Well... ummm... actually, yes... it is... I thought everyone understood that...

So, in a comment on a facebook post discussing cultural appropriation (a ridiculous concept, but that's another topic entirely), a commenter said (paraphrasing):

"and now they tell me 'the jungle book' is racist? What?"

Hmmm...

Ok...

I'm pretty sure she wasn't being sarcastic...

I'm also pretty sure she hasn't actually read Kiplings "the jungle book", likely only having seen the Disney cartoon and childrens books.

Not a knock against her personally,  just that most people haven't read the original.

Because... yeah... "The Jungle Book" IS very definitely racist... by some definitions extremely so.

And remember, this is coming from someone who both loves Kipling (I have a framed copy of "IF" on my desk, and a printed copy of it on a card in my wallet. I can recite many entire Kipling poems from memory. I'd like one read at my funeral), and finds the modern tendency of seeing racism in everything to be ridiculous.

Kipling was a thoroughgoing imperialist, and fully indoctrinated into both British, and Indian, notions of race, class, and culture.

It wasn't that he had animus against other races, simply that like almost every Englishman in the 19th century, he was a cultural and racial chauvinist (to a degree that is difficult for modern Americans to understand, and which would be considered beyond extreme today).

This is sometimes called "cultural supremacism", "soft racism", "the racism of lowered expectations" or "the racism of condescension".

On one level, the jungle book is a lovely childrens story. On another, it's a series of moral fables.

However, the jungle book is also a satirical allegory for race, class, and culture; with what to modern sensibilities seemingly little question as to the relative position of superiority of each (though understood in context, he was also tweaking and deflating many of these notions).

It is no less of a satirical allegory than Animal Farm for example (though perhaps subtler in ways).

Really, the only surprising part of this, is how much LESS racist Kipling was than other Englishmen of his time and background

Because yes, he was a cultural chauvinist, who broadly considered other cultures and races to be less civilized and more savage...

...but Kipling never had anything but respect and admiration for those of other cultures who he considered virtuous, honorable, or capable. He always respected that there were things they did well, and that they had skills and abilities that others may not have.

He constantly and consistently warned against common British attitudes of the time, and the dangers of underestimating others, or overestimating ones self, simply by dint of culture or race.

Most Englishmen of Kiplings time quite literally thought the "lesser races" to be subhuman, or at best inherently inferior; Incapable of real thought, or industry, or achievement; and had little or no regard for their personal honor, honesty, fidelity, morality, or cleanliness.

To an Englishman of the time, everyone else (including most other "white" cultures for that matter) were just ignorant savages.

Kipling understood the dangers of this attitude very well.

Counterfactuals: Turtledoving Tolkein

So, one of the favorite pursuits of gun geeks, military geeks, and just... geeks in general; is thought games around counterfactuals and alternate history.

Today, someone on a non-gun forum I frequent posted the following counterfactual:

"So, I was watching the 'Lord of the Rings: Return of the King'; it got to the Siege of Minas Tirith, and it got me to thinking what battles (historical or fictional), might have been completely changed (and how) with one current Dillon Aero minigun, and enough ammunition to run it for however long it took"

A'right... I can dig it, let's play...


The first thing is, Harry turtledove has written this same basic scenario into the civil war. In fact, so did a couple dozen other writers; so much so that it's pretty much it's own alternate history subgenre.

Mary Gentle did it with the novel "Grunts!" (which itself was a pretty great satire of Tolkienesque fantasy conventions, and Tolkien himself), giving Orcs the military equipment and knowledge of modern US Marines (and you should read it, it's a great book. I just wish she'd continued it as a series as was originally planned).

Then there's the various "time travelers take modern knowledge to medieval/rennaisance europe" novels/series. There's literally dozens of them.

The Grantville/Assiti shards series is probably the best of these; though I have a great fondness for the Conrad Stargaard series.

Then there's S.M. Stirlings "emberverse" series; half of which features folks from modern nantucket (including the coast guard vessel Eagle, and its crew) sent back to the bronze age (the other half of the series is set from the late 1990s to the late 2020s, in a world where all high energy interactions and energy storage are damped to uselessness; effectively reverting to medieval technology levels).

Mostly these things are mental masturbation exercises for engineers, sociology geeks, and history (particularly military history) geeks...

...and there's nothing wrong with that.

They're great fun, and they use this conceit to explore human nature in unusual situations, and unusual ways. That's the entire point of speculative fiction.

BUT...

When you actually wargame these things out, if you know what you're doing as regards military effectiveness etc... you find that equipment makes FAR less difference than training, conditioning, discipline, and tactics.

