The following article was seen on page one of the RhyDin Post, December the eighteenth.
http://i738.photobucket.com/albums/xx21/dfenner_photo/6264346944a710cfe80dc5.jpg Senior Columnist and Investigative Journalist: Darien Fenner
Every Man For Himself: Why the Coming Year is Nothing to Look Forward To December 18, 2010
Traditional cultural issues like slavery, equal rights for all races, and the extent of government intervention all seem to be blunted these days in the face of a much more radical and far-reaching matter that has been affecting RhyDin's population even from its earliest years of its prosperity. It is an unchanging epidemic that has buried any structural possibilities, disintegrated the foundation of politics, enfeebled RhyDin's government, and impaired the framework of future cultural prospects: Indifference.
RhyDin's government is stumbling along with broken crutches, and not because of any comprehensive injury - that is, unless one counts the enormous dent placed in the government's actual image since the present term's infancy. As early as three months after Governor Driscol's inauguration, the city began to see the inevitable breakdown of an almost-organized system of leadership - a series of failures that can invariably and ultimately be attributed to a pervasive egocentric conviction on the part of the individual citizen. And after a series of embarrassing incidents related to the administration and the passage of a substantial amount of time with no improvements, it seems that some priority checks are in order for both floundering RhyDin leaders and RhyDinians themselves.
Back in 2009, Sinjin Fai, a "candidate" for the gubernatorial election running on a "no confidence" platform, was famously quoted as saying, "If I could put a sign on every god-damn tavern that said "This Is Not A Hospital, Stop Bleeding Here,' I would." His upfront observation exemplifies the self-interested bearing that penetrates society recently - that when it comes to taking care of needs, RhyDinians are expected to find their own help, but without interfering in someone else's affairs. That is not to say that some RhyDinians are not altruistic, though; the myriad of charitable events that are hosted regularly can attest to that. But the impression is rather that most citizens often aren't comfortable with concerning themselves with matters outside their own personal sphere of influence. And why should they' RhyDin is, after all, a city that has been built on personal enterprise and individual success. A famous RhyDin historian named Reg'ne Iillise'rr once likened the people of RhyDin to quantities of rocks and soil: "If you drop enough of them in one place, over a period of time, they will eventually form their own mountain."
Certainly this theory has its merit; if enough RhyDinians are lumped into one part of the multiverse, the makings of a society will inevitably form. And certainly, over time, that society could secure enough prestige so as to be considered a commercial superpower on this, the better side of the Nexus. But what if those quantities of rocks and earth were constantly bombarded with rain and never given a chance to fuse into a truly commanding body' Then all the handfuls of mud in the world would not change the pile of mud's identity into anything but a bigger pile of mud, and the sloughing that occurred as old dirt washes away would go by unnoticed so long as the pile remained roughly the same size.
Not that RhyDin is particularly muddy, but the fact remains that there certainly is some kind of an elemental force at work that keeps its citizens polarized from one another and incapable of uniting into cogent solidarity. Whatever the rain is that is keeping RhyDin from becoming any greater or magnanimous is the same thing that deprives society of any promises of cultural or national pride. And all things considered, that is not entirely unreasonable. Over sixty percent of RhyDin residents are not native to the territory, and at least forty percent of those sixty have been flung into this realm unwillingly, whether it be in the course of a science experiment gone horribly wrong, a step in the wrong direction off the flat of the earth, a parade of demons jerking you out of your favorite reality, or even an unforgiving Nexus plucking you out of your bed to ensure all your dreams would be fulfilled once you wake. And however these "unmigrants" manage to arrive here, the majority of them usually spend their entire lives trying to find some way to get back home.
That is all that RhyDin is: A waypoint. A place to rest your head, or a house to spend the night. It is never a home, and perhaps that is what keeps most RhyDinians from bothering to learn the names of their next-door neighbors.
That amount of indifference has a price, however, and the repercussions of it can be seen prominently in the newly-created branches of the office we elect yearly. The "hall monitor" Watch program that was instituted earlier this year in places like the Red Dragon Inn was so profoundly disliked and criticized (charged with interfering in the personal rights and privacy of citizens) that it led to the eventual forfeit and resignation of former Minister of Justice, Riley O'Rourke. Critics accuse Minister of Trade and Commerce Silver Starblade as being "over her head" in terms of duties and obligations, "with more hands than Shiva, but with no idea what she should be juggling." Even Minister of Cultural Diversity Koyliak VanDuran-Simon said of her duties, "I'll be honest with you, when we spoke last about it I was reaching for the stars without paying enough mind to the ladder."
