It could possibly be worse in some ways. South Africa did have black soldiers and police albeit in very inferior roles sounds like the Natcorps wont even have that.
For the Republic: A History of the Second American Civil War
- Thread starter The Angry Observer
- Start date
Produced in the same spirit as "springtime for Hitler" no doubtIn late 1935 the various Studio heads in Hollywood, concerned with dropping profits from film distribution gathered in a meeting to decide what to do about it. Later that same month it's announce that in Summer of 1936 they will jointly release a new blockbuster film; "The Second American Civil War: the Musical!"
Both NatCorp and the Republic are horrified and agree that something will need to be done before this abomination is released...
It's a thought
Randy
I’ve long lamented that I don’t have the animation skills to create the Republican version of this:
Although, as others have mentioned, the Disney Corporation being the producer isn’t necessarily likely.
Natcorpism’s main problem is that it directly sabotages its ability to wage war. The Republicans are much better equipped for a long slugfest than the Natcorps are, because the Natcorps need to keep society “harmonious” and bottom lines met. This means a bunch of obviously counterintuitive policies relating to segregation, women’s rights, and tax policy.
Maybe a rival studio like Fleischer? I've not seen many of their cartoons, but I've read that they tended to be a lot darker compared to Disney.
This is my favorite part about writing this TL: the world becomes very, very interesting in the most mundane ways imaginable.
Would Walt be a NatCorp supporter, or would he just continue to make safe neutral cartoons? I know a majority of his animators would likely be Republicans (source: the large number of left-wing members whomst went on strike in the early 40's), but...
I just don’t know enough to say. Haven’t considered this yet. Would love to hear suggestions.
He's out west in a state that's declared neutrality so I'd say he'd be pressured to stay neutral.
Randy
He wasn't a socialist by any means, but he wasn't as conservative in the 30s as he was in the 50s and 60s. He wasn't outspoken politically and kept to himself as a shy person, so I'd think he'd fit in with the neutral states as "apolitical". Still, with the mess of the Smith administration and their rather public connections with the Soviet Union, I can see him as personally supporting the NatCorp (or not opposing them) until crimes are revealed. At that point, he'd probably be a patriot (or disavow any connections to NatCorp).
I can see Walt being a neutral anti-communist and leaning NatCorp until their crimes are exposed. He'd probably support Hoover until then, and afterwards may shift to be more radically anti-NatCorp (maybe supporting a pro-war GOP candidate or perhaps Smith). I don't see him being openly traitorous or even supporting anyone finanically but could do some radio talks or cartoon shorts about it at some point.
Just wondering but what has become animation studios on the East coast during the SACW?
I would guess get into the propaganda game (either by choice or force) or be ravaged by the war.
"A Girl in the Ghetto" (Chapter 24)
New
“A Girl in the Ghetto”
Which provisions in the constitution protect the United States from socialism? Check all that apply:
- The right to private property and compensation for its seizure
- The right to bear arms
- Guaranteed elections
- An independent judiciary
- Not having to quarter soldiers
Jeannie Glenn ticked boxes one, two, and four, and hoped that it was correct. School here in Columbus was much different than back in New Concord, and she didn’t quite know what to make of it. Her brother, on the rare occasion that he was home and awake, just called her schooling propaganda and told her that she shouldn’t believe a lick of it.
She missed her father. John Glenn Senior had been called back into the service, this time as an actual soldier, not just a bugler. Still, his letters came back cheery, assuring them that they were whipping the socialists in Minneapolis., which usually made Johnny scoff when he read them. “Then why are they still bombing us?”
Meanwhile, Clara, despite having been a schoolteacher back home, had been left unemployed due to her credentials being considered insufficient to the authorities here, and a recertification course in “proper” education was far too costly for their displaced little family, not to mention that it required getting permission to leave the refugee area. Officially, the few square blocks of tenements were temporary housing and they were kept inside of it for their safety, but John and the other boys he works with at the munitions factory just called it the ghetto.
