What is a bard? This is a question I've been asking myself more and more recently, and I think there is no one solid answer. You can take any dictionary's definition if you'd like, but someone may fit that definition and not feel like a bard (whether to themself or an observer), meanwhile someone may not fit the definition exactly but still be seen as one and even connect with the term so deeply it is part of one's identity.
I haven't seen anyone else identifying with the bard archetrope yet (I checked the tag, sadly when I search for "bard archetrope" on Tumblr at the moment, it returns a paladin's blog about alignment that mentions the bards seducing dragons stereotype and my own post where I just hand-waved about it a little), so I don't know if there is anyone else who could speak about it who identifies with the term the way I do. I am not the stereotypical flirty, promiscuous bard. I am- and in a sense have been, in exomemories that involve being a bard- more along the lines of the righteous songweaver.
Music is sacred to me. Doubly so music that speaks of rebellion against the unjust. I have exomemories of taking up my lute- and the magic I wielded through it- against forces that sought to oppress the masses, to slaughter the innocents. I have exomemories of hearing the stories of other bards who did just that. Yet this world paints bards as flamboyant and ultimately unheroic, pursuing pleasure over protecting people.
There is one semi-exception, a bard who stepped up to protect elves when they were being persecuted- and that was a fraction of his story, a sliver of it, used as a narrative device to get him back into the action after taking him out of it. He is appropriately humble about it, it is a brilliant character moment that exemplifies the righteous songweaver in a sense, and it's over too quickly to truly embed in people's minds that he is more than the fool who never has a sword and is in love with the leading man.
Then you have the concept of rockerboys. The modern bard, in a sense. Were it not for my connection to the lute and more historical bardic concepts, I would lean towards identifying more as a rockerboy than a bard. But I don't feel the rockerboy is not a bard. Rockerboys are a subtype of bard. And this is where the righteous songweaver has taken center stage in the public eye, they just don't realize that they're looking at a modern bard.
Bards are treated as sexual objects in many ways, and I wonder if that may be part of why I connect so strongly with the concept. Because I know what it is to have every other feature besides one's sexuality stripped away. And though that understanding is only a small part of it, perhaps it strengthens my connection to the concept.
And none of this is to dismiss or denigrate the flirty, flamboyant, promiscuous bards out there. A bard is a bard, whether stereotypical or not, and the stereotypes can be beautiful. The bard I mentioned earlier often follows that stereotype, and I adore him. This is just my own experience as someone who feels this innate connection to the bard archetype and isn't that way. Our differences make our community, as nonexistent as it currently is but perhaps in the future, beautiful and unique. I treasure all my fellow bards.
I know that realistically you can only fit so many movies into a list of approximately 100, but I cannot take that "How many of tumblr's favorite movies have you seen?" list that's been going around seriously because there are some truly egregious omissions.
Some of it is very clearly recency bias, which makes me wonder if the op truly wasn't on here in 2013 or so, but you're telling me you made a list of "tumblr's favorite movies" that doesn't include Pacific Rim or Mad Max: Fury Road? Because, like, I was there, Gandalf.
I'm a ridiculous human and genuinely couldn't sleep until I tried my hand at a better, more balanced list -- though of course, I have my own biases when it comes to what corners of this website I've lurked in over the years. For what it's worth, I did consult the last several Years In Review, while also drawing on the fact that I've been here for over a decade. But if there's anything that truly doesn't feel like it should have made the cut, blame my mutuals for putting it on my dash all the time.
