#colonialism mention
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TY GRAPE WAHHH (clinging to ur arm) for the shipping axis can I ask forrr nichu, frachu, fraviet, and hksg :3 and also sgpan so I'm not sending an unlucky number ur way lolol
THANKS FOR NOT CURSING ME W DEATH REAL ASF OF U TIANSHI
NICHU - has always had a special place in my heart :’) it’s got everything, the mentor/mentee drama, yandere kiku, insane toxicity and historicity. to me it makes a lot of sense but it’s lower on the compelling axis because i find them sooo difficult to write + the sheer number of depictions that dont quite align w my vision of them
SGHK - is also up there for me both because it’s compelling and makes a lot of sense. it’s slightly lower on the making a lot of sense scale than nichu because it doesn’t have the codependency of, say, malsg but i can think of many, many hcs for them so it’s higher on the compelling scale :>
SGPAN - LOVE THEM DEARLY. kiku’s awful little replacement. i do not have many thoughts on them though besides The Horrors, but i appreciate them from afar and for their historicity
FRACHU - i don’t really have many thoughts on it! They have definitely been intimate (dubcon or no), hatefucking is a norm. I used to like it more but generally it doesn’t compel me much outside of certain contexts because i do think yaoyao cannot stand his ass
FRAVIET - my blasphemous take is that they can be pretty compelling! but no i don’t feel they make much sense if we’re talking actual ship AUs and all and not horrible interactions spanning the time which french indochina existed. i believe viet would have better taste than to fall for this guy, and i believe fraviet tends to fall into the trap of centering france
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Bleeding Canvas
If asked later, Joe wouldn't be able to recall how it happened. It was a day like any other; they were having lunch, all six of them, in the tense silence that could only come from trying to navigate the absolute minefield that was their situation - Booker’s betrayal, Quỳnh’s trauma, Andy’s newfound mortality, Nile’s recently lost family, all lurking in every corner, inevitably making themselves known in every guarded, silent drag of forks against plates.
Joe couldn’t really remember who stepped out of their blurrily sketched lines, or how, or why. All he knew was that suddenly, the girls were gone, and he was screaming at Booker. And he couldn’t stop.
“What would I know of the weight of these years alone? What would you know of the weight of my years alone??” He yells, shoving Booker, who stumbles, but otherwise barely moves. Always stuck in the same place, that one. “What would you know of a whole millennium of loneliness?”
“It’s not the same,” Booker says, exhaustion in his tone, like they've had this argument a million times (they haven't, there was no time). As if he didn't expect Joe to understand. Joe feels himself fall deeper into the red strokes of his anger. “You didn’t lose them the way I did.”
“No, I didn’t. I lost them suddenly, after joining a war I had no business participating in, letting them believe I was dead, and I don't even know when exactly they passed. I bet you are really jealous of that.”
Booker shakes his head, like a parent would when trying to talk to a naive teenager, and Joe sees splashes of crimson. “You had someone with you from the start.”
“We found you within months!” He yells, throwing his hands up, as if with it he could guide the frustration that had settled in his muscles out of his body. “You barely had to be alone, either. And by the time your family was gone, you had already had us for decades. Nicolò and I nursed our pain on our own for years before we started to trust each other enough to share it! And even when we did,” he gestures towards Nicolò, who has that steely look in his eyes that he always gets when they get too deep into this time of their lives, “how could I really talk to him about it? First, I hated him for being part of what made me lose my family. Then, I hated myself, because I didn’t hate him at all, and that in itself felt like a bigger betrayal than abandoning them. And then, I couldn’t burden him with it, because I knew the guilt was tearing him apart! We were alone, too! We struggled for longer than you could ever understand, and that’s not even considering how many decades it took for us to find Quỳnh and Andromache, and start to at least get some answers as to what had happened to us, and what we could do with it!"
