A Second Sunrise: Taiwan of 2020 Sent Back to 1911

[ChrisProvidence]

National Taiwan University, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 1 June 1916

"So," Manipur asked his colleague, "How goes the space program?"

"About as well as you could hope, Mani," said Fr. Christopher. "The centrifuge plan is definitely something, but eventually, we decided to just go with the rockets for the GPS system."

"Yeah, I get that. Didn't want to reinvent the wheel, did you?"

"I mean, it works," said the Jesuit physicist, "But at the same time, it's better for smaller stuff, not big ones like the satellites."

"It doesn't explode anymore, does it?" Manipur couldn't help himself. "Sorry."

"It's all part of the learning process," the priest chuckled. This wasn't the first time he'd heard it, and at least he still thought it was funny. "But yeah, the payload and deployment work just fine. I mean, there's now a giant payload floating around the earth now, but it works. You coming to the first launch?"

"Yeah. Plant inspections shouldn't take too much time, Chris. Plus, I know you'd do the same for me."

"Yeah. Whenever you guys actually finish one of those plants. What's the ETA on those, anyways? 1924?"

"Hey, you can't rush these things. If your stuff blows up, you have to build a new satellite: if my stuff blows up, we have Chinese Chernobyl on our hands."

"Yeah, fair," the priest admitted. "So, you meet any of the Indian lecturers?"

"Please tell me you aren't asking because I'm Indian."

"No, I'm asking you because you're the one who got a ticket to every one of their lectures. So, you hear anything good?"

"Well, they're better than the BJP. All of them have that going for them."

"Mani, you call Narendra Modi a 'fucking cunt.'"

"Yeah. Still, it's a mixed bag. On one hand, we have the INC guys. You know, Nehru's old party?"

"Yeah, the Catholic Party, led by Catholic Rajiv Gandhi."

"Pretty sure he isn't Catholic, Chris."

"Hey, there are like, four dozen Catholics on this island. I'll take what I can get."

"Eh, you can have 'em. Anyways, some INC members came by to do some speeches, and they were… well, they were definitely something."

"That bad, huh?"

"Not exactly. Sure, Tilak kinda came off as a proto-Modi, but at the same time, you have Gandhi and Jinnah somehow on the same page, pushing more moderate stances."

"Never thought I'd see that happen, Mani."

"It's the 1910s. This was the time when Jinnah wasn't pushing for Pakistan, and Gandhi just came back from South Africa."

"Yeah, I guess. What's your take?"

"Well, if we go with a single-state solution, we're less-likely to end up with Modi Bhakts in the 21st Century. At the same time, it's the INC it the 1910s, and they're fairly… how do I put it?"

"Elitist?"

"Right. As opposed to the Ghadarites."

"The socialists?" Mani nodded. "What about them?"

"They tend to be a lot more grounded, if I' being honest. Though that isn't too surprising when your remember that their base of support tends to be diaspora students and workers."

"Yeah, I guess so. They're the ones calling for revolution, right?"

"Yup. And they make up the bulk of the Indian population in China, right?"

"Unless I suddenly have twenty kids in the next year."

"Didn't know you were turning Catholic, Mani."

"Never happening, Chris. No offense, of course."

"None taken. So, the majority of the Indians here like the Ghadarites more than the INC?"

"More or less. Sure, Gandhi is decently-known, even at this point. But as long as the INC doesn't appeal to the masses here like the Ghadarites do, the latter'll always be more popular."

"And in India?"

"The Ghadar Party is basically illegal over there, which means the INC is leading the charge. Well, them and the Home Rule movement."

"Makes sense, Mani. So Ghadar is more of an expatriate movement?"

"More or less. Do you know what happens to a Ghadar supporter in India?"

"Arrest?"

"No. They take a boat to China and join the Foreign Legion for the education and the combat training."

Office of the Grand Vizier, Constantinople, Ottoman Empire, 7 July 1916

"Well then," said Ambassador Ma. "That was rather quick, wasn't it?"

"Indeed it was," said the Grand Vizier. "And we have your people's technology and knowledge to thank for this."

"It comes with the partnership," Ma pointed out. "After all, the workers are Ottomans. As will be the next batch of professionals upon their return."

"That they will," Ferid Pasha agreed. "And unlike the TPC, the money will go to my people. Well, our share, anyways."

"Of course," Ma agreed once more. As for China's shares, it would largely be in the form of cheaper gas. "Now I take it you didn't summon me just to chat about our countries' partnership?"

"Of course not," the Grand Vizier politely told him. "Rather, I have a few proposals for your government."

"It is my job to hear them," said the Ambassador. "What are you proposing?"

"Cooperation between our two governments on military affairs."

"That's a bit much, wouldn't you say? While the Republic of China and the Ottoman Empire have many shared interests, I do not think a military alliance would be possible at this time."

"Then it is good that I am not proposing a military alliance, Ambassador. Rather, I am proposing that the Ottoman Army send over officers to be trained in modern warfare. After which, those officers would return here and begin retraining our own armed forces."

"That would be doable," Ma figured. He would have to consult Nanjing, but it could at least work in theory. "Weapons may be an issue, of course. Modern strategies and tactics require modern equipment."

"Which brings me to my other proposal: I would like to purchase rifles, ammunition, and equipment to modernize the Ottoman Army."

"That, I believe, would be even harder, due to sheer scale. I take it the Sublime Porte is moving closer to us by the day?"

"That we are, Ambassador. After all, war is politics by other means."

And an economic alliance is the groundwork for a military alliance. Clever man.

Caracas, Venezuela, 20 August 1916

"It is clear," said one of the officers, "That the current situation is untenable. Our revenues are even lower than last year, and the President is betting the whole country on finding oil."

"And even then," said another officer, "Much of the wealth will likely go to Anglo-Dutch Shell. And what money that doesn't go to the foreigners will go to the pockets of Gómez and his allies."

