They called it "Segregation" back then, they call it "Paternalism" now.


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Anabasis Rigged from the Start
Start here
Eat more of my SCPs. Eat them all.
Also please eat some of these

Anabasis Hub Probably the greatest story involving a pair of redheaded siblings whose infighting causes the end of the world
Manna Charitable Foundation 2000 The sequel to the above, collaborationed with Dr Reach
The Stuff Industry What happens when everyone around you at work is a complete idiot and so are you, but not only does no one get fired, but you actually turn a profit? I don't know, some stuff.
When MCF and Stuff happen A fun story of incompetence


The school had been closed down as a crime scene. Summer classes had been taking place, so the students were moved to nearby schools. The status of the school for the Fall semester was uncertain. They could have easily moved the Anabasis, but someone had determined that it shouldn't be removed from the site. Dr. Marlowe had been pushing for its relocation, but rumors had been going around that Marlowe had once gone to this school, and hated it with a passion. Some were thinking she'd pushed for the school to be shut down and occupied for the duration.
Priss had initially believed that, until she saw half the classes on the first floor were filled with researchers. And dirt. Boxes and boxes of dirt.
"What're they even digging for? Damn," Agents Sharpe and Locke were assigned to oversee the hauling of new boxes of dirt up from the basement and into storage areas. Then they were hauling boxes of dirt after much of the employees went off for the day. More dirt kept coming.
"They're not digging — it's the Anabasis testing."
"They're testing it by teleporting tons of dirt from parallel universes? For what?"
Locke shrugged, watching Sharpe drop the last box into place, then try to squeeze the door shut on the boxes, "For soil samples, microbes, biological material. Other stuff. It's not just dirt being brought in."
"Can't they do it one universe at a time?"
"They are."
Sharpe kicked the door shut, crushing the dislodged boxes in as she locked it, then turned to Priss, "Why with the nonstop fucking dirt, then?"
"We could've been done sooner if you let me help."
"If I let you help, you'd end up in a hospital," Sharpe patted her on the shoulder. Compared to herself, Sharpe was massive, near six feet tall and built like a wrestler, "You're exhausted and you nearly snapped your arm in two."
"I could've carried one box at a time."
"Go home and rest. If you don't take the day off tomorrow, I'll put you in the hospital so you can rest."
Priss stared vacantly across the hall, at the stairwell leading down to the Anabasis.
"It's your sister, isn't it?"
"That's what I told you twice already."
"You told me she's been drinking every day and making noise all hours of the night. But that's not all, is it?"
Priss lolled her head to one side, trying not to close her eyes, "She's constantly picking fights with people. Going out late at night, doing… I hope not what I suspect… She's already been arrested for drunk and disorderly."
"What'd she do?"
"She picked a fight with some people at a café discussing politics."
"Oh."
"Nngh."
"What about you, Locke? You say you're solidly WestCiv. If that's true, you're the worst WestCivvie I've ever seen."
"What about me?" Priss grumbled, starting to not like this line of conversation.
"How do you really feel about it all? America, nationalism, preserving the white race, the Qing…"
"I don't think. That's why I'm here. Foundation isn't a governmental organization."
"It's not illegal to have an opinion on things. Loads of us argue politics with each other, and stay best of friends at the end of each day. You… you never take part. You barely speak to anyone but me. You belong here, so there's no use trying to isolate yourself from everyone else."
"You want to know what I think" Priss stared into her lap, taking a long moment to calm herself down, "I think the Earth is our home, and our species is growing up. Soon we're going to have to go out into space and find a new home. I think in terms of advancing our species. What policies, what social issues, what ideologies and religions will get us closer to space? Those are my morals and values. What policies, what social issues, what ideologies and religions take us further and further away from space? Those are the worst evils in the world. We're not in serious danger yet, but the more we keep stepping back, the more we put ourselves at risk of complete extinction. Race doesn't matter a damn… whites may be one way, blacks may be fundamentally different, but they're all human in the end. As long as our species is trapped on one small fragile little planet, we can't afford to be identifying ourselves by race or by nation…"
"Then why the WestCivvies?"
Priss chewed lightly on her lip, "Horrible as we may be… we're still the ruling power of the richest, most powerful country in the world. And as ingrained as our bigotry tends to be, we still let people voice differing opinions. We don't keep slaves anymore, we don't put people in jail for being in debt. I think it's safer to tolerate injustice now rather than to risk upending the entire system and having to rebuild. Progress is being made, sluggish as it is."
Sharpe snorted obnoxiously, "Was being made…"