Things weren’t all bad. Their little apartment was clean and cozy, even if Jean had taken to sleeping with her mother rather than sharing a bedroom with her big brother. They’d even manage to find out that Annie and her parents were alright, settled into the same area as them, and her brother’s girlfriend was over at their apartment all the time. Both she and Jeannie were grateful for having another girl near their age, and they often ran errands for their families together.
Meanwhile, their mother found some income as a seamstress, being more skilled than many of the other women who’d been settled into the ghetto with them, and willing to do it for cheaper rates. After finishing the last of her homework, Jeannie rose from their little kitchen table and stepped out onto the stoop of their first floor brownstone tenement. The streets were busy as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows and the early summer heat was finally abating.
“J-Jeannie!” Someone called from across the street
Annie Castor’s voice was very distinct, both for its alto pitch and the powerful stutter she suffered from. It was so severe that most times, she went without speaking at all, but from the earliest memories Jean had of her, not once had John gotten short with her or tried to put words in her mouth for her. No wonder she was so sweet on him.
“Thank goodness,” Jean sighed, linking arms with Annie as she met her halfway, “My homework was dreadful.”
Annie gave a sympathetic nod and a shrug. Like John, she was old enough to have not been assigned to the government school in the refugee district, instead having found work in a grocery store as a stock girl, though there wasn’t much of anything to stock those days. Things were painfully tight, and food was a luxury for nearly everyone. Most of Clara Glenn’s customers were having their clothes taken in to accommodate for the weight loss they’d all experienced.
The Castors were doing better than most, because Annie’s father, Homer, was a dentist. Dr. Castor’s services were pretty badly needed, and whenever they visited with the Glenns, he would gripe that the rations and what little outside food flowed in were of such poor quality that half the district’s teeth were rotting out of their heads.
Together, the two girls walked down towards the small park their district had, seeing it full to the brim with people trying to get out of their overheated apartments. In the distance, the chain-link fence that bordered the official temporary housing sector stood tall, crowned by razorwire.
“Maybe we ought to go back, I don’t like how many people are here,” Jean remarked.
“Y— y— you want— ed— d— d to,” Annie shot back, making a gesture that roughly equated to ‘What else are we gonna do?’
She deliberated with herself for a moment, before sighing. “Yeah, you’re right. Besides, we can’t just sit inside and read the same old books again and again, I’ll go nuts.”
So the two of them set off to try and find a decent spot to sit and enjoy the cooling of the evening, eventually settling beneath a shady oak with a handful of other kids whose ages ran the gamut from Jean’s ten to Annie’s sixteen. She didn’t really recognize any of them, but the ghetto’s school was so crowded that it was pretty easy to miss people, nothing like back home, where everyone knew each other.
Introductions were made, and the two girls were content to sit and enjoy the setting of the sun, chatting a bit amongst themselves. Just as the golden hour began in earnest, a sound filled the air, one Jeannie was unfortunately far too familiar with–air raid sirens. Seconds later, the fire of anti-aircraft guns shattered the evening air, which is what immediately had the densely-packed park scrambling to their feet, running for whatever cover could be found.
Annie’s hand was tight as a vise around Jeannie’s upper arm, and the older girl hauled her off without a word, moving so quickly that she was practically half-dragged towards the nearest structure, a tall brick building with an outside stairway leading to the basement door. No one else had made it there yet, all of them moving to the street instead.
“Damn,” Annie cried, shaking the door only to find it locked. “G— get down!”
She practically threw herself on top of Jean, burrowing the two of them into a corner of the stairwell and shielding her as best she could. Over Annie’s shoulder, she watched as a plane flew overhead, bound for the east. Johnny’s that way, her mind supplied unbidden, they’re hitting his factory.
Ice filled the young girl’s veins as she listened to the thunderclap of falling bombs and the constant roar of the AA guns, while she and her brother’s girlfriend clung to each other, two frightened children caught in the whirlwind of a war that they had no true stake in. Smoke began to stream across the sky, dimming the setting sun while the siren just kept wailing.