But civilian disinterest in national relativism is not the only component of RhyDin's ailing cultural hegemony. That indifference extends well into the government itself, and not merely through "no confidence" candidates like Sinjin Fai who claim it is "ridiculous to even consider" trying to make RhyDin anything but its own hoard of self-sufficient industries. That government officials like Minister of Agriculture Merriam Ksyhsravor are incapable of being reached, or that Minister of Magic Silas Greyshott is, according to sources, reportedly M.I.A. begs the question: What is the purpose of scraping new obligations out of an already limited supply of government if the ones supposed to be fulfilling those obligations don't care enough to do so' Case in point: the disappearance of Governor Driscol himself. While the press has yet to receive any information on the circumstances of his absence or the details of his return, that his offices issued no public release or made any effort to fill the position in the meantime is more than a little unnerving. Plausibly the administration had hoped the whole incident would just blow over and that RhyDinians would shrug it off as "just another day in RhyDin," then go back to drinking their Passions at the Red Dragon Inn.
And - wouldn't you know it - that is exactly what happened.
So what is the solution for such an impediment in the bureaucratic and sentient process" The long and short of it is there isn't one. Given the state of things, it seems unlikely that a new administration will bring a change to this particular attitude - if largely for the reason that, by the time the next gubernatorial term rolls around, new and self-concerned "unmigrants" will comprise a sizable component (if not the majority) of the voting populace, while veteran voters will either be too disenchanted or too absent to vote again. There is also the matter of contention in general; that is to say, issues overall are dissolving. And while in theory this is a good thing, in practice it is detrimental. Controversy breeds collaboration. When multiple points of view are had on a subject, opinions converge to form distinct sides, and in that disparity there is respective cohesion and unity - a situation that unfortunately promptly disintegrates once the issue has been resolved or ignored.
This testament is not an effort to rouse either sides of a standing opposition into conflict, but rather to inject some perspective into RhyDin's cultural premise. Maybe it is the fae wine or the contagious holiday atmosphere, but as each year winds down citizens doubtlessly convince themselves that the turn of the solstice will inevitably bring change and rebirth. But just as there is only the illusion of unity, there is also only the illusion of change - an illusion that is perpetuated with each new chunk of dirt that is flung at the giant mud mound in our city's center. Thus, this holiday season, perhaps it is more realistic to seek acceptance over change. Life can either be accepted or changed. If it is not accepted, it must be changed; if it is not changed, then it must be accepted. And maybe once all of RhyDin accepts that it lives in an unchanging world will it finally have an opinion to unite on.
http://i738.photobucket.com/albums/xx21/dfenner_photo/6264346944a710cfe80dc5.jpg Senior Columnist and Investigative Journalist: Darien Fenner
Every Man For Himself: Why the Coming Year is Nothing to Look Forward To December 18, 2010
Traditional cultural issues like slavery, equal rights for all races, and the extent of government intervention all seem to be blunted these days in the face of a much more radical and far-reaching matter that has been affecting RhyDin's population even from its earliest years of its prosperity. It is an unchanging epidemic that has buried any structural possibilities, disintegrated the foundation of politics, enfeebled RhyDin's government, and impaired the framework of future cultural prospects: Indifference.
RhyDin's government is stumbling along with broken crutches, and not because of any comprehensive injury - that is, unless one counts the enormous dent placed in the government's actual image since the present term's infancy. As early as three months after Governor Driscol's inauguration, the city began to see the inevitable breakdown of an almost-organized system of leadership - a series of failures that can invariably and ultimately be attributed to a pervasive egocentric conviction on the part of the individual citizen. And after a series of embarrassing incidents related to the administration and the passage of a substantial amount of time with no improvements, it seems that some priority checks are in order for both floundering RhyDin leaders and RhyDinians themselves.
Back in 2009, Sinjin Fai, a "candidate" for the gubernatorial election running on a "no confidence" platform, was famously quoted as saying, "If I could put a sign on every god-damn tavern that said "This Is Not A Hospital, Stop Bleeding Here,' I would." His upfront observation exemplifies the self-interested bearing that penetrates society recently - that when it comes to taking care of needs, RhyDinians are expected to find their own help, but without interfering in someone else's affairs. That is not to say that some RhyDinians are not altruistic, though; the myriad of charitable events that are hosted regularly can attest to that. But the impression is rather that most citizens often aren't comfortable with concerning themselves with matters outside their own personal sphere of influence. And why should they' RhyDin is, after all, a city that has been built on personal enterprise and individual success. A famous RhyDin historian named Reg'ne Iillise'rr once likened the people of RhyDin to quantities of rocks and soil: "If you drop enough of them in one place, over a period of time, they will eventually form their own mountain."