Priss came home, and found her sister on the couch with a young black couple. She would have smiled, delighted that Rhie was bringing friends home, except the two were staring at her like she'd just barged in with a gun. Both were dressed in black, and the man had a thick beard and mustache. Marxist, she suspected.
"Hey," She said, dropping her backpack on the kitchen counter, and moving along to the bathroom to wash up. She couldn't hear them out there. As she came out, she spotted them smiling. The man's smile faded quickly, the woman's lingered, turning ugly and hostile.
"What the fuck's your problem?" Locke blurted out.
Rhiannon burst out laughing, "Please forgive her, my sister has always had trouble with the subtle nuances of social etiquette," She patted the couch beside herself, but continued to address the young couple, "WestCiv to the bone, but there's hope for her yet."
"I meant you," She turned on Rhiannon, glad for the justification at least. The strangers hadn't said a word and she'd already cursed and yelled at them in less than five minutes time, "I don't mind you bringing people over, but you don't just insult your host — much less your own sister who is supporting your unemployed ass — in front of strangers."
Rhiannon smiled cheerfully, "I did not insult you until after you yelled at our guests, Prissy-baby," She turned and indicated the two, "This is Marcus and Jeanne. If you'd be patient, I would have properly introduced you all after your trip to the bathroom. I know how you WestCiv types are around Such violence… how are the hormones treating you, Prissy?"
Priss restrained herself from charging at her sister. She instead removed her coat, and stepped around the empty couch. Then she reached down, grabbing Rhiannon by the hair and yanking her up to her feet. Rhiannon howled with what sounded like laughter, and head-butted her sister down onto the empty couch. Priss wrapped her legs around her and started to feverishly pound on her sister's back.
Rhiannon got up, easily escaping Priss's unstable grasp. She turned her back on Priss, casually walking away, letting Priss lunge at her and tackle her up against the opposing wall. Rhiannon slammed an elbow into the side of her head, staggering her and letting Rhiannon turn and take control of her. She drove a knee into Priss's midsection, doubling her over, and shoved her down to the floor. Again she turned her back on her.
Priss got back up and ran headlong at Rhiannon. Rhiannon was prepared that time, easily stepping away and flinging Priss into the wall. Again, Priss came at her, and Rhiannon flung her on to the couch. Priss caught against the armrest, doubling over. Rhiannon giggled, reaching around to unbutton Priss's pants, "Insolent child! Shomevone getsh a shpanking!" She squealed. As she leaned over, Priss slammed her butt against Rhiannon, and whirled, smashing Rhiannon full in the face with her fist.
The hot rage flushed from Priss as she saw the mess of blood that blossomed from the impact. Her own knuckles burned in pain, and a cut on one of them was bleeding. Rhiannon crumpled, and Priss shuddered hard. Slowly, Rhiannon began to rise. Her nose was bloody, and her lips oozed blood onto her chest. She grinned toothily to Priss — one of her front teeth was gone, the other cracked, almost snapped in half. The rest of her incisors were cracked and chipped. Then she spat in Priss's face, the other front tooth coming off and hitting Priss between the eyes. She turned and left, the young couple rising and following her out.

