#but now the two people who instilled me with a very deep mistrust for the medical industry
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Terminology: ‘Spirit’ vs. ‘Demon’
In the Bartimaeus sequence, Bartimaeus makes it pretty clear that the word “demon” is a slur, and that he much prefers being called “djinni” or “spirit”. That connects pretty directly to oppression and power dynamics in our world, and it’s worth noting who in the series uses which term and in what circumstances.
First a little background on the words themselves:
The first time the distinction between “demon” and other terms comes up is when Bartimaeus talks to Nathaniel in AoS after the Underwoods’ house burned down.
“I’ve been meaning to mention this for some time. I don’t like being called a demon. Got that?”
[Nathaniel] took a deep breath. “Fine.”
“Just so you know.”
“All right.”
“I’m a djinni.”
“Yes, all right.”
Nathaniel’s response to hearing this seems ambivalent, almost annoyed when Bartimaeus tries to hammer the point in by dragging out the conversation (though to be fair to him, he has just gone through a lot, and this is far from his top priority).
Not taking slurs seriously is fairly common for members of oppressing groups, especially for words that are commonly used as a descriptor like this one is. Nathaniel might recognize that “demon” is harsher than “djinni”, but to him it’s just a word for what Bartimaeus is. It’s unlikely that he understands how this slur feeds into the system of oppression he is a part of, though I think he comes to understand more in later books.
Bartimaeus himself doesn’t outright give the word “demon” its full weight here, downplaying it as something he doesn’t like being called. Bartimaeus might stand up against magicians all the time, but it’s harder to call people out with the hope that they will change, and he isn’t great at being vulnerable. Unlike the other times he criticizes Nathaniel, this time he’s asking on his own behalf. So Bartimaeus plays it more casual on a surface level, but his “Got that?” and the way he keeps talking about it after his initial point makes him seem a lot more emphatic than “I don’t like being called a demon” would suggest.
Another more in depth explanation of the word “demon” comes from the bartimaeusbooks.com website:
‘Demon’ is simply a rude term for a spirit. The word comes from the Greek ‘daimon’, which wasn’t originally abusive, but over centuries the term, used mainly by magicians to refer to their slaves, became loaded with hate and fear.
A lot of slurs in our world also come about in similar ways; something that was initially neutrally descriptive becomes so associated with the oppression a group goes through, it comes to represent it. Saying the word “became loaded with hate and fear” basically confirms what the previous quote only implied, that it has power and is so much more than just something rude to say.
But real world connections aside, what’s really interesting about “demon” is when it is used and by whom. I haven’t kept track of every time it is used versus when “spirit” or “djinni” is used, so I can’t make comparisons or point out broader trends (though maybe next time I reread the series, I’ll add onto this post), but I did note a few specific examples.
One exchange that stands out is between Nathaniel and Mr. Underwood after Nathaniel was traumatized by the spirits in Underwood’s office.
“Spirits, sir.”
“Demons, boy. Call ‘em what they are. What must one never forget?”
“Demons are very wicked and will hurt you if they can, sir.” His voice shook as he said this.
This scene has lots of effects on Nat’s character for the rest of the series, and other people have already talked about how it instills a fear and mistrust of spirits that shapes the way Nat interacts with Bart. But it’s also worth pointing out that Underwood corrects Nat’s more neutral use of the word “spirit” to the slur “demon.”
Underwood is actively using “demon” as a word of hate and fear here to refer to spirits. And by doing so right after instilling the terror of spirits in Nathaniel, it seems to really hammer in the connection between magician’s fear of spirits and their abuse of them. Even though Bartimaeus is the only character in the series (as far as I remember) to explicitly describe the difference between “spirit” and “demon”, it’s clear that magicians have some idea of the effect this terminology has.
But after Bartimaeus points it out, Nathaniel pays more attention to what term he uses. In AoS, he says,
“I don’t know. You’re a de—a djinni. Vows mean nothing to you.”