"So, business as usual?" asked a third officer, and this got a chuckle out of everyone, from soldiers to civilians. "But yes, that is where we are right now. Even if Venezuela were to strike oil tomorrow, the average Venezuelan will be just as poor and illiterate in ten years."

"Not to mention that Gómez would outright refuse to develop our own industry," one civilian pointed out. "He sees industrial workers as a threat to the status quo. And if that means having to rely on American and Chinese imports, then so be it."

"He's selling out our future!" shouted the man next to him. "While he could always 'Plant the Oil,' as they say, he won't even do that! And we all know how that would end up."

This discussion would continue for the next few hours. Grievance after grievance would be aired. Soldiers and civilian alike would build off one another, their frustrations boiling into a crescendo that left only one answer.

Revolution.

Dreán, French Algeria 10 September 1916

The man looked at the sight before him, as men built a new building in the middle of the city.

"To think that one day, our son will have an education as good as in the Metropole," Lucien said to his wife. "He deserves nothing but the best, Catherine."

"They claim that the school will be open to Berber and Arab children as well," his wife said with some concern. "I suppose this is Paris' doing?"

"Possibly, my dear. But I would rather our son have a quality education and, God-willing, electricity as well someday. And if that means that the Arabs and Berbers also have such opportunities, then so be it."

"If you say so, Lucien. The simple fact that this is even being built in the first place is remarkable. The Radical-Socialists in Paris seem determined to develop Algeria."

"All the better for us," her husband figured, before they walked off once more. "And even better for our son."

Saigon Free School, Saigon, French Indochina, 6 October 1916

"Never thought I'd set foot here," Le figured, as he looked at the new campus. "We do have enough teachers, right?"

"More than enough," Nguyen promised, and looked at the assembled students. "With the money we have, we can afford it."

Well, it's not like China is running out of either. We're still making bank even after tariff reform in America and the UK.

Plus, there had to be at least somebody who wanted to come here and teach. Sure, amenities are shit right now, but none of us signed up for the luxury.

At this point, I'm just happy the French agreed to this.

Truth be told, neither he, Nguyen, nor Phan thought that the French would actually agree to this. After all, the Free School had been shut down less than a decade ago.

Then again, that was a different government. One that did not believe that Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity extended to the colonies.

But this one? This was a French government that wholeheartedly welcomed the new Free School.

Then again, it did make some sense. Here was a French government that embraced modernism and extending rights to their colonies.

Sure, they probably saw it as "Expanding the Proletariat and the Socialist Revolution," but Phan couldn't care less what Paris wanted to call their new colonial policy, as long as it was good for Indochina.

Besides, it wasn't as if Le and Nguyen were going to object to the socialist part, anyways.

Socialism or not, this was something all of the movement could get behind. Even moreso, when Le saw all the adults who were signing up for classes.

The Sergeant couldn't help but smile at the sight before him. While the children would almost certainly be the future of Vietnam- no, Indochinese society, their parents would be the present.

And here they were, just as willing to embrace the future as their children.

Of course, it wasn't all revolutionary fervor. After all, many simply sent their children here because this new school provided opportunities for their children.

But as far as Le was concerned, education itself was a revolutionary act. By educating themselves, people could be exposed to new ideas, and think critically.

And unlike back in his time, there were no large oil companies masquerading their talking points as education.

Time travel or not, that bastard Dennis Prager owed me two hours of my life back.

But that was all an issue for the future. Right now, he could stand and enjoy the sight before him as countless men, women, and children lined up to sign up for classes.

Every revolution had to start somewhere. Maybe this one would start here in the classroom, instead of the training fields? Would save me the trouble of having to go shoot every merc in sight.

Well, that wasn't entirely correct. The revolution would start here, as well as Hanoi, Hue, Phnom Penh, and Viangchan.

After all, if the French didn't have a problem with free schools, and the Chinese were more than willing to foot the bill, then why wouldn't they set up more than one school?

 

[ChrisProvidence]

His father had brought Japan into the future. But these new developments?

They would surpass him tenfold.

First were the new factories, those with the Islanders' new machines that they had brought with them. While similar to the current machinery used in Japan's factories, what truly set them apart was the sheer efficiency in scale.

What once needed dozens could now be done with a fraction as much. And with the modern sewing machines, he knew that the workers could be re-employed elsewhere in the factories.

Next came the issue of natural gas. While China had taken over Karafuto, they were more than willing to work hand in hand with the Japanese to exploit the natural gas fields around the island.

It was odd, to say the least. When the situations were reversed, his own nation had been anything but magnanimous.

Yet here they were, a two decades later, and the Chinese wanted to work with them. Not as victor and defeated, but as partners.

Of course, Japan would only get a third of the natural gas, with the rest going to Korea and Northeast China, but that was still more than they had before, and now they had the plant and the workers to man it.

Then came the nuclear plants, similar to those built in Taiwan.

Truth be told, the Emperor didn't understand how the science of it worked, even with the visual aides that the Chinese had provided. As far as he knew,t it boiled down to using a new material to replace coal and natural gas in the process.

It was appealing, to say the least. Natural gas was cleaner than coal, and this nuclear power was cleaner than natural gas. Though to his dismay, it would take over a decade.

"We need to ensure that it can withstand earthquakes and tsunamis," an Indian Islander scientist told him. "Safety is paramount when working with nuclear power."

Hence the use of natural gas for the time being.

After that was construction, and there were similarly-bold plans there. Standardization with the Chinese lines meant that modern, more-efficient designs would be imported to Japan.

Come a few years, they would be exported as well. Or at least that was what one of the ministers had told him.

But it was what they would be used for that fascinated him the most, as the Islander civil engineers had met with Ozaki about digging a train tunnel all the way to Korea.

The Emperor could mot believe it himself, either.

While it was a long-term ambition, he never thought that he would live long enough to see it happen. After all, even the uptimers were unable to build it.