The outburst seems to take Booker aback, and Joe feels himself torn between satisfaction and anger. He really has no idea, Joe realizes, and eventually, the anger that Booker never stopped to even consider what it had been like puts a bite back into his words. He doesn't understand? Joe will show him who it is that can't understand.
“Did you know that it’s haram to try to emulate Allah's creation?” He asks, knowing full well what the answer is. Booker doesn’t know anything about his faith, because he’s never asked, and his world was always as deep as the nearest whisky bottle. “I never drew a single portrait of my family, and neither did anyone. By the time I stopped practicing, it had already been long enough that I had completely forgotten what any of them looked like. I don’t have anything to remember them by, because when you leave for a war that’s all the way across the sea, you don’t take anything you wouldn’t like to lose. Centuries ago, I decided to write all their names down, so I wouldn’t forget." He feels his voice break, as the heaviness of the lack of memories settles in his lungs and stabs at his eyes, "I couldn’t remember my youngest sister’s, and I still can’t," he admits. "She was just a baby when I left. Did you know that, Booker?” He spits, and he would expect himself to enjoy the way Booker recoils, if he didn’t know himself so well. It just makes him angrier, the quiet wince, the way he takes it. “I still need to check sometimes. Every time I get a new sketchbook, the first thing I do is copy the names again. Did you ever notice, Book? Have you ever seen me doing that?”
“I…”
Yusuf is not interested in giving time for his excuses. “You didn’t, didn’t you? And you never wondered, either. You are the only one with a family, are you not? The only one who had to leave something behind.”
“It’s not-”
“Don’t you dare tell me it’s not the same!” He shouts, and Booker clamps his mouth shut. “I loved my little siblings. They looked up to me. I promised them that I would come back, and I didn’t. When the old lady across the street who would read to me as a kid, the one who taught me how to draw, who made me so much of what I am today," his voice breaks, "when she was dying, I promised her that I would never forget her, and now I can’t remember her name!” His throat is starting to get hoarse, and he’s aware of the tears welling in his eyes, but he can’t stop. “You think your family was the only one that mattered, Booker? Why are your loved ones worth more than mine? Because I had Nicky? You think that because I got to keep one love, that the others suddenly didn’t matter? That I didn’t feel the weight? Do you have any idea how many families I have lost?”
“Joe...” Nicky begins, not for the first time since the screaming started.
“Don’t, Nicolò,” he says, finally acknowledging his pleas. He knows he means well, but Yusuf needs to say this. He turns back to Booker, who won’t meet his eyes, and he feels himself burn. Orange and yellow and red in fast flashes, intertwined and smoky and so bright he can't see. “Where I grew up, everyone was family. Everyone took care of each other. I grew up with countless aunties, uncles, cousins, elders. That’s what home meant to me, and I could never have that again, because I could never stay anywhere,” he spits. “And with the life we’ve chosen? The only times I ever got to return home, it was to watch it be taken all over again.
"Have you already forgotten the '50s, Booker? You, Nicolò and Andromache were all together infiltrating the French armies, and I was with the resistance watching my people die. Do you have any idea what that’s like? Watching everyone who could share the most intrinsic, deep parts of yourself, the parts that were you before you were yourself, be massacred, again and again? Watching them be enslaved, and tortured, and murdered, and watch everything that you held dear, everything that made you and them the same, every part of your culture, become repressed, hated, something to destroy? See everything that was sacred to you be burned down? Watch as your culture is murdered, your last tether to the world slashed at and frayed and pulled, until it is forever scarred by the pain of loss, until it is so deeply twisted that it is barely recognizable? Do you know what it was like to watch my own culture turn against me and the man I love? To know that I can never be fully myself in Mahdia again, because it is a crime to exist as I am there? Do you know what it’s like to have no safe haven left, no matter where I go? To have no place where I can be free of violence, be it for the culture I was born into, or who I became later? Do you know what it was like to not only give up my name, the most sacred thing I had, the last thing that tied me to my family, that made me theirs, in order to choose something that doesn’t even sound the same, not because I wanted to, but because it made it just a little less likely that I would face violence because of it?”