(And apologies, but I couldn't seem to find Goncharov among the website's listings)
A list of movies that have been extremely popular with tumblr users over the years -- for better or for worse. Apologies that Goncharov
i don't care if it's nazis, mormons, or a bunch of misguided autistic people. if anyone ever tries to tell you your soul is from another planet and you're actually part of the class of impressive people that secretly did everything cool in the world but is now extinct and lives on through your broken genome, you RUN. YOU WILL RUN AWAY. YOU WILL SPRINT FULL SPEED AWAY FROM THAT.
grabs you by the shoulders listen. listen to my words. i understand the urge to make fanfiction about yourself and to find a reality in which you're super awesome and great and everyone who hates you is wrong and dumb. i get it. you're better than that. you can love yourself without putting other people down, dehumanizing and generalizing, and retaliating against your oppressors.
there's no NPCs. there's no aliens coming to save us. we're not the next step in human evolution. our hyperconnected nervous systems give us terrible sensory overwhelm more often than they make us geniuses. neurotypical people are sentient, conscious, aware people who are capable of understanding you. we're more the same than we are different. we're more the same than we are different. we're more the same than we are different.
Also stay away from people who say shit like "sexual attraction and romance addles the mind and makes you crazy and irrational and this is why being aro/ace makes you intellectually superior." I've seen that a couple times times on this hellsite. Stay away from anyone who tries to convince you that your racial identity/cultural identity/gender identity/sexual orientation/neurodivergence/any other intrinsic quality makes you a member of some master race that is inherently superior to the other humans.
DƦmonism is the practice of creating mental constructs that have a symbolic animal form.
Our latest article! DƦmonism (or daemonism) is the practice of creating and interacting with an animal personification of one's subconscious, inspired by the His Dark Materials series. The daemonism community also created the word "otherhearted."
You can read and contribute to this article, and many more about otherkin and other alterhumans, on the Otherkin Wiki. We welcome editors of all skill and knowledge levels. See our How To Help page for more information about editing.
I Am Fiction: A Personal Essay on Fictional Identity as A Being Who Has Always Had A Fictional Source
Cartoons are a staple of human childhood in this world, and have been for decades. From the comedic slapstick and simplistic one-off stories of the genreās beginnings, to the more complex and story-based shows of the present, cartoons come in a wide variety. I fall somewhere in between, being from an educational childrensā show all about teaching life lessons and kindness, though without a consistent storyline. It's not a show that truly exists here, being a fabricated background setting for a mascot horror game, but Iām a cartoon character, a Toon, all the same.
Before we get too far, I should probably introduce myself. Iām Sprout Seedly, one of the Main Characters of Dandyās World and your local anthropomorphic strawberry who loves baking and is a bit overprotective of his fellow Toons. Iām a Toon brought to life by my creators, Arthur Walton and Delilah Keen, so I could interact with and teach kids who came to Gardenview Educational Center and Museum. Iām both a cartoon and a living person, and now Iām living in a human body as part of a plural system with people from many other āfictionalā worlds.
Living here and knowing so many othersā experiences with being fictionkind, and comparing it to my own, I started thinking a lot more about my own life and how unique it really is. So, I decided to write this, putting my own experiences out there with being a Toon; with being fiction brought to life even in my old home. Being someone who blurs the line between fiction and reality in a different way than being a fictive, fictionkin, or another fictionkind identity typically does.
Back home, I always knew that I was a cartoon brought to life. Episodes of the Dandyās World cartoon played on TVs around the Gardenview building, kids would come up to me saying I was their favorite in the show, and merchandise with my face flew off the shelves in the gift shop. Most importantly though, was how my creators viewed myself and the other Toons. Arthur was a kind man; heās the one who initially drew us all and brought us to life on the screen, before Delilah used Ichor to bring us into the real world years later. Despite being the one to give us physical life, Delilah didnāt tend to see us as fully alive. We walked, talked, and entertained guests; we all had our own relationships with each other that differed from our show counterparts. Delilah did care for us in some way, but despite everything, in the end we were simply her creations, simply things that she made. Arthur was more outwardly caring, but even then he still carried similar beliefs.
