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Irish Addicts Can't Get Help Unless They're On the 'Right' Mix of Drugs

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Some prescription drugs. Photo via Dean 812.

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

Over the last decade Ireland's street drug culture has changed rapidly. These days you're more likely to find Dublin's street dealers selling Zimmovanes—strong sleeping tablets commonly known as "Zimmos"—or benzodiazepines—sedative drugs like Valium, known as "benzos"—than what most people would consider "hard" drugs.

Dealers vary in what they sell, with only a handful touting Class A's like opiates and amphetamines. Benzos and Zimmos, on the other hand, are now so popular that dealers in tracksuits on O'Connell Street—Dublin's main thoroughfare—shout out their names to passersby.

The emergence of this thriving, illicit trade in commonly prescribed pharmaceuticals shows that the modus operandi has changed for Dublin's drug addicts. They are now likely to take more than one type of drug. It's the age of the "poly-drug" user. But according to those who help Ireland's addicts, drug policymakers still need to catch up.

Tony Duffin is CEO of Ana Liffey Drug Project, an organization that focuses on harm reduction. He told me that "a lot of our service users are dealing with an antiquated policy that doesn't factor in today's drug trends. There's been a huge movement towards what we know as 'prescription drugs,' like benzos and Zimmovane. You can be pretty sure if someone's on heroin they're taking tablets and vice versa."

But access to rehab units means fitting an "ideal addict" profile—one that doesn't include using these prescription drugs. Centers are bound by tight regulations governing who can receive treatment. People who use alcohol, heroin, and benzodiazepine in combination—poly-drug users—are harder to treat and often don't have the "right" blood chemistry to enter into programs, so they simply get turned away.

Tom Cunningham is a drug user of ten years. He described Dublin's street drug scene to me as a complicated collage of pharmaceuticals—one that includes a list of drugs commonly prescribed by doctors. "Tablets are everywhere in this city. That's how people on the streets overdose and die. They swallow full trays of Zopiclone, benzos, any of the generic drugs. Then they inject on top of them, and then they go cold. Tablets are a huge problem now," he said.

According to figures from Ireland's Health Research Board, while only 124 deaths in 2008 specifically mentioned benzos, that figure jumped to 254 in 2011. Add to that the jump in people asking for help with their benzo addictions—178 in 2008 to 358 in 2012—and you've got one big benzo spike. This has shredded the idea of an "ideal addict"—one who fits a BB (Before Benzo) drug policy.

When I asked Tom about the clinical assessment criteria—the drug profile needed to access treatment—he grimaced and wrung his hands in frustration. "It's always the same lines," he said. "They say you have to go on a benzo detox before you can come into us, or you've to stop the methadone. Sometimes they'll take you with methadone in your system but not with benzos, or they say they can't take you unless you're on methadone. It's mental."

Tony Duffin agreed. "There are all sorts of hurdles that prevent people from accessing treatment in this country. The reason we are told these blockades exist is to manage clinical risks, but there are services that exist outside Ireland and function well. The admission criteria for residential treatment needs to be reviewed. People come to centers with Xanax, benzodiazepine, heroin, and alcohol in their system, but the clinical assessments can often lock them out of treatment," he said.

Despite all the dealers shouting "benzoooo!" or "blooze!" on O'Connell Street in the middle of the day, there isn't a single clinic in the country dealing with addiction to benzos in Ireland.

Dr. Gareth McGovern, who specializes in addiction, told me that having zero services for benzos pushes people further into addiction, instead of helping them get clean. "GPs are too frightened to prescribe benzos to someone they feel might have a problem. This in turn forces people into the black market. We ploughed all our money into opiates, but the benzo problem is huge," he said.

Withdrawal from benzos ranges from person to person, but can be fatal. Some people experience seizures, "rattling" shakes, and wild mood swings. Cold turkey is sadly not an option for many.

"We have to accept the severity of the problem," Dr. McGovern continued. "When someone is addicted to benzos you cannot just stop their script. The process varies from person to person and involves detox along with psychotherapy. Unfortunately the only place people can get that kind of help now is in our private clinics and hospitals, which most people can't afford. If you're poor and on benzos, there's nothing there for you," he said.

Despite calls from Independent TDs (MPs), Irish policy makers refuse to move beyond the 1990s "heroin zombie" stereotype and into a more rounded picture of drug addiction in 21st-century Ireland. So while drug patterns change with the decades, those without the Department of Health approved blood chemistry will continue to remain locked out of services supposedly devised to meet their needs.

Follow Norma on Twitter.


Photographers are Passionate, but Annoying: Tyrone Lebon on His New Film, 'Reely and Truly'

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Screenshot from Reely and Truly

Most of us will never shoot a Miley Cyrus album cover, and most of us probably won't use our downtime from shooting Miley Cyrus to make a poetic and poignant documentary about photography. That's because, barring unforeseen technological advancements, we will never be Tyrone Lebon.