He actually waits. Not to see if Booker responds, but to make it obvious that he won’t. “No," he concludes, an icy resolve settling into his words. "You could never know. None of you could ever know, not after Quỳnh was gone,” he gestures towards the two pairs of green eyes that avoid his gaze. “How is that for loneliness, Booker? You know what it’s like to have something you can never share with anyone outside of this group. Tell me, do you know what it’s like to have pains that no one, even in this group, understands? Can you even begin to understand how many times I’ve watched my people suffer genocide, and was unable to stop it? How many families is that, Booker? How could you even measure that pain?” His eyes are watering again, and he presses his fingers against them to try and compose himself.
“Joe…” Nicolò tries again.
But at the same time, Booker says, I didn't... and Joe explodes all over again, prickling in his eyes forgotten. “You didn’t what? Think about it? No, I don’t suppose you would. Tell me one thing, Sébastien. Has it ever occurred to you that Nicolò and I lost Quỳnh, too?” He gestures broadly to Nicolò, who tries to hide the deep breath he takes at the reopened wound. “You bond with Andromache and compare your pain to hers, and I won’t pretend that what we feel is the same, but has it ever occurred to you that we also loved her? Loved her, and lost her, and drowned ourselves over and over for decades trying to find her? Did it ever cross your mind that when we lost Quỳnh, we also lost the Andromache we knew? None of us was ever the same, Sébastien. Nicolò and I lost our entire family in one day, and many times over, to the same grief. And then,” he jabs a finger into his chest, “and then we found you, and you became a part of our family too, and not a full century later, we watched the same thing happen again!” He yells, only barely resisting the urge to grab Booker by the lapels and shake him. “What do you think that was like, Sébastien? We loved you, and we lost you, and we’ve spent so long dragging you from alley after alley, cutting rope after rope, washing you and getting you to sleep and watching you die and drown in your grief every single day! How is that for losing a family? How is that for being alone?”
“You never said anything,” Booker says, finally meeting his eyes. Yusuf sees his own tears reflected in them. “You never asked me.”
“Of course we never said anything!” He throws his hands up, again, silently begging for strength, for resolve, for anything that could make this conversation bearable. Booker nearly stumbles, but catches himself again. “You could barely bear to think about it without drowning yourself in booze all over again! If we so much as said his name,” he watches as Booker winces, the way he always does, when there's nothing Yusuf can ever do but watch, “you walked out of the room, and if we didn’t follow you then, we’d be searching for you in every dirty alleyway and shady bar for days! All we could do was take care of you, and try to be there for you, and try to take your mind off it! We thought it was what you needed! It’s what you had been saying you needed! Nicolò and I have been trying so fucking hard to give you and Andromache what you needed, and we’ve been stretching ourselves thin with it, because it’s impossible, but what could we do but try? You think that wasn’t lonely? You think it didn’t break us either? You think we spent all these centuries living in our happy little bubble, oblivious to your suffering, not even trying? Is that what you think of us?”
Booker has the decency to look ashamed. “Of course not,” he says, shifting his feet, and Yusuf feels himself deflate. He sighs and looks up, not really seeing the ceiling but rather the unattainable peace of the sky. In his mind, it slowly is enveloped by broad, fast strokes of black.
“You are right in that Nicolò and I had each other,” he says, his voice suddenly empty, and weak, and oh, how he hates feeling like this, “I wouldn’t dare pretend that it isn’t a gift beyond imagination. I wouldn’t dare pretend I’m not aware of how lucky we are to have found each other, and to have been able to keep each other. There is no greater joy in the world,” he says, and watches as Nicolò’s concerned face softens, just for a moment, before turning to Booker again. “But we were all supposed to have each other, Sébastien. Don’t you see that? We all had each other. Through everything, we weren't meant to be alone, we were meant to ease each other's pain. We were meant to be there for you. So why? Why?”
Booker barely breathes, and it’s all Yusuf can do to grab onto his shirt for dear life, yank him forward as hard as he can, and cry against his chest.