After what felt like forever and seemingly no time at all, the sirens and explosions stopped just as the first evening stars began to twinkle in the sky overhead, and they shakily made their way out of the stairwell to see that no bombs had fallen on the park or even the street it was located on. The Rumpublicans had bigger targets, it would seem, guns fixed on the industrial district. The same one where both of their loved ones lived and worked.
The streets were still almost entirely deserted as they made their way back to the Glenns’ apartment, the two of them clutching each other’s hands like they were the last tether keeping them attached to the ground. There, on the stoop, was Margaret Castor, Annie’s mother, looking utterly stricken until she set her eyes on them.
“Oh, thank you, Jesus,” she said, rushing up to pull both of the girls into her arms before kissing them each on the forehead. “We’re all fine, Johnny’s made it home, and your daddy’s inside with Clara. We were worried about you two, don’t you ever do that to us again!”
“Sorry, Mrs. Castor,” Jeannie muttered, while Annie just gave her mother an apologetic look.
Inside, they were once again subjected to the embraces and scoldings for vanishing like that, while John swept Annie into his arms and kissed her soundly, her parents’ presence be damned. Jean noted the dust and blood that covered her brother’s work shirt, before seeing the ugly gash across his forehead that was still sluggishly bleeding.
“Johnny,” she cried, pointing to the wound.
“Hey, it’s fine,” John said, smoothing her hair, “Doesn’t even hurt, kid. Scout’s honor.”
That’s when the Castors dropped another metaphorical bomb on them–their apartment building was hit in the air raid. They hadn’t lost everything, but the whole structure was compromised until it could be repaired, so they’d be staying there from now on. Jeannie finally noticed the luggage stacked in the kitchen corner just as John offered Dr. Castor his help in getting their mattress out of their building and into the Glenns’ apartment.
Supper was subdued even by the standards of their meager living in Columbus, with little conversation except for requests for someone to pass something. Afterwards, the spare bed that Jeannie gave up was moved into the living room for Dr. and Mrs. Castor to share, while Annie was put up on the couch.
Jeannie wasn’t surprised in the least, as she settled in next to her mother that night, that Clara immediately pulled her tight into her arms and kissed the top of her head. “Thank goodness you’re alright, babygirl,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Mama,” Jeannie replied just as softly.
Sleep did not come easily for anyone in the apartment that night.
When she woke up, she wanted out. These were the kind of thoughts that she knew were useless. Somehow, the swamp of ruin she knew wasn’t supposed to be there but never knew anything else bred a war. There were a lot of platitudes that the hard working and God fearing Glenns had for these times— that they couldn’t be avoided, good families stuck together, and any hardship could be endured with the right outlook.
Jeannie’s face felt dirty and those platitudes seemed distant. She thought about the chances of Yankee bombers hitting their home twice. Clara was already busy collecting their things. Jeannie didn’t imagine they were leaving. Her stomach was rumbling. She didn’t imagine Clara was preparing breakfast.
Jeannie wanted to go outside. She wanted to go back to New Concord, and felt the inability to leave acutely. With Clara busy, she slinked out of her apartment building anyway.
Johnny was sitting right outside the building, chin glued in his hands. He seemed to have gotten much bigger since there time here. Soldiers and people alike were quietly scurrying through the ghetto to mend the damage.
“We’ve been bombed,” said John. He almost said it like a joke. “Bombed again.”
They were quiet for what felt like forever. “Makes sense. We’ve got to destroy them, and we’re doing that with these factories.”
Then why did he look so confused?
“The longer this thing goes on, the more they make us work. Makes sense there too. Factories gotta keep moving. Workers gotta keep working. Gotta move more and work more, now that the Yankee attacks are heating up. ‘Course, workers cost money.” He scowled. “Usually.”
She turned to her brother. She knew how useless the question was before it left her mouth. “Does that mean there will be more bombings?”