He knows that Bartimaeus doesn’t like the term and corrects himself, which shows that even if he doesn’t fully understand the weight it carries, he was still listening to Bartimaeus and has taken that request into consideration, even when he’s insulting and dehumanizing him.
Even after two years have passed, after joining the government and becoming just generally a worse person, Nathaniel still remembers and corrects himself in GE.
“Believe me, I’d love to have summoned a de—a djinni with better manners than you, but there’s not time for me to research one properly.”
and
“If you find the de—, the afrit, see if you can get any information concerning the Resistance.”
The thing with both these examples is that Nathaniel is trying to convince Bartimaeus to do something. In the first, he’s trying to explain why he’s summoning Bart again after promising never to do so again, and the second time, he’s trying to send Bart out to catch Honorius and get information on the Resistance. His intentions aren’t necessarily to respect Bart. To some extent, he’s probably trying to warm himself up to Bart in order to get him to do what he wants with less argument.
The fact that he starts to say “demon” and corrects himself draws attention to the fact he is consciously making an effort to do Bartimaeus a kindness by using better terminology. But it also implies that his default state is using “demon” which, especially given the context, makes his word choice seem a lot less like a decision made out of respect or consideration for Bartimaeus’s feelings, but instead a manipulative tactic.
Kitty also uses the word “demon” and corrects herself in front of Bart when she’s trying to get him to do something.
“It needs a bit of thought, and a lot more de—spirits to get involved.”
and
“Now I need your help to stop what the de— what Faquarl and Nouda are doing.”
The first instance is when she wants him to join her revolution, and the second when she travels to the Other Place. Don’t get me wrong, Kitty is a lot better morally than Nathaniel, and by PG she respects spirits a lot more, but she is still under the influence of a society that hates spirits, and she isn’t perfect. I don’t know how much she uses “spirits” and “demons” in other instances, but this also seems rather manipulative of her.
The second of Kitty’s quotes and the second quote of Nathaniel correcting himself are both being used to describe spirits that the speakers are actively going against. This means that both Kitty and Nathaniel recognize that “demon” isn’t just a term that Bartimaeus personally hates, but is a rude one for all spirits. If they are trying to manipulate Bartimaeus, then they aren’t doing it just by showing that Bartimaeus is worth giving this bit of consideration to but that all spirits are.
Sometimes, people from outside a marginalized group will be bigoted to the group as a whole but not to specific individuals they deem as somehow “above” that. I’ve seen posts on tumblr talk about people misgendering trans people they hate, and the whole “hate the sin, love the sinner” thing stems from a similar place. Nathaniel and Kitty have every reason to hate and insult Honorius, Faquarl, and Nouda, but they make an effort to not conflate those valid reasons of hatred with bigotry. Even though their intentions behind those words (especially Nathaniel’s) may have been a bit skewed, this makes me trust that they don’t like Bartimaeus despite him being a spirit, but that they like him and also he is a spirit.
#bartimaeus#nathaniel#kitty jones#the bartimaeus sequence#arthur underwood#my post#kitty#slurs#jonathan stroud
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Dreams of Our Past - Chapter 28
Aaaannnnd done! Here’s the Link to AO3
In which Ardyn has a bonding moment with Solaris and much introspection happens.
Featuring:
fierce princess warriors, Ardyn's mother, making breakfast, the author's bad attempt at writing Latin and another brief hint at the meta plot.
Warning:
vomiting, Ardyn's not so nice thoughts and talk about a funeral
There's a part in this chapter that's written in Latin. I wrote it myself and as a consequence it won't be very good, please keep that in mind XD Just posting the translation here so nobody will get confused.
Eos sleeps,
Her hair is the light
Of the sunset.
A black wing brings the night
And I look up
Towards the sky,
Where the stars are shining.