“Why?” he asks again, the tears falling freely now. “Don’t you realize that we lost you all over again, too? Do you think that wasn’t us losing our family, so soon after we gained our latest bit of j-joy?” He sobs, and it wrecks him, and he doesn’t need to look or feel to know that it wrecks Booker, too.
“I’m sorry,” Booker says, but Yusuf can only shake his head, letting the tears fall, and let go of his shirt. He doesn’t have anything much in him anymore. Finally, he’s emptied himself out.
“Yusuf,” the voice he loves more than any says, with the gentleness only it could possess. “I think that’s enough.”
He nods, blindly tucking himself into his chest, instead, knowing that Nicolò is probably giving Booker the glare of his life. He was always much better at holding grudges than Yusuf. “We are going, now,” he hears Nicolò say, his tone icy.
Booker doesn’t say anything, so he knows all he did was nod, and turn back into his world of guilt.
It almost makes him angry again.
*
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing both of them say to each other when they get into their room, and Yusuf allows himself a little chuckle, watery as it is. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” they both add, and Yusuf tucks his head in Nicolò’s neck, enjoying the familiarity of the exchange. Strong arms wrap around him, gently; holding him together, but not trying to force his shards into place before they're ready to. Yusuf sighs, an appreciation and a release.
“If anything, I should be thanking you,” Yusuf says, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Nicolò’s scent is so calming. Faint, because he always prefers neutral scents when he has a choice, and the simplicity and honesty of it quiets Yusuf’s ever-screaming world. “If you hadn’t gotten the girls out of there, I wouldn’t have been able to say everything I needed to.”
Nicolò presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I think we should sit, my love,” is his reply, and it’s only then that Yusuf realizes he’s shaking. He breathes, and Nicolò understands, maneuvering them slowly so he can sit on the bed, Yusuf in his lap, still taking refuge from the world in Nicolò’s shoulder. Once he’s sufficiently stable, Nicolò replies, "It was nothing. Even if I hadn't said anything, I'm sure they would have gone. Andromache and Quỳnh know you well enough, and Nile is too perceptive for her own good," he adds, the shadow of a proud smile on his lips, too faint to own itself in their situation, but too strong not to make an appearance despite it all. Then he sighs, and it’s gone. "Still, I should not have tried to stop you afterwards. I had to when we were in the lab, because it wasn’t the time, but- now it was. I’m sorry. I know you needed it. It’s just…” He bites his lip, looking almost ashamed, “I hate seeing you in pain," he finishes, his voice quiet like he can stop the words from being true.
Yusuf sighs, painfully squeezing his eyes, and Nicolò’s hand starts caressing his curls. It’s like cutting the tight strings that held him together; all at once, Yusuf relaxes.
Nicolò isn’t wrong, Yusuf knows. His inner world is loud and bright; if he tries to contain it, he gets overwhelmed. It’s why he has book after book after book filled with sketches and poetry, calluses in his hands that even their fast healing can’t quite get rid of, and more tears shed than the rest of their group combined.
Sometimes, he feels as if he carries the pain for all of them. He’s happy to do it as long as it can bring his family some relief, but…
It’s so much pain.
Tears well up in his eyes again, and he’s convinced something about their immortality keeps them from running out, but somehow the others don’t believe him. God, he hates being angry. He hates it even more when he knows that, deep down, what he’s feeling isn’t anger at all.
He misses that French bastard so much, even when he’s right there, because he’ll never be the same in his eyes.
How much grief can one person carry? When will the weight grow so much that even their immortality can’t heal their broken bones?
Yusuf cries, and Nicolò doesn’t shush him, or try to placate him, even when Yusuf knows that if anyone has the words he needs to hear, it’s Nicolò. He simply continues stroking his hair, careful not to tangle in his curls, and holds him through it. Sometimes, all Yusuf can do is let the feelings wash out of him, and all Nicolò can do is make sure he’s not alone through it.
