Chapters View Online
When a Darkened Sky Is Considered a Form of Hope (Aralsk, Kazakhstan)
Arman felt tremendous anticipation as he slowly pulled the fishing trawl out of the water. He let out a squeal of joy as he saw dozens of fish flopping around the half-submerged net. With one final tug, he pulled the trawl out of the water, and emptied his catch into the hold. Arman felt a strong hand pat him on the shoulder.
"Very good son," his father Nursultan said from behind. Arman turned to face his father, and gleamed at proud smile hidden underneath his father's bushy moustache. Behind him was their fishing comrades, who also gave Arman proud smiles.
"Will I become as a good a fisherman as you?" Arman asked Nursultan. His father gave him a facetious frown.
"Boy, I expect you to catch 100 times what I catch," Nursultan said a tone of feigned disappointment. The warm smile returned to his face. "Come with me son, look at the sea." Arman got to the edge of the trawler and saw the vast expanse of the Aral Sea before him. His father put his arm around his shoulder. "The Aral is our home. Our livelihood. We exist because of it. Our ancestors have been fishing since the time of the Romanovs. Before that, they were the first masters of the horse-"
"Father, you told me this story," Arman said with a sheepish smile.
"And I shall tell you again. And you will be grateful that I told you this story many times, because you won't ever forget. For when you become my age, you too shall take your son out on the boat and tell him the same story."
"Yes father," Arman said respectfully.
"Anyways, back to work," Nursultan ordered. The two began preparing the trawl for another catch when a sudden storm blew in. The wind knocked them both to the ground, and sounds of thunder crashed across their ears.
"Father, what is happening," Arman asked. To his horror, Arman saw a look of panic on his father's normally brave face and their comrades screaming in panic.
"Father what shall we-,"
"Turn the ship around," Nursultan bellowed to the captain. But before the captain could do anything, a massive wave crashed into the side of the boat, capsizing it.
"Father," Arman screamed as he fell into the freezing water. After splashing around in a panic, Arman swam to the capsized boat, gripping the hull like his life depended on it. He looked around, trying to find his father or their fellow comrades who also fell into the boat. The storm picked up even more, making the water more chaotic, and making it harder and harder for Arman to grip the boat.
"Father," he shouted. "Father," he shouted again. He shouted for his father more and more, his scream getting louder as both his panic and the intensity of the sea and storm increased, and his ability to grip the boat decreased. Arman turned to his right and saw massive tidal wave about to consume him.
Unable to do anything, Arman let out a desperate cry as the massive wave consumed him.
Arman let out a wheezy gasp as he was jolted awake. With a tired sigh and another exhausted cough, he pulled himself out of his bed. It was a donation from America, as shown by its rotted state. Despite him being thin, the aged bed creaked as he lifted himself out of it. He looked around his threadbare room and walked over to the old car mirror he used as a personal mirror.
He saw a face made crusty by years of dry weather and winds, a grey beard that was big as Rasputin's, a bald head, and tired red-rimmed eyes. He wondered why he hadn't just laid down and died years ago. But then he remembered as heard soft snoring in the next room. With a sigh, he picked up the broom and began beating it against the thin wall.
"Aruzhan," he shouted, smacking the broom over and over against the wall. "Time for school! Wake up you lazy bum! Don't make me come in there!"
"Yes grandpa," the boy said through the wall. He heard some rustling, and dropped the broom with a satisfied smile on his face. He took off his pajamas and put on a second hand dress shirt, a white sickness mask, and used khakis.
He walked out of the room at the same time as Aruzhan. The child was half his height. He had a mop of brown hair and a tanned face, the same red-rimmed eyes, but he had a smile in place of the tried frown that Arman always seemed to wear. He wore an old American Coca-Cola T-shirt and faded blue jeans.
"I'm ready, grandpa," the boy said cheerfully as he put on his white sickness mask. The boy was in many ways Arman's opposite. He was always cheerful, which both annoyed Arman and brought him joy. The pair exited their hovel and walked to school and work.
"So you could stick your hand in the sea, and you would always get a fish," Aruzhan asked him excitedly as they walked to school.
"Yes," Arman said, gesturing toward the rusted remains of fishing trawlers that once fueled Aralsk's economy. "You could catch enough fish to feed all of Russia."
"Were there sharks," Aruzhan asked.
"Yes. They tried to eat me, but I defeated it them with my bare hands," Arman joked.
"We're there mermaids," Aruzhan asked.
"Yes," Arman said with a sly smile. "I ate them!"
"Why?" Arman asked with genuine horror in a high-pitched tone.
"I was hungry," Arman said with a small laugh that descended into a fit of coughing. Aruzhan waited as the coughing fits stopped before they continued walking. They soon arrived at the school: an old fishing shack that had become a one-room school house.
"Off to school, little one," Arman said.
"I am growing," Aruzhan said with cheerful jest. "Soon I will be bigger then you."
"Oh, we shall see," Arman said. He gestured with his hand to the school and Aruzhan ran to it. With another wheezy cough, Aruzhan skipped to the building. With a shake of his head, Arman walked to work and looked at sandy remains of the sea with a sad sigh.
The Soviets had been guilty of many, many crimes in their desire to "liberate the workers' and the peasants." Several of Arman's ancestors had perished due to terror and famine. But to Arman, the greatest crime of the Soviets was destroying this once great sea.
Being men of great ambition and no accountability, they plotted to drain the sea and grow cotton in Uzbekistan. To this day, the Uzbeks continued to drain the corpse of the sea to grow the white plant. They even forced children and schoolteachers to pick it for sale to the West
In his youth, the Soviets long denounced American racism toward blacks. How ironic that their dream of growing cotton would create a new form of cotton slavery.
