Hey so remember Anne Frank? The Jewish young girl who hid in an attic and was killed by the Nazis? The emblematic person we think of when we think of victims of the Holocaust?
She did not die in a gas chamber or in a death camp. She died in a ‘temporary’ detention center for the mass deportations which preceded the death camps. She was in that camp because a patriotic neighbor ratted her out to the German deportation force. She died, not of a bullet to the back of the head or choking on gas, but of typhus. She contracted typhus because the Nazis couldn’t realistically deport people at the rate they wanted to, because before the death camps their infrastructure couldn’t handle the sudden influx of ethnic minorities they had decided to imprison, and because they didn’t care about the consequences of that so their deportation detention centers were unhygienic and prisoners were underfed and overcrowded.
And she was picked up by the deportation force not because she was an illegal citizen but because, just like the US is doing with asylum seekers, she was part of a formerly recognized class of citizens who were legally redefined to lack citizenship by a new administration.
Anne Frank is exactly like the children who have already died in the United State’s detention camps. Exactly. Down to the very last detail. There. Is. Not. A. Single. Difference.
So unless you want to fucking tell me that Anne goddamn Frank was not a victim of the Holocaust, y’all can shut the fuck up with that “stop making concentration camp comparisons, you’re diminishing the suffering of the Holocaust” bullshit.
Its also worth noting that her family TRIED to flee to the US and was denied. She was in that camp partly because the US refused to let her refugee family immigrate.
In collaboration with Arakiās Ripples of Adventure Osaka Exhibit, Holbein Paintās created a limited-edition āJOJO PAINTā palette - 12 tubes of acrylic paint in unique Jojo-themed colors that reproduce the feel of iconic Jojo moments, places, items and scenes. Colors supervised by Araki Hirohiko.
Hereās the label artwork, names and descriptions for all 12 colors:
JJ 201 Red Stone of Aja - Brilliant Red.
JJ202 The Last Sun Seen By the Vampire - Orange.
JJ203 Devilās Palm - Sand.
JJ204 Gold Experience - Bright Yellow.
JJ205 Wall Eyes - The color of budding plants.
JJ206 Green Dolphin Street Prison - Green like the ocean.
JJ207 Stone Free - Blue reminiscent of the sea and freedom.
JJ208 A Sky
Seemingly About to Fall- Deep Blue.
JJ209 Rokakaka - Deep Red-Purple.
JJ210 Crazy Diamond - Fleshy Pink.
JJ211 Pink Dark Boy - Deep Pink.
JJ212 Satiporoja Beetle - Dark Brown
Full details at www(dot)holbein.co.jp/jojopaint.html
Mao Feng, grown on the high peaks of HuangShan, an impulse purchase of Wei WuXian’s mercurial attention with traveling. He didn’t mind; it did make for a good gift. The green needles dance in the water, spinning and unfurling into the shape of orchid buds.
“WangJi, there is something you want to say.”
A brief flash of worry crosses his pale eyes, unable to be suppressed. He’d long grown used to his brother reading him like an open book, but it pains him that Lan XiChen is so perceptive of everyone except himself. Anyone with sight could plainly see he is wasting away, a flower languishing in darkness and grief.
“End this seclusion,” he says with determination.
Lan XiChen turns his porcelain cup a few degrees and smiles wistfully. “Surely uncle can take care of the ceremonial duties in my absence. Is my administrative work not to–”
His words are abruptly cut off from an uncharacteristic interruption. “Brother, there is no need for this.” With a resolute expression, Lan WangJi falls silent and lets his face speak for him.
They sit in tense stillness sipping their tea. There is much exchanged between their eyes with each minute gesture and sign. It is a secret language born between siblings who spent too much time encased together in their own tiny world.
I don’t understand.
I’m sorry, WangJi. I simply cannot forgive myself.
There is nothing to forgive. Come back. We–I need you.
“Let us take a walk,” his brother finally declares.
They stroll to the vista edge of the mountain, to where they used to go as children to escape the stern tirades of their uncle. In habit, they both make for the giant twisting pine, sitting side by side on the bench-like shelf of its gnarled roots. The familiarity is comforting, pulling them back in time to a simpler space.
“I am here because I have made a grave error, WangJi. My blindness has resulted in the death of those important to me. I cannot allow that to happen again.”
Lan WangJi takes in the frail form before him, willowy and faded such that they were no longer perfect mirror images. It is his turn to be there for the one who always took care of him.
He insists fiercely, “It is not blindness.”
Huffing a weary laugh, Lan XiChen leans his head on his brother’s shoulder, as if it were too tiring to continue. “I play it in my memory like a song. And it feels as though this path were charted for me all along. I never knew how to live with them, and I know even less how to live without them.”
Responding to what is on both their minds, Lan WangJi says, “You are not him. We do not have to accept all we are given.” He can feel the other stiffen at the mention of their father. “Brother, there is little kindness in this world. Do not deprive us of yours any longer.”
Lan XiChen smiles in marvel at the wisdom his younger brother has grown into.