A professional soldier, in a professional army; is a professional soldier, no matter what their gear is, no matter what time they are from.

If you gave a cohort of Roman legionaires the equipment of a modern light infantry battalion, some basic training in how to use it (and in modern infantry tactics), and a little time to practice with their new gear and new tactics; they would still be among the best infantry in the world, and would likely have the same effectiveness as any modern light infantry.

Why?

Discipline, conditioning, and training.

When a man is worth his salt, the rest is just a matter of training.

... I'm sorry, it was just too perfect not to...

Now... To get down to specifics, let's talk about the inspiration for the question, the siege of Minas Tirith...

Not to say the power of a minigun (and adequate ammo for it) wouldn't be useful; it certainly would...

...But terrain and tactics are a far more significant factor here, than firepower.

The Pelennor fields are far too large a field of fire to be covered to significant effect with a single weapon, no matter how powerful; particularly given the long exposure of the Othram.

However, just covering the great gate... Well, oliphaunts are very big targets, and they clearly feel pain just like any other angry.

Also, the Witch King may not be vulnerable to bullets; but miniguns tend to be pretty effective at anti-aircraft fire, and since they'er not immune to big freakin axes... I'm pretty sure fell beasts are NOT invulnerable to large volumes of lead at high velocity.

...And hell.. if we put a woman and a hobbit on the controls, who knows, perhaps the prophecy of Glorfindel could have been fulfilled by a couple hundred rounds of 7.62 nato.

With a single properly manned and supplied minigun, well placed to defend the great gate; there would probably not have been no breaking of the gate... and a pretty frikking gigantic pile of massed bodies and brass in front of it.

Now... if we could get a bunch of miniguns out to the Rammas Echor, and particularly to the causeway forts; with interlocking fields of fire...

Well, there wouldn't have been a siege of Minas Tirith... there would have been the "bloody massacre at Pelennor fields".

Of course, where the armies of the west could REALLY have used a single minigun to great effect, would have been at Helms Deep (battle of the Hornburg).

It's only 440 yards (2 furlongs) of open field from the bend of the deeping comb to Helms dike; and another 440 yards (2 furlongs) of open field from Helms dike, to the Deeping wall...

880 yards of open field, just 880 yards wide, with a big dike in the middle (The 2 furlong measurements are in the text. Theoden says the dike "must be a mile wide at least; but the actual descriptions of it in the text, and the accounts of the battle, make it to be a maximum of 1/2 mile, and probably less)...

It takes a long time for 10,000 Orcs to cross 880 yards of open field, with a 10 yard high, 20 yard thick obstacle in the middle for them to pile up behind... and just a 10 yard wide gap to funnel through...

Legolas didn't need a hundred of the Mirkwood... what he really needed was ONE  of the Dillon Aero...

At 2,000 rounds per minute (low rate, to keep the barrels from heating up as badly... and short bursts), it doesn't take very long at all to saturate that kind of field of fire.

No storming of the ramp, no ramming of the gates, no breaching of the deeping wall... Just a whole bunch of brass, and dead Uruk Hai.

So... here's MY countrefactual for y'all to play with...

Arm the 300 Spartans (along with the 400 Thebans, 700 Thespians, 900 Helots, and assorted other peloponesians. Figure 1200 shooters, and 3,000 or so tail) with the small arms and individual combat equipment of a modern light infantry brigade (a reasonable force equivalence I think).... Including light crew served weapons ( mortars, grenade launchers, and GPMGs); but no organic artillery or air.

Give the Spartans enough time to train up to proficiency with their arms and equipment, and enough train to support 10 full battle loads per fighting man (Appx 2,400 rounds per shooter. Helots are loggies only, not shooters), plus adequate rations, and medical supplies for 10% major casualty force depletion.

Assume the maximum realistic (based on logistical limits) estimates of Xerxes armies at 300,000 (with poor rations) and the same requirement to hold the hot gates for at least three days, to allow the remainder of the Peloponesian armies to reach defensive postures.

If he can pull it off...

Ridley Scott is turning Philip K. Dicks masterwork, one of the greatest SF novels of all time, "The Man in the High Castle", into a miniseries for the BBC.

If he can pull it off, it will almost certainly go down as the best science fiction film ever (yes I know, it's a miniseries, its still a film), and will be nominated for every award there is.

Scott is one of the few producers who COULD pull it off.... MAYBE.

I just don't think any studio, even the BBC, is going to allow Scott to make the movie that it needs to be; especially since he is producing, but not directing.