Johnny thought for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me.”
He’d changed a lot since the firestorm hollowed out New Concord. His arms and chest looked huge, and there was fur all over them. He had hair on his face, too. It didn’t look like a beard but something had changed and now people thought about him as a man. He talked differently, too. He’d picked up a drawl of some kind, Tennessee or Virginia or Missouri. He hadn’t gotten any less sweet and kind, but he often said things dryly. He hated the new world and spent lots of time in his own.
Jeannie wondered if she talked differently now. She had school. John had work. She wondered when he’d be off, and how badly the Yankees wanted to bomb the industrial district.
More than usual, in school she couldn’t have pulled focus out of herself if she tried. Ghetto school had made her stupider. That was what all the teachers at ghetto school told her, and why they failed her on the constitutional question. Nobody missed class. Nobody mentioned the bombings. Nobody mentioned whatever was happening in Albany at all.
At midday, a radio broadcast was played. The General, their General, thundered about rapidly decreasing tracts of land that separated the Army from Minneapolis. The figures he mentioned were as impossible to wrap her mind around as the constitutional ones. She envisioned her father within eyeshot of some shanty so evil its dilapidation had turned its surroundings black.
Neither Jeannie nor Annie tested their limits that night, returning to the Castors’. She forgot everything they said in school other than their General’s broadcast. John liked to say that nothing was ever going to change. On its face, he’d been proven wrong by every single thing that happened in the last year, so she assumed he really meant things were never going to get any better.
Living with the Castors, who she loved, was degrading. Jeannie believed the arrangement was temporary, even though she didn’t know why and had no reason not to take Johnny’s adage to heart. She started assuming she would die in their apartment.
It was this new situation, sleeping in her mother’s bed in someone else’s room that neither of them owned, that made her understand being a girl in the ghetto with electrifying clarity. It stomped on the honest pride of John Glenn Sr.’s plumbing firm in New Concord.
She did no homework that night. And it wasn’t Clara or even school that woke her up that morning— it was soldiers at their doors. They’d never felt like real soldiers to Jeannie. Everything about the war was muted and muffled, whether it was the broadcasts or John Sr.’s letters, but there were too many witnesses to keep the feel of it from children like her. Like the bombs.
That was why round faced Sergeant Mounts, who couldn’t have been over twenty and was littler than Johnny, was hard for her to take seriously. He carried a gun, as did all of his two fellows, but they were still her brother’s toy army men.
Clara stepped out of the kitchen to grab the door, but Margaret Castor stopped her and opened it herself. “Mornin’ folks,” said Mounts. The first time he’d knocked on their door he’d apologized for the disturbance. He didn’t apologize this time. Jeannie couldn’t remember why he was there to begin with. “We understand that some of you’ve been displaced. We’re here for a headcount.”
“Not everyone’s in,” said Mrs. Castor. Everything the grown-ups said to the ghetto soldiers felt like a lie. “Homer’s at the front. He’s a doctor, if you’ll recall, helping the boys in Pennsylvania. John, too, now he’s in Minneapolis—”
“Mmm-hmm.” Mounts had a notepad and an ink pen. He wasn’t writing anything. “See you two are here.” He smiled at Jeannie. “Little Jeannie, too. And where is Johnny Junior?”
Clara’s face died. “Haven’t seen him in a bit. Assumed he was working late or out with Annie. Why, have you heard something about him?”
Mounts shook his head and stuffed his pen and paper into his coat pocket. “Naw, just counting heads. Keep an eye out for Johnny though, would you?”
It seemed to take a very long time for them to file away. When Mounts and his men left, they didn’t knock on any other doors.
There hadn’t been another bombing. Jeannie assumed John was fine. It didn’t seem like him to hurt himself grievously working. For all his protestations and bitter remarks, she had trouble associating American labor with menace.
For the rest of the day, she was infested. Walking was treacherous, inviting the bombs to go off again. Listening too hard to anything made her hear them again right, behind her forehead. She helped Clara and Mrs. Castor around the house for the remainder of the day.