Of course, that also had to do with politics, for the Korea of the future had a complicated relationship with Japan, and that was putting it lightly.

But that was then, and this was now. With a different relationship with Korea, one that was actively being encouraged by Chinese diplomats, the proposal was on the table.

Which was how he ended up here, reading the proposal for an eighty-mile tunnel that would go through Tsushima.

It was doable, of course, now that the Islanders had the technological knowledge.

But it would be expensive.

Very expensive.

While the Chinese could pay for it, and it would create several thousand jobs on both sides of the strait, the sheer initial price had made many people wary.

That said, it would definitely save countless Yen on transportation, and the economic activity would almost certainly make up for it.

That said, he put the document down and looked out the window to see his flight. Sure enough, his new transport was here.

A repurposed military craft called the C-130, this would be the first airplane based in Japan. It wasn't much, but it was more than anything he'd ever seen, so he had graciously accepted the offer.

And as he walked down the tarmac, the Emperor knew full well that Japan would wholeheartedly embrace the future.

It wouldn't be easy, of course. But he would see Japan become a truly modern nation.

With the treatment he'd received, he had more than enough time to do so.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

University of Leeds, West Yorkshire, England, c. 1916

The postman looked at the newest packages destined for the same man, and all he could do was shake his head

Truth be told, it was amusing at first. A letter here or there from far away. Though seemingly of no import, it was no surprise for a young man to have correspondences.

What did surprise him, was the sheer volume of it all. Letters, packages, and even more letters were all addressed to the same man.

One John Ronald Reul Tolkien.

The young man himself had been taken aback by it all. Of course, he had read about the letters and packages from the Islanders from the future, but he never thought such a thing would happen to him.

He was a reader, of course. A scholar, to put it in lawman's terms.

If anything, he expected the mysterious letters to be fellow researchers and academics, hopefully with insight into the future of his field of study.

There were letters like that, of course. The grammar was surprisingly proficient for some people from the future, but he understood that any academic would have an advanced understanding of the English language.

Even moreso, once he had learned that many Islanders were rather westernized.

That said, these were the minority of letters and packages that filled his desk. For the majority were, without a doubt, self-described "fan-mail."

Though, if he was being honest, these people seemed less like fanatics and more akin to supporters. Yes, that sounded more precise.

Countless letters filled his desk from his supporters abroad. Some were enthusiastic, while others were respectful.

Yet all of them shared a common awe towards him. Or rather, the man he would become and the books he would write.

Was that the right tense? If he was being honest with himself, even he didn't know.

Years of study did not prepare one for a literal Act of God.

Yet here he was, reading his own story that he had not yet written. It would be unbelievable to most, and it had been at first glance.

Yet these novels shared his diction and prose. Absurd though it may be, he would chalk it up to an Act of God.

Exactly why God would act upon him, of all people? That, he did not know.

What he did know, was that it was part of God's Plan. That, and he was not one to question the Lord Himself.

Understanding God, however, is different from questioning Him.

However, it did pique his curiosity, and he had discussed it with the local priest. Though like him, the priest did not have an answer.

Instead, the young academic returned his focus to his books he was reading. Could he even call them his books? Truth be told, he did not know for sure.

They were engaging, to say the least. He even had a slight chuckle when he read of the Ents marching. When he had read Macbeth in his youth, he was rather disappointed to learn thay the forests did not literally march.

It seemed that he would share that sentiment for the rest of his life.

But it was The Silmarillion that truly fascinated him the most. Here was his entire life's work in one book, intricacies and all.

It was a bit much, if he was being honest. Not that his other self was excessive, but rather that there was so much to take in.

Histories, characters, even an entire language. All of these were so foreign, yet familiar at the same time.

He could not put it into words, but it seemed right. As if this was something that he would write.

Perhaps that was why it was so easy for him to comprehend it all. These were his writings, after all.

Yet so much of it was unfinished.

Was that the correct term? He was sure his other self had planned it all, but this left him with an interesting question.

Was it appropriate for him to continue? Here was a world that, for all intents and purposes, was his own.

Yet at the same time, it was not. He had not penned these words, nor had he spent years developing it.

Yet here he was, given complete creative control over it all.

As he had known before, it was much to take in.

He had talked with anyone he could about it, from his friends, to his colleagues, to his newlywed wife Edith.

Every one of them had given him an answer, yet they had one thing in common:

This world he had inherited was his own. He was John Ronald Reul Tolkien, was he not?

As he set his copy of The Silmarillion down on the desk, he sat back in his chair.

This was an opportunity to finish what his other self had started. It was a chance to expand upon this great and beautiful world he had created in another time.

Perhaps this was God's plan.

Then all the more reason I do not squander it.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

While he could simply rest on his laurels and reap the royalties of his already-written works, it seems that Upton Sinclair is anything but complacent.

And in light of the atrocities committed by the Ku Klux Klan in Los Angeles' Chinatown, he has once again lifted up his pen in the name of activism.

A Summer's Night takes place in Los Angeles, and follows the story of the Hua family. Immigrants who arrived during the Gold Rush, they were now on their third generation in America.

True to his roots, Sinclair does not shy away from the hardships they suffered, from prejudice to the Chinese Exclusion Act forcing their family apart.

But it is the present story that is the most striking, in its mundane nature. If anything, you would not know that the Huas were even Chinese if it weren't for their names and some references to Chinese-American culture.

But it is this mundanity that trily sets the stage, as this family trying to live an honest life is caught in the path of a vengeful Klan. After all, this story does take place in 1915, in the midst of the "Accidental Trade War," as some call it.

This was the time when Chinese goods flooded American ports, welcomed and scorned in equal measure. And it was a time that the Klan capitalized on the effect, which Sinclair shows, warts and all.

It begins with vile rhetoric from people they thought were their friends, and it crescendos from there. Rhetoric becomes intimidation, and intimidation soon becomes violence.