The London-bred photographer and filmmaker's ethereal work met initial success when, at just 18 years old, his surf documentary aired on MTV. Having made a name for himself since then by working with everyone else's wish-list of clients including Supreme, Stussy, Nike, and Vogue, Tyrone has now turned his camera on a far more elusive subject: the photographers lurking the periphery of his world. In his latest project, Reely & Truly, Tyrone and his camera travel the globe to meet a diverse array of the most essential people taking pictures today, including some of VICE's favourite photogs: Peter Sutherland, Petra Collins, Tim Barber, Lele Saveri and Sean Vegezzi. Later this year the project will culminate in a book, complete with photos, writings and films of over thirty contemporary photographers.

The beautifully shot result is a ponderous journey into the mind of an artist at his most reflective. While Tyrone displays a host of talent on-screen, the film is less about profiling the individuals, and instead concerns itself more with the implications of what pictures represent to those who take them. Philosophical and bewildering, the film will immediately enamour anyone who's ever been affected by flipping through, scrolling past, or taking photos. We sat down with Lebon to chat about his film, his career, and why you probably shouldn't shoot on IMAX.

VICE: Reely & Truly will culminate in a book, but usually you see films being based on books. What you made you decide to do the opposite?
Tyrone Lebon: I guess I was always planning on it being quite a long-term, slow, gentle project, and I travel quite a lot for my own work, so it's something I was allowing to slowly happen in these little windows. I left university and wanted to make documentary films and it was such a struggle to earn a living or get any funding that I ended up assisting and taking pictures and went on this long tangent. So for about five years I've been working as a photographer, and I got really busy, which was great, but after about two years I'd run out of steam. I needed to get back to more of my projects. The book project was always going to be a series of short films about individual photographers. The final film is only 25 minutes long, but all along I knew I was gathering more material than I needed for that. The edit that exists is so fast moving, you barely have any time to rest with anyone.

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Screenshot from Reely and Truly

So is the book the director's cut of the project?
I guess, yeah. It's gonna have essays and photos and in the back it will be a couple DVDs with 30 odd, short little portraits.

How did you decide who to profile? Were you trying to be as diverse within contemporary photography as you could?
Yeah, and I'd be the first to say it's lacking in a few departments. I really wanted to have a wedding photographer and a photojournalist/war photographer. But I learned very quickly how crazy and annoying photographers actually are, and how tricky it is to pin them down. I did a lot of emails over the course of nine months. The reason lots of photographers like being behind the camera is because they don't like being in front of it. So it's quite a big ask to get them to open up, in that way.

Did you find photographers were difficult subjects to film?
Yeah, some people, but some people loved the attention. Everyone's different, but overall, in terms of how I chose, I had a wish list of my favourite photographers and people who always interested me. It wasn't always people whose work I especially liked all the time, just people who had something interesting about them. You could tell they had something to say.

Tell me about shooting on film. That must require incredible patience knowing the other possibilities.
All my photography, as well, is mostly on film. I really enjoy shooting film, and to be totally honest, it's such a part of my process that I would be quite intimidated at the thought of making a film digitally. I rely so much on the quality of film to tell the stories that I like and in the way I want them. It's just how it has to be. It was hard working as a one-man band doing sound, and doing sound with film, because there's no sync. So not only are you recording the sound, but you're trying to keep notes of things people say and what you're filming to try and later on stand a chance of linking them back together.

Do you ever do multiple takes while filming, or is what we see the only one?
No, I never ask people to do something again or re-say anything. Lots of audio in the interviews is obviously recorded separately. After a while you get really hungry for those moments where you see words coming out of their mouth. So I've kind of made a big effort to get those moments, but they are tricky. As every second ticks by, you're counting how much it's costing you. The film I actually used is this defunct, 200-foot magazine. You can't buy them; you have to get them re-loaded, and they're really tricky to reload. I only had a certain number of rolls going into that, so a lot's left to fate.

That's the moment when I think you'd say, alright, enough of using film.
It somehow always worked out, even if it got badly fogged, or I didn't get certain things, I accepted that as the whole process and included those mistakes as part of the film. You can see it all embraced in the film. There was a lot of experimenting from animated stills through to super 8, 35mm, super 16 and IMAX. My DOP [director of photography] Evan Prosofsky kindly did all the IMAX. All the portraits in New York were shot on IMAX, which was another retarded story. It took three people to carry the camera.

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Screenshot from Reely and Truly

The narration in the film often talks about truth and its relation to photography. Is this a theme that vexed you, as a documentarian whose goal it is to reveal truths?
In making a film about the nature of truth in photography, you're putting a mirror right up to yourself. I don't think I've come to any solid answer. I don't think I ever tried to show any distinct answer. I think even the most passionate photographers are the ones who just spend their whole life questioning and are never satisfied. That's the whole point in taking pictures and photography, is to be that person who really is never satisfied with it. It's just a constant investigation.

What did you feel you learned about photographers from this?
They're all bloody annoying. As far as having a shared characteristic, I'd say it's a lot of obsessive people. But anyone who's passionate about anything becomes like that. Lots of the people I was interested in are people who are really dedicated to what they do, so by their nature they were quite obsessive. What I loved is that everyone was so different and some people I'd never met just had the lightest touch, while some were more bitter and caught up in it all. Some people were trying to work it out and others had a clearer idea of how it fit in with their life.