Ardyn VI
8.6.755 ME
Insomnia, Deep City
Kingdom of Lucis
Ardyn waited until Noctis and his Amicitia were well and truly out of earshot before he made his way deeper into the room on uneven steps. He came to a stop next to the stool his nephew had sat on and glanced down at the frail girl sleeping in the rickety bed.
The marks of the scourge could still be seen along the right side of her face, pale, smoky shadows beneath her paper white skin. It would be so easy to make it bloom in full again, see the blackness spread and consume until this girl was just another creature poisoning the shadows of the night. The scourge within his own blood yearned to connect with what remained in her, to strengthen it and see what kind o daemon she would become.
With a high pitched hiss Ardyn wretched his gaze away from her, moved towards the window and pushed it open to keep his actions from following his thoughts. He would not alienate what precious family he had found here to satisfy a baser need that, technically speaking, wasn't even his own. No matter how much he wanted to take revenge on the Amicitia line for what Gilgamesh had done to him.
The air outside the window wasn't any less muggy than inside, but it carried a hint of freshness that was lacking within the room and helped him calm his thoughts. He refused to follow baser instincts and the bad habits Besithia had been trying to instil within him. That just wouldn't do. He was Ardyn Lucis Caelum, eldest son Atalanta Lucis Caelum the Unyielding, she who, despite everything, had managed to keep most of Cavaugh beneath her banner as the last remnants of Solheim began to crumble away, husband to Gratia and father to Jubaris. He would not disappoint them again.
Turning his attention back into the room, he walked back to the girl's bedside and cautiously lowered himself onto the stool, as if he was afraid the scourge within him could leap up again like a ravenous beast. Which wasn't that far off, he thought.
His gaze lingered on her features as he bent down to pick up the crumbled blanket on the floor and tucked it tightly around her. The scourge didn't only sap you energy and your mental fortitude, but also stole your body warmth as millions upon millions of tiny parasitic lifeforms spread in your body and made it habitable for themselves.
There wasn't much of anything of Gilgamesh in her. Ardyn didn't know if he should be relieved or not about that realization. Maybe there was something in the shape of her eyes and the form of her brow and, if he read her bone structure right, she would grow to be quite tall with unusually wide shoulders for a woman.
A quiet moan ripped him out of his musings. Ardyn helped her turn towards the edge of the bed and vomit a thick black substance into the bucket. He wrinkled his nose in slight disgust but kept up a quiet stream of soothing mutterings to help keep her calm.
“Where...?” she murmured, blinking up at him in incomprehension.
“Do go back to sleep, my dear. Everything is alright. It will be better in the morning, you will see,” he soothed, carding a large and slender hand through the child's hair.
Strange, he thought as her eyes fell shut again and she relaxed in sleep, that he had not forgotten how to do this after all these long years.
Ardyn tucked the blankets back around her and tapped his fingers along the length of his cane in the rhythm of a nursery rhyme the words of which he had long forgotten.
“Is the mean blackness gone?” came the quiet question from the door.
Ardyn twisted around on the stool and saw Solaris standing in the doorway. Her unruly shoulder length hair was even wilder than normal which made the subtle similarities between them even more obvious. It was strange to see someone with this many Solheimr characteristics - other than him - in this day and age. She looked at him with her honey and gold coloured eyes that suddenly reminded him of his mother, without the usual hesitation that had been there whenever she looked at him. He wondered what had changed.
“Not quite yet, dear one. The mean blackness is very stubborn,” Ardyn answered just as quietly.
Solaris nodded thoughtfully, as if that was the only thing that could make sense and carefully made her way over to him. Oh, the beautiful minds of children.
Her gaze flickered hesitantly up to him and Ardyn was willing to wait for her to figure out what she wanted to say. He had seen her be shy and uncertain, sometimes even mistrustful, around people she didn't know and hoped she would open up to him in the future.
“The scary man's yelling at tata 'n' mati,” she mumbled and fidgeted with the material of her long sleeping tunic.
“Oh? Should we go down and check on them?” he asked, watching her reaction carefully.
