Benjamin Dupuy, arguably Haiti’s greatest communist leader and ideologue from the 1970s to the 2010s, passed away in a Miami Beach nursing home on Apr. 23 at the age of 91.
A journalist, photographer, filmmaker, diplomat, organizer, and political party leader, Dupuy was a model Marxist theoretician and man-of-action, unwavering in his life-long pursuit of socialist revolution in Haiti.
As protests demanding the resignation of President Jovenel Moïse in Haiti rage on this month, leaving at least 18 dead and close to 200 injured, it is worth remembering the devastating massacre that took place because of similar political opposition almost one year ago.
Huge contingent heading towards National Palace in protests to force the Trump-backed #PHTK govt of @moisejovenel to resign.
Scene right now on Lalue in #Haiti's capital as popular organizations control the roads on the 28th remembrance of the 1991 brutal military coup that overthrew Aristide & the Lavalas movement.
Police station in Miragoane, #Haiti under assault by community after they shot and killed protester.
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Boston held its annual Haitian Unity Day Parade on May 20, celebrating the victory of the 1804 Haitian Revolution. This great uprising against settler-colonial chattel slavery led to the establishment of the first Black-led republic in the Western Hemisphere.
Thousands of Haitians, Haitian-Americans and their supporters marched, along with a wide range of groups that included Haitian workers, students, Fanmi Lavalas Boston and United Steelworkers Local 8751, Boston School Bus Drivers. The march began in Mattapan Square, long a cultural and social hub of Boston’s Haitian community, and continued along Blue Hill Avenue, where the community cheered and danced from their porches.
Workers World Party-Boston attended as part of a contingent organized by the Boston School Bus Drivers Union, which will soon enter contract negotiations. Union President Andre François, addressing the crowd from a sound truck, said: “We are here marching against deportations, mass incarceration and racism! You have already earned your permanent residence, come out and claim it!”
L'Organisation politique Fanmi Lavalas dénonce le pouvoir Actuel.
L’Organisation politique Fanmi Lavalas dénonce le pouvoir Actuel.
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Après diverses rencontres avec les militants du parti et d’autres invités, l’organisation Fanmi Lavalas se solidarise encore plus avec la population pour mettre en déroute le système actuel.
Dans une note de presse émise ce mardi 5 février 2019, l’organisation politique Fanmi Lavalas a exprimé ses préoccupations par rapport aux divers problèmes auxquels est confrontée…
Since Mana'Din started wearing the mask to reassure people because Falon'Din spread that rumor that he could kill people by looking at them, have any new rumors about why she wears it come up? I like to imagine people say if you look the Gentle Lady in the face you'll instantly fall in love with her, representing the 'strangely tempting' side of death, and that she wears a mask to keep everyone from falling hopelessly in love with her. ("WELL IF THAT'S WHY IT'S NOT WORKING" -Elalas, probably.)
Elalas hears the rumour for the first time from some of Uthvir’s people.
It is an odd line of speculation for the agents, who are usually encouraged towards a certain degree of pragmatism, and not rumour-mongering. She pays further attention to it, of course, because if that could prove to be a liability. And it may be information that some of her contacts on the other side of the fence would be interested in having. Not necessarily because it holds any water, but they like knowing what the military types and related branches are speculating on.
“I heard,” Lasmami says. “That the reason why Mana’Din wears her mask is because she is so beautiful. It is very dangerous to be beautiful outside of the territories, you know. I went to Arlathan. I will not tell you the kinds of things they do to elves they find appealing there.”
“That is ridiculous,” one of the other young ones, whose name eludes Elalas, replies. “The only elves the imperial-types favour are the pretty ones.”
“You do not know. You have not been to Arlathan. I can believe it. If you ever go, Hedasel, you should wear a mask, too,” Lasmami insists.
It is, indeed, another one of those random hearsay types. And Lasmami is one of the younger agents, and their companion seems to be equally inexperienced. Apprentices do have looser lips than most.
Elalas has seen Mana’Din’s face. Has... interacted with it, to some degree. She shifts a little, thinking about it. It is exceptionally beautiful, although she had not thought it to quite match up with Elvhenan’s standards. Then again, trends tend to shift a good deal in a great hurry as they come out of Arlathan, at times. Perhaps at some point, Mana’Din was considered the height of appeal.
Elalas knows, indeed, what elves often do to those considered pretty.
But surely Mana’Din would be exempt from such treatment...?