Was there something about the trends or people at this time in photography that made you want to capture it?
I studied anthropology at university and I wrote my dissertation on the photographer, and at that point I actually tried to hand in a documentary as my final dissertation. But because it was quite traditional at Edinburgh University, there wasn't a chance that I was going to be able to do that. From when I was 21, I'd had this film in the back of my mind, even if it kind of morphed a few times it had been there for over 10 years. I think it's pretty timeless for me. I definitely feel like it's not a boring time in photography. In the fields that I'm aware of, it feels like a transitional time, which is very exciting.

The narrative is rather non-linear and more of a philosophical stream of consciousness. Was that something you'd always had in mind from the beginning?
I think that's just me by nature. I ponder things. It all came together in the edit. I'm not really good at planning films, I don't really write a script and plan the same themes to ask different people about. I've learnt as I've made more films just how important it is to have a structure and a plan of some kind, even if you want to go against that in the end. It's important to have some sort of limitations to focus you a bit. The editor and I just locked ourselves away for six weeks and worked the whole thing out in the edit suite, really worked through the footage and we probably had hundreds of hours, but we had to go through it all. Some of our edits started at an hour long and ended up as two minutes.

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Screenshot from Reely and Truly

What about the film do you hope will register with audiences?
The nicest thing is when I've had people write to me, or friends say it inspired them or put them in a good mood to get on with their work and re-engage with not just their photography, but other things too. For it to be motivating and exciting feels good. I didn't really have an aim as such.

It must've just been that drive to finish what you started.
I think it was just to satisfy something in me. I'd just been down this funny rabbit hole, working pretty hard at commissioned work, which was amazing, and I knew it was serving a purpose, but sometimes when you're in a little bubble for that long and working in a world that's so close to what you really love to do, you start to feel like you're making compromises. I just needed time to breathe, to look at other people and what I was up to and think if I really wanted to continue working like that for the rest of my life. And I think it did that. I've come back to photography and thinking about other film projects with a new energy and feeling clearer-minded.

Where do find yourself looking at photos most often now?
Just because it's so easy, I spend more time looking at them on a screen. When I really take my time and look at pictures they will always be in print. I've got a bit of an addiction to photo books.

Do you see your idea for the book, blending both digital and print material, being a new phase of the photo book?
Maybe. I'm quite stubborn about the way my photos are shown. I don't like the way stuff goes online. Photos end up representing me through Google and it's pictures that I'd never pick. That's totally out of my control, and looking at others people's pictures I know it's the same thing. It's a very different way of looking at a picture backlit on a screen in low resolution. But with film, I find I can be sitting on my laptop with headphones and I'm pretty close to getting the same experience out of that [as I would] at the cinema. I feel film is done a lot more justice on the internet. But photos are just so different. Especially as I shoot so much on film and hand-print my own work, when you see how your picture ends up and the colours have gone to shit, it ends up like a bastard brother of what the work could've been. There's only so much you can think about that without turning into a total psycho though.

The Reely & Truly exhibition , featuring the work of photographers in the film, runs from now until March 29th at the Gladstone Hotel in Toronto.

And Now This

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So I have breast cancer, which like many things that happen to women is mostly a pain in the ass. But compared with being 26 and crazy and waiting for some guy to call, it's not so bad. If I can handle 39 breakups in 21 days, I can get through cancer. I'm not saying this because I'm a strong person or because I have a good attitude or anything like that—heaven knows, I believe in taking things badly and making a scene for no reason—but this is not bad. All the geniuses are all over curing cancer, and early breast cancer is something they have sorted out.

And everyone cares! People love cancer! I would love to tell you that people love me, but that's not it, because I keep hearing from long-lost loves and no-account friends with insane amounts of concern, and I am fine. Everyone wants to help. Everyone wants you to talk to their second cousin, the radiation oncologist in Boise. Cancer is popular. I had no idea. For at least ten years, I could not stop crying, which was awful, because there is no cure for that. All my life, I had problems—galore!—with no answers. At long last, I find myself in trouble and there are solutions. Compared with what I have been through, it is nothing. But I really mean: What is what's ahead of me compared with what's behind me? It is all nothing. I am 47 years old and quite a lot has happened. This is one more thing. It is another crucible. It is another hoop to jump through.

There is always something to prove.

I have the BRCA gene mutation, the curse of Ashkenazi Jews—and Angelina Jolie. It means I am likely to keep getting cancer if I don't do something to stop it, so instead of having a lumpectomy, I am having a double mastectomy with reconstruction. It is quite amazing. They do both at the same time. You go in with breast cancer and come out with stripper boobs. And by law, insurance pays for the Park Avenue plastic surgeon. Good Lord, even Medicaid must pay for breast reconstruction with someone or other. We have come a long way, baby. All those pink ribbons and half-marathons paid off. We live in quite a world. I always felt I was a 34D trapped in the body of a 34B. At long last.

The surgeons all minimize the pain, which is just an occupational hazard. Surgeons think a beheading is no big deal. I disagree. I imagine recovery from a double mastectomy might be quite unpleasant. The surgeons are like, "Tylenol might be enough, and by week two you will be dancing Swan Lake, just like before." I expect I will be eating only Vicodin for a while.