Once he feels the swirling colors of his world settle again, both words and tears released, he finally opens his eyes. Light yellow walls are the first thing he sees beyond the world of himself-and-Nicolò that he was tucked in. Yusuf takes it in, thankful that they decided to go to Port’ Inglêz after Quỳnh’s return. This is where he needs to be. Not a safehouse, but a home; where safety actually lies.
He feels himself deflate, sliding down and to the side until his head is resting on Nicolò’s chest and he is looking up at his face. Nicolò looks back, a small smile on his lips.
“There you are,” he says, softly, his voice easing Yusuf back into reality just like the calming colors and familiar setup of their room. He finds himself smiling back, even as his eyes still hurt a little.
“Mhm,” he agrees, putting his hand on Nicolò’s nape to gesture for him to hold him tighter. He’s ready to be put back together, now.
Nicolò, as always, complies.
Slowly, Nicolò’s arms coax the yellows in Yusuf’s vision into dulling, no longer burning his vision, and the desperate, crying blues in his vision soften, calming and familiar like the Cape Verdean sea they find so much comfort in. He breathes in, letting the colors wash over him one last time, relaxing in the arms that make him safe.
Slowly, sensations fill in; the press of Nicolò’s lips against his temple; the careful way his hands caress Yusuf’s hair, careful not to get tangled in his curls; the always steady rhythm of his heartbeat close to Yusuf, reminding him that he’s not alone. The softness of his voice as he says, “I’ve got you, rohi.”
He sighs. For all his faults, Sébastian was right about one thing.
Yusuf really is lucky to have him.
#im finally done with this godbless.#'lets start a quick new wip' i said. 'ill be finished in a day its really simply' i said#tog#the old guard#yusuf al kaysani#sebastien le livre#sébastien le livre#nicolò di genova#nicolo di genova#kaysanova#joenicky#joe tog#nicky tog#booker tog#fanfic#racism mention#genocide mention#slavery mention#homophobia mention#colonialism mention#suicide mention#alcoholism mention
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finished a very chonky essay on The Sea Beast's ending, anti-colonial narrative and Maisie's characterization, and also on the modern scientific method, history of colonial science and their relationship with the modern post-colonial capitalist mentality!
it is a big boy and it is very important to me, and i really hope i did this very complex and loaded topic at least some justice. give it a read if you have a free hour to spare! 💖
#the sea beast#analysis tag#colonialism mention#my writing#[obligatory 'tumblr pls let my link post into the tag' prayer]
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i saw someone say once that the crew of the revenge only terrorize colonizers and sure yeah they do mostly go after the british and the spanish. but also. stede bonnet is from barbados. what. what do you think he was doing there
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Dozens of women were arrested from their homes and refugee centers, taken to Yarmouk Stadium in Gaza, their hijabs were removed from their heads, blindfolded, and they were searched. Many of them were subjected to sexual harassment, beatings and abuse. [@/mhdksafa on X. 12/28/23.]
I won't forgive ANYONE who calls themselves a feminist -for remaining silent about this genocide -you ARE complicit. During any and all instances of institutionalized and systematic violence, oppression, and abuse being executed by all imperial and colonial forces around the world -for you to say nothing -shame on ALL of you for cherry picking your 'issues.'
#feminist#feminism#social justice#free palestine#freepalastine🇵🇸#palestine#free gaza#settler violence#settler colonialism#violence against women#islamphobia#colonial violence#tw islamophobia#end the occupation#end the genocide#ceasefire now#ceasefire#current events#tw sa mention
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I'm gonna copy the D&D Player’s Handbook word-for-word into a blank google doc, change the name to Colonialist Violence And Mathmatical Magic Simulator ver. 109.5 and post it on itch.io for $80
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#yemen#jerusalem#tel aviv#current events#palestine#free palestine#gaza#free gaza#palestine news#war on gaza#tw lynching#lynching mention#hate crime#child death tw#torture#settler colonialism#fascism#edited#west bank#free west bank
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*folds hands together*
If you start complaining about how a group of people is too split up by tribes, lacks advanced technology, and/or isn’t fit to rule their own lands for various reasons, I recommend you check yourself for colonialism.