He was more than willing to eviscerate an entitled Amicitia, if the chance presented itself. Solaris shook her head.
“Mati yelled right back,” she stated, a fierce, childish pride in her eyes.
“Should you have been down there? I imagine young princesses such as yourself should be in bed right now, to grow into fierce warriors.”
Solaris frowned. “Don't warriors hurt people?”
“The good ones only do it to protect those they love,” he explained and suppressed a pained grimace. This wasn't a conversation he of all people should have with an eight year old girl.
She wrinkled her nose cutely as she considered his words for a few moments, then she nodded decisively. “I'll be a fierce and good warrior to protect mati 'n' tata 'n' Astra and everybody else I like. Like Vox,” she declared, determination lacing her voice.
Ardyn nodded seriously and with all the gravitas this situation deserved. “I'm sure your parents will be happy to help you.”
Suddenly nervous again, Solaris twisted her fingers into her tunic and looked down. “Will you help me?” she mumbled shyly and barely audible.
“You... want me to help?” he asked completely baffled. That wasn't something he had expected.
“Mhm.”
“As my princess commands,” he said and sketched a formal bow, which wasn't all that effective sitting down, but hid quite successfully the turmoil that was surely showing on his face. This was a form of innocent trust he had never thought would be directed at him again. At her giggling he sat back up again, blinking rapidly.
A tiny hand grasped the hem of his own tunic and without thinking about it he wound his arms around the small girl looking for comfort. One hand clutched his cane like a lifeline. Solaris hugged back just as tightly as he did and he had no idea how it happened, but suddenly she sat curled up in his lap, her head against his collar bone and his arms securely around her. Ardyn studiously ignored the painful twinge in his knee this position brought him.
Before he knew it, he was softly swinging back and forth while humming an ancient lullaby his mother had sung to him and Somnus when they had been barely Solaris' age. Within minutes her eyes fell shut and her breathing deepened, fast asleep after all the excitement so late at night. Or early in the morning, rather.
What a precious and resilient child.
Ardyn continued to hum the lullaby about bidding goodbye to the mother of light as the sun set and dancing in the moonlight as she, who had created the world, protected them from what lurked in the Deep. It was a song about the circle of night and day, about joy and protection and hope.
Hope, he thought, what a dangerous commodity. So easy to disappoint, yet so difficult to really kill. He had thought hope had died within him when his wife and son had been murdered by his own brother and Shield, when the darkness of Angelgard had entombed him, but obviously he had been wrong. There was no denying the deep rooted warmth in his chest, it's edges bubbled with a nervous anticipation.
Thoughtlessly he smoothed a hand through the sleeping girl's hair. It was too early to tell what the best way forward should be, but it would definitely be the best for him to stay here, he thought as his gaze flickered to the older girl sleeping in the room.
A soft knock against the door frame made him look up. There stood Hiemi with a soft look on her face.
“How's she doing?” she whispered as she came to a stop next to him.
“I think that everything that happened during the last week is finally catching up to her,” Ardyn answered with a slight grimace. “She asked me to help her become a a fierce and good warrior so she may protect everybody she holds dear.”
Hiemi nodded, a grim look in her eyes. “Healer and I've been waiting for that to happen for a while now. Not her wanting to be a warrior, but I can see it, even if my husband may not want to. The two times I let her handle a knife she showed it the respect it was due, at least.” She side eyed him when she noticed his hesitation. “You can ask, you know?”
“I gather our resident and conscious Amicitia didn't take the revelation well?” he chose to say.
Hiemi couldn't help her amused snort. “Healer told me about him, but by the sun, that man has a bad temper.”
Ardyn just raised an eyebrow at her. He had heard her and his nephew arguing once about table-cloths of all things.
“Why you,” she huffed in amusement and made to gently shove him in the shoulder. She didn't touch him, however. She had without a doubt picked up that he wasn't very comfortable with other people touching him suddenly. Ardyn shot a small teasing grin at her.