The BRCA mutation hits 0.25 percent of the population and 2.5 percent of Ashkenazi Jews, so it is ten times as likely to affect the 2.2 percent of people who make up 25 percent of a class at Harvard. That must be why they have figured out what to do about breast cancer. If this mutation disproportionately affected Presbyterians, they would solve it with too many martinis, and women would still be dying of breast cancer. How fortunate that is not the case.

I realize I am dealing with cancer, which is complicated and kills people. It may yet kill me. I still don't know if the disease has spread. I still don't know many things. Since I got this diagnosis, I have had to deal with unpleasant and scary information from time to time. But I have been through a lot, and I don't even mean that I lived next door to the World Trade Center on 9/11, but that too. Not that anything is like airplanes flying into skyscrapers, but a lot of my life felt extreme and sudden. I would spend my days consumed with feelings, crying all the time, talking about what was upsetting, finding new people to listen, looking for new ways to describe all that overwhelmed me. I am used to making a big deal out of absolutely nothing. I am even good at it. I hit an apotheosis of emotion in July 1987 when I am sure I felt more than any human being has ever felt before. Me and my feelings. I could empty rooms with my feelings. I could fill rooms with my feelings. I don't know how there was space for anything else in the world besides my feelings.

But with every passing moment since then the intensity has diminished, and by now I am level.

When I was 31, I recovered from a very strong drug addiction—the most difficult thing I have ever put myself through. If I had known how hard it is to give up a substance that is intimate with your system, I might have left myself for dead. For the first year I was clean, I believed in God with the certainty of a child, because every day I got through without an eight ball of cocaine was a miracle. I would not have tried to convince anyone else to have faith, but no one could talk me out of mine, and nothing could make me doubt. I was raw and in pain all the time, but I felt God everywhere. And then, eventually, life became everyday again as it does, as it must. Now I believe in science, not magic. I have been looking for that feeling everywhere ever since.

Maybe these desperate interruptions come along because we are only our best selves when we have no choice. We are never so free as when we are running for our lives.

Buy Elizabeth Wurtzel's new book, Creatocracy: How the Constitution Invented Hollywood.

Follow Elizabeth Wurtzel on Twitter.

We Interviewed the Infamous EDM Streaker Who Loves Getting Naked at Her Favorite DJ Shows

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We Interviewed the Infamous EDM Streaker Who Loves Getting Naked at Her Favorite DJ Shows

The Polish Man Who Kept on Racing Cars After Losing a Hand

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This article originally appeared on VICE Poland.

I met Maks Mielżyński in the first year of our postgraduate studies. He was a bit of an introvert, and the only thing that really seemed to bring him out of his shell was talking about his passion—rally racing. Sometimes, after class, he would take me for a ride in his BMW whose interior he had completely stripped down. Speeding in that car made me feel like an extra in a car chase scene from a movie in other words, it was awesome.

One day, Maks started to complain about a pain in his right elbow. At first it didn't seem like it was serious— Maybe he hit it on a corner without noticing, I thought to myself. But then he started to come to the classes with his arm in a sling, and a few weeks later he didn't show up at all. I called him up to check on him and he told me he had cancer.

Maks was 20 years old when he was diagnosed with pleomorphic sarcoma. One year later, he had his right hand amputated. Yet, he never stopped racing cars. Quite the opposite—he would actually schedule his chemotherapy sessions in a way that allowed him to participate in rallies. Last year, he earned himself second place at the Polish Classic Auto Cup championship.

I recently visited Maks at his home. It had been years since we last saw each other but that didn't stop us chattering aways for ages.

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VICE: How did you first get into rally racing?
Maks Mielżyński: My uncle used to race in rallies and I guess I caught his passion. Although I wasn't that interested in cars before I got my driving license. But as soon as I was legally allowed to drive, I felt the power of my newly acquired driving skills, the possibility to expand them, the power of my car—I was hooked.

What was your first car?
My uncle helped me buy a BMW E30—all stripped down, with no seats or upholstery inside. I was 19 years old.

Do you remember your first rally?
I raced for the first time a year and a half after I got my first car, in a modified, autocross-ready Peugeot 106. Sixteen drivers took part in it and I came in sixth, which at the time was a big win to me. But I was mostly happy to have finished the race and that my car had remained intact. That's always the most important thing in car races.

[youtube src='//www.youtube.com/embed/WYOV_0L8RFs' width='500' height='281']

Maks on the racetrack

Can you recall how you felt during that first race?
Adrenaline! That's all I can remember. I enjoyed the engine's roar and the speed I was able to reach then—now I drive much faster. I took part in the next few autocross events, both as a driver and as a co-driver. My results weren't that good, but I was getting some much needed experience.

Then a little after my 20th birthday, I started to feel a pain in my right elbow. We'd already become friends by then, do you remember?

Yes, I do. I particularly remember that phone call.
At first, I thought it was just some windsurfing-related injury, cause I'd spend lots of time on the board back then. When the pain became less bearable, I went to the doctor, who suspected golfer's elbow, then tennis elbow. No one guessed that that pain could've been a symptom of a serious disease. I myself would've never guessed that a tumor can develop in your body at 21.

But the pain just wouldn't stop, even after I took some pretty strong medication. I wasn't able to get a proper night's sleep. Meanwhile I went from one doctor's office to another—all in all, a year passed before I got a real diagnosis.