It is because of her father. It is a thematic thing. Because people used to fear Falon’Din’s visage, and... Mana’Din did not want them to be afraid. Reminding herself of that is reassuring. But then it also reminds her of Mana’Din’s character, and the warm rush she feels has her shaking her head at herself. It is the middle of the day. There are duties to attend, matters to see to, rumours to listen in on and ramifications to consider, and...
She makes her way over to Mana’Din’s office.
Her lady is, of course, not inside.
Elalas eventually tracks her down to the indoor practice room, where she is going through the motions of a familiar fighting form. Muscles rippling, a light dusting of sweat on her arms and the bared skin of her legs.
Mask still in place.
She makes her way over to where Mana’Din is, and waits until the other woman stops. It does not take long for her to turn curiously towards her.
“Elalas? Has something happened?” she asks.
Elalas lets out a long sigh.
“No,” she says, moving forward. Reaching up, and carefully undoing the ties on Mana’Din’s mask. She pulls it away to reveal her face. Brow furrowed in concern, features as lovely as they ever are. For a moment she simply stands there, trailing her eyes across them. And then she reaches up, and brushes her cheek.
“What is it?” Mana’Din asks. Her own fingers twitching, as she keeps her hands politely at her sides.
Hey can I get a lesbian pregnancy fic?, I don't care who the two are just as long as they would be happy together.
I hope Modern AU Lavalas is okay, then!
Elalas’ wife is pregnant.
Elalas has a wife. Has had a wife, for, like, two years now.Which is good. She likes her wife. A lot. Obviously, she married her. And thenthey talked about it, like a month ago, and, well. Mana’Din wants kids. Elalasknew that before they got married, of course. She knows most things about herwife.
Her pregnant wife.
Who is pregnant now, there have been tests andconfirmations, and obviously Elalas knew this would be a possibility when theygot married. Odds definitely increased when they started actively trying toconceive. And yet, all at once, the reality of the situation just sort of… hitsher.
Elalas’ wife is pregnant.
Mana’Din is pregnant.
With her kid. Because of the beauty and convenience offertility magic. And, fuck, wow, was that ever… fertile, apparently. Theirconsultant had told them to not be discouraged, that it sometimes took a littlelonger for… but… well. Apparently not, because here they were! Married! With ababy! Elalas’ baby. That is in her wife. Her pregnant wife, Mana’Din.
…Oh gods above she is terribleat this. This is step one and she feels like her brain is going to melt outof her ears. She can’t even tell if this is the good, happy kind ofoverwhelmed, or the bad, troubling kind of overwhelmed, or some mix of the two.Mana’Din is on the phone with her evil family – probably her father – and Elalasis slowly trying not to hyperventilate in the bedroom.
Fuck.
Fucking…
Fuck.
Deep breaths. Deeeep breaths. Okay. She can do this. She likeskids, she really does. Granted, she’s usually better with them when they’re atthe ‘walking and talking’ stage, and preferably when they’ve delved right intobeing teenagers. But their own kid will get there, eventually. It’s just awaiting game, now. A waiting game, and a ‘make sure Mana’Din’s evil familydoesn’t ruin it’s life before it even has a fighting chance’ game. There’s areason she agreed to this, after all.
Even after all those times when Mana’Din told her that ‘nokids’ wasn’t necessarily a deal-breaker.
It’s just… it’s real, now. She’s really pregnant. Eitherthey come out of this with a baby or with heartache, and Elalas would ratherthe baby, really. So that’s the outcome she’s pulling for. That’s thedecades-long commitment they’ve just made with their lives. The life Elalasnever really thought she would get to have, because ha ha, a wife. A wife and a baby. That are real, and hers, both of them hers forever, to loseor protect or keep or chase away.
Gods above.
She needs to go pray, she thinks. This is more than she canhandle. She glances one more time at Mana’Din, who is talking with her fatherstill, and then heads out into the back garden.
The back garden of their beautiful home. Which she and Mana’Dinworked for and got themselves, without any of the Evanuris family’s shadyfunds. Well, so far as Elalas knows. But she’s done the numbers, she knowstheir incomes, and she trusts her wife. It’s taken a while, but she wouldn’thave married her if they hadn’t come that far. Their home is their own, all twostory townhouse of it, with its little walled-in Marcher-style garden, and itsfour bedrooms, and proper fireplace, and the shrine to the Hearthkeeper in theback. Which Elalas can pray to, whenever she doesn’t want to hike all the way outto the nearest temple.
She sucks in a breath, and makes her way down onto herknees. Shifting a bit to get more comfortable.
“So,” she says, after a minute. “First of all, thank you forthe success, and all. With the fertility offerings. That was… speedy.”