Those beliefs shaped my identity then, and it shapes my identity now as well. Whereas most other fictionkind were fully real people without a āsourceā before awakening or coming here, I never fully was. I was always a piece of fiction, even back in my home at Gardenview. I understand now that the Gardenview staff were, in a way, denying us personhood despite us being living, sentient beings. It doesnāt bother me though, and honestly I take comfort and pride in it. Iām fictional; I always have been and I always will be. It's a fairly unique experience even within the widely varied alterhuman community, and I value having this life and set of experiences.Ā
Remembering the joy on the kidsā faces when they watched mine and my best Cosmoās cooking shows, their excitement whenever one of them ran into me off set and we could talk about whatever, even the rarer occasions when adults came to me for baking advice and recipes or because they liked the cartoon too; all of it brings so much warmth to my heart. I know better now from living here and interacting with media how much it meant to those guests, being able to meet their favorite characters in real life and talk to us like normal people. Iām glad that my existence was able to give them that joy. And seeing the joy that these other versions of my friends and I bring people now, even if it is in the form of a mostly child-friendly horror game, brings me that same warmth.
Fiction doesnāt inherently mean ānot real,ā when it comes to some situations. For me, it is a state of being; a part of my identity. Iām real, but Iām also fictional. And I wouldnāt give that up for the world.
Reminder that not all plural experiences will be "We're super differenciated and I have all these different people who I can easily communicate with!" or "We have a horrible experience full of three unreal parts who are all basically the same person", or anything, controversial but you don't even have to be plural to be plural lmao. i personally identify with the idea that my brain itself is split into multiple questionable portions that push ideas towards me. This is different from how I see regular plurals. Imagine that a regular plural has a bunch of different blobs bubbling inside their brain, for me it's more like the brain ITSELF is separated into different parts, of which I cannot actually identify properly. Plurality is a fascinating thing, remember that there will always be super different experiences <33
You don't even have to fit one stable box at all times.
Sometimes I'm One Guy, sometimes I'm Two Guys and Pocket Change, and most often I'm a guy with Bonus Voices ā¢ļø. All of those angles are correct ways to view me.
Plural? Sure. Singular? Sure. I'm just vibing as neither and both. You can do that too, if you want. You've got options.
It's nice to stumble into someone(s) else. I don't see a lot of folks talking about not fitting that binary of "you must be either singlet or plural, not both/neither and not fluctuating" and it gets isolating sometimes.
Same goes for "fully fused folks never have plural experiences ever again without that meaning they're not fused" not fitting, and "final/full fusion is wholly separate and mutually exclusive with healthy/functional multiplicity".
I think there are a lot of false binaries that circle around plural spaces. It's frustrating. The inside of your head is more complex than clear-cut black and white existence that never changes. Almost everyone will eventually fail to fit in the boxes we've laid out for each other.
And what then? Will we still support what we don't understand? I hope we will, but it's hard to find.
[ID 1/2: On Wednesdays we wear pink meme, edited to say "post sopping wet animals". Several photos of wet animals have been added to the meme. These photos are of a tiger laying down in a pool of water, a drenched-looking sloth, a wet tapir (or similar creature), an animal in the water at the beach, what could be a seal or sea lion covered in brown mud and what is potentially a frog, slathered in red mud. End ID 1/2.]
[ID 2/2: The same meme, that reads "On Wednesdays we fuck that train" instead. The edited-on images include the cover for The Bifrost Incident, a steam locomotive surrounded by its steam, a steam train puffing along, a steam locomotive in a train yard and a diesel locomotive pulling freight cars. End ID 2/2.]
On suicide bereavement and alterhumanity. Some heavy stuff ahead, please proceed with caution.
And so after the war, someone boarded a ship and sailed for home.
When they forced the door and found you, your skin was already cold.
I dream or remember (and who can tell the difference, anyway) the dusty road that took me out of my village. My mom braided my hair in a special way. A gift from our people, she said. Those same people reunited at the edge of the town, and we waved at each other as I was leaving, until a turn of the road took me out of their sight. It was supposed to be a short trip. I never came back.
Love isn't enough to tie someone down.
I close my eyes and I beg for a miracle. I open them and I read your name next to the word 'deceased'. I blink, and I am in a crowded and freezing room. Someone is crying, someone is always crying lately, and a voice, impossibly sweet says 'We understand. We respect your choice.' A pang of boiling rage takes me to a bed very early in the morning. I have just woken up to the sound of your voice.