“Everything will turn out all right with them, I think,” Hiemi continued after a few moments of silence. “For all his faults, I get the feeling that Gladiolus is incredibly loyal. When I left, Healer was trying to convince him to not stay away from his work.”
Loyal, huh? Well, Ardyn would just have to make sure this Amicitia stayed loyal to the right person. Otherwise there was still another one, younger and more malleable that could replace him.
“If he scares Solaris again with yelling at you and my nephew there will be consequences,” he promised, protectiveness and a quiet menace lining his voice.
Dark green eyes pierced his own golden ones, searching for something. What it was he couldn't say.
“If he dares to hurt or scare my children knave Gladiolus will have to answer to me.” That was as much a threat as it was a promise.
They shared a heartbeat of silence full of certainty that no one would survive hurting this new generation of Lucis Caelums. Solaris gave a quiet huff in her sleep, bringing attention back on herself. Hiemi's gaze turned soft and warm as her eyes fell on the sleeping form of her daughter.
“Come, I'll take her back to bed. There's much to be done today and we could use your help, Ardyn,” she said and carefully gathered Solaris in her arms, lifting her with little difficulty.
Ardyn nodded but stayed seated for a while longer, watching over the youth in the bed and making sure she wouldn't need the bucket again. He made a face as he touched the black goo within it with one finger. Dark mist steamed out of it and sank into his skin. It was decidedly uncomfortable. Shaking out his hand after nothing remained, he stood up.
What he had just absorbed was... strangely muted, inactive almost and if it increased the pressure he was already feeling in his blood, he didn't notice.
Slowly he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. Gammer was already there, kneading dough and humming a disjointed melody. Apparently she was coming over most mornings now, since the Shadow Market was mostly closed until it was clear all the bridges had survived the earthquake without further damages.
Noctis and his Amicitia sat at the heavy wooden table, cups of tea between them, and talked quietly amongst themselves. Gladiolus, or whatever his name was, was obviously not happy about something, but to the man's credit, he kept listening intently to what Noctis was saying.
His nephew looked up when he heard him enter the kitchen and smiled. Ardyn's answering smile was maybe a tad bitter when he saw not only Jubaris, but also Somnus reflected on the young man's face. He nonetheless followed the silent invitation to join them at the table. The Amicitia boy looked at him with curiosity clear in his eyes.
“Gladio, may I introduce you to my uncle, Ardyn. Ardyn, this is Gladiolus Amicitia, my Shield and one of my oldest friends.” Noctis' voice was a strange jumble between the need of the Deep City tongue to swallow every letter not needed to make oneself understood and the clear cut dialect of Noble Lucian. Which only made it more headache inducing.
Ardyn nodded in greeting, wishing he had thought to bring his head for a bit of dramatic flair. Oh well, there would still be more opportunities for it in the future, no doubt.
“Uncle?” asked Gladiolus with a raised eyebrow. “Like you think of him as such, or for real your uncle?”
“By blood and magic, he's my uncle,” was the answer.
The Amicitia boy looked at him with large eyes. Ardyn's answer was a wide Ifrit-may-care grin that would have made Iedolas livid, a daring edge clear in the way he tilted his head.
“This guy is a Lucis Caelum? For real?”
Should he be insulted by that? He probably should.
“Yes, for real,” confirmed his nephew, his tone laden with relief and amusement. Which, rude. But it had been so long since he had been acknowledged by his true name that he would let it slide, just this once.
“Huh.”
“Seeker of Vengeance, come, I have an important task for you,” called Gammer from close to the door that led to the backyard.
Fighting down a sudden wave of apprehension, Ardyn looked over to her. She hobbled back into the room, rolling a large wheel of cheese next to her like a child would a hoop.
“By the sun, where did you get that cheese from?”, Noctis exclaimed and shot up from his chair to help.