The shrine remains, of course, serene and quiet. Stillsporting said offerings, as a matter of fact. Elalas glances back towards thehouse, and then leans a little closer.
“I just… are you sure about this? On the whole judgement callof it? I mean, I know I was asking… and I’m happy. I think. I mean, she’s happy, and I want her to be happy,and overall I’m pretty sure this is better than the alternative because I dowant it. But are you really sure I’m going to be any good at it? I mean, babies are tiny. Vulnerable. Impressionable. What are we even goingto have in common? What if it doesn’t like me?”
That’s probably a stupid question to ask. But it flies outanyway, because what if? Elalas is not a terribly likeable person. She knowsthis. The votes have come in and barring weird outliers like her wife, it’salmost a landslide.
The shrine is silent, still. The tiny little water featurethat she put in six months ago runs nearby, water spilling out of stone bowlsin an endless, crystal-clear loop. The creeping vines they came with theproperty have almost taken over the garden wall, now. Eating their way acrossthe whole back of it, and making concerted efforts towards the front. Elalaslikes it. It makes the space feel even more private, even more natural. Shetakes a moment to count the leaves, and clicks her tongue a feel times.Searching for her equilibrium.
It takes her a while. But eventually the soothing scents andsounds, and the gentle shifting of the leaves, help her calm down, until she’smentally reminding herself of the composition of stone in the garden wall, andthe new features to her indoor rock collection, and the updated plans for therock garden out in the front yard. Once they can manage better security wardsto keep people from pilfering her prettiest stones like weird adventurersbraving a dragon’s treasure hoard, anyway.
Those plans are still in play. Along with nurseries andbabysitters, daycares and pregnancy prep.
She turns back to the shrine, and bows.
“I mean, thank you, though,” she says. “I don’t want itundone, or anything. Please safeguard my wife’s pregnancy, and her health. Andour baby’s, too.” She should head to the temple this week, and make offeringsto the hearthkeeper’s shrine there, too. And the moon mother’s. Probably thesun father’s, as well, just – cover all the bases. Pays to be prepared, andall.
By the time Mana’Din comes and finds her, her thoughts aren’trunning themselves into circles anymore.
Her wife’s hand settles onto her shoulder. Warm, and gentle,and just the same as it was when she wasn’t pregnant.
“Nervous?” she asks. Probably because Elalas is praying andclicking and clearly categorizing rocks in her head.
“Yes,” she admits, folding a hand over top of Mana’Din’s.She looks up, and smiles, though. “But I hear that’s normal.”
“Absolutely normal,” Mana’Din confirms.
She settles down onto the grass beside her, then, lettingout a soft sigh. Her arms close around Elalas. Strong. Gods, her wife is sostrong. It’s why it made the most sense for her to be the one who got pregnant.Strong and calm, those are good things for a pregnant person to be, Elalassuspects. She leans into Mana’Din’s warmth, and presses her lips to her cheek.
“I’m nervous, too,” her wife admits.
Elalas feels a rush of consternation.
“Really?” she wonders.
Mana’Din sighs.
“Really,” she says. “ButI hear that’s normal.”
Well, if Mana’Dinis nervous, then it must just be a knee-jerk type thing. She can’t think of asingle person in the whole world who would make for a better parent tosomebody, really.
Elalas pauses, and then leans in, and kisses her again.
“Absolutely normal,” she dutifully repeats.
To her wife.
Who is pregnant.
…This is clearly going to take some time to adjust to.
~
As the weeks turn into months, Elalas finds herselffascinated with the changes in her wife’s body.
Mana’Din has always been fairly firm, and strong, butmorning sickness hits her like a rampaging bull and basically dismantles hermorning routine. Where Elalas’ wife was usually the first person up in themorning, jogging with the sunrise and then coming home and waking up Elalas forbreakfast, once things really seem to settle in, Elalas finds herself having toshake Mana’Din awake so that she isn’t late for work. Her maternity leave doesn’tkick in for a few months, yet. The early mornings are usually reserved for dizzinessand exhaustion, and on weekends, sleeping in becomes the rule of thumb.Evenings are a little better, but their research on safe work-outs for pregnantelves produces mixed results.
With the end of it all being that Mana’Din starts gettingsofter, in more ways than one.
Elalas is a big fan of her wife’s muscles. But there’ssomething incredibly mesmerizing about watching some of the firm edge come offof her, and go all… cuddly. Weekend mornings are swiftly becoming one of herfavourite times ever, as she usually wakes up with her beautiful, pregnant,snuggly wife all wrapped up around her. Coasting lazy, adoring hands over her,and accepting the same treatment in return.