It's a HARSH story. A dark story. It's NOT happy. It's not "TV friendly". It's not possible to convey visually...

I just don't see how they can do it.

Pioneers, O Pioneers!

There's a vaguely creepy Levis commercial out there, using parts of Walt Whitmans poem, "Pioneers, O Pioneers":

To my mind, the visual imagery associated here, completely misses the point. The images here are more of the "teenage rebellion" thing, when in fact "O Pioneers" is about an entirely different sort of coming of age and exploration: that of our young nation (officially just 30 years old at Whitmans birth, and 76 at the publication of "Leaves of Grass" - the first published appearance of O Pioneers! - in 1865).

The ad campaign, titled "go forth", similarly mangles Whitmans poem "America"; in fact in a more abrasive and jarring way, though to less effect and impact (it's not as arresting a poem either, which might be part of it).

The cinematography, and direction of both ads, are... almost angry, and to my mind reminiscent of various French brutalist cinema verite from the 60s and 70s... Clearly, the ad agency, and creative director are very impressed with themselves.

In any event, entirely inappropriate to Whitman.

Whitman has a quality of longing that almost bleeds out of his words; not just in this poem of course, in many of his poems. He seemed to veer wildly from unbridled hope, to despair, to passion; at times expressing imagery and concepts in the same poem that seem almost hysterically opposed...

Perhaps this is unsurprising, as it has been theorized he was bi-polar; but that seems a prosaic and entirely un-romantic explanation for the man who bridged transcendentalist romanticism and realism.

Reading, you can almost see him looking off into the distant sunset, dreaming of where we will go as a nation, as a people... and yet sad because he is already too old, too far settled in life (though never in soul) to be a part of it; or perhaps too fearful.

Whitman looks on the future with hope, and optimism, and enthusiasm for unbridled possibility... and yet at the same time, with an edge of... perhaps, dread; and certainly trepidation... and sometimes resignation, sorrow, or even resentment.

One can imagine him thinking "we can do so much, achieve so much, be so great; and yet I fear we will not, we will throw it all away".

No matter what however, even in examining the past, Whitman always seems to be looking into the future.

This multifaceted nature is perhaps most clearly illustrated in "O Captain, My Captain":

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

... but this dichotomous expression is present in all his work to some degree or another.

There is a school of literary criticism and analysis out there that has; because of his apparent homosexuality or bisexuality, and his support various humanitarian and what at the time were viewed as "progressive" causes (notably the free soil movement); attempted to claim Whitman for the radical left.

Rubbish. Pure, utter, rubbish.

Whitman was in all things, an idealist. He believed in freedom, and humanity (however much abusive, and abused), and liberty. He believed in hope, and the betterment of man kind through the exploration and mastery of his nature and the world around him.

Whitman would no more support totalitarian collectivism, than he would fascism, or theocracy, or any other coercive restraint of human liberty, or human potential.

Whitman wasn't a socialist, or a communist, or a progressive, or a conservative... Whitman was a HUMANIST.

Just read, you'll see:

Pioneers! O Pioneers!
-- Walt Whitman

COME my tan-faced children,
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,
Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?
Pioneers! O pioneers!

For we cannot tarry here,
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you youths, Western youths,
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,
Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted?
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas?
We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the past we leave behind,
We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world,
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We detachments steady throwing,
Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep,
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling,
We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within,
We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Colorado men are we,
From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus,
From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

From Nebraska, from Arkansas,
Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental blood intervein'd,
All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O resistless restless race!
O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all!
O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Raise the mighty mother mistress,
Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress,
(bend your heads all,)
Raise the fang'd and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon'd mistress,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

See my children, resolute children,
By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter,
Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

On and on the compact ranks,
With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly fill'd,
Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O to die advancing on!
Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come?
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill'd.
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the pulses of the world,
Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat,
Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Life's involv'd and varied pageants,
All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work,
All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the hapless silent lovers,
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

I too with my soul and body,
We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way,
Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions pressing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Lo, the darting bowling orb!
Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets,
All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

These are of us, they are with us,
All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait behind,
We to-day's procession heading, we the route for travel clearing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you daughters of the West!
O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives!
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Minstrels latent on the prairies!
(Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your work,)
Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Not for delectations sweet,
Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious,
Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Do the feasters gluttonous feast?
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock'd and bolted doors?
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Has the night descended?
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged nodding on our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Till with sound of trumpet,
Far, far off the daybreak call-hark! how loud and clear I hear it wind,
Swift! to the head of the army!-swift! spring to your places,
Pioneers! O pioneers!