Liliana Vess (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deathsmajesty) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomhigh2025-05-29 01:07 am
deathsmajesty) wrote in fandomhigh2025-05-29 01:07 am
Entry tags:
Ethical Dilemmas, Thursday, (Per 1)
Liliana had reached out and informed the class that they would be meeting in the Danger Shop today several days before the island had decided to be cute. So, the giant steamer trunk that simply said THE MENDING (in all the alphabets that she could read, including Braille for maximum rudeness!) that had nearly blocked her in the room this morning hadn't only inconvenienced her--as well as proving her her previous decision both right and prescient. Had she thought that being in the Danger Shop would stop the luggage from appearing, however....well, that she was sad to discover was not to be.
And so, the class would arrive in the Shop currently mocked up to be a beautiful park, Liliana sitting on a pile of bags and suitcases and pretending very much that she wasn't. The base of her impromptu throne was a dresser trunk, where the letters -OSU could occasionally be seen when she shifted position, her feet were propped on a duffel bag with a J and an E showing on either side of her boots, and todays (real!) culinary offerings were spread over several hardbacked suitcases, with snippets like 'VEIL' and 'TAVE--' and '--NNIK--' peeking out from under the plates. Yes, she'd programmed in cloths to throw over them all, but somehow those cloths kept vanishing. Anyway, feel free to help yourself to the variety of breakfast tarts and pay no attention to the baggage behind the curtains, thank you. The park itself was lovely, however. The sun was warm, the grass green and soft and inviting, the air fresh, the sky blue (the mosquitos non-existent). Off in the distance was a playground area, where a group of preschool-aged children laughed and crawled all over the equipment. Off to the left a ways, a group a pregnant people were doing yoga. A circle of teens were throwing a discus around at each other, and somewhere out of sight, a person was playing a beautiful melody on a flute. Surrounding the park was a kind of solarpunk cityscape, full of greenery and trees and soaring, slightly futuristic buildings.
"In your time, you may have come across the phrase 'the brutal calculus of war,'" Liliana said once everyone had arrived and settled in for class. "But, in case you haven't, it's a phrase that is applied to the assessment that people make in an armed conflict to decide what is needed to succeed in their objectives and whether or not the objective is worth the cost. While sometimes, that calculation can be something relatively simple, like the dollar cost of the necessary equipment and supplies, more often - especially when the word brutal is appended - it's talking about the toll of life, both military and civilian, that a particular action will have. I have found that the further you get from where the fighting, bleeding, and dying are happening, the higher the 'acceptable losses' become. After all, it's easier to be 'rational' and 'appropriately detached' when people are abstract concepts - even moreso when they can reduced to mere numbers on the page. Losing a thousand people in a battle you're fighting is a slaughter. Losing a thousand people in a battle on the other side of the plane is a rounding error."
She settled back in her makeshift chair, nibbling on a douar asham. "Last week, most of you made the decision to walk away from Omelas," she continued. "Regardless of whether you went or stayed, many of you, even when told that 'in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed,' wished to rescue the child, to deliver them from the filth and isolation and hurt and fear that they lived in. And, in doing so, you were engaging in a brutal calculus of your own. One child, one life in exchange for an entire city. Because, again, it is easy, is it not? To weigh the specific suffering of a child against the abstraction of 'the greater good'? Different lives have different weights to them, though that exact calculus is your own. Generally, loved ones are worth more than strangers. Friends more than enemies. People in your 'tribe' than people outside of it. Civilian lives are worth more than soldiers', and children's worth more than adults'. Each person is different, but even if you believe that every life is sacred, some will be more sacred than others." Liliana had a constantly updating hierarchy of people and what it would take for their lives to zero out the equation.
Don't ask. You don't actually want to know.