The first trimester isn’t all the eventful, otherwise. There’sa week where Mana’Din’s ‘morning sickness’ gets a lot worse, and their doctorrefers her to a healing magic specialist, who helps address some issues. Butthe whole ‘scare’ only lasts about a day, and then the nausea eases up a lot and so does a good deal of theexhaustion, too. Mana’Din’s stomach gets bigger, and Elalas observes theprocess with undiluted fascination.
She can’t stop touching her wife.
It’s not even sexual. Or, well, not totally sexual. They still have sex; cuddly, snuggly sex, for themost part, but there’s an intimacy to this fascination that’s more simply aboutseeing things change. Their lives arechanging, and Mana’Din’s body is changing, and it’s all very different. It’svery frightening, in a lot of ways. But it’s beautiful, too, and enthralling.Elalas plays music for the baby, and fills their pantry up with emergency foodand vitamins for her wife, and buys an air filter for the nursery and visitsthe temple every weekend with as many offerings as she can manage.
Mana’Din talks about names, and Elalas thinks she’d be finewith anything her wife picked, as long as this baby is okay. As long as they are okay. The more it goes on forthe more it draws her in, and she wants this. She wants this to turn out. Shewants to not be terrible at it, and she wants them to get their happily everafter. Even though bad things happen to people. Maybe enough bad things havehappened to Elalas that it’s like… she’s got the backlog done with, now. She’ssoaked up all the bad points, and the baby doesn’t need to get any. Mamae’staken care of it all, she did their suffering as well as hers, and they canjust be happy and perfect, even if it means they never really understand oneanother.
One bright, brittle autumn evening, when Mana’Din’s gettinginto her third trimester, she comes out into the garden while Elalas ispraying. She sits with her, in that quiet way she has. Spiritual, watchful, butvery still and silent. When the prayers are done, she’s leaning against Elalas’shoulder.
“Are you happy?” she asks.
Elalas almost startles.
Her beautiful, pregnant, loving wife is sitting in theirsecluded garden, asking her if she’s happy. It’s almost ridiculous. Of courseshe’s happy, this is literally her dream come true. More than her dream cometrue. Sometimes she would get so far as the garden, or maybe the wife, butnever a baby, and the whole combination just seems almost surreal.
That thought gives her pause. Makes her actually considerthe question.
“I’m happy,” she says. “I’m so happy I keep worrying I’mgoing to wake up. I keep waiting for the bad things to happen, now. I don’tthink I really believe that I’m allowedto be this happy.”
Mana’Din reaches over, and carefully threads their fingerstogether.
“I know it’s not really reasonable,” Elalas offers.
“I get it,” Mana’Din assures her, exhaling deeply. “I’m gladyou’re so happy that you’re questioning reality.”
Elalas snorts. Her wife waggles her eyebrows, and nuzzlesher cheek.
“Want to come inside for more mind-blowing awesomeness?” sheasks. “I have to pee for the ninety billionth time, and I feel like a beachedwhale, and I think my ankles are swelling again. But if you want you can rubmore lotion into them and watch a documentary on volcanoes with me, until weboth pass out in a snoring heap, and then I wake you up in the middle of thenight because my back’s too sore for me to sleep and I’m bored again.”
Mana’Din laughs.
But Elalas thinks that actually sounds pretty good. Shetilts her face so she can kiss her wife’s nose, and watch it scrunch up.
“Seductress,” she accuses.
“Mm. Well. Just for that, I’ll wear my frumpiest nightshirt,”Mana’Din promises.
“The soft grey one?” Elalas asks. “I love that one. It makesyour boobs feel extra squishy.”
Mana’Din laughs again, this time breaking out into a fit ofendearing snickers, and makes a dozen off-colour comments about breasts untilElalas has to help her up again. They head back inside, where the house lightsare on, and filling everything with a soft amber glow. The stars are out. Themoon is high.
Elalas steps across the threshold, and pauses to hug herwife from behind. Resting her hands over the curve of her stomach, and feeling forthe telltale flutter of a kick. There isn’t one, right now. Baby’s probablysleeping. But Mana’Din is warm and soft, and for once, she doesn’t let herselflaunch into worries that something has gone horribly wrong.
“I love you,” she says.
“Hmm. I know,” Mana’Din replies, full of smug satisfaction.She leans back, and twists around, and manages to steal a kiss. “Must be contagious.I love you, too.”