From : 11311OULH@.com
To : moc.liamtoh|rekcoL_P#moc.liamtoh|rekcoL_P
CC : ten.dkuf|n0n1eihr#ten.dkuf|n0n1eihr
Subject : None
I picked up a new book on Lincoln today. People seem to be looking at him in a whole new light recently. I guess they have for the last twenty years or so, but I'm old, give me a break. It wasn't like that in the fifties.
I met a man named King back then. Good man, very religious but practical and tolerant. A group of his friends and congregation were organizing rallies and boycotts on companies that discriminated based on race. Picked up a lot of steam in '57 with the neo-liberal rise. People genuinely thought the WestCiv Party was on its way out and there'd be a renaissance (or revolution, depending who you asked) of racial and cultural harmony not seen since I don't know. Maybe never.
People got violent because they were scared. Not because of the boycotters, but because of the WestCivs. The Party leaders were quiet. Legislation was being openly discussed in statehouses all around the country that would do away with things like voter tax, patriotism tests, and all manner of garbage they'd passed to keep black people from voting.
And all the while, the WestCivs said and did nothing.
People who weren't scared were furious. They felt betrayed. They thought the Party had abandoned them.
Everyone talks about the fine line between genius and madness. I don't think there is a line, at least not at the moment. The line comes later, determined by whether or not the end result is useful.
1960, WestCivvies just barely keep the White House. Then they struck.
"Okay," they basically said, "we'll give you want you want. Here's your shot at freedom."
Practically overnight, they passed hundreds of bills through Congress, revoking old segregation laws and forcibly integrating whites and non-whites. Of course there was trouble. Rioting in some places, white boycotts and black counter-boycotts. But it kept. No one knew how the WestCivvies passed the laws, but they had convinced all their Party heads to vote for them.
I'm simplifying the process, clearly. Politics is complex and I could go on for pages on all the politics involved in that. Ultimately it doesn't matter because it was all a sham.
It worked so beautifully, you'd think every white business owner, landlord, entrepreneur, civil servant, and politician in America was in on it, but they weren't. It was a coldly executed plot that needed nothing more than pure racism to succeed.
Imagine, if you will, a group of monkeys, building a tower to the sky to live in, work in, play in, eat in. They build the tower for monkeys, with niches and handles for chimp hands to grab on and dig in to, for them to hoist themselves up. Food meant for monkeys, beds meant for monkeys, entertainment meant for monkeys.
Now imagine a group of small horses comes to live with them. They grudgingly allow the horses to stay and live with them, eat with them, sleep and play with them. The monkeys head up their tower, and invite the horses to come up with them.
How does a horse climb a tower meant for monkeys to climb?
How does a horse subsist on food meant for monkeys? Sleep on beds meant for monkeys?
It took more than 10 years, but that did it. The WestCiv plan was masterfully executed. America had spent hundreds of years being built for white men. It spent decades after the Civil War being socially stratified, favoring whites. The WestCivvies then brought everyone together and told them to go on about life as usual. How were the non-whites supposed to thrive in a society built for whites?
Imagine two men. Both have wives and two children. Both have a nice savings to buy a new house in a new neighborhood and start new jobs. The white man gets hired easily, and buys a nice new house within his budget. The black man isn't hired — the law states that an employer cannot refuse to hire a man based on the color of his skin, but the law also says an employer does not have to disclose to an individual why they were not hired. The black man is shown houses further away from the neighborhood's prime real estate, and incentives are made to prevent him from getting the best possible home for his money.
The white man goes on working, making money, and sustaining his family. The black man cannot get hired by a good company. He barely makes ends meet. He struggles just to survive, much less prosper. Then an enterprising individual comes to the black man with an offer; help me sell this, help me do that. He is offered great sums of money to do jobs that are considered unseemly at best, and quite possibly illegal.
And so the cycle goes. Spin it long enough, and you have what we had by the mid-70s. The WestCivvies didn't need to say anything; people saw what they were meant to see. The message: "Here is proof that whites are the superior race, and that non-whites were never meant to be our equals. Given equal chance and opportunities, equal standing under the law, the whites thrived as usual, and the non-whites devolved into squalor, drugs, and crime."
You wouldn't believe how difficult it was for people to put the whole sequence of events together and realize the game was rigged from the start. Non-whites were given their ticket to ride, then dropped off fifteen miles from the station without a compass.
In less than a year, pretty much everything was undone, and it was back to the system you see now. They called it "Segregation" back then, they call it "Paternalism" now.
Western Civ science (in)action.
From the Office of Ret. Lt. Col. Umber

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