Arman hoped to one day fish with his own son, but the last time Arman fished was in 1986 and his son was two years from birth. By then, the draining of the sea had become noticeable. Over 30 years after that, the sea only continued to drain. While some dam raised the sea a little, the once productive fishing had still not yet returned. At many others accepted that it would most likely never returned and fled elsewhere.
Arman's own son Bolat had fled the barren land, trying to find work in Moscow. Bolat and his wife left Aruzhan with Arman until they could buy a bigger house. But they were killed by a pair of ruthless gangsters, and Aruzhan had no one but him.
Lacking a sea to fish in, Arman could only tell stories of the Aral to Aruzhan, speaking of its size and abundance. Aruzhan, as a young child, thought of the Aral as a myth and a folk tale. A thing as mysterious and fantastic as Atlantis.
Arman still looked with anger and despair at the dry air, the winds which carried the chemicals from the former seabed into the air, the rusted boats that told of a more prosperous era, and the abandoned homes of fishermen. Aruzhan had grown up in this wrecthed world. But knowing nothing of the sea, he was cheerful and innocent. He was used to the poor air, wearing a mask, and looking at the rusted boats.
Of course, you can't miss what you never. For this, Arman envied his grandson.
The only thing worse than despair, however, was false hope. Which is why Arman looked with a scowl at the news crews and tourists from around the world arriving and others in the town greeting them with joy and hoping to profit from outsiders. He read of these creatures who could bring rain to desert areas, but he believed it to be a ludicrous fantasy.
"Just as the great Soviet nation was," Arman thought bitterly. With another sigh and cough, he walked toward the supermarket, put on a smock, and began sweeping the floors.
Aktau, Kazakhstan, 1700 kilometers away
As a member of the Kazakh Naval Forces, Lieutenant Kaysim Mamim had learned to always expect the unexpected.
He had joined the Soviet navy in the twilight years of the Soviet Union, believing he would one day fight a war with the Western nations. He never expected Kazakhstan would gain independence within a few short years.
He entered his adult years believing his nation would remain obscure as most landlocked states were. He never expected his nation to gain international attention thanks to some vulgar British comedian who portrayed Kazakhs as a pack of anti-Semitic village idiots.
He certainly never expected that his career would involve working with a pink Pegasus named Lovely Day. The creature was female. She had a water-blue mane, a light green mane, lime-green eyes, fluffy wings, and had an equine body as big as a cat. She declared herself a "Captain in the Equestria Drought Relief Organization," wore a blue helmet with a water drop picture on the front, a black headset, and spoke decent Kazakh. They both stood on a naval ship along the coast of the Caspian Sea, watching dozens of other Pegasus fly around in some odd maneuver.
"What are they doing?" he asked the pink Pegasus.
"Drills in case they lose control of the cloud," the equine said with a rough accent. Everything these ponies said seemed to upend everything Mamim knew about the laws of physics.
These creatures claimed they could create and move clouds around. They also claimed they were responsible for weather in their world. Using their powers, they had brought rain into drought stricken areas of Africa and Asia on television, earning enormous goodwill from around the world.
Despite knowing about their powers, Mamim was a bit skeptical when these ponies claimed they would revive the Aral Sea within a decade. Their plan was to use their powers to bring rainwater to Uzbek farmers, so that they could reduce demand from the rivers that flowed into what remained of the Aral Sea. The plan also called for rainstorms themselves to be used to replenish the Aral Sea.
Today, they were testing this plan by generating a large storm cloud and using various teams of Pegasi to move it 1700 kilometers into Aralsk.
Mamim thought such a goal was lofty and ambitious. But his time in the Soviet Union, the economic chaos of independence and capitalism, and the corruption that dominated his homeland made him wary of those making large promises.
"The greatest promises are made by the most odious liars," Mamim thought to himself skeptically.
"So, what is this?" Mamim asked, pointing to the large copper disk sitting on deck of the boat. The object was connected to electric wires that were heating it up and would burn off a person's skin if they were stupid enough to touch it.
"That is the Cloud Generation Plate," Lovely Day said proudly. "Once we create the waterspout, it will rise up high into the air. Then we'll throw the Plate on top off it, creating the steam we need for the cloud. Until we can set up a proper cloud city to make clouds, this is our only option." Mamim once again rolled his eyes at the whole physics-defying plan.
"Well good luck," Mamim uttered.
"By the way," Lovely Day pointing with her hooves to the headset hidden underneath her helmet. "This..um…
"Headset?"
"Headset is really awesome," Lovely Day said with the joy of a child witnessing his fireworks display. "This makes coordination and communication so much easier. I wonder how us pegasi lived without them!" Mamim let an amused smile form on his face at the little pony's squealing.
To Mamim, these ponies and their ways of living were one big fantasy. To these ponies, the idea of people not being able to generate their own weather and the ability to communicate wirelessly was a fantasy.
Everything, as they say, is relative.
The Kazakh Naval Forces formed a perimeter of roughly 6 square meters around a patch of the Caspian sea 10 kilometers off the coast of Aktau, per the instructions of the pegasi leaders. This space had been reserved for the Pegasi to be able to work without fear of causing injury. The Kazakh navy were prepared to use force to keep others out. Surrounding them were various boats being manned by news crews and tourists from around the world wanting to get as close as possible to the spectacle without angering the Kazakh sailors.
On the military boats, dozens of pegasi stood on the boats with eager expressions on their faces. They looked at their watches, as the time slowly reached 3 PM (or 15 Metric Time). Time seemed to slow as everyone watching from their boats eagerly watched at the clock ticked, slowly reaching the moment of truth. Even Mamim watched the clock tick with some anxiety. He looked at Lovely Day, who was coordinating the operation from the deck using a microphone set up for this occasion. She too looked at the clock with fierce anticipation.
The clock struck 3.
"BEGIN," shouted Lovely Day. The pegasi took that as their signal to fly. With surprising speed, they shot up into the air. After a few minutes, they were rotating around the middle of the patch of ocean. Every second, their spinning got faster and faster. Mamim watched this more directly, using a military camera drone. The Lieutenant quietly admired their ability to work together despite such high speeds.