Honestly, if anyone (fictional character or otherwise) is advocating the mass deaths of a people for being too different/primitive from they are used to, that is Genocide TM.
They might have their reasons (in story), but still. Bad. Very Bad. Inexcusable, we do not plot to genocide no matter what the reason is.
#genocide mention#colonialism mention#dystopian#this is something i've noticed in a LOT of fandoms focused around post apoc futures#that sometimes people will start arguing hey they should just revert back to what everything to used to be.#like those people don't have their ways of living and DON'T HAVE TO BE LIKE THE READER TO CONTINUE LIVING AS THEY HAVE#you don't NEED to be 'modern level of tech' to deserve to live#on fandom#sort of
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I can't properly put into words the amount of disgust that I feel seeing someone who looks like she could be my cousin fight for a genocidal occupational force like Israel but I will say this.
If you are Chinese, Korean, Japanese or any one of these Asian ethnicities that the West deem "acceptable" and you align yourselves with western-backed racial supremacy, you are making fools of yourselves. You have fallen prey to the myth of the "model minority" and you are suckers for it.
The premise of racial supremacy is based on exclusivity. And here's a dose of reality - the myth of the "model minority" is nothing but a tactic to placate you. To sow divide in the ranks of people of colour. To artificially manufacture another realm of racial supremacy in minorities so that you're distracted from how we all suffer under colonialism.
Did we all forget about the skyrocketing of sinophobia in the wake of the first COVID outbreak? The transformation of Chinese people into fiends with barbaric eating customs, poor hygiene, and mass conspiracy to infect the world with biological weapons?
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What about the hate-crimes? The attacks in the street against anyone visibly asian? The rampant discrimination and ostracisation from society?
In 2020, Donald Trump referred to COVID-19 as "The Chinese Virus", "Kung-flu" at a campaign rally to raucous applause, a chilling echo of the times where fears of the "Yellow Peril" had the western world in a stranglehold.
For all that Chinese people have been lauded as "prodigies" and "well-mannered workers", the moment our existence was incovenient, were were nothing more than another target. And although Chinese suffering then wasn't close to the scale of suffering that Palestinians now endure, we all received a reminder on what it was like to be in the world's crosshairs.
Now, in 2023, Biden dismisses death tolls as unreliable and remains proudly Zionist even after Netanyahu described the genocide Israel is inflicting upon Palestine as the "struggle between the children of light and the children of darkness, between humanity and the law of the jungle." At the same time, Palestinians are being compared to fleeing rats in a gesture of dehumanisation that mirrors how the Nazis portrayed Jews during the Holocaust.
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And let's not think Abigail's Jewishness will save her, not when it's been proven that Israel has administered contraceptives to Ethiopian Jewish immigrants without their consent. Racial supremacy is an exclusive club that never stops getting smaller, and there is nothing that you, as a minority, will ever be able to do to fit in. One day, you too will be a target and there'll be nothing you can do but blame yourself. After all - it's already happened.
So shame on Abigail. Truly. With the memory of knowing what it's like to be targeted for factors out of your control fresh in her mind, she happily fights to do the same to others. And that says more about her than I ever will be able to.