Lights, camera, action.
Past, present and future. My aunt puts her faith in priests and the appropriate rites. My cousin doesn't, but she says you are watching over us all the same. My dad, a master of eclecticism, leaves the door open to both reincarnation and a peaceful neutral place to meet our deceased, ultimately convinced that there must be something ('what?' 'I don't know. I hope nothing Catholic') after we leave this life behind.
I think of matter returning to matter. You are, were and will be.
Perfectly beautiful. Perfectly meaningless.
I dream or remember a house engulfed in flames. Screams pierce a cloudless night. I circle the building with my sword in hand, searching for a way in. A window was left open, and someone stands by it. But they don't reach out to me, and I don't extend my arms to them. It is quick. It is eternal. The ceiling collapses, and all voices cease. There is only wood crackling, and a whistling wind that brings ashes to my face. I open my mouth, and breathe them in.
And so they faced many dangers: laestrygonians, Cyclops, an angry Poseidon. They lost their friends, their boat, their clothes, their will.
But the story wasn't over yet.
Are you really listening?
I want to give you a piece of my mind. I want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until some common sense makes a way into your brain. I want to hug you so tight, nose buried in your neck, until you laugh and plead for mercy.
Your smell. Your voice. Your laugh. I am forgetting them already. Love is powerless against time.
My cousin, aunt and dad, in different configurations of hope or resignation, say we have to keep on living. I agree. And yet, I have lived out of sheer instinct and anger for so long. I don't know if I have a real reason to walk ahead. I don't know what a real reason counts as.
I know you had one. I know you fought, and tried until the end.
I dream or remember long roads. Meeting people so delightfully strange I felt butterflies flying in my rib cage. Tasting rough sweets made with dirty hands, and sometimes precise and delicate and carefully molded into pink spheres. Dancing and laughing and crying around a campfire with a number of strangers I never saw again, and yet each one of them took a knife and left a dent in my heart.
Some carve a hole so big you feel it can't keep on beating.
But it must. Look, there. Your home has just appeared on the horizon. Amidst the waves of a wine dark sea.
Now I put my headphones on and sing as I move around the house. Sing or impersonate a startled cat, and who can tell the difference anyway. Your name is written on the rain that hits the window. The bass of the world beats in sync with my own pulse.
Love resides in every atom. On a distant shore, a boat is anchored, and a sailor steps on familiar sand.
i think we should be talking about the semi-recent advancements in cystic fibrosis treatment like all the time every day. there hasnāt been a drug like this since AZT medications for HIV infection it is truly fucking miraculous and very important
basically: cystic fibrosis is a genetic disease which makes the mucous a person generates extra sticky. it used to kill people in infancy, then with advancements in medical tech it killed people in young childhood, and until very recently cystic fibrosis patients could expect to live until about thirty years old with consistent painful lung infections and complications.
in 2019 the FDA approved a drug called trikafta (which is really three drugs in one) for cystic fibrosis treatment. what it essentially does is patch up the malfunctioning proteins that cause the extra sticky mucus. trikafta is effective on about 90% of cystic fibrosis patients.
people who had spent their entire lives in and out of hospitals, on and off of ventilators, suffering from pneumonia and sometimes treated through painful procedures like intubation took this drug, got out of bed, coughed up an entire lifetimes worth of mucus out of their lungs over the course of a few hours, breathed clearly for perhaps the first time in their lives, and now go on to live well into their seventies.
like isnāt that insane. isnāt that amazing. doesnāt that give you hope for the future of medical advancements and treatment. fuck. i think about it all the timeā¦ā¦
For the people asking "well how do we know people are living that long if it's so new????" Here's a page from the CF foundation about life expectancy.
Additionally, it should be noted that metrics like life expectancy are in no way a guarantee of... Anything. There are significant outlier CF patients who are at an advanced age now despite the odds due to a variety of different factors, having lived the majority of their lives before the development of modulators.