This, in true Sinclair fashion, is shown in all of its violence, ugliness, and brutality. When the mob of Klansmen from Anaheim and Inglewood descends on Chinatown, he refuses to hold back on the detail.

Civilians are gunned down in the streets. Men are lynched, and women are raped. The elderly are left bloodied and bruised by the mob, while children suffocate in the houses the Klan torched.

While there has been a moral outcry, particularly from the more conservative parts of American society, Sinclair has refused to back down or remove the offending sections.

"If people do not want to hear about lynchings, rape, and arson, then maybe the Klan should stop lynching, raping, and committing arson!" he said in a recent article in the San Francisco Chronicle.

While he does portray the Chinese-American community as victims of this abuse, Sinclair does not portray them without agency. Not when members of the Hua family and their neighbors actively fought off members of the Klan, tooth and nail.

These events, of course, are not entirely historical, but Sinclair has gone on record saying that he interviewed several a survivor in Los Angeles last year.

The story ends on a bittersweet note. So many main characters of the Hua family are dead. Many more survive, but they are left traumatized.

Still, there is hope in its many forms. From rebuilding, to newborn children, to even some of their white and Mexican neighbors coming by to help them.

The story ends on a determined note, with the protagonist saying, "This is our home, damn it. Burn us, abuse us, or even kill us, and we will come back stronger."

To put it mildly, Sinclair does not throw punches. While he clearly has an agenda to sell, he does so in a very down-to-earth manner that appeals to the rural farmer as much as the urban academic.

Instead of outright talking about high concepts with flowery language, he gets in the muck and shows that people like the Hua family are just as American, if not moreso, than those in the Klan.

If anything, the sheer violence and brutality leaves us with another, much simpler, message:

"Do not look away."

Our Rating:
5 Out of 5 Stars

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Tauride Palace, Saint Petersburg Governorate, Russian Empire, 1 January 1917

The fact that they were even here in the first place was a miracle.

In less than a decade, Russia had gone from an autocracy, to a military dictatorship, to a constitutional monarchy. Though with Diterikhs gone, Wrangel and Kornilov were finally able to hold the long-promised elections.

That said, they hadn't expected the Social Revolutionaries and the Trudoviks to earn so many seats, even if the Cadets had managed to hold a plurality.

Prime Minister Milyukov sighed as he looked over at the crowd in front of him. At this point, he was just happy that the Grand Coalition weren't at each other's throats.

The Octobrists, Cadets, Trudoviks, and Social Revolutionaries could at least agree on a few things, and he sincerely hoped that these could hold them together.

First, was that dictatorship needed to be prevented at all costs. With how chaotic the last few years were, they all knew full well what absolute power could do to ruin Russia. Safeguards would need be put in place to prevent that.

Second was the need for minority protections. Despite the Octobrists' insistence against autonomy, Milyukov had found them much more agreeable when it came to protecting religious and ethnic rights.

That said, the third issue of land reform had nearly torn the coalition apart. The Social Revolutionaries had been stalwart in their position that drastic land reform was necessary to maintain stability among the masses, while the Octobrists were insistent on continuing Stolypin's more moderate reforms.

The next week was utter Hell for Milyukov, as he balanced the voices in his office. Octobrists shouted that a steady hand was needed, while the Social Revolutionaries outright said that more drastic land reform was the only way to settle the growing libertarian insurgency.

True to their word, Milyukov knew that the latter had a point. After all, Makhno and his band of bandits were actually popular wherever they went; their Robin Hood-esque land redistribution had taken several large estates and redistributed them to the peasantry.

In fact, the only reason they weren't even more successful was the fact that they agreed to a ceasefire with the promise of drastic land reform.

Land reform that, if the Octobrists had their way, would be watered-down at best. It was a fact that even the Octobrists knew, even if they didn't want to admit it.

Which meant spending the next week dragging them, kicking and screaming, into agreeing to it. It wasn't easy, of course; in fact, he was fairly certain that the Social Revolutionaries outright threatened the Octobrists with the promise that Makhno and his bandits would return if this didn't pass.

But eventually, they had managed to come to an agreement, in exchange for compensation.

Last was the issue of the monarchy itself. The Octobrists were rather insistent on keeping the institution, while the Cadets had been largely ambivalent.

In contrast, the Social Revolutionaries wore their anti-monarchist sentiments on their sleeves, and the Tsar himself had objected to any additional limits on his power.

It was this tension that allowed the Octobrists to shine, with them acting as the arbitrators between the two parties. Eventually, they agreed that the Tsar would stay, albeit with greatly-reduced powers.

Of course, that had already been the de-facto arrangement, but it was better to have it in writing.

Such was the life of politics in the newly-reformed Russian Empire. Though at this point, he was more than content to have an actually-functional government that wasn't wasting its resources on persecuting minorities.

But right now?

He had bigger fish to fry right now. Particularly what was left of the Okhrana, along with what would replace it.

That said, the fact that reforms were even on the table was more than he could have hoped for only a few years ago.

Should this go well, he could see Russia having a bright future ahead of themselves. And with the Chinese letter of support, he knew that they wouldn't have to go this alone.

Washington, District of Columbia, United States, 3 March 1917

To put it mildly, the Klan was at its lowest unpopularity it had ever been. The fact that Roosevelt had won in a landslide, while his would-be assassins rotted in jail was proof of that.

It had gotten to the point that they weren't popular, even in the south.

There had always been Democrats who opposed the Klan down there. In fact, one of them was their Vice Presidential candidate last year.

But the Klan had enjoyed some support before the attempted assassination. Even those that were staunch segregationists saw trying to murder the President as a bridge too far.

And so it was that Roosevelt started to go after them once again, under the 1871 Enforcement Act.

But today wasn't about that. Not when the Eighteenth Amendment had been ratified, which meant women's suffrage was the law of the land, and poll taxes and literacy tests were outlawed.