"Maintain formation," Mamim heard Lovely Day say. After a few moments of spinning, she said, "The cyclone is beginning to form. Do not waver!"
To Mamim's astonishment, a massive waterspout was slowly rising out of the Caspian. All around him, the tourists in the boats and the people lined up along the coast let out uproarious applause.
"Bring the plate," Lovely Day said. Two large Pegasus flew under the plate, and the two lifted the massive copper disk into the air, using the side that was still cool. The waterspout rose up and up.
"Drop the Plate!"
The two pegasi dropped the plate onto the top of the waterspout, the water hitting the ultra-hot side. The impact generated a huge amount of steam.
"Steam needs to coagulate," Lovely Day ordered. The pegasi use their magic to collect it. After a few minutes, a massive storm cloud formed.
"OK, now bring the baby bird to its nest," Lovely Day commanded. A drone camera filmed the pegasi not only landing on the surface of the cloud like it was solid, but began pushing the cloudy mass further inland.
As the cloud departed Aktau, the crowds of tourists on the boats and along the coast let out an uproarious applause that seemed to shake the ground. Several pegasi landed on the ship in front of Lovely Day, where they were given salutes by Kazakh naval personal. Mamim joined in as well.
"The people of Kazakhstan thank the ponies of Equestria," Mamim's naval superior said. Mamim saw the cloud move and let out a small tear of joy at what he was witnessing.
"God bless you," Mamim said quietly, a small smile forming on his stoic naval face.
Sixteen hours later
Arman continued sweeping the floor of the supermarket, the early morning sun lightly striking his face when Aruzhan burst in.
"Grandpa!" Aruzhan shouted.
"Yes Aruzhan," Arman said with annoyance.
"The clouds will arrive in 30 minutes," Aruzhan said with excitement. "Come and see," the boy said. Aruzhan rolled his eyes at this grandson's sentimental display.
"Yes son, I will be there soon," the withered man lied, looking down at the ground.
"OK grandpa," Aruzhan said, not picking up on his grandfather's reluctance. He excitedly ran out of the store. Once Aruzhan left, Arman let out a disgusted sigh.
"Naïve moron," Arman muttered angrily. Aruzhan fell for this pegasi garbage. The boy and those other desperate fools who longed for a long gone era fell for the idiotic belief that the Aral Sea would return. That's why he was working alone in the store. Because he would not fall for the kind words of charlatans. These ponies were liars, just like so many others who claimed such grandiose nonsense.
The crowd gathered along the former coastline of Aralsk, watching as the light of the sky was blocked. For the young local residents, the sky was ominous. For the old local residents, the darkness was a sign of optimism. News crews and tourists excitedly watched cloud move in.
The cloud stopped moving, covering much of the former coast and part of the downtown. A news drone revealed the Pegasi were getting ready to stomp on the cloud. After an alarm went off, the pegasi all pushed down at once. A lightning strike went out.
Arman was spooked by the noise, dropping his broom in shock. He dove under a table in fear. After a few more rolls of thunder passed, a drizzle fell. After a few moments, the drizzle became a massive downpour. The young people looked up at wonder, having never seen rain or experience rain. The older people looked up at joy.
A massive applause sprang from the town. Tourists and locals snapped photos, recorded footage, took off their shirts, hugged each other, and opened their mouths to drink the rainwater. The noise pulled Arman out of his shock. Slowly, he walked outside. To his astonishment, he saw rain fall from the sky, and the townspeople cheering and applauding its arrival.
He stared dumbly at the scene for several moments, ignoring that his clothes and beard were getting wet. He was distracted by the sound of running.
Aruzhan ran toward him, his boots caked with wet sand. The boy looked at him with hope on his face.
"Isn't the rain wonderful," Aruzhan said happily. He opened his mouth wide to catch some rainwater.
"Yes," Arman said quietly, a feeling of...hope surging through him. He looked up again at the storm cloud, euphoria spreading through his body being cooled by the massive rainfall and winds.
"Could the Aral Sea return?" Aruzhan asked Arman hopefully. Arman stared dumbly at the boy. The euphoria of the crowd, the good feeling of the cool water on him, and the breeze forced the answer out of him.
"Yes Aruzhan," Arman said quietly, a small smile forming on his rugged face. "Yes. It will." Without warning, Arman picked his grandson up and held him into a hug. The boy, who rarely got direct affection from Arman, melted into the hug.
Arman felt water flow down his eyes, but they were not because of rain.
They were tears. Not the tears he shed when he gave up fishing. Not the tears he shed when his son and daughter-in-law were murdered. They were tears of hope.
The continued cheers and his grandson's hug made the tears flow more and Arman's smile grow wide. Arman had a new dream now. His dream would be that he lived to see the Aral Sea reborn and that his grandson would take him fishing one last time.
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Protect The Foals! Part 1. (Ponyville, Equestria)
Vinyl Scratch sat at a café in Ponyville's marketplace with her marefriend Octavia. She was awed by all the activity around her. In the far distance, these human building machines-"cranes" they called them- we're building Ponyville's new downtown, called Ponyville North. A skyline was forming that she used to have go to Manehattan or Filllydelphia to see. All of the new buildings surrounded the tall obsidian tower called the Great Connector. The Connector, with its spiral shape, apparently was what allowed safe and easy interdimensional travel.
It was because Ponyville was the only place where a safe connection between the two worlds was possible that it became a boomtown. The boom was not built on gold or gems, but on the knowledge humans brought with them, the trade between the two worlds, and the movement of pony and human tourists. Ponyville's population had tripled in the last five years alone since human-pony relations officially opened, and it could possibly join Manehattan and Fillydelphia within a decade. Hence why they were building a whole new city near the Great Connector.