“No, Healer-of-the-people, you sit back down. It's not your help I require. You and your Shield don't have much time to find back together again. You should use what you have.”
With a sigh Noctis sat back down. His eyes followed Ardyn as he stood up and made his way over with uneven steps.
“What by Pitioss?” he could hear the Amicitia boy mutter beneath his breath.
He ignored his nephew's answer in favour of concentrating on the task before him.
“What is it you want me to do, Flame Whisperer?”
Gammer cackled and batted her eyelashes in a way that could have been called coy, if the woman hadn't been so old.
“Such flattery. It's hard to come by these days, indeed it is. Help this old woman make breakfast. You're supposed to be pretty good at that, Seeker of Vengeance.”
He blinked at her and swallowed down the remark burning on his tongue. Instead Ardyn helped her lift the cheese wheel onto a part of the counter that had been cleaned up beforehand, which was quite the feat between an old woman and a man that couldn't stand on his own two feet equally. It was nearly half as large as Gammer was tall, it's waxen skin smooth beneath his hands and had a strong smell that made his stomach grumble with hunger.
Under her guidance he cut the wheel open and grated some of the cheese into pockets of formed dough that were already partially filled with cut mushrooms. It wasn't heavy work by any means of the word, but it was something to do that didn't involve sitting around, thinking and talking. No matter how much he liked to talk under the right circumstances.
“Your thirst for blood has begun to ebb away, the fires of your soul are calmer now,” she said after a while.
Ardyn just hummed non-committally and chose to remain otherwise silent. Gammer huffed full of indulgence.
“A storm is on the horizon,” she intoned in a voice that made his hair stand on end. “You will need to decide soon what you will do once it hits. And hit it will, with a furiousness that hasn't been witnessed since the days the Empire of the Sun fell to fire, treachery and swords.”
Was she... was she talking about a second war between the Astrals? Did Ifrit want to ignite yet another Kingdom for some perceived slight? Somehow that didn't sit right with him.
Gammer gave another bone dry cackle at his incredulous stare, her brown eyes twinkled with a hint of red in the light of the hearth. He felt like he was missing something very important here. Then she started to hum, slow and melancholic, as if she were singing a lament, while deftly closing the finished pockets of dough now filled to the brim with mushrooms and cheese. It was the same song he had hummed to Solaris not an hour ago.
Eos dormit,
Sua crinis lucem est
Solis occasum.
Words swam to the forefront of Ardyn's mind, Gammer's hummed words overlain by the whisper of his mother's sweet voice.
“Please stop,” he whispered.
The song stopped. Only then did he realize how tightly the nails of his left hand had dug into his palm, a row of bloody crescents now lay there. He stared at them, his mind numb and strangely empty. The scourge in his blood shivered in quiet anticipation and fear. When he finally managed to look up he saw the old woman's eyes resting on him, understanding shimmered clearly in their depths.
“There lies wisdom in old songs,” she said. “Mothers are wise to sing to their children.”
Ardyn dearly wanted to drown somebody, preferably himself in lieu of not wanting to harm his family. Instead he took a deep breath and cast a careful look to where his nephew was sitting. A violet eye glimmered at him in concern, but the boy was still listening to what his Amicitia had to say. Ardyn smiled wanly and concentrated on cleaning the grater in the stone basin that served as a sink.
Ala nigra fert noctem
Et video sursum
Ad caelum,
Ubi stellis claricent.
The voice of his mother continued to whisper in his mind. Ardyn huffed in annoyance and shook his head to banish the sweet and sorrowful melody from his mind. Carelessly dropping the grater next to a pile of clean dishes, he stepped out of the room without another word to clear his head. He could think later, right now he needed to breathe.
Wisdom.
He had strived to be wise once. Look where that had gotten him.
Before he knew it, he was standing on the cobbled road in front of the old villa, leaning on his cane and breathing heavily. It had been a long, long time since he had thought of his mother. He couldn't remember much of her. Flashes of her sweet singing voice, wild locks of flyaway red hair and scarred, dark skin. A deep breath shuddered through his lungs.