But the fact remains that the odds are better now than they have ever ever been before, by leaps and bounds. It isn't cured, and many patients still need significant treatment in addition to Trikafta, but it is so much better than anyone could have dreamed of twenty years ago, and that is a triumph.
Autocosm: Finding Plurality Through Me, Myself, and My Other Selves
by Sivaan of Candlekeep
Blurb: A personal essay that discusses my discoveries on my plurality, particularly through my headmates whoāre alternate versions of me from parallel lives.
Iāve considered writing about this during my run of the Alterhuman Writing Challenge, but I forgot to do so after going off the beaten path. The beaten path being my own list of prompts, funny enough. Since weāre growing more accustomed to each other, Iāve decided that itās time to re-introduce myselfā¦ and my other selves.
While looking into communal resources, Iāve been easing into the reality that I am plural. Iām specifically a part of an autocosm, which is a network of selves who share the same soul or self-awareness across various realms and worlds. With me are three aliens, two people who should be dead but aren't, a sharpshooting demigod, and an anti-capitalist spacefarer. Each took root within my fictionhood. They are also my headmates.
So far, thereās eight of us:
Ade, a zonai
Solai, a Roman half-blood
Quinn, an undead plush amalgam
Calvin or āCapā, a human mutant who pilots The Unreliable
āBeaā or The Beyonder, a reality-warping cosmic entity
Makame, a dream traveler from Phantomile
The Grassland Hunter, a yautja who we collectively nickname āSavannaā for short
And of courseā yours truly, who is a whole lot of things, including everyone listed above.
Most of my headmates are versions of me from parallel lives. The only case that isnāt applicable is Quinn. Rather than be one of my parallel lives, he is a sentient copinglink. Yet, since I still identify as him voluntarily, he is counted amongst us.
Not every fictomere is a part of our autocosm, though. I may harbor the memories and thoughts of other versions of me, but not all of them connect with the autocosm. I suspect some donāt even know that we exist.
Furthermore, I know for certain that none of my core identities are potential headmates. Those identities exclusively belong to me, as in the me who is writing this and goes by Sivaan. While we agreed on āautocosmicā as a descriptor, the terminology surrounding autocosm (the noun) tripped me up since I would technically fall in between being a metasoul and a lunan.
For autocosms, a metasoul is the central self that connects us all. In simpler terms, it is our point of origin. A lunan is an individual whose existence stems from the metasoul and shares a sense of selfhood with both the metasoul and others connected to it.
In our case, the metasoul is one of my core species: the gold dragonne. Since weāre parallel lives of the gold dragonne, or me, *dragonsight informs us of each other. Even so, I feel like Iām neither the ācenterā of our group nor a fragment of myself in the way that my headmates are. The metasoul is one of my core species, but Iām not always that species. Itās an awkward spot that makes me feel a little alienated from the proposed framework of an autocosm. Because of this, we also agreed to avoid using those terms when describing our connection to each other.
*In Dungeons & Dragons, dragonsight is a dragonās ability to perceive alternate versions of itself from different realities.
Besides autocosmic identity, our experience is closest to a gateway system. Iād say itās the main label for our plurality, whereas autocosm specifically refers to those of us are, well, me. My selves can depart to and fro from their realms. Iāve had soulbonds whoāve done the same. Early into my personal explorations, I recall referring to the body as a vessel of sorts. Around then, it was in regards to the fact that much of our memories and noemata seemed to pour into this body. However, that was solely from my perspective. In retrospect, itās possible that this body is a vessel in the literal sense in which it serves as a waypoint between my headmatesā world(s) and our headspace.
There are members who donāt leave, though. Ade and Quinn stick around since they theoretically should be dead in their worlds. On the flip side, the only member who doesnāt leave their realm is Cap. Heās the leader of a whole space crew, so he rarely stops by in our inner world. Instead, he talks to me and whoever else is present through his radio. For a connection so far away, his alternative is surprisingly efficient.
Itās not just us here, either. Weāre accompanied by habitans, which is the only autocosm-based term we use. A habitan simply means someone who isnāt one of us. They arenāt someone or something I identify as nor are they a parallel life that I have. Nonetheless, they still live alongside the autocosm.