But even in the original Ponyville dowtown, soon to be called "Old Ponyville", stores, restaurants, streets, and parks were growing like crazy. Humans and ponies worked round the clock hammering, digging, and drilling, human and pony traders alike hawked goods like cell phones and apples in the marketplace, and the roads were widened to accommodate human transportation.
The sounds of commerce and construction made Vinyl feel she was in a major city, which exhilarated her. While she considered herself a proud Ponyvillian, the doldrums of living in Ponyville (before Twilight Sparkle moved there) meant that Vinyl would take any chance she got to head to the big city. Now, Ponyville was the at center of the world stage, giving her even more pride in her hometown.
Who knew what hosting a Princess' apprentice would end up bringing?
"So what was...Chicago like," Vinyl asked Octavia. Being one of the leading classical performers in Equestria, Octavia was part of one of these good will trips in Equestria. Octavia got so many connections, she eventually started her own independent tours in the US.
"Like every American city," Octavia said with a small smile. "The buildings are so tall, pegasi can struggle to get to the top." She gestured to the bustling new downtown, not pointing impolitely with her hoof. "You could find buildings like that in a city one-tenth Chicago's size."
Vinyl's eyes widened at that.
"Wooaaah," Vinyl said in awe. "So what do they eat in Chicago?" Vinyl asked. "Did you eat any cows?" Vinyl asked, letting out a smug smile. Octavia snorted in annoyance.
"These humans, despite their brutish appetites, are quite accommodating of pony palettes," Octavia said with a smile. "I tried this meal called deep-dish pizza." Vinyl loved pizza when it first came to Ponyville, and wondered what 'deep dish' meant.
"Deep dish?" Vinyl asked.
"Pizza with the thickness of a pie," Octavia said. Vinyl almost drooled at the idea, since she was just chipping away at the tasteless daisy appetizer, but stopped herself before Octavia would reprimand her.
"I'm asking because our newest DJ is a human man from Chicago," Vinyl asked.
"Is he a classical composer like myself?" Octavia asked. Vinyl let out a small grin.
"He's the opposite actually," Vinyl said. "He calls himself J-Wash. His specialty is something called 'gangsta rap'."
"Gangsters?" Octavia asked in an aghast tone. "How could anything criminal be considered entertainment?" Vinyl shrugged.
"Beats me," Vinyl said, taking a very loud slip of cucumber juice from her cup, much to Octavia's disgust.
"Must you always be so ill-mannered?" Octavia asked with disgust.
"I love you too, sugar buns," Vinyl said.
Vinyl rode the bus to the outskirts of Ponyville, near where the farms met the Everfree Forest to her place of work: KPNY 101.
The building looked plain and ordinary: one of those same steel and concrete constructions found all over Earth, with a large metal tower behind it. Yet, when Vinyl first got a job here, the technology here was almost science fiction to her ears.
The idea of sending music, news, and sports into the air through some kind of special energy amazed her. Years later, Vinyl still didn't understand how it all worked.
Naturally, as a seller of records and a for-hire DJ, Vinyl asked to become the first pony DJ in all of Equestria. Vinyl loved her job, and being a part of pony history excited her even more. She walked into her room, went up to the microphone, and spoke once the clock struck 5:00 PM.
"Yo P-Ville," Vinyl said eagerly. "This is KPNY's Vinyl After Work. Happy to fill your day with my wubs. Today, we're gonna do something a bit different. We've got a new guy today. Even though he's ugly and mean, we love him." Vinyl heard the new DJ chuckle behind him. "So give it up for Chicago's finest, J-Wash." Vinyl got out of her seat and let the huge man sit down in the chair.
Vinyl, during her numerous trips to the US, noticed how Americans had very odd habits even for humans. Among them was giving themselves these labels, despite proclaiming that every person there was equal. "German-Americans", "Hispanic-Americans", "Mexican-Americans", etc. They also put an usual stock in skin-color, despite these labels not-matching the color. People with pinkish-to-ruddy could call themselves "white Americans", while people with darker skins, like J-Wash, called themselves "black-Americans", despite J-Wash's skin being more brownish.
J-Wash was tall and broad around his waist. He wore a blue-cap with a red "C" on it backwards, a red sweatshirt labeled "The University of Chicago" (despite the reasonably warm weather), blue pants, and a pair of red sneakers, sunglasses, and this shiny gold chain with a medallion that even Vinyl thought was ostentatious.
"Yo Ponyville, what's happening," J-Wash said his broad, deep voice. "This is J-Wash on KPNY, introducing you to "Rap Hour'. The first song of the hour is going to be a song I've enjoyed since I heard it when I was 12. It's called "Get Off the Street' by 'Hoodmaster'." J-Wash pushed the button and began playing the beat. A strong sound filled the station and was heard over the radio.
Hey, ho
Hey, ho
The police think they own place,
Those motherfuckers call themselves the Master Race,
They yell and scream 'get off the street!'
They say obey or you'll get beat
I'd say the police are the real hos
The only one I trust are my bros
If police come around here
We take those bastards and kick them in rear
In an exquisite dining room in Ponyville's fanciest house, Spoiled Rich was instructing her youngest and only daughter on fine etiquette. Diamond Tiara reached for a spoon to her right.
"Young mare!" Spoiled Rich bellowed.
"Yes mother," Diamond Tiara said in an seemingly respectful voice.
"That is a cereal spoon! You should know your spoons by now!" Spoiled Rich put a hoof to her head with a sigh. "The business dinner is next week, and your behavior is an utter embarrassment."
"Ever look in a mirror," Diamond Tiara muttered.
"What was that?!"
"I will do better, mother," Diamond Tiara said in a tone that made it sound like she saw her mother as a boss and not as an employer.
After an hour of training in the art of fine dining, Spoiled Rich let out a long sigh.