He really didn't want to keep thinking about it, wanted to keep walking the way the... Gods had paved for him, wanted to just stay here with his nephew and his wife and children and forget the world even existed. But...
There was still something within him, buried deep and old and tired that wanted to help make the world a better place.
If this old lullaby would really help to prevent a new Astral War, he would do his best. But not today. All Ardyn wanted to do was to rest and just be. Sit at a table with good food and good company. The Gods had waited for over 2000 years, they could wait a day longer.
Satisfied with that conclusion he felt prepared enough to go back inside. Without a doubt breakfast would be finished soon.
From down the shadowy street he could see a lantern bobbing towards him. Curious of who would be out and about this early in the morning, he stayed where he was and waited. It was a small and frail woman with greying hair. Tulia Philon he thought her name was. Deep shadows danced beneath her tired eyes and her shoulders were curled inwards, as if she had suffered a heavy blow. She looked so different from the lively woman he had met just a week ago.
“Dearest Tulia, it is good to see you again,” he greeted her. He lowered his head nearly far enough to call it a bow. “Though I wish it would be under better circumstances.”
“Salve, Ardyn,” she she said and dear Gods, even her voice sounded tired. “I heard you had woken up and came to see you.”
He tilted his head in curiosity. Him? Not his nephew? Old hands gripped the ring of the electric lantern tighter as Tulia looked up at him.
“Would you do me the honour and speak at my husband's funeral?” she asked and looked like she would burst into tears at any moment.
“Oh, I... If it is your wish, of course.”
She gifted him with a trembling smile. “I thank you. You have no idea what it means to me. You were the last person to see him alive, to talk to him and it is tradition to speak of a person's last... last moments.” Tulia took a shuddering breath. “The funeral will be in two days at sundown. Healer will be there, too.”
“It will be my honour,” Ardyn responded and was only half surprised he actually meant it.
He had known Sallust for barely three days and he hadn't exactly liked the old man, but he hadn't disliked him either.
“Thank you,” Tulia said again and made to turn around.
“Why don't you stay for breakfast? There will most certainly be enough for one more, and a good meal in good company goes a long way to brighten the day.”
For a few seconds she looked at him oddly but agreed in the end. Ardyn smiled the best healer's smile he was still capable of and guided the grieving woman inside.
#ffxv#dreams of our past#ardyn lucis caelum#ardyn izunia#bad latin#I did my best XD#this whole chapter is basically introspection with a smidge of meta plot#my fics#geist writes
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Lawyer champions migrant rights in a divided America
SAN DIEGO, Calif. – When she was a senior in high school, Dulce Garcia knew what to do with her life: go to college and get a degree, go to law school and make a million dollars by the time she turned 30.
Garcia went to the school counselor so he would help her pick what university to attend. That’s when her world almost crumbled. Almost.
“He told me, ‘you’re an illegal immigrant, you’re not going anywhere, you’re not even going to the community college across the street,'” she recalls. “I told him, ‘you watch me,’ and I stormed out of there. … I had a conversation with my mom later that day. We both started crying. She told me how proud she was of me, but she told me the counselor was right about being undocumented.”
Many things made sense after that for a teenaged girl who thought of herself as no different from her peers: her family never taking her to parks in the Logan Heights neighborhood, giving her tons of homework every day of summer break so she wouldn’t go outside and instilling in her a deep mistrust of anyone in a government uniform. She learned she was brought into the United States illegally from Mexico when she was 4 years old.
“My mom really shielded us from a lot of the heartache happening around us. We would see our neighbors taken away, I would see my mother cry because police had shot somebody’s son … I thought those things were happening because we were poor. Now I realized that it was because we were undocumented,” she said.