How habitans exist in our headspace can differ. For example: thereās my dƦmon, Maxwell. As a dƦ, Max is a thoughtform segmented from my subconscious. He takes the form of a raggiana bird-of-paradise; previously, he was a rainbow boa. His position as a habitan isnāt the same as say, Rina and Hachi, who both entered our headspace as accidental soulbonds. Since many of our daytrippers have left permanently to attend to their own matters, we have a total of four habitans. Our Scrivener Construct is the fourth and final habitan of our collective thus far.
Regarding those of us within the autocosm, we donāt have roles. Although Quinn, Ade, and Bea motioned in favor of having roles and offered to take up roles of their own, we came to the conclusion that collectively establishing roles would be inconsiderate of our selves whoāre more active within their own realms. Ultimately, if someone wanted to perform a specific duty within our headspace, then theyāre free to do so on their own accord. However, no one is required to do the same.
Recently, Quinn took up the role of being our protector. Although he has a rough history with guarding, he decided to take up this role anyway because he was actually given a choice unlike his past experiences.
Despite being such a wild card, Bea took up the role of a protector as well. While Quinn protects the interior of our headspace, Bea oversees travel to and fro from the headspace, making sure folks reach their destinations safely. They also keep an eye out for any beings from outside of our collective, allowing or denying access to the headspace if need be. No one gets in and out without Bea knowing. Makes sense since The Beyonder, in-source or otherwise, is as far-reaching as it gets, metaphysically speaking. I guess thatād also make them a gatekeeper, but theyāre admittedly not fond of that title.
In Adeās case, he took up the role of being our internal self helper. He helps me keep in touch with everyone and support the structure of our inner world. He and I often share this role by comparing notes and conversing extensively on what we know so far. Scrivener assists us from time to time too. Based on my suspicions last year, there were already signs of them doing that before I came to terms with being plural.
As for me, you could kind of say Iām the āhostā since Iām the main one operating the body. To be fair, itās not exactly a job anyone else wants. Last year, I once thought I experienced a stress shift into my zonai constel at my job. However, according to Ade, that āstress shiftā was actually him fronting for the first time. It at least explained why āIā suddenly didnāt know how to work the machinery at my job. Thatās because Adeās never worked either earthen technology before! Heās loathed the idea of fronting ever since.
Rina, Hachi and Quinn are the ones whoāre the most interested in backseating while I front. However, only Quinn has expressed interest in co-fronting since he wants to know what it feels like to have a human body again.
Occasionally, Cap will ask me to describe things on my end out of curiosity. Although heās made peace with his Earth going dark, and the fact that our Earth is different from his Earth, he still misses what he once knew. He likes to hear about the mountains I grew up around and the places Iād visit while in college.
Otherwise, everyone else couldnāt care less. Solaiās world is nearly identical to this one, minus the direct presence and involvement of mythological beings. Bea has allegedly seen better and is content with the role they currently have. They donāt care to operate the body, despite matching its appearance internally. Makame and Savanna are disinterested since theyāre already familiar with this world as interdimensional travelers, similar to Beyonder.
That then leaves me. Not much of a role when I hold the position that no one else cares to have. I do appreciate Quinnās interest, though. I might take him up on that in the future.
Thatās all we have noted for now. Although Iāve had experiences related to plurality since last year, particularly through dƦmonism and soulbonding, the reality of being plural is still new to me. Weāre not even bothering with -genic labels since it adds nothing of substance to any of us. Our origin is entirely metaphysical. Thatās what matters.
All in all, weāre an autocosmic gateway system. Although we technically could label our experience as median, we stick to autocosmic since its terminology acknowledges headmates who arenāt one of us (i.e. alternate versions of me).