It wasn't an easy task, of course. Women's suffrage was easy enough, what with Woodrow Wilson putting his own support behind that.

But it was the banning of literacy tests and poll taxes that were more-contentious. Ostensibly written in to protect the voting rights of the uneducated and the poor, Roosevelt knew full well that these would be used against Jim Crow laws.

A "Poison Pill," as the Islanders would call it. One that many conservatives had agreed to, in an effort to kill the Amendment in ratification.

Yet he wouldn't be here if it hadn't barely been ratified.

Much to their horror and his amusement.

"It is remarkable how far we have come," said President Roosevelt, "using only a fraction of our potential."

"Think of how far our Founding Fathers brought us into the future, despite only a fraction of men having the vote."

"Now think of all the great accomplishments our nation has achieved only using half of our potential. Railways, telegraphs, radios, industry, and so much more."

And now that this amendment has been passed, imagine what our nation can achieve when American men and American women participate hand in hand in the Great American Emperiment!"

"With this Amendment, we come one step closer to forming that more perfect union. One where all Americans, whether man or women, rich or poor, educated or uneducated, can live up to our full potentials.

Mhow, Central India Agency, British India, 19 April 1917

While Jin Hua had several converts from the upper castes, he did not expect to see Hindus approaching him for an alliance, rather than conversion.

"Socialists," one of his students had told him. "While they do not share our religious beliefs, they do share our sense of equality. Or at least they say they do, anyways."

"Do you believe they do?" Jin asked his student. "After all, you yourself converted because you were born into the lowest caste."

"It is possible," said they young Indian man, "However, the caste system is so intertwined with Hinduism that it may not be truly possible to separate the two."

"It is possible," the elder monk agreed, "However, I have often found that how one acts can be more impactful than the beliefs themselves."

"How so?"

"There is a story a Muslim friend of mine once told me, of two women. One was a pious woman who followed the Qur'an to the letter, and the other was a prostitute."

The pious woman saw a beggar and ignored him, shooed a dog when it passed her, and shouted at the children playing in the street."

"The prostitute gave one of her few coins to the beggar, poured some of her water to the dog, and cheerfully greeted the playing children."

"And when they both died, God- well, the Muslim God, anyways, looked more favorably on the prostitute, despite both women being of the same faith."

"I see…" said the younger man, who became lost in thought. "While that works for morality, I do not think that story is applicable to this scenario."

"Perhaps it isn't," Jin chuckled. Truth be told, he was paraphrasing from what his old friend had told him a decade ago. "But I do believe that in this case, one's actions are more-important. Out of practicality, if nothing else."

"Perhaps," his student relented, though the young man stayed lost in thought. "Besides, he speaks no differently than the Sikhs, Muslims, and Christians he allies himself with."

"The Ghadar Party, yes?" Jin's student nodded, and motioned for the teacher to continue. "Socialism does have that appeal, I'll give them that. In theory, if not in practice."

"Do you believe them?"

"I do not know," Jin admitted. "In my time, there have been many people who have claimed to be for equality and acted on their own prejudices. However, there have been just as many people who genuinely believe in it… I suppose it depends on the person."

"Is this one of those answers that boils down to, 'You will have to think about it yourself, Bhimrao, and make up your own mind'" Jin nodded. "I thought so."

"I would hear them out, at least," Jin offered. "Politics isn't my forte, but I would imagine that a secular movement opposed to the caste system would have room for somebody like you."

"Perhaps."

Saigon Free School, Saigon, French Indochina, 6 June 1917

Hm… Vietnam doesn't look that different from when I visited as a child…

Okay, besides the school, its modern buildings, and the Foreign Legion sergeant who apparently knew my husband when they were children.

"No shit?" the sergeant told Aki. "Small world, huh?"

"I suppose so," she agreed. It wasn't every day that she met another American Islander. Let alone somebody who also happened to be from her husband's hometown. "So, you knew Michael?"

"We went to some of the same summer camps as kids. How is he, anyways?"

"He hates paperwork."

"That sounds like him," Le said, and shook his head. "I remember he kept complaining about how his mother had to keep pushing him to actually fill out his Eagle Project."

"That does sound like her," Aki agreed, and then turned to the pile of books he'd given her. "I take it these aren't in the database yet?"

"Far as I know, they aren't, but you can check for yourself."

"Oh, that's far above my pay grade. I'm just here as the delivery girl."

"They don't have you doing translating work with Project Capsule?"

"Oh, I do. But I'm here on MIB business. My boss wanted to stay updated on what's happening down here, and we could use somebody with a soldier's perspective. The job is yours, if you want it."

"How much work are we talking?"

"One report a month. Basically on the goings on around here, from your perspective. It's easy work."

"I'm pretty busy here," Le told her, and motioned to the security teams. "Some assholes keep trying to firebomb the place."

"Why would they try to burn down a school?"

"It's not the school, Higa. It's what it represents. This is a place that's actively-supported by independence activists."

"I thought Paris supports the schools?"

"They do," Le sighed, "But there are people who aren't happy about the colonial reforms both of us support. It hurts their profits."

"Which is why they're trying to burn the place down. If tensions continue to rise between Phan and Paris, then the latter would be encouraged to return to the Status Quo."

"Yeah. Or they get voted out next time around."

"I see… This is a problem, isn't it?"

"Yup. Which is kind of why I'm willing to work with the MIB. Sure, we have people being trained and educated on Hainan, but those are soldiers and political leaders."

"What you need are agents and resources to deal with them?"

Le nodded and sighed. "Unfortunately, we would have to go this alone, too. While Paris likes us, and the Governor General is one of their guys, the men from the previous administration can't be trusted."

"I see… Well, I'll send it up the chain, Le. No promises after that, though."

"Hey, I'll take that over nothing, Higa. Beats chasing down and capturing these guys myself."

"I suppose it would," Aki quietly laughed, only to see that Le didn't think so. "…You're actually doing that, aren't you?"