But Garcia refused to give up, and some things unexpectedly fell into place for her. She did go to college because California began to allow undocumented immigrants into public universities. She graduated from law school and is a practicing attorney because the Obama administration implemented DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) in 2012. Some 800,000 migrants who were brought into the United States by adults before the age of 16 were admitted into the program before president Trump shut it down in 2017. Those who got in can still renew their status every two years and the Supreme Court is scheduled to hear an appeal in November regarding the suspension of DACA.
Garcia now has a driver’s license, a social security number and is certified in the practice of law. She has, however, given up at least one of her early dreams. Instead of trying to become a millionaire, she wants to help those who walked in her family’s shoes.
As a member of the board of directors of Border Angels, she’s focusing her empowerment on providing legal, educational and community services to unauthorized immigrants already living here and delivering humanitarian aid to migrants barely coming across the border. The latter enterprise is bringing her as face to face with America’s deep-seeded divisions on illegal immigration and, occasionally, breaking her heart again.
A U.S. Border Patrol vehicle guards a ‘security zone’ in Imperial Beach, next to the border wall. (photo by Julian Resendiz)
‘Hateful language leads to hateful acts’
After learning of her status, Garcia’s impetus was to help other families like hers. But there was always the fear of deportation.
“The first thing I wanted to do was go see the (border) wall for myself. I talked to the Border Angels when I was 18 because I found their work inspirational. I told my dad, I’m going to drop water in the desert for the migrants who are coming across,” she said. “My dad told me, ‘no way you’re going.’ I told him I was an adult and I could do what I wanted. And then we had a conversation about the Border Patrol and being caught.”
She settled for going to San Diego City College, paying her way by waitressing, parking cars, selling flowers and working in retail stores. At the time, unauthorized immigrants had to pay out-of-state tuition rates and got no financial aid. The jobs improved — tutoring, paralegal work — and the dream of law school got closer. She transferred to UC-San Diego and earned a bachelor’s degree in political science. Cleveland Marshall College of Law accepted her application, and she earned a Jurisprudence Doctorate with a concentration in civil litigation.
In addition to running her own law office, she places jugs filled with water in the desert, so that migrants coming over won’t die of thirst. The practice has drawn the ire of those who favor enforcement of immigration laws and has landed at least one her colleagues in jail for harboring or concealing unauthorized migrants.
And just recently — on the heels of the allegedly hate-motivated El Paso, Texas Walmart mass shooting — the water-jug campaign has experienced violence.
“We go out on the same route (each month) to make sure people are still drinking our water. I realized our jugs had been shot up and another organization noticed the lids were taken off. Once the water is exposed, it’s no good,” she said. “These are very much acts grounded in hate. This didn’t happen before and it’s a very terrifying thought. Using hateful language leads to hateful acts. Shooting jugs of water knowing that a migrant might be saved is a hateful act. To do something despicable like shooting someone is just a step further. I don’t conceive it as impossible that those people who are shooting our water would one day shoot an immigrant.”
In El Paso on Aug. 5, a man identified by authorities as Patrick Crusius, of Allen, Texas, allegedly murdered 22 people and injured 24 others. Most of the victims were Hispanic, including eight Mexican citizens killed. According to authorities in El Paso, Crusius said he came to “kill Mexicans.”
Understanding the immigration debate
Juan Garcia, a Los Angeles resident, on Sunday brought his family to Imperial Beach to see the border wall.
“We’re just trying to see what it’s like, the division between two worlds, Mexico and the United States, how people live on the other side and on this side. Right here we feel secure, on the other side you can see they feel insecure,” he said. “I think it’s too much violence on the other side. You can feel it from this side when you’re talking to people.”
He also said he wanted his children to appreciate the privileges they enjoy living in the United States of America.
Visit the BorderReport.com homepage for the latest exclusive stories and breaking news about issues along the United States-Mexico border
from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/09/23/lawyer-champions-migrant-rights-in-a-divided-america/
from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/09/23/lawyer-champions-migrant-rights-in-a-divided-america/
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