"I need to relax after a long day's work," Spoiled Rich. She trotted out of the dining room to her equally luxurious den.
"Oh yeah, country clubs and opera is really hard work," Diamond Tiara muttered under her breath.
Spoiled sat in her favorite couch, pulled out a newspaper, and switched the radio on to her favorite classical station.
"Darn it," she said, "I went to the station manned by that reprobate Vinyl-," she paused as she heard the station that played "human" music. She listened to the fast-paced lyrics with utter horror.
I hate those fuckin' cops.
They think of themselves as on top.
But me and my bros,
We're gonna rise up against them ho's
A furious snarl formed on Spoiled Rich's face, before she shut off the radio.
"That...that music is utter filth," Spoiled said in a disgusted tone. "They actually let that music play in...Ponyville. The humans have already challenged our traditions, but now they wish to subvert authority!" She used her snout to ring a bell, and a blue servant mare with a silver platter cutie mark came in .
"Yes Mistress," the mare said robotically.
"Fine Service," Spoiled said to her servant. "Write many letters to our friends. This...filth shall not be permitted to stand in my town!"
Mayor Mare sat in her office, signing forms, when one of her aides burst in.
"Yes Copy," Mayor Mare said civilly.
"Madam Mayor," the young aide, a green unicorn stallion with a blue mane, said. "There is an angry mob protesting."
The Mayor trotted out the door, and to her shock, she saw a mob of dozens of ponies holding up signs and angrily jeering and shouting.
"Protect the foals, protect the foals, KPNY has got to go," the crowed chanted. And the head of the crowd was Spoiled Rich, looking especially angry. They quieted down as the Mayor approached them.
"Madame Rich," Mayor Mare said, using forced courtesy in her voice, "may I ask what this is about?"
"Mayor Mare," Spoiled Rich bellowed. "How do you feel about the corruption of our foals?" Mayor Mare looked confused.
"I...I don't follow," Mayor Mare said.
"That human radio station plays music that teaches foals to disrespect authority," a mare next to Spoiled shrieked. The rest of the crowded began shouting and protesting again. Mayor Mare put a hoof to her forehead and sighed.
"Very well," Mayor Mare said. "Step inside my office and we shall discuss it." Spoiled Rich and two other mares trotted into city hall to "have words" with the Mayor.
"On Friday, March 10, the town of Ponyville will have a referendum on whether or not allow for the creation of a Musical Safety Board to regulate and control the music that can be broadcasted within city limits," Devon Harris, the human manager of KPNY said tiredly, reading a local newspaper. He, Vinyl, and J-Wash were sitting in the employee lounge. "This referendum was instigated by Spoiled Rich. Ponyville socialite and chairpony of the Protect the Foals League. 'I am not opposed to the arts,' Spoiled Rich said in an interview. 'But I will not allow the corruption of our youth by this wretched 'music'." Devon balled the newspaper up and threw on the ground in a rage.
"Patronizing little bitch," Devon muttered. The looks on the faces of J-Wash and Vinyl said they felt the same way. "Who the hell does she think she is?"
"She's one of these ponies who sees themselves as bigger then Celestia," Vinyl muttered in an ironic tone.
"Spoiled," J-Wash uttered. "Who the hell names their child 'Spoiled'?"
"She took the name on," Vinyl said. "When ponies get their cutie marks, they usually change their names to what their marks mean."
"I've never understood the whole 'cutie mark' thing," J-Wash said. "Do these tattoos only let you do the thing you are meant to do?"
"Sorta," Vinyl said uneasily. "It is a usually a sign that a pony has found their place in the world. How does it work in the human world?"
"Well, we don't have cutie marks," J-Wash said. "A lot of people can spend their whole lives not knowing what they want to be, and what they want to do with their lives. I was studying in law at University of Chicago when I discovered I wanted to be a DJ."
"Anyways," Devon said to change the subject, "the night before, there is going to be a public debate on whether or not to create a Music Safety Board." He turned to J-Wash. "J, since this old bat is complaining about your music, you should be the one to debate."
"Me?"
"Your the one who played the music, so you've got to be the one to defend it," Devon said firmly.
"Yes sir," J-Wash said.
"According to the paper, they are going to send us a list of pre-approved questions," Devon said to J-Wash. "I want you to review and prepare answers that can said in less then one minute."
"Understood," J-Wash said. He felt his fist clench and his jaw set.
"J-Wash," Vinyl asked. "Are you OK?"
"No," he said with quiet anger. "All my life, I've dealt with these bastards who want to tell me how to live and what to listen to. I'm not gonna let this pony fascist stop me." J-Wash stood up with his head held high.
"Me too," Vinyl said, feeling righteous anger boil through her. "That old mare has always complained about my music. I've found my dream job, and I'm not gonna let her spoil it for me."
"We'll beat her, together," Vinyl said proudly, craning her neck up to look at the tall man.
"Agreed," he said with a confident smile on his face. J-Wash and Vinyl bumped their fists and hooves together.
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Protect The Foals! Part 2. (Ponyville, Equestria)
J-Wash sat on the simple leather couch in the apartment he rented in Ponyville North, the new community created to deal with the migration of humans and Ponyville's explosive growth.
He eschewed his DJ outfit, in favor of a standard white dress shirt and some dress pants. It was the night before he was set to debate with Spoiled Rich, and he was working on his pre-prepared statements and answers. In front of him were vegetarian ours-d'oeuvres he had prepared for his guest. He heard a knock on the door.
"Yes?" J-Wash uttered.
"It's me, Octavia," an oddly British-sounding voice said. J-Wash rose from his couch and opened the door for the pony cellist .
"Thanks for coming," J-Wash said happily, welcoming the grey pony in. "Why exactly are you helping someone like me out?" J-Wash asked. "You seem to have a lot of bread."
"A lot of bread," Octavia said with confusion, tilting her head slightly.