[youtube src='//www.youtube.com/embed/5EpvQERl79M' width='640' height='360']

What was the diagnosis?
They told me it was a malignant tumor—that I would have to go through radiotherapy and then they would surgically remove the tumor. They warned me that I might lose sensation in two of my fingers but I didn't mind that. I told myself, "It's only two fingers, I'll still manage to shift gears." Driving was the most important thing to me then.

But then the disease started spreading too quickly and the only thing they said they could do to stop it was to amputate the limb. I felt like I had hit a wall. I didn't hear what anyone was saying anymore. I got up, left the room had a complete meltdown. I started crying and then my legs went limp and I fell on the floor. Nurses picked me up, sat me on a bed, and gave me some sedatives.

After realizing how upset I was, the doctors tried to avoid amputation by getting me on three more rounds of chemo. The tumor grew smaller and then much bigger. By that time I had prepared myself for the amputation, I had thought that there are cars with automatic gearboxes so I could race in one of them. As I went under, I was thinking about which automatic car I should get.

[youtube src='//www.youtube.com/embed/zmqzgdEnqJs' width='640' height='360']

So you never thought of giving up racing?
I never intended to give it up, no. My uncle bought me a BMW with automatic transmission and asked me to get back to my trainings right after the surgery.

Some would call that brave, others insane.
At first I trained on a driving simulator, but the only thing that really changed in races was that I had an automatic gearbox. They always subtract three percent of my points from my overall score, to reduce the difference.

What was the first rally after the surgery like?
It took place in the city of Biała Podlaska. On the last run of the day my car skidded and I hit the cones, so I lost five seconds. But for me, it was awesome anyway.

Have you been involved in any more serious accidents?
Yes, one time I was training and it was raining. The wheels slipped and I hit some Styrofoam walls—the kind they use to build warehouses—with the rear part of my car. I wrote off the rear quarter and bended a wheel. I came out of it unharmed though.

How is your health now?
I've had five additional surgeries already. The cancer is now spreading to my lungs. I actually have only one whole lung left—they've removed the other except for a small fragment on the upper lobe. Thankfully, I'm not a marathon runner—I can race with just one lung.

The doctors say that my prognosis is bad, but I believe that a successful recovery relies on the patient's mindset and my attitude is 200 percent positive. Oh, and if you're asking about the rest of it—I will still race. Right now I'm working on modifying my car so I get even better scores next season.

This Filmmaker Interviewed a Bunch of People Who Are Convinced They're Jesus Christ

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The filmmaker Katarzyna Kozyra (right) talking with a man claiming to be Jesus

If a guy wearing dirty robes and a makeshift crown came up to you and started screaming that he was the living incarnation of Christ, chances are you'd bolt in the opposite direction. Katarzyna Kozyra, on the other hand, has spent the last few years going out of her way to find such characters and hang out with them.

The Polish artist and filmmaker has traveled to Jerusalem four times since 2012 to document people who exhibit symptoms of Jerusalem syndrome—a strange condition in which visitors to the Israeli city develop religious-themed delusions, obsessions, and even psychoses. Sufferers "usually wash up in police custody or emergency rooms, suffering from dehydration and self-neglect of, well, biblical proportions," wrote Sam McPheeters in a 2011 VICE feature on the condition. He went on:

There are several diagnostic types of Jerusalem syndrome. There are the traditional crazies—travelers with profoundly skewed worldviews, acutely religious, who find themselves caught in Jerusalem's psychic force field. Some come with claims that they have decoded religious secrets, such as the date of the Messiah's return, the location of Eden or Golgotha, or the exact criteria for heavenly ascension. Others arrive to act out particularly grisly Bible passages. Many of them are practitioners of what the journal Mental Health, Religion & Culture terms "psychotic asceticism."

Kozyra's footage has been compiled and edited into a feature-length documentary called Looking for Jesus (2012—....), which is on view at Postmasters Gallery in New York through February 28. Kozyra doesn't focus on the idea that her subjects are mentally ill—interviews she conducted with scientists and psychologists were not included in the final cut, and it's often not clear how far gone the syndrome sufferers are. The impression you come away with is that perhaps their conditions are linked to faith rather than madness—or that there is a thin line between the two.

I spoke with Kozyra over email about why she wanted to spend lengthy amounts of time with wannabe messiahs, and if she considers the film to be a documentary at all.

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Another man who claim to be Jesus

VICE: What made you want to take on this topic?
Katarzyna Kozyra: When I heard about [Jerusalem] syndrome, I was immediately interested to meet those people afflicted. The small space between what we are and what we believe to be has always been on my mind. Identity is something I've always been working on, and the identity of somebody who thinks he is closer to God than anybody else is the most interesting ever.

Do you come from a religious background?
In Poland, you can be only religious or against religion. Anyhow, you have to deal with religion... it's impossible to ignore it. But ultimately, I didn't create this project because of my own personal experiences with religion.

What was the most interesting thing you noticed or observed while filming? Did any story or moment stand out in particular?
One of the most interesting things I observed is the change in myself—in my approach... the shift from an interest in visual representations of Jesus to the deep belief that there is something much bigger to explore. I mean something not restricted with "patterns" I already know. For me, it's like jumping over my own shadow.