"Yup. Even managed to catch one of them."

Wonderful.

Aki, what did you get yourself dragged into?

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Tsu Residence, Manila, Commonwealth of the Philippines

Ever since she had managed to repair her guitar, Laura Madden had been playing it every waking minute.

Or at least every waking minute that she wasn't running an import business with her husband's family, anyways.

They didn't mind, of course. If anything, some of the girls wanted her to teach them.

"So," her husband shouted over her practice, "Apparently you can vote now."

"I can what?" Laura shouted over the sound of her guitar, "What's up?"

"Voting rights. You can vote again."

"Oh." Laura went back to playing her guitar. Alexandros' "Arpeggio" wasn't about to translate itself, after all. "That's nice, I guess."

"Really? Thought you'd be happier."

"I guess? They're a year late, Manny."

"Or a few more years early, for the next round."

"People don't get a cookie for basic decency," she told her husband, "I get that it's important, but there's still a long way to go."

"Yeah. You heard how it passed though, right?"

"No." That, of all things, got her to stop playing. "Why, did something happen?"

"Okay, so you know how there are a lot of people who are really racist and sexist, right?"

"Yup." How could she not, when those types kept giving her weird looks when she was renting out tools. "What about them?"

"Yeah, so it turns out that a bunch of the Southern Democrats decided to try to kill it with- Wait, you know what a Poison Pill is, right?"

"That's the thing where they try to sneak in a dealbreaker, right?"

"Yup. In this case, it was banning poll taxes and literacy tests."

"Oh. I think I see where this is going."

Sure, a lot of people were on board with giving women the vote, but voting rights? No way.

"Yeah. It was the only way it was getting through the Senate, and I guess they thought that most states would kill it in ratification?"

"…You have to be fucking kidding me, Manny-"

"I'm not."

"So the guys who were sexist and racist voted for women's rights and minority rights because they thought that people wanted to screw over black people more than they liked women?"

"Yup."

"And then it got ratified by enough states?"

"Yeah. Barely, but it went through."

"So now women and black people can vote."

"Yup." Manny tried his best not to burst out laughing, but Laura could see the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. "You know what's the funnier thing, right?"

"What's up?"

"America is on the path to being decades ahead when it comes to Civil Rights… And it's all thanks to them."

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Calcutta, Bengal Presidency, British India

To put it mildly, Vikram Singh was a happy man.

While he was a proponent of the Swadeshi movement, he, like many other merchants, had to admit that the influx of Chinese goods had its benefits.

While the Swadeshi movement referred to all foreign goods, and the Chinese were as foreign as the British, the fact remained that the Chinese-imported cloth was cheaper than what the British sold.

Basic capitalism had meant that Indians could outright boycott British cloth and enjoy cheaper prices.

That said, Lal-Bal-Pal had made it clear that they didn't want to "Trade the British for the Chinese," and a boycott was proposed for Chinese cloth.

This, to put it mildly, had nearly split the INC down the middle.

There were, of course, the Isolationists, those who saw Independence as an Indian effort, that must be fought for by Indians. They weren't exactly anti-Chinese, not by any means, but they had their own reservations.

In contrasts were the Pan-Asianists, who saw the Chinese as a worthwhile partner to achieve independence. For them, the massed-imports were a means to that end, so long as it hurt the British bottom line.

It was all for nothing, of course. With the San Francisco Agreement signed, the Chinese agreed to end Free Trade in exchange for the rest of the concessions.

Truth be told, a part of Vikram did wish that they'd rejected it and outright crashed the British textile industry.

Which left them where they were today, back at Square One. With the British imposing such high tariffs on Chinese cloth, the average Indian now had to choose between cheaper British goods and more-expensive Indian goods.

Which for him, meant lower profits all around. The Chinese were many things to many independence-minded Indians. But for Vikram, they had made him quite wealthy in that time.

And the British took that golden goose and slaughtered it.

Ever the enterprising man, Vik wasn't about to sit around and take it.

Instead, he stood before his newest factory, the first of its kind in India. With the help of modern machinery and methods (adapted for India's minimal infrastructure, of course), he had spent every pound he could spare on this textile mill.

All in compliance with Swadeshi and the new British tariffs, of course.

After all, this cloth will be made with Indian cotton, with Indians running the machinery, and Indians operating the factory.

Besides, it wasn't as if the British placed tariffs on machinery.

Now that he thought about it, this had been a major oversight. Britain's tariffs on Chinese goods were primarily in the form of goods and raw materials, not machinery.

Those were hit with a more-modest and reasonable tariff. One that he happily paid.

While he wouldn't complain at the opportunity, Vikram was fairly certain that it was ultimately due to the British not thinking anybody would do this.

On the other hand, he would be making a fortune from the factory by virtue of not having to ship goods back and forth between Britain and India.

With local resources, labor, and supply chains, he would still make more money than he'd lose through British taxes and his insistence on paying decent wages.

The latter wasn't strictly necessary for the Swadeshi movement, but it helped him sleep easier at night.

That, and all the donations to the Ghadar Party.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Comments on "Why I, An Uptimer Traditionalist Catholic, Left America"

DeusVult • 6h ago

Yeah, this had been one giant letdown. I thought going back to more based, pre-Vatican II times would be good for American Trads like us, but it turns out these Americans just keep screaming "PAPISTS REEEEEEEEEEEE!"

cGh ONE • 6h ago

Dude, what did you think would happen? It's the early 1910s, back when anti-Catholic sentiment was still a thing.

Hell, fast forward fifty years, and there are still people crazy enough to try to suicide bomb JFK because they thought he'd sell America out to the Pope.

DeusVult • 5h ago

Yeah, but even the Catholics over there want nothing else to do with us.

FrChrisSJ • 5h ago

That might be an issue of reputation. I have seen complaints about Uptimer Catholics showing up and basically "weirding out" the locals with their behavior.