"I mean, you seem to have a lot of class," muttered J-Wash as he ushered Octavia into his small living room. "I would think you were one of those pony elitists telling me what I can and can't play."
"Well, yes I am not a fan of your music," Octavia said as she jumped onto J-Wash's couch. "But, as an artist, I have a deep respect for the arts. It would be hypocritical of me not to defend free expression when others have also criticized me. Besides I would do anything for my dear Vinyl." She glanced over at the papers on the table next to the refreshments J-Wash put out.
"May I see your notes?" Octavia asked.
"Sure," J-Wash said, handing his papers to the grey pony. Octavia looked them over for a few minutes. She narrowed her eyes in deep thought. "Let's hit the ground running. The first thing you need to correct is your vernacular."
"Vernacular?"
"The expressions and slang you use," Octavia said simply. "J-Wash-."
"That's just my stage name," J-Wash said with a welcoming smile. "You can call me Jamal if you want."
"Jamal," Octavia said. "You can't express your viewpoint if the residents of Ponyville don't understand your words." She tapped her hoof on his papers. "Remember that while Ponyville is growing as never before, many Ponyville residents are still insular fellows who won't understand the vocabulary you use in Chicago." Jamal heard this and nodded.
"OK," Jamal said with a nod of his head. "What else?" Octavia looked uneasy.
"Well," Octavia said. "You haven't properly explained why the songs you play are so," Octavia hesitated to answer, "violent and anti-authority. I wouldn't lie if I didn't find your words troubling."
"What's there to explain. The police are the real criminals," Jamal said. Octavia narrowed her eyes.
"In your world perhaps, but here in Equestria, their is a strong connection and mutual respect between ponies and authorities. Both magical and personal. And you must justify why you play music that is so anti-authority."
"Alright," Jamal said, nodding his head.
"So for the next hour, I'll pretend to be a Ponyville civilian. Explain why you feel your music is acceptable despite the violent words."
The Ponyville town pavilion, which was normally used to host town events and parties, had a debate stage set up. Surrounding it were a crowd of ponies, humans, and several members of the pony and human press. On one side of the stage was Spoiled Rich, while on the other side was J-Wash, both of them sitting in simple wooden chairs behind podiums with microphones attached. The former wore a luxurious purple dress, while the latter was clad in a sharp-business suit.
Spoiled looked at J-Wash with snarling contempt, while J-Wash looked at Spoiled with amused defiance.
In the center of the stage was Pipsqueak, who was sitting at a small wooden table with microphones and cameras.
The Trottingham migrant had become a journalist for the Ponyville Gazette in his early adulthood. When humans arrived and brought television, and his charmed accent made him one of Equestria's first TV journalists. Today, he was acting as the debate's moderator.
The crowd was filled with idle chatter from the human and pony spectators whose chatter died down at the clock neared 6 PM and the debate began.
"Good evening," Pipsqeak said as the camera came on, putting on a trademark journalist smile. "I'm Pipsqueak. You are watching the Ponyville Music Debate. Sponsored by the Equestria Commission on Community Debates! Tomorrow, Ponyvillians will be voting on a referendum allowing for the creation of Ponyville Music Board, tasked with the regulation of radio music in the name of moral decency. Tonight will be a debate between Spoiled Rich, chairpony of the Protect the Foals League who has backed the referendum, and Jamal Harold Washington, a DJ from KPNY Radio who opposes the referendum."
"Before we begin our questioning, we will allow each of the participants one minute to make an opening statement," Pipsqueak said. "We flipped the coin, and Madame Rich won." Spoiled smirk became even more pronounced as she rose from her chair and trotted toward the front of the stage.
"As a wife and mother, I understand the struggle to raise a family, care for a household, and provide life lessons for my dear foal," Spoiled Rich began.
In the audience, many traditional mares nodded their heads in approval, while Diamond Tiara rolled her eyes in disgust.
"I truly understand the heart and soul of Ponyville," Spoiled said, "I understand the importance of family values and guarding one's foals against corruption and impropriety. That is why, to preserve our families and our traditions, we must allow the residents of Ponyville to push away music that does not...comport to their values," Spoiled said, before returning to her chair.
"Mr. Washington," Pipsqueak said. "You may make your opening statement." J-Wash rose from his chair and walked over to the microphone at the center of the stage.
"In both American society and pony society, I find that there is often a debate over what is considered good taste and decency whenever a new kind of music comes out," Washington began, his deep voice becoming very soulful. "In this debate, our belief in free speech and liberty give way to fear and paranoia. Our rights are kicked apart by those who use blind panic to further their own agendas. Music that is provocative is, to me, a sign of a healthy society, and those who seek to limit are rights are those who must be feared," Jamal finished. An applause from younger ponies and humans in the audience rang out.
"Now we'll begin with our questions," Pipsqueak said. "We asked Ponyville residents to submit their questions to us in advance. Out of random, we've selected ten questions, five for each side. We will permit those who submitted the questions to ask them out loud, as well as a follow up question and some limited debate for one minute." Pipsqueak gestured to the ten ponies and humans sitting on bleachers to the right of the stage.
"Our first question is for Spoiled Rich. It comes from Jonathan Brinks, a schoolteacher from Camden, New Jersey." The bald, suited man walked up to the podium and took the microphone.
"Mrs. Rich," Mr. Brinks asked the upper-class pony. "What do you say to those who claim that you are stifling freedom of expression with your proposal for a censorship board?"
"You're twisting my words," Spoiled Rich said. "I am not censoring, I am protecting foals from dangerous influences with a Musical Safety Board."
"So you are saying that you don't see your Board as suppressing freedom of expression?" Mr. Brinks asked again.
"How can there be freedom if anarchy is promoted by violent music," Spoiled Rich said. "I feel that there can be no half measures for the safety of our children." Brinks, having gotten the answer, returned to his seat with a somewhat unsatisfied tone.