When were you filming and how long were you in Jerusalem for? You've been four separate times, right? Does Looking for Jesus include footage from each trip?
That's right. I've been four times now, but in the exhibition I didn't include footage from my last two trips. Every time I work on the extra footage for a purpose other than a gallery show, I discover new things—even from the people I met during my first journey to Jerusalem.

My approach to the subjects changes throughout the film, and there is a kind of development. I edit the meetings in a chronological order, but there are also some people who appear who were already present two times prior. In the future, I will add other meetings with the same people.

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The director expressing frustration with one of the supposed messiahs' description of godliness.

How did you prepare for this project, research-wise?
We live in a fragmented world, so throughout my life I had some information that I've put together, but I didn't study on purpose. Before I started making this film, I got some lessons about religion. But the work is not about precise references to sacred books, but rather about personal experiences by people that think to be reincarnations or incarnations of saints, or other sacred people.

Of course there were some psychologists and doctors that are experts in Jerusalem Syndrome who I spoke with, but I didn't use those interviews in the movie. The scientific side is not what interests me the most. In order to be scientific, scientists look for similarities in order to segregate, "clean," and name things... I look for what is unique, really personal, and—because of that—heroic.

While your past work has involved filming people—sometimes without the subjects' knowledge—do you consider this work to be more of a straightforward, objective documentary than your past video work?
I always try to be objective. The ways I get the footage, if hidden or not, doesn't make the outcome more or less objective.

I don't have a precise recipe to make artworks. Their form depends on the subject and the inspiration. Everything I was working on with Looking for Jesus is documentation of experiences. If I decide to prepare the footage I got for a documentary festival, then the outcome will most likely take a more straightforward documentary form. Anyway, what is artistic comes from the space "in between"... from the space between objective reality and doubts about it—the more narrow the space is, the more straightforward the work can be.

Can you tell me about editing this film? Postmasters' exhibition description implies you cut up the footage to possibly skew with our perception of what is factual and what isn't. Can you elaborate on your editing process for this film?
As I deal with so different personalities, I cannot use the same [method] of editing for everybody I met. It seems to me that every character needs to be described in his own way. I need to find a key to edit every character in a unique and most appropriate way.

For example, Sister Jostina, the woman serving God in the Syrian church, learned English in order to be able to tell her stories to tourists. She memorized the three stories she told us in English by heart and choreographed and intoned nearly the exact same way every time she repeated herself. As she wanted to give a perfect performance, she was stressed and constantly had to start all over again. This is why we thought it's interesting to highlight that by adding the split screen of her telling the same story—especially as the Holy Spirit made her story possible.

One of the things I found interesting was when the documentary switches from documenting people who specifically claimed to be Jesus to that one man who talked about how Israel should have a political revolution. Do you consider this doc to be about general passion and fervor as much as it's about religious fervor?
Yes, you are right—it's also about general fervor. But even if it's fervor about political revolution, it is still about the kingdom of David. So the subject evolves around religion, regardless.

Religion contains a large spectrum of interpretation of possible persons... Also, in the history of the same religion, you got monks who were living in lonely caves, or Godfrey of Bouillon going on crusades. So in the movie, you also have people who take different approaches to the idea of being close to God.

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A man who claims not to be Jesus but rather "the chosen one" from the Tribe of Ephraim

Did the people you interview exhibit consistent behavior—besides the fact that they believed they were the messiah?
More or less... I would say yes. Only Bo, the Korean man, was somehow unpredictable. During the interview he has an outburst and suddenly starts to say, "Do you think it's easy for me to be selected?"

Also, Bo is the voice that's over the edited footage from the different holy places in Jerusalem—like the Wailing Wall, or the Holy Sepulchre, or their surroundings. Sometimes we show Bo's hand on camera, but it's a fragment of the full picture. We never show him in full, as the footage of him was taken secretly, and he doesn't want to give an interview as [he says] it's not time for him to appear on TV yet.

What do you hope the viewer gets out of watching this film? What reaction are you hoping for?
I hope to open horizons or to deliver doubts. Anyway, I hope to serve something more than pure entertainment.

Looking for Jesus (2012—...) is on view at Postmasters through February 28. For more information, visit the gallery's website.

Follow Zach on Twitter.

Smoking Weed Can Be a Lot of Fun, but Let's Not Pretend It Doesn't Fuck You Up

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Photo by Jake Lewis

This post first appeared on VICE UK.

At last year's Notting Hill Carnival—before the Red Stripe, warm rum, and weak drugs hijacked my general awareness of everything around me—I noticed some teenage boys smoking a joint. As is the case every time I get a whiff of skunk, the aroma took me straight back to my teens and early 20s, flooding my mind with a barrage of memories that I'm aware were a lot of fun but can't really string together all that coherently.

I was instantly beaten around the brain with that old catch-22: instinctively wanting to take a huge toke while also being very aware that doing so would be a terrible idea. That the innocent Nike foot soldiers in front of me would morph into a terrifying kaleidoscope of bum-fluff demons, their neon rosary beads and NOS balloons forming some kind of oppressive Goblin City on the streets of West London.