Johnny got off sometime in the evening. The hour varied. Before the visit from Mounts, Jeannie hadn’t really questioned that. But that night, when Annie returned from the grocery store, it was all she could think of.
Clara kissed her right before dinner. It was relatively common for Johnny to miss it. Less so for Annie. Jeannie ate her peas. She remembered thinking they were a step down from home the first night she had them— that Great Depression come straight for the Glenn family. They tasted worse now. The Castors and Clara talked about their days for around two minutes before she decided to brave talking. It took every nerve in her body.
“Have you seen Johnnie?”
Annie shook her head. “He’s at work if he’s not here,” Jeannie’s mother reminded her. She kissed her again. Jeannie changed into her nightclothes shortly after clean up. She stared at her homework for awhile that night but didn’t get a lick of it done.
The entire ghetto went to sleep to the sound of silent bombs. When Jeannie opened her eyes again, she would have thought it was morning if her mother had not still been asleep. But she was.
The door creaked shut. Jeannie, before she was fully awake, assumed it was Sergeant Mounts. But the shadow was far too big, which put her in a panic.
It was Johnny. She almost pulled the blanket over her head and cried. John saw this and realized she was awake. The apprehension in his silhouette vanished. He leaned into his muscles and he went back to cool, sardonic, and imposing.
“What are you doing?” She hissed. She was crying already.
John didn’t see this and put a finger to his lips. He grinned, and she had no idea what he meant by it. “Late night. Just go back to sleep, yeah?”
Then she saw the damage on his side and wailed. Clara was on her feet before her eyes were open. Something terrible had happened to Johnny. He had blood all over his side, but he still walked.
“Johnny,” said Clara. “What are you doing, being out so late?”
John shrugged. “I’m so sorry Ma. Went late and goofed around with some of the boys.” He kissed his mother on the head. That seemed to satisfy her, and he guided her back to their bed. He winced with each step, like it was going to knock her over.
John touched Jeannie on the back. “It ain’t as bad as it looks. Just a scratch. Nobody needs to know.”
“There were soldiers, Johnny.”
He considered that. Then he put his chin on Jeannie’s head. “Go back to sleep, kid.”
She did, and had a bunch of dreams she couldn’t remember. She wasn’t sure, when she heard her mother screaming, if it was one of them or not. Jeannie woke up but didn’t get out of bed. Mounts and one other soldier were back. Both had guns, and were facing something in the Castors’ other room.
Clara was sobbing. “You all know,” Mounts was saying, his voice barely discernible, “you all know the consequences of scabbing. You all know what it means to get in bed with fucking labor, to try and— QUIET DOWN!”
Clara couldn’t and didn’t. It was Johnny, in the corner. He had a different dirty shirt on and it was still bloody. He was sneering, unmoved by the gashes in his side or the bruises on his face.
“You little people,” said Mounts. His face was bright red now. “You just can’t take a good thing, huh?” Clara was only louder. Jeannie’s head only hurt more. “Can’t exceed expectations and just prove you shouldn’t be in fucking ghettos, huh?”
But there must’ve been something under there, something past her mother’s crying, brother’s stoic agony, and captor’s fury. There must’ve been fear of what a shattered mother could do to him, agony in his heart, or greed for what John Jr. could do in a factory without any distractions. Because they dragged him off before Annie could return that night, and thirty minutes before Jeannie realized that he was not coming back.
The really needed the story of the Glenn Family to remind us of how this conflict is is filled decent people on both sides.
Yeah, each of the Glenns will be getting their own POV! Obviously, we can’t give anything away about these, but we’re quite excited to continue down with their storylines, especially because they will become very important to the broader story of this timeline.
There are decent people in Natcorps territory but none of them are in their administration, army or other arms of their state and sooner or later their narrow base of support from the wider population will doom them.[
There are no good participants in an evil system, tragically.