DeusVult • 4h ago

Leave it to the SJesuitW to say call their fellow Catholics weirdos.

cGhONE • 4h ago

Look, man, I don't know who you are, but I'm pretty sure most Catholics don't LARP as a crusader.

FrChrisSJ • 4h ago

Can confirm.

It kinda weirds me out, if I am being completely honest.

AkiH85 • 3h ago

It is also important to point out that if you're a Catholic in America, people may think of you as non-white.

DeusVult • 3h ago

I'm Italian-American.

cGhONE • 3h ago

Yeah… That's not really white at this time.

MrNegative • 2h ago

"No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish," as the signs used to say.

FrChrisSJ • 2h ago

And, as previously mentioned, Catholics aren't seen as part of the "in-group."

Much as I hate to admit it, there are many Americans who think that we're more loyal to the Pope than we are to the US.

Downtime Dan • 2h ago

Not all of us, of course. Many of us Downtimers prefer to be left alone.

FrChrisSJ • 1h ago

I was referring to people like the Klan, but yes. Dan brings up a good point.

While many Americans did have their prejudices, others were largely ambivalent.

Of course, the issue I see right now is that anti-Catholic sentiment is much higher than in the future.

Downtime Dan • 1h ago

It is unfortunate, to say the least.

Catholics have been part of my country since the Calverts arrived in Maryland.

For what it is worth, I personally see you all as no less American.

JohnBrownWasRight • 1h ago

Seconded.

As far as I am concerned, any Catholic is a child of God.

Downtime Dan • 50m ago

Indeed. I'd rather have them around than the Klan.

At least they don't go around trying to murder the president.

JohnBrownWasRight • 45m ago

We ought to make a trade with England. Send all the klansmen back to London and exchange them for a bunch of Irishmen.

Mr Negative • 39m ago

lol

cGh ONE • 32m ago

Out of curiosity, how are you guys using the internet? I thought it was limited to China rn?

JohnBrownWasRight • 31m ago

Oh, I am one of the international students from the United States.

Downtime Dan • 30m ago

I'm here for work.

MrNegative • 25m ago

Hey, welcome to China, you two.

Culture shock isn't too bad, is it?

Downtime Dan • 24m ago

I don't agree with everything people do here, but as far as I am concerned, that's none of my business.

It takes some time to adjust, but it's not too hard.

JohnBrownWasRight • 20m ago

I like it here.

It isn't as… How do I put it… "Foreign," as I thought it would be.

MrNegative • 18m ago

Yeah, I get that. I was the same when I moved here.

Taiwan is pretty Americanized. Well, more than the Mainland, anyways.

JohnBrownWasRight • 15m ago

You are a Downtimer as well?

MrNegative • 12m ago

Nah. My family moved here from California when I was a teen.

DowntimeDan • 9m ago

Interesting.

What is America like in the future?

MrNegative • 5m ago

America is much more accepting of Poles, Irish, Russians, Italians, and other non-Protestant Christians in general.

Basically, the "In-Crowd" is much larger.

Inequality is still an issue, as is the separation of Church and State.

Oh, and the Catholic Church had several reforms in the second half of the 20th Century.

DeusVult • 4m ago

Fucking bullshit.

FrChrisSJ • 3m ago

To put it another way, it's not too different, but it's different enough, if that makes sense.

MrNegative • 2m ago

For example, we also think that people who LARP as crusaders are weirdos.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

Dodge Dealership, Detroit, Michigan

"Well, I can tell you one thing. This is unlike any car I've ever seen."

That was probably not what Horace Dodge had in mind when he first unveiled it, but the man had a point.

This car truly was nothing like any of them had ever seen.

Sure enough, it looked like some sort of chimera made of three Chinese cars: a military truck, a jeep, and a sedan.

"This is our basic model," he said, just like the wholesaler had told him. "It gets thirty miles per gallon, and it can easily go to sixty miles per hour."

"The Model T can get similar mileage," said the potential customer, "And parts are easier to come by."

"The Ford Model T is held together with safety pins and wire," his brother John pointed out, "And it's twenty dollars more expensive."

That, of all things, was what Horace found the funniest.

With how cheap good Chinese steel was, they could literally build all the parts in China, ship it to America to be manufactured, and it would still be cheaper than anything that asshole Ford could sell.

That, and the new tariffs didn't apply to vehicles assembled in the States.

"So you're trying to sell me more automobile, for less money?"

"That's the name of the game. So, can I write you down as a 'Maybe?'"

"Mark me down as a probably," the man told them, "I'll need to run it by my boss. He still thinks it's too good to be true."

"Seeing is believing, my friend," John told the sales representative. "We do have a model out back that he can test drive, if he is interested."

Ford Headquarters, Dearborn, Michigan

"Goddammit!" Henry Ford shouted, throwing the report at the wall. "That is the second straight quarter of losses this year!"

When he first heard about the modernizing Chinese, he saw a golden opportunity. Even if it was a backwater, there had to be at least some people who wanted to buy a Model T.

Five years later, and he could count the number of Model Ts sold there on his hand.

When it was balled into a fist.

If anything, the Chinese were now his biggest competition. Ever since they introduced their new series of cars and trucks built with the "Modular Vehicle Frame," his sales had gone down.

How could he compete with a car that was safer, more fuel-efficient, and cheaper than what he was selling.

Of course, he had hoped that the San Francisco Agreement would have given him some breathing room. After all, this allowed the Federal Government to raise tariffs on Chinese-made products.

And it did give him a little more breathing room, now that the price went up forty dollars.

But did that truly help him? No!

Instead, those Chinese businessmen decided to partner with the Dodge Brothers and release the vehicles under their own brand!

Even worse was the fact that those Chinese Dodges were still twenty dollars cheaper than his most affordable model!

That, of all things, was what had exasperated him the most. Ford was an innovator, a master of the production line and vertical integration.

Yet for all of that, the Chinese had beaten him at his own game!

