Untitled

(Star Wars: Crimson Reign #3 - The Archivist)

the concept of jedi as celebrities is so interesting to me, mostly because they're monks of an order whose philosophy is grounded on egoless service and humility. one jedi should be roughly the same as any other when sent on a mission, because the jedi serve the force. there may be slight differences in methodologies, yes, but fundamentally, they're not there to make a name for themselves as anything other than as representatives of the jedi order.

but of COURSE it makes sense that the galaxy would be obsessed with them. a mysterious group of wizards who use flashy swords and make peace through persuasive words and heroic deeds? of course people wrote books about them, watched shows about them, adults gossiped about them, and kids pretended to be them when playing. so the question of how all that knowledge was wiped away within a generation is a good one, and the comic presents a good one

(Star Wars: Crimson Reign #3 - The Archivist)

the earnest goodness of the jedi comes across to many as sanctimonious. they're too responsible with their power, too cool and restrained. they don't lash out with anger on behalf of those they love, you know? they don't smile enough, too serious. they're seen as the embodiment of "we have food at home" energy. the reality of the canonical order as gentle and joyful, surprisingly playful and open, isn't sexy enough to redeem their moral authority.

based on my inbox and the way people respond to some of my posts about the jedi, the resentment that this engenders in the population of the GFFA feels very real. there is actual HATRED directed toward this fictional group, irrational and out of all proportion. the comic suggests that people jump to hate those who make them feel guilty and self-conscious, because lashing out absolves yourself of confronting the reason you secretly know you'd be judged and found wanting, and that seems accurate.

This is increasingly just how modern culture works. Both in and outside of fandom. (The amount of loathing for the Jedi that amounts to "they're elitist," "they're holier than thou," "they think they're better than me" certainly ought to feel familiar).

In pop culture nowadays, it pretty much manifests in the cult of irony and the rejection of anything too earnest as "preachy." The comment that was going around a few weeks ago about a guy who watched Lord of the Rings and spent the entire opening narration waiting for the ironic meta joke to drop, and then watched the entire movie just waiting for it to happen, sums it up pretty well.

Literally not true. One of the biggest complaints the OG fascists had everywhere in Europe was against the number of displaced persons who'd ended up in a different country than they started out as, as a result of wars, pogroms, and an eye-watering number of border changes. I don't remember the German equivalent, but in France the term of art was "metic" (an ancient Greek term for non-citizen residents which was revived in the twentieth century as a slur for immigrants); Vichy and pre-war far-right propaganda is full of that word.

Completely random comic about the history of Mandalore 👁👄👁

The thing is - Hondo and Obi-Wan weren’t friends. They were platonic nemesis. Amusing opposites in terms of character, morality and generally speaking of the Law.

But they could have been friends. They knew each other through some harrowing self-induced shenanigans. Got to know and perhaps appreciate each other’s sense of humor. Admired each others wily cunning. Had an understanding, I think you would call it.

And Hondo was probably fond of Obi-Wan in the way you are almost compelled to be fond of someone who amicably thwarts your villainous deeds but never quite so well as to actually arrest you for them. That practically makes him an enabler, really, in a pirates point of view.

So this guy, right, this funny, tricky Jedi, it’s sort of a good day whenever you run into him, even if he’s always peskily getting in the way of your grand schemes and quest for riches. Whatever, he’s a damn fine drinking partner regardless!

Those are good times, all told. Good times.

And then one day you find out he’s dead. You find out that he was murdered. That every single one of his people, who, in your experience, are pretty similar under the surface ( they never give you too hard a time, after all. Good sports, and all that) has been murdered.

You liked him. You liked rather more than a few of them, actually.

You’re not sure if the two of you were ever actually friends.

(Surely you were, right?)

(You could have been.)

(There is no one left alive to ask.)

And it’s not - not this huge deal, right? I mean really, you barely knew the guy. Barely knew the funny young knight that was with him, or the spunky little padawan, or those brave and dastardly younglings.

But you just… think about that, sometimes. About them.

And you wonder.

The Law says they were all traitors. The government says they were corrupt. Says they bewitched people. Says they stole children and coveted power.

Hondo Ohnaka is a pirate. He’s never been on the right side of the law, or the government.

(Turns out we were both outlaws, eh?)

(So they say. So they say. I doubt it’s true.)

There is no one left alive to ask for the truth.

Whatever they were then, is whatever Hondo decides they were. There’s no one left alive to correct him.

So they were friends, he decides.

(We were friends, weren’t we? )

He just… would like to be able to have said they were. In the end.

The ICE thugs' story has completely collapsed. They lied about it, of course. And now they're hoping to make witnesses go away:

In Cor-Ai (s1, ep 16), he was fully prepared to die as a legal consequence for not only killing the one man he was on trial for, but for everyone else that he harmed while (reluctantly) following Apophis's orders. In the end, he proves himself to the one person making that decision about his guilt, but it's obvious that he is yet to prove his own innocence to himself. Because redemption isn't a once off decision. It isn't a few attempts to do better. It's a lifetime of undoing the harm, proving yourself to be a different person, and still acknowledging that people have a right to be upset about the things you did before that change.

I've heard people complaining about the number of times a story will feature a hero killing his way through a horde of minions only to reach the Evil Overlord and suddenly become conflicted by a "be careful! If you kill him you will be just like him!" dilemma. And Stargate's the opposite of that. The heroes kill a fair amount of Jaffa because it's still a war, but it also makes them a good deal more complex than your basic enemy thugs and spends eight years spinning their conversion to the cause and eventual revolution into the thing that ultimately brings down the Goa'uld.