#this may be long winded and wordy but i had to get this off my chest#as a chinese-australian woman who does her best to be proud of her chinese heritage#this was a slap in the face#and ive tried lately to not inject my own voice into discussion about palestine bc i know there are people out there#who are more educated and more equipped with voices that need elevating more than mine do#but i think im allowed to talk about how enraged this made me#god.#free palestine#palestine#cw: mentions of sinophobia#colonialism
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hi hello this is your reminder that google are hypocrites(and bds)
the lay offs were on the 18th this month, pretending to celebrate a native culture as you help the military that is actively ethnically cleansing them, and has been for years, is highly hypocritical and just an attempt to save face
in case someone forgot, google is on BDS' "pressure" list, which means it isn't necessary a 100% boycott but rather a target for pressuring and limiting your use of their services to push them towards cutting ties with israel
additional context on dabka:
it is a folk dance from levantine countries like lebanon, jordan, syria, and palestine. with possible origins in ancient phoenician and/or canaanite cultures
#3 of the countries mentioned in the dabka part were bombed by israel in the past 6 months btw#also yeah youtube is owned by google... just incase someone somehow didn't already know-#israel#colombia university#jerusalem#free gaza#gaza#free palestine#palestine news#united nations#palestine#gaza strip#social justice#yemen#colonialism#tel aviv#news on gaza#west bank#apartheid#فلسطين#i stand with palestine#lebanon#jordan#syria#fuck google#google
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Fleur asked me something related to the ethics of scientific inquiry and western colonial mentality earlier and i literally started shaking. i need to finish my big boy essay i need to let it all out
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"When Ghana’s parliament voted to decriminalise suicide and attempted suicide in March, Prof Joseph Osafo felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
Osafo, head of psychology at the University of Ghana, had been engaged in a near 20-year battle to abolish the law – brought in by the British – which stated that anyone who attempts suicide should face imprisonment or a fine.
“It was a very good feeling. I felt like a certain burden had been removed. I was extremely elated,” he remembers. “Then the next morning, I realised we had a lot of work to do.”
Four countries decriminalised suicide in just the past year
Ghana is one of four countries to have decriminalised suicide in the past year – Malaysia, Guyana and Pakistan are the others. More could soon follow, which campaigners say is a sign of greater awareness and understanding of mental health. Kenya and Uganda have filed petitions to overturn laws and members of the UN group of Small Island Developing States have committed to decriminalise. Discussions are also being held in Nigeria and Bangladesh.
“There seems to be a domino effect taking place,” says Muhammad Ali Hasnain, a barrister from United for Global Mental Health, a group calling for decriminalisation. “As one country decriminalises suicide, others start to follow suit.”
“It is quite unusual,” adds Sarah Kline, the organisation’s chief executive. “It’s a huge sign of progress and an important step forward for the populations most at risk, as well as the countries as a whole.” ...
A large number of laws were introduced by the British during colonial rule. Suicide was decriminalised in England, Wales and Northern Ireland in the 1960s – it was never criminalised in Scotland...
The results of these punishments can be “devastating” and present “a huge barrier” to addressing the problem, says Natalie Drew, a technical officer with the mental health policy and service development team at the World Health Organization. Health experts and advocates argue that suicide should be treated as a public health issue rather than a crime.
Criminalising suicide denies people the right to access health services and discriminates against them because of something they’re experiencing, Drew adds. Research shows that in countries where suicide has been decriminalised, people can seek help for mental health and rates tend to then decline.
Next Steps
In September, the WHO is due to release a guide on decriminalising suicide for policymakers, with explanations of how countries have managed it...
“[Ghana’s decision] should have an impact on the work ongoing in other countries, especially in the Africa region,” says Osafo. Within the past couple of months, he has set up a mental health working group with representatives from about 20 African countries, and one of the biggest issues on the agenda is decriminalisation of suicide, he says. “Nigeria is active, Cameroon is active … Kenya has joined and is doing fantastic work. We have Uganda. People have been asking us how we did it.”
Since suicide was decriminalised in Malaysia last month, Anita Abu Bakar, founder and president of the Mental Illness Awareness and Support Association (Miasa), has already seen things change. Crisis response teams and helplines are expanding, and money from the mental health budget is being given to organisations who work in the community. “This is the shift we’re so happy to see,” she says. “It was such an archaic law.”
She adds: “I’m a person with lived experience. What does decriminalisation mean to people like me? We feel supported, we feel this conversation can go to a different level. Obviously decriminalisation is not the only way to prevent suicide, but it’s a big one. I’m happy for this progressive move – better late than never. I’m excited to see what happens next, not just for Malaysia but for the rest of us.”"
