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Ah, horseshit. Anyone who legitimately cares about ethics in journalism would react to #GamerGate by screaming in horror and hanging garlic from the doors. To sincerely care about ethics precludes any involvement in #GamerGate, a movement that is singularly defined by its utter lack of any ethics whatsoever. But, and I’ll explain in a moment why, it’s also physically impossible to care specifically about ethics in journalism and have any reaction to #GamerGate outside of thorough and complete denunciation, because it<em> is a movement against ethics in journalism</em>. It’s just pretending to be otherwise, because bigots generally pose as moral crusaders. It’s their favorite costume.
#GamerGate Is an Attack on Ethical Journalism
rawstory.com
“It has the look of a brownie house,” Wendell said. “But perhaps I should make sure.”
He shoved the door open and vanished into the shadows within—I cannot relate how he accomplished this; it seemed for a moment as if the door grew to fit him, but I was unable to get a handle on the mechanics as not one second later he was racing out again and the door had shrunk to its old proportions. Several porcelain cups and saucers followed in his wake, about the right size for a doll, and one made contact, smashing against his shoulder. Behind the hail of pottery came a little faerie who barely came up to my knee, wrapped so tightly in what looked like a bathrobe made of snow that I could see only its enormous black eyes. Upon its head it wore a white sleeping cap. It was brandishing a frying pan and shouting something—I think—but its voice was so small that I could only pick out the odd word. It was some dialect of Faie that I could not understand, but as the largest difference between High Faie and the faerie dialects lies in the profanities, the sentiment was clear.
“Good Lord!” Rose said, leaping out of range of the onslaught.
“I don’t—what on—would you stop?” Wendell cried, shielding himself with his arm. “Yes, all right, I should have knocked, but is this really necessary?”
The faerie kept on shrieking, and then it launched the frying pan at Wendell’s head—he ducked—and slammed its door.
Rose and I stared at each other. Ariadne looked blankly from Wendell to the door, clutching her scarf with both hands. “Bloody winter Folk,” Wendell said, brushing ceramic shards from his cloak.
Emily Wilde's Map of the Otherlands
Heather Fawcett
They don't need the *whole* number to go up, just theirs. They know that inclusive economies are more prosperous for society *as a whole*, but it makes criminals and predators worse off.
Did Thread Reader Help You Today?
threadreaderapp.com
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