"But, what is easy to decide in a solarium, surrounded by your peers and focusing only on a single child's misery, may become much harder when you are face to face with the people who will actually pay the price for your actions." She waved around the park, then pointed to various buildings. A hospital. A university. A day care. A market. "Welcome to Omelas, darlings. Today's ethical decision: decide whether or not you will be the personal architect of the city's downfall. Best of luck."
And so, the class would arrive in the Shop currently mocked up to be a beautiful park, Liliana sitting on a pile of bags and suitcases and pretending very much that she wasn't. The base of her impromptu throne was a dresser trunk, where the letters -OSU could occasionally be seen when she shifted position, her feet were propped on a duffel bag with a J and an E showing on either side of her boots, and todays (real!) culinary offerings were spread over several hardbacked suitcases, with snippets like 'VEIL' and 'TAVE--' and '--NNIK--' peeking out from under the plates. Yes, she'd programmed in cloths to throw over them all, but somehow those cloths kept vanishing. Anyway, feel free to help yourself to the variety of breakfast tarts and pay no attention to the baggage behind the curtains, thank you. The park itself was lovely, however. The sun was warm, the grass green and soft and inviting, the air fresh, the sky blue (the mosquitos non-existent). Off in the distance was a playground area, where a group of preschool-aged children laughed and crawled all over the equipment. Off to the left a ways, a group a pregnant people were doing yoga. A circle of teens were throwing a discus around at each other, and somewhere out of sight, a person was playing a beautiful melody on a flute. Surrounding the park was a kind of solarpunk cityscape, full of greenery and trees and soaring, slightly futuristic buildings.
"In your time, you may have come across the phrase 'the brutal calculus of war,'" Liliana said once everyone had arrived and settled in for class. "But, in case you haven't, it's a phrase that is applied to the assessment that people make in an armed conflict to decide what is needed to succeed in their objectives and whether or not the objective is worth the cost. While sometimes, that calculation can be something relatively simple, like the dollar cost of the necessary equipment and supplies, more often - especially when the word brutal is appended - it's talking about the toll of life, both military and civilian, that a particular action will have. I have found that the further you get from where the fighting, bleeding, and dying are happening, the higher the 'acceptable losses' become. After all, it's easier to be 'rational' and 'appropriately detached' when people are abstract concepts - even moreso when they can reduced to mere numbers on the page. Losing a thousand people in a battle you're fighting is a slaughter. Losing a thousand people in a battle on the other side of the plane is a rounding error."
She settled back in her makeshift chair, nibbling on a douar asham. "Last week, most of you made the decision to walk away from Omelas," she continued. "Regardless of whether you went or stayed, many of you, even when told that 'in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed,' wished to rescue the child, to deliver them from the filth and isolation and hurt and fear that they lived in. And, in doing so, you were engaging in a brutal calculus of your own. One child, one life in exchange for an entire city. Because, again, it is easy, is it not? To weigh the specific suffering of a child against the abstraction of 'the greater good'? Different lives have different weights to them, though that exact calculus is your own. Generally, loved ones are worth more than strangers. Friends more than enemies. People in your 'tribe' than people outside of it. Civilian lives are worth more than soldiers', and children's worth more than adults'. Each person is different, but even if you believe that every life is sacred, some will be more sacred than others." Liliana had a constantly updating hierarchy of people and what it would take for their lives to zero out the equation.
Don't ask. You don't actually want to know.
"But, what is easy to decide in a solarium, surrounded by your peers and focusing only on a single child's misery, may become much harder when you are face to face with the people who will actually pay the price for your actions." She waved around the park, then pointed to various buildings. A hospital. A university. A day care. A market. "Welcome to Omelas, darlings. Today's ethical decision: decide whether or not you will be the personal architect of the city's downfall. Best of luck."
Re: Ask Questions
in not making me bullshit answerswas appreciated!"It's true," Liliana said. "And they made the choice that would ensure their children had a good life, with access to food and medication and abundance and joy, in such a way where harm to others was as minimized as possible. Would you choose to have your children suffer instead?"