Certainly this theory has its merit; if enough RhyDinians are lumped into one part of the multiverse, the makings of a society will inevitably form. And certainly, over time, that society could secure enough prestige so as to be considered a commercial superpower on this, the better side of the Nexus. But what if those quantities of rocks and earth were constantly bombarded with rain and never given a chance to fuse into a truly commanding body' Then all the handfuls of mud in the world would not change the pile of mud's identity into anything but a bigger pile of mud, and the sloughing that occurred as old dirt washes away would go by unnoticed so long as the pile remained roughly the same size.
Not that RhyDin is particularly muddy, but the fact remains that there certainly is some kind of an elemental force at work that keeps its citizens polarized from one another and incapable of uniting into cogent solidarity. Whatever the rain is that is keeping RhyDin from becoming any greater or magnanimous is the same thing that deprives society of any promises of cultural or national pride. And all things considered, that is not entirely unreasonable. Over sixty percent of RhyDin residents are not native to the territory, and at least forty percent of those sixty have been flung into this realm unwillingly, whether it be in the course of a science experiment gone horribly wrong, a step in the wrong direction off the flat of the earth, a parade of demons jerking you out of your favorite reality, or even an unforgiving Nexus plucking you out of your bed to ensure all your dreams would be fulfilled once you wake. And however these "unmigrants" manage to arrive here, the majority of them usually spend their entire lives trying to find some way to get back home.
That is all that RhyDin is: A waypoint. A place to rest your head, or a house to spend the night. It is never a home, and perhaps that is what keeps most RhyDinians from bothering to learn the names of their next-door neighbors.
That amount of indifference has a price, however, and the repercussions of it can be seen prominently in the newly-created branches of the office we elect yearly. The "hall monitor" Watch program that was instituted earlier this year in places like the Red Dragon Inn was so profoundly disliked and criticized (charged with interfering in the personal rights and privacy of citizens) that it led to the eventual forfeit and resignation of former Minister of Justice, Riley O'Rourke. Critics accuse Minister of Trade and Commerce Silver Starblade as being "over her head" in terms of duties and obligations, "with more hands than Shiva, but with no idea what she should be juggling." Even Minister of Cultural Diversity Koyliak VanDuran-Simon said of her duties, "I'll be honest with you, when we spoke last about it I was reaching for the stars without paying enough mind to the ladder."
But civilian disinterest in national relativism is not the only component of RhyDin's ailing cultural hegemony. That indifference extends well into the government itself, and not merely through "no confidence" candidates like Sinjin Fai who claim it is "ridiculous to even consider" trying to make RhyDin anything but its own hoard of self-sufficient industries. That government officials like Minister of Agriculture Merriam Ksyhsravor are incapable of being reached, or that Minister of Magic Silas Greyshott is, according to sources, reportedly M.I.A. begs the question: What is the purpose of scraping new obligations out of an already limited supply of government if the ones supposed to be fulfilling those obligations don't care enough to do so' Case in point: the disappearance of Governor Driscol himself. While the press has yet to receive any information on the circumstances of his absence or the details of his return, that his offices issued no public release or made any effort to fill the position in the meantime is more than a little unnerving. Plausibly the administration had hoped the whole incident would just blow over and that RhyDinians would shrug it off as "just another day in RhyDin," then go back to drinking their Passions at the Red Dragon Inn.
And - wouldn't you know it - that is exactly what happened.
So what is the solution for such an impediment in the bureaucratic and sentient process" The long and short of it is there isn't one. Given the state of things, it seems unlikely that a new administration will bring a change to this particular attitude - if largely for the reason that, by the time the next gubernatorial term rolls around, new and self-concerned "unmigrants" will comprise a sizable component (if not the majority) of the voting populace, while veteran voters will either be too disenchanted or too absent to vote again. There is also the matter of contention in general; that is to say, issues overall are dissolving. And while in theory this is a good thing, in practice it is detrimental. Controversy breeds collaboration. When multiple points of view are had on a subject, opinions converge to form distinct sides, and in that disparity there is respective cohesion and unity - a situation that unfortunately promptly disintegrates once the issue has been resolved or ignored.
This testament is not an effort to rouse either sides of a standing opposition into conflict, but rather to inject some perspective into RhyDin's cultural premise. Maybe it is the fae wine or the contagious holiday atmosphere, but as each year winds down citizens doubtlessly convince themselves that the turn of the solstice will inevitably bring change and rebirth. But just as there is only the illusion of unity, there is also only the illusion of change - an illusion that is perpetuated with each new chunk of dirt that is flung at the giant mud mound in our city's center. Thus, this holiday season, perhaps it is more realistic to seek acceptance over change. Life can either be accepted or changed. If it is not accepted, it must be changed; if it is not changed, then it must be accepted. And maybe once all of RhyDin accepts that it lives in an unchanging world will it finally have an opinion to unite on.