with my past self, which didn’t even seem to make sense. How could he become me if he wasn’t even there anymore? Would I become me? My head hurt.

“Hello,” another voice called into the room. It was female, so I immediately knew it wasn’t me again. I turned toward the door to find the solution to one of my lingering questions.

“Gwen,” I answered, walking toward her with my hand extended. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“How did you know my name?” she asked, shaking my hand with a confused look on her face.

Smooth move. I didn’t know her name the first time this happened. But at least it revealed the date. This was the day I met the best and worst thing that ever happened to me. “I saw your name on the sign-in sheet,” I answered. “You must be the new girl. I’m Chris. Chris Michael.”

I began to lead her into my office. “Let me show you around. This is my off-”

What was I doing? There was a dead body on the floor by my worktable. Not just any dead body, my dead body.

“On second thought, my office is a mess,” I sputtered. I turned Gwen toward the hall. “Why don’t you head over to the break room around the corner and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee? Just give me a few minutes.”

“Sure,” she smiled. She began walking away, but stopped momentarily and shot me a wink. “You’re an interesting guy, Chris.”

As Gwen walked down the hall, I darted back into the room. My future death was still where I left it. Police weren’t an option, what would I tell them? An older version of me was killed by a younger version of me? The only option was to dispose of the evidence. Trying to think back to old gangster movies, I heard footsteps by the door.

“Uh, don’t come in here!” I yelled. “There’s a, uh-” I couldn’t believe my eyes. Two men stood in the doorway. I was looking at two identical versions of myself.

“Hey, Chris,” the one on the left said. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t know you weren’t here to kill me too.”

“So you’re the me from this time, right?” I asked Lefty. “Who is this then?”

“Hi Chris,” the one on the right said. “I’m him, but after he stopped me from saving our future self there“

“But you didn’t-” I turned to the left. “You killed him.”

“I did,” said Lefty. “Pay attention, because this will get even more complicated. After killing future us, I had to know why he came back, so I went to the future. You know what I found? Future you. Stranded, you had taken my place, fell in love with Gwen, and never invented time travel.”

My head hurt again.

“There was no way to know what happened,” interjected Righty, “because time was overwritten. So the original timeline had to be restored.”

“How?” I asked no one in particular.

“I went back to before our future self met me.” I’m not sure who said that, I was too busy clutching my head. “I took care of him and then sent you back to your proper time before you woke up. Everything continued normally and I followed the timeline to figure out what originally happened.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this part,” I said.

“It’s all about Gwen,” said Lefty. “As you know, she eventually broke up with you because you were too dedicated to your work. Apparently you fixed that mistake when you had another chance back here.”

“Gwen,” I whispered. “She’s waiting for me in the break room.”

“We know,” said Righty.

“So where did you come from then?” I asked Righty.

“I had to undo what I did,” answered Lefty. “With you back in your time, you finish inventing time travel, but things don’t end well with Gwen.”

“I already know that,” I sighed. “She broke up with me before. This is old news to me.”

“But,” started Lefty, “with the addition of time travel, you become obsessed with fixing things. It gets a little more complicated here. You basically go back in time and try to make it work with her over and over, but it never ends well. Eventually, you decide you have to go back to the beginning and… start all over.”

“By killing you and taking your place?”

“Exactly. My place.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Lefty, who was giving me an unnerving stare.

“What about me?” I asked “And Righty?”

“Righty…? Oh, because I’m standing on your right. He wants us to leave.”

“You two take the time machine,” said Lefty. “Go live with the dinosaurs for all I care, just stay away.”

Righty patted me on the back and raised his eyebrows in an approving nod. Lefty handed him the handheld device, which looked different. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there seemed to be more buttons or something. Righty pushed one of them, but something was wrong. The expected light was there, but it was red. As Righty began to fade, a screeching sound emanated from the epicenter as he let out a horrendous scream.

“What did you do?” I yelled jumping into the hallway where Lefty had previously moved. His eyes widened as he pulled a familiar knife from his pocket.

“I can’t have you coming back and messing with my life!” he shrieked, swinging the knife in my direction. “I’ve already killed two of you, there’s no way you’re getting away!”

I jumped back into the room as the red light cleared, leaving behind a charred mark on the floor. Lefty followed me, still swinging. “Hey, what’s that?” I yelled, pointing behind him. He turned his head to find nothing, but before he could turn back, my fist met his chin. After pulling the knife from his hand I quickly buried it into his chest. As he fell to the ground, I could hear footsteps coming down the hall.

“Chris?” Gwen called.

I ran out of the room and slammed the door behind me to find Gwen holding two cups of coffee. “Hi, Gwen,” I said hysterically. She gave an odd look but then laughed, handing me one of the cups.

“I figured since you were so busy, I’d buy you the coffee this time. Would you like show me your office now?”

I looked at my closed door and then back at Gwen. “No, I still have some more cleaning to do. I have a new research project I need to prepare. But for now, how about we go enjoy these coffees in the break room?”