Not for the first time, I began to think about the sometimes pleasurable, often worrying, mostly confusing legacy weed has had on my life. Because here's the thing: Hetting high can be a lot of fun, but let's not pretend that smoking a load of skunk doesn't fuck you up a bit.

My first spliff wasn't particularly memorable; smoking weed just became a thing I did with my friends around the age of 16. And by "a thing," I don't mean a passing fad or an occasional pastime; it was all I did. Every day after school, we'd either sit in the park—or climb a tree in Hampstead Heath, if we were feeling especially motivated—and get high. I'm sure many of you have similar memories.

Sometimes we smoked soap bar and ended up with hot-rock holes in our clothes; sometimes we smoked bush weed—and a lot of it, because it was full of seeds and wouldn't get you lean if you didn't. But mainly it was skunk, the one your parents tell you is much stronger than the stuff they had in their day. Which, in fairness to your parents, is accurate: It's about five times more potent than that brown Thai stick stuff you get wrapped up in red string.

Not everyone has the same experiences with weed. The overwhelming amount of conflicting studies—the ones that prove cannabis definitely causes schizophrenia, or the ones that prove it definitely doesn't—should be evidence enough of that. Weed works for some people; it doesn't work for others. However, I can't help feeling there's a bit of a confirmation bias going on among some of those it does "work" for.

The majority of heavy smokers I know would tell you they can regularly get high and get on with their lives without feeling lazy, paranoid, or anxious. Press some of them a little harder and they'll admit that this isn't always the case; that they'll often find themselves experiencing more social anxiety and paranoia the morning after smoking compared with how they feel following a weed-free evening. Or that they can't suppress the thought that their heavy skunk consumption had something to do with their transition from outgoing 15-year-old to introverted 25-year-old.

Of course, all of this is qualitative at best—none of it has been recorded, tracked, medically qualified, or any of the other stuff it might take to convince the loudest voices on r/trees. However, the sheer number of people who've shared these feelings with me is enough to suggest there are probably others out there who are feeling the same but have chosen to keep up appearances around their friends.

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Photo by Jake Lewis

Looking back, I was definitely one of those kids. I lived close to a friend of mine in North London, and more often that not, if we'd been smoking I'd crash on his floor, the thought of a walk—followed by a night bus—down Holloway Road simply too much of an ordeal for my hazy brain. I knew I'd probably survive, but I couldn't deal with the stress of wondering if every person I saw might be a genuine nutter, out to punch me in the throat and steal my Nokia.

This sort of thing went on for years: smoking and kind of enjoying it (or at least thinking I did), before leaving whichever house I was in and readying myself to deal with all the bloodthirsty degenerates waiting for me outside. Bizarre, paranoid behavior began to seem normal; I accepted it as collateral for the apparent enjoyment of smoking weed with my friends.

I still wonder if weed made me act and think a certain way, or if that's just how I was at the time. I tend to think getting high exacerbates the negative thoughts we already have, and I recognize now that I was a pretty anxious, nervy kid. So smoking bud, given my propensity to feel anxious and nervy, was clearly a bad idea. Only, I felt I had to join in, because at an age where fitting in is more important than your own mental health, how could I say no?

Even now, hearing that people I once knew have gone through some kind of drug-induced psychosis doesn't seem all that dramatic. You just shrug your shoulders and try to remember how they were when you were younger. Weren't they always a bit weird? Or did skunk just do a total number on them?

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I suppose I'm lucky that I got away from weed before it got to me. My suspicion is that a lot of people simply smoke through their worries, refusing to admit that the moments of anxiety and paranoia are really happening.

I'm not anti-drugs in any respect, and I'm certainly not going to judge anyone for smoking weed. I'm also not suggesting that there's anything inherently wrong with cannabis (the medicinal benefits are numerous and deserve a ream of their own articles), or that some people really can'y get through an eighth a day well into their 80s without any negative side effects.

But what I am saying is, if you smoke a lot of weed and do feel creeping thoughts of anxiety and paranoia, maybe just don't smoke so much? Or at least admit to yourself that what you're feeling is real rather than dismissing it and ripping another bong, because your brain will thank you in the long run.

Follow Charles on Twitter.

Canada's Twitter Terrorists Are Afraid of the Internet

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Screenshot of a tweet by Abu Turaab al Kanadi

Whether it's new anti-terror legislation from Prime Minister Stephen Harper, or revelations a private intelligence company is tracing the path of ISIS operatives in Syria and Iraq, social media accounts connected to two of Canada's most prominent jihadists are cautiously changing their online behaviour.

Last Thursday, Stewart Bell of the National Post wrote a story profiling the work of a Waterloo-based intelligence firm using the geolocation data from the tweets of a suspected female ISIS operative, tracking her whereabouts all over the battlefields of Syria and Iraq.

According to iBRABO, the Toronto woman failed to turn off the geolocation data of her tweets, allowing the firm to easily track her from the Islamic State capital of Raqqa, all the way to the former modern Stalingrad of Kobane, and to the Iraqi city of Mosul.

Bell's story struck a chord with Abu Turaab al Kanadi, an online Twitter profile suspected to be connected with Mohammed Ali, a Mississauga native, and a Canadian allegedly in the ranks of the Islamic State.