-via The Guardian, July 20, 2023
#cw suicide#cw sui mention#ghana#malaysia#guyana#pakistan#nigeria#kenya#uganda#cameroon#mental health#mental illness#healthcare access#decriminalization#england#colonialism#good news#cw sui attempt#suicide
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Israel went to Jenin today, in the West Bank, and kidnapped this 7 year old girl from her family. They do these things often but we rarely catch them on film [@/Carl0s_Vela on X.]:
#feminist#social justice#free palestine#palestine#freepalastine🇵🇸#current events#settler violence#settler colonialism#settler terrorism#israel is evil#israel is an apartheid state#israel is a terrorist state#israel is a war criminal#west bank#free west bank#tw sa mention#palestinian prisoners#palestinian children#end the occupation#israeli prisons#jenin#free jenin
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Heyyyyyy! I know I was kind of MIA for the past three days, and I skipped days seven and eight. I’m here to make up for it by sharing an adorable image of young Whirl Jr. and very old Whirl Sr.
As you can see she’s a couple weeks fresh from the well, or hotspot, or however-wherever a Cybertronian is born; getting a piggyback ride from a war hero/ex-convict/mentor.
P.S. she gets much taller in the distant future.
Sorry, but noticed that this post was more popular-therefore I hitched on the bandwagon by using this opportunity to show off my edit of the previous piece.
⬆️
#not to mention how much I loved redesigning whirl jr as a newborn sparkling#I was going for how Thrash and Twitch looked when they were newborns instead of as little babas#I took some inspo from Cyberverse Whirl for Whirl Sr’s head fyi#AAAAND I absolutely loved the effort I put into cleaning up my sketch art instead doing separate lineart#it was definitely more time consuming which is why I stopped doing it if I wanted to make quick clean and ‘nice to look at’ drawings#but I opted for sketchy lineart cause it was fun#RIP thiccy lineart#also I know everyone loves the scraplet colony whirl jr theory but tbh I genuinely think of them as two separate beings#transformers#maccadams#maccadam#my art#whirl jr#whirl sr#whirl
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Today is Nakba day, please take the time to educate yourself -
The Nakba, meaning catastrophe in arabic, is the event marking the mass murder and expulsion of Palestinians in 1948 during Israel’s creation as a deliberate and systemic act to create Jewish Majority state.
By the numbers: between 750,000 and one million Palestinians were expelled and made refugees in 1948 by Zionist militias, more than 530 Palestinian villages and towns were destroyed or repopulated by settlers, over 15,000 dead Palestinians, and 70 massacres committed against Palestinians, and approximately 4,244,776 acres of stolen land - when Palestinians say this state is built on our graves - we mean it in the most literal sense.
On top of all of this, there are over 7 million Palestinian refugees today, which includes Nakba survivors, their descendants, and Palestinians who were expelled in events after the Nakba - who are denied their legal right of return (which is internationally recognized).
It is critical to understand the Nakba if you want to support Palestine, and how Palestinians, 74 years later, cannot reclaim their stolen land, homes, and belongings. And not only that, but to many, the Nakba never ended. Palestinians are still having their homes stolen or demolished, still in refugee camps, still having to deal with settlers encroaching on their land and committing acts of violence against them, Palestinians are still being murdered and left under brutal settler military occupation.
If you want to read and learn more about Palestinians from Palestinian voices please check out Decolonize Palestine. Al Jazeera has a database here on destroyed Palestinian villages as well you can look at.
And I will leave my friend’s post here about more ways to amplify Palestinian voices. From river to sea, Palestine will be free, we will return.
#palestine#free palestine#nakba#al nakba#nakba day#settler colonialism#// massacre#// murder#// death mention#// genocide#// settler violence#my father's family are all palestinian refugees who to this day cannot return home#every palestinian has a story about the nakba
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