There are people ā some in my own Party ā who think that if you just give Donald Trump everything he wants, heāll make an exception and spare you some of the harm. Iāll ignore the moral abdication of that position for just a second to say ā almost none of those people have the experience with this President that I do. I once swallowed my pride to offer him what he values most ā public praise on the Sunday news shows ā in return for ventilators and N95 masks during the worst of the pandemic. We made a deal. And it turns out his promises were as broken as the BIPAP machines he sent us instead of ventilators. Going along to get along does not work ā just ask the Trump-fearing red state Governors who are dealing with the same cuts that we are. I wonāt be fooled twice.
Iāve been reflecting, these past four weeks, on two important parts of my life: my work helping to build the Illinois Holocaust Museum and the two times Iāve had the privilege of reciting the oath of office for Illinois Governor.
As some of you know, Skokie, Illinois once had one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world. In 1978, Nazis decided they wanted to march there.
The leaders of that march knew that the images of Swastika clad young men goose stepping down a peaceful suburban street would terrorize the local Jewish population ā so many of whom had never recovered from their time in German concentration camps.
The prospect of that march sparked a legal fight that went all the way to the Supreme Court. It was a Jewish lawyer from the ACLU who argued the case for the Nazis ā contending that even the most hateful of speech was protected under the first amendment.
As an American and a Jew, I find it difficult to resolve my feelings around that Supreme Court case ā but I am grateful that the prospect of Nazis marching in their streets spurred the survivors and other Skokie residents to act. They joined together to form the Holocaust Memorial Foundation and built the first Illinois Holocaust Museum in a storefront in 1981 ā a small but important forerunner to the one I helped build thirty years later.
I do not invoke the specter of Nazis lightly. But I know the history intimately ā and have spent more time than probably anyone in this room with people who survived the Holocaust. Hereās what Iāve learned ā the root that tears apart your houseās foundation begins as a seed ā a seed of distrust and hate and blame.
The seed that grew into a dictatorship in Europe a lifetime ago didnāt arrive overnight. It started with everyday Germans mad about inflation and looking for someone to blame.
Iām watching with a foreboding dread what is happening in our country right now. A president who watches a plane go down in the Potomac ā and suggests ā without facts or findings ā that a diversity hire is responsible for the crash. Or the Missouri Attorney General who just sued Starbucks ā arguing that consumers pay higher prices for their coffee because the baristas are too āfemaleā and ānonwhite.ā The authoritarian playbook is laid bare here: They point to a group of people who donāt look like you and tell you to blame them for your problems.
I just have one question: What comes next? After weāve discriminated against, deported or disparaged all the immigrants and the gay and lesbian and transgender people, the developmentally disabled, the women and the minorities ā once weāve ostracized our neighbors and betrayed our friends ā After that, when the problems we started with are still there staring us in the face ā what comes next.
All the atrocities of human history lurk in the answer to that question. And if we donāt want to repeat history ā then for Godās sake in this moment we better be strong enough to learn from it.
I swore the following oath on Abraham Lincolnās Bible: āI do solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the United States, and the constitution of the state of Illinois, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of Governor .... according to the best of my ability.
My oath is to the Constitution of our state and of our country. We donāt have kings in America ā and I donāt intend to bend the knee to one. I am not speaking up in service to my ambitions ā but in deference to my obligations.
If you think Iām overreacting and sounding the alarm too soon, consider this:
It took the Nazis one month, three weeks, two days, eight hours and 40 minutes to dismantle a constitutional republic. All Iām saying is when the five-alarm fire starts to burn, every good person better be ready to man a post with a bucket of water if you want to stop it from raging out of control.
Those Illinois Nazis did end up holding their march in 1978 ā just not in Skokie. After all the blowback from the case, they decided to march in Chicago instead. Only twenty of them showed up. But 2000 people came to counter protest. The Chicago Tribune reported that day that the ārally sputtered to an unspectacular end after ten minutes.ā It was Illinoisans who smothered those embers before they could burn into a flame.
Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage. So gather your justice and humanity, Illinois, and do not let the ātragic spirit of despairā overcome us when our country needs us the most.
Sources:
ā¢ NBC Chicago & J.B. Pritzker, Democratic governor of Illinois, State of the State address 2025: Watch speech here | Full text