"OK, our next question is from a local Ponyville resident named Daisy, a local flower vendor," Pipsqueak red from the list. The pink Earth Pony with green hair rose from the bleachers and trotted up to the podium.
"My question is for Mr. Washington," the mare asked J-Wash. "Do you support foals tearing up the community and disobeying their parents?"
"That is a trick question," J-Wash replied with a smirk. "I will not respond to it."
"See," Spoiled said into her microphone and pointing at J-Wash . "This brute cannot accept his poisonous influences."
"Have you smelled your own breath," J-Wash replied with a small smile. Some ponies and humans in the audience chuckled at that. Diamond Tiara struggled to suppress a laugh.
"How dare you," Spoiled bellowed. "I'll have
"Please," Pipsqueak said, although he was also trying to control his own laughter, "everypony, let us not descend into name calling." Once the commotion stopped, Pipsqueak welcomed the next person from the audience who was allowed to ask a question.
"The next person is from Mrs. Donna Healy," Pipsqueak said. "A chemist from Wilmington, Delaware." The woman was heavyset, with long red hair and clad in a yellow work dress.
"Mrs. Rich," the woman asked the rich pony, "Do you consider music, and not one's environment, to be what determines what path a child takes."
"Environment is of course a key factor," Spoiled Rich said. "But music is certainly a part of the environment, and such violent lyrics and themes could easily lead someone down a wrong path."
"But you don't think poverty plays more of a roll in the development of a potential criminal then the music one's listens to in creating criminals?" Mrs. Healy asked Spoiled Rich.
"Certain...cultures breed criminals more then others," Spoiled Rich said haughtily, while casting a slight glare at J-Wash, who returned it. "It would do us good to see that culture … stamped out before it poisons any minds." Spoiled Rich finished. Healy left the stage and returned to the bleachers.
"OK," Pipsqueak said. "The next creature to show up is Ponyville's Sugarcube Corner co-owner, Cup Cake." The portly blue mare trotted up to the microphone in the center of the stage.
"Mr. Washington," Cup Cake asked with some concern. "I do believe in freedom of expression, but I am deeply concerned about the lyrics in your music. You call police 'whores' and encourage violence against authorities. What explanation do you have for such violent themes?"
"Well, I don't know how ponies feel about the authorities, but in Chicago, the police persecute black men like me everyday," J-Wash said with a somewhat tired expression. "When I twelve years old, I got cash for helping a neighbor of mine with chores, and this police man took it away from me." Cup looked a bit shocked at that. Her original follow up question died in her throat.
"Well, uh, certainly, that police officer was punished?" Cup asked with some hope.
"Yeah, that cop certainly learned his lesson from a five day paid suspension," J-Wash said with some irony. "Just like the one cop who belted me in the head for a robbery I didn't do." Cup was shocked at her words.
"Well can you blame the authorities," Spoiled Rich intoned. "The police must do what they can to maintain order, and his...beliefs are in favor of anarchy."
"So you feel certain people aren't entitled to justice?" J-Wash asked.
"Justice is for those who obey the law," Spoiled Rich said. J-Wash was about to retort, but Pipsqueak stopped him.
"OK, Mrs. Cake, you may return to your seat," Pipsqueak said. Cup Cake did, and a tall blond haired woman in a blue blouse and jeans walked up to the stage.
"The next person to ask a question is Janet Harris, a lawyer from Los Angeles, California," Pipsqueak said. The woman picked up the mike.
"Madame Rich," Harris asked the rich pony. "You claim that your Musical Safety Board is for protecting foals from dangerous influences, but what is to stop you from using the board for your own personal politics?"
"What personal gain could I have besides the protection of our youth?" Spoiled Rich asked haughtily.
"What is to stop you from banning music you don't approve off?" Harris pressed onto the wealthy mare.
"I will not be serving on the board," Spoiled Rich said. "The board will be made up of independent residents who are voted in by the community. I do not play a role in any decisions, nor will I serve on any board. This is meant to give Ponyville residents a direct choice in what they will allow.
"OK," Pipsqueak said, signaling to Harris she should return to the bleachers. She did, and a tan pony with a red and blue mane trotted up to the stage.
"The next creature to take the stage is Bon-Bon, a local confectioner," Pipsqueak said. Bon-Bon gave J-Wash a serious look.
"Mr. Washington," Bon-Bon said politely but firmly. "What do you say to those who claim your music leads to delinquency among our fillies and colts?"
"Well, my experience is that music doesn't drive people to commit crimes," J-Wash said. "I had friends who committee crimes because they wanted money, not because a song told them too. By that logic, reading a Daring Do book will make a foal run through a deep dark cave, or the song Reach for the Sky by Sapphire Shores will make a pony grow wings." A small chuckle came out of the audience.
"So you aren't concerned with promoting delinquency among our youth," Bon-Bon pressed.
"Well Mrs. Bon Bon, by occupation is DJ, not nanny. It is the job of parents to decide what their children can and can't listen to, what values they wish to promote, and what care and guidance they receive. My mother worked 11 hours a day, and she still found the time and energy to discipline me." Spoiled Rich was about to make a snappy retort, but Bon-Bon left the stage.
"Our next question for Mrs. Rich to be asked by Harold Lee," Pipsqueak said. "An insurance salesman from Portland, Oregon." The man, dressed in a simple white dress shirt and pants, came up to the stage.
"Mrs. Rich, do you feel that categorizing music as 'offensive' can be done in anyway that is subjective?" Harold Lee asked Spoiled Rich.
"I feel that I-I mean, I feel that the mothers of Ponyville are aware of what we can allow our children ought to listen to," Spoiled Rich said.
"Well, one song by the pony pop artist Coloratura was about defying nobility in favor of character. Wouldn't a nobleman-I mean, noble pony find that music to be offensive? What would stop a noble pony from banning such music as offensive?" Spoiled Rich looked a bit speechless at that.