In 1914, his company produced more cars than the entirety of the competition. Combined.

But now? Now, Ford was playing second-fiddle to those upstarts at Dodge, and he was barely breaking even.

Between the lost sales to Dodge and now needing to actually pay for advertising, Ford's revenue (and by extension the stock price) had plummeted.

Was he still wealthy? Yes.

Influential? Also yes.

But right now, he needed to do something, if he wanted to make back lost ground.

But with Dodge now building their own supply chain in America, using the same methods he had once pioneered, Henry Ford didn't know what to do.

Not right now, anyways.

 

[ChrisProvidence]

As far as Catholic priests in Taiwan went, Father Christopher de las Casas was one of the more prominent ones.

That said, he earned that position by default. The Catholic population of Taiwan consisted of something like one church and whoever was stuck on the island during the Great Journey.

But outside of Taiwan? There were entire chunks of continents, from Latin America to Europe to Africa, that shared his religion, which would provide some sort of solace on a rainy day like this.

This, however, was not one of those days.

While the rain poured down on the city, he was in his office with one of his former students, now a history professor at NTU.

Cassandra "Cara" McDonald was a smart enough young woman, an engaged student who had listened intently to his lectures at Santa Clara. So it was no surprise she followed him for a semester abroad doing missionary work.

And when the Great Journey happened, it had hit her hard.

Though to be fair, it hit the Fr. Christopher hard, along with the rest of the students. But Cara was practically catatonic for a month after it all.

"Why did this have to happen?" she had asked him. "If God has a plan for us, then what is it? Why did he take me away from my family?!"

"I don't know," he had told his protege. "I wish I could tell you something, Cara, but I don't want to lie to you. But right now, the most we can do is what good we can, for as long as we can."

And so she did. The Jesuit watched as his student was immersed in her work, be it volunteering, Project Capsule, or teaching. That last one, of course, was how she ended up with her job as a researcher.

But that wasn't why she was here. Not exactly.

See, as part of her obligations to Project Capsule, she had compiled submitted countless documents regarding the Catholic Church in the future. Religious history had been an interest of hers, to say the least.

Though "interest" might be a bit mild when one realized she'd written at least two theses on the subject.

But in that time, she had noticed something. For all of the research she did on the church, she kept noticing a disturbing pattern.

There were abuses, of course. An institution like the Catholic Church was hardly without sin, despite their insistence otherwise.

Kinda hard to do that when you have literally billions of members over the years. As least somebody's going to be an asshole.

But what struck out to her the most was the fact that those abuses were happening. Right now.

So she did what she did best and immersed herself in her research again. Not for Project Capsule or her own work as a professor, but a personal mission.

"The world needs to know about this," she had told him a year ago, "I just... I just need somebody to talk to about this. If it's a good idea, you know?"

You knew what I'm going to say, Cara. You're talking to a Catholic priest with anarchist sympathies who promotes Liberation Theology. What did you think I was going to say?

So he said yes. Of course he was going to say yes. To do otherwise would be outright lying to people.

Sure, some people could argue that it technically wasn't lying, since it was omission, but he had had enough of Catholics using technicalities to get out of doing the right thing when one of his students turned out to be a devout Christian... and a massive racist.

And so she spent the next year writing it all and getting it published.

It wasn't too hard, of course. There were plenty of publishers who had nothing better to publish besides pamphlets, so a quick run on history books was something they couldn't afford to pass up.

Come last month, Do Not Look Away was released to the public. First in America, then the rest of the English-speaking world.

After that came the translations, and it kept going and going around the world, much to their mutual surprise.

It showed everything, from the child abuse, to the corruption, the the Magdalene Laundries, and so, so much more.

No atrocity was spared, nor were there any details avoided. The abuses were written with vivid details, and they were always paired with firsthand testimony from the survivors in their time.

All the better to know the horrors of it all.

The reception, though? It was mixed.

Academically speaking, it was well received by many a professor and writer. Upton Sinclair himself had nothing but praises for her.

But there were others who were not happy with her. Be it Catholic conservatives in the clergy or the laity, they decried her as a liar and an atheist. One who had a vendetta against the church.

Truth be told, her Jesuit mentor didn't know if it was out of ignorance, fanaticism, or simply cynical lust to maintain power.

What he did know, however, was that she had parried the attacks well enough. For every claim of ill-intent, she had one response:

"Go there. See for yourself if I am lying."

A few months later, and there were more than enough investigations and articles that had vindicated her claims about the Catholic Church.

The Catholic Church, of course, was in full "Damage Control" mode. Bishops and priests were addressing the issues in the sermons, with many of them attempting to downplay the severity of it all.

But that was not why she had come to his office today.

No, it was the letter with the seal from Pope Benedict XV himself, asking her to come to Rome.

"Do I go?" she asked him, finally breaking the silence.

"Do you want to, Cara?"

"I don't know. What if he tries to excommunicate me?"

"I don't think that he would," said her mentor. He looked at her with all the sincerity he could muster. "If he was going to do that, he would have already."

"So why's he inviting me there?"

"I don't know. Discussions? Consultations? It could be anything."

"Great."

"It's your choice, Cara. If you don't want to go, I'm not going to hold it against you."

"Isn't that against your vows?" she asked with a tired laugh. "What was it? Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience?"

"Maybe. But I'm not the one being summoned." From the annoyed look she gave him, this wasn't the right time for humor. "But no matter what happens, you'll always have my support."

"Good to know... Wait, what happens if I do get excommunicated?"

"Then I would probably follow you out the door."

"You'd do that?" She couldn't believe it, or at least she sounded like she couldn't. "What about the Vow of Obedience?"

"I'm pretty sure Jesus would cool with me disagreeing with the Pope if he protects child abusers and slavery," the old Jesuit chuckled. "Besides, the saying is 'Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam,' not, 'Ad Maiorem Pontifex Gloriam.'"