"Well, uh," Spoiled Rich stammered a bit. "Perhaps we should....examine Coloratura and other pony music along with the music brought by humans," she said, uneasily. Robert Lee was about to press, but Pipsqueak signaled that his time was up.
"Our next question comes from Lily, another local flower vendor," Pipsqueak said. A pink pony with a yellow mane trotted up to the stage.
"Mr. Washington," Lily said. "What do you say to those claiming you support violence against authority and law?"
"The music played does not promote violence," J-Wash said firmly.
"But several lyrics call for violence against police," Lily complained.
"I am opposed to authorities being allowed to oppress and persecute in a nation that calls itself the land of the free," J-Wash said. "The music played is not violence, but a social protest against the excesses of law enforcement. If there is disrespect of authority, it is the fault of those authorities who disrespect the very people they should be protecting." Lily was stunned by his passionate remarks and quietly returned to her seat.
"OK, we are down to our last two questions," Pipsqueak said. "The final question goes to Robert Thompson, a native of Tallahassee, Florida and a self-employed electrician." A suited African-American man walked up to the podium.
"Mrs. Rich," the Florida native said, "Do you feel that those who are victimized by corruption should be allowed to protest, whether through cultural expressions or through or grassroots political actions?"
"You claim to come from a democracy Mr. Thompson," Spoiled Rich. "Surely you can protest in the ballot box."
"And if the ballot box isn't enough to stop police from exceeding their authority," Mr. Thompson asked forcefully.
"Respect for the law is the most important thing, especially among those trying to raise their families according to proper values," Spoiled Rich finished. Thompson left the podium, somewhat dissatisfied by the answer. A blue pony with a pink mane trotted up to the stage.
"OK, the last question is from Lotus Blossom, a co-owner of the Ponyville Day Spa," Pipsqueak said as Lotus came up to the microphone.
"Mr. Washington," Lotus Blossom asked. "You strongly stand by free speech. But do you believe that messages that promote hate should be allowed to be aired?"
"Of course not," J-Wash said. "I oppose messages that promote hatred."
"But the lyrics in your song clearly promote attacking law enforcement," Lotus interrupted. "You don't see these messages as hatred?"
"Those messages are a protest against corruption," J-Wash said. "That is not the same thing as promoting hatred and intolerance. Many songs of the rap genre are a condemnation of those two things."
"OK, we've finished our questions. Now each of the debaters can have one minute to make a closing statement if they choose." Pipsqueak gestured to Spoiled Rich. "Mrs. Rich you may proceed."
"The safety of our foals must remain our first priority. Do not allow poisonous words to contaminate our children's ears. Go out tomorrow and vote for musical safety," Spoiled Rich said. Several members of the audience, mainly older ponies, applauded Spoiled Rich's closing remarks.
"I believe that the right to denounce authority must be protected at all cost. When you vote tomorrow, ignore fear-mongering and those calling themselves moral, and cast your vote for against those seeking to control what you can and can't listen to," J-Wash said passionately. The younger ponies and the humans in the audience also let out an applause.
" 'Musical Safety Board Passes by Ten Votes' ", Devon said, reading the headline with tired eyes. J-Wash sat down feeling disappointed, while Vinyl tried to look hopeful.
"Guys," Vinyl said in a reassuring tone. "Look on the bright side. The paper says the Protect the Foals League said they won't ban music completely. They'll only limit certain music on certain timeslots."
"Yeah, but they're only going to allow rap music in the early morning, when no one will be listening to it," J-Wash with frustration.
"Sorry Jamal," Devon said. "I'm gonna have to let you go." J-Wash looked down with disappointment. Vinyl however, continued to look hopeful.
"I think there is a way you can still be allowed to be the DJ," Vinyl said with a happy smile.
"How's that?" J-Wash said, trying to sound less upset.
"Well, ponies have been downloading the songs you played like crazy off of iTunes," Vinyl said. Devon and J-Wash leaned in, looking intrigued. "Sure, you can't be a DJ on the radio, but what's stopping you from being a DJ at my clubs. And considering there is quite a healthy market for rap, I'm sure there are more then a few ponies who want to see you." J-Wash looked at Vinyl with surprise, but then a pleased smile formed on his face.
"I like the way you think," J-Wash said. "When do I start?"
"The second we can hear your wubs," Vinyl said enthusiastically.
It was late at night. At Vinyl's Dance and Prance, the sound of dancing and rap filled the place as pony and human alike jumped to the beats. In the center at the control center was J-Wash, dressed in sweat clothes and his usual bling.
"Hey P-Ville," J-Wash said. "I want to thank y'all for coming down tonight." He pushed his touch screen. "This is a song helps stick it to the fat cats out there who want to shut us down," J-Wash said. He paused as the ponies and humans present let out angry jeers at the "fat cats". He tapped another screen, and another soulful song played.
Hey you, telling me what to do, what to say
Hey you, telling me to go your way
Listen up, I am not your puppet. Listen up, I am not your slave
You can't mess me with me, for I am among the brave
My destiny is mine, my destiny is what I make
You may think that you're in control, but I will never break
In the audience, one purple pony, hidden by her thick pink sweatshirt and hood, was listening to the lyrics with a passion nopony else was.
Hey you, telling me what to wear and want to be
You may be rich and you may be strong, but you ain't the boss of me.
The future is scary, but it is what I write,
Try to take my life, and you'll be looking for a fight
The pink-hooded figure sang to the chorus..
"My destiny is mine," she sang softly, "my destiny is what I make." Diamond Tiara pulled down her hood and looked up at the roof with resolve, her heart soaring from the words and the crowd singing along. "You may think you're in control, but I will never break," she finished, letting a proud tear flow down her cheek.
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A well regulated Militia (part 1)... (Phoenix, Arizona, USA)
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