"If you are planning to make Hijrah ['migration,' in this case to the Islamic State]," says Abu Turaab in a tweet last week before citing Bell's story, "stay off twitter and the Internet in general. Seriously."

Following his public display of fear, I was barred access from Turaab's account after he privatized his tweets to vetted followers—when just months earlier I communicated with the same online persona on his ik messenger account.

It's worth noting the Twitter account @FatherOfDuust now appears to be suspended, a tactic of Twitter admins against ISIS-affiliated accounts.

Days later, Abu Usamah reappeared online. The name is known to be a pseudonym used on social media accounts connected to Farah Shirdon—a Calgary native who spoke to VICE News over Skype. While ISIS related accounts publicized his return, his profile picture was curiously black, along with his background picture.

By contrast, Shirdon brazenly posted pictures on Instagram during the Islamic State's brutal campaign against Iraqi security forces and spoke freely on kik messenger this past summer. Abu Usamah, too, has now been suspended from Twitter, but not before he celebrated the death by immolation of a Jordanian pilot and barred my access to his private account.

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Screenshot of Abu Usamah's Twitter account before it was suspended

The fears of both these online figures are not without merit. Intelligence agencies like the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) admittedly keep an eye on terrorist Twitter, likely gleaning open-source data for their investigations.

"The sophisticated use by terrorists of social media and other communications technologies is an ongoing concern," a CSIS spokesperson told me in the fall, after two high-profile attacks on Canadian servicemen by potentially ISIS-inspired individuals.

At the same time, the RCMP is evasive on how it investigates online terrorism, but reportedly knew of the online goings-on of one member of what they allege was as ISIS terror cell operating in Ottawa.

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Photo from Abu Usamah's now-defunct Instagram account

When asked if Canada's domestic policing agency kept an eye on social media accounts of suspected terrorists, a spokesperson offered little.

"The RCMP generally does not comment on investigational techniques and neither confirm nor deny who or what may or may not be the subject of an investigation," wrote media relations officer Harold Pfleiderer in an emailed statement.

While Harper's new anti-terror bill targets online hate speech "promoting terrorism," it limits prosecution powers to sites hosted within Canada—thereby allowing Twitter jihadists to escape a crackdown from Ottawa.

Follow Ben Makuch on Twitter.


A Conversation With 71-Year-Old 'Nazi Hunter' Thomas Walther

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Thomas Walther. Photo by Stacy Lee

When you think "Nazi hunter," you probably think of a distant historical stereotype—uniformed men chasing each other through the German countryside with antique pistols and leather boots. Basically, Brad Pitt in these two movies. But even though 70 years have passed and both Nazis and their hunters now live in a much different world, the chase continues for some.

Retired 71-year-old judge Thomas Walther "hunts" Nazis, not by foot or by tank, but by making phone calls, writing emails, and documenting evidence from Holocaust survivors who can still remember what they saw. Once a Nazi is linked to murder and identified by the Office of Special Investigations in National Socialist Crimes, Walther uses his networks to get statements from the family members of victims, who are legally recognized as co-plaintiffs in modern court.

Walther's methods may seem less glamourous than those of Nazi hunters of the past, but it's just as crushing—coming down on Nazis guilty of murder with the full, objective force of international justice.

The focus of Walther's current resourcefulness is 93-year old ex-Nazi and German SS officer Oskar Groening. Groening, the so-called "bookkeeper" of Auschwitz, counted the money of dead Jewish people and stood guard as incoming freight trains unloaded their human cargo. Groening is unique in that he claims innocence, despite having overseen the deaths of 300,000 people at Auschwitz. Despite openly speaking about working at the camp and calling it a "horrible but necessary thing," he claims he committed no crime because he didn't directly kill anyone with his hands.

Walther has been in Montreal and Toronto for the past few weeks, speaking with Auschwitz survivors to help build the upcoming case against Groening, which starts April 21st. The Jewish community is deeply invested in and moved by Walther's work.

"My mother is a survivor of the holocaust, and my grandfather perished in a death march," said Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz of Congregation Tifereth Beth David Jerusalem in Montreal. "For me it was extremely moving to meet Walther, a German who refuses to bury the past, who insists on pursuing justice on behalf of the six million [Jews who died in the Holocaust]. And I know that many others in Montreal feel the same way."

While he was in Montreal speaking with witnesses, I met with Walther at the Holocaust Memorial Centre to talk with him about "hunting" Nazis, speaking with victims' families, and his upcoming case against 93-year-old Groening.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

VICE: Hi Thomas. Thank you very much for meeting with me. Could you describe your role in bringing guilty Nazis to justice and how you got started with it?
Walther: I'm a lawyer who is supporting victims and the families of the victims, the survivors in special cases or murder, accessory of murder from the time during the Nazi dictatorship. If the prosecutors are doing investigations against someone then I start as fast as I can to find co-plaintiffs, that means I search for families who have been on the victims' side during the crime of the accused. If he is involved in Auschwitz, then I search for victims families from Auschwitz, for example. Then, I represent these witnesses in court and express the extent to which the accused affected their lives.

In 2006, I had retired and had the chance to change my professional life because my youngest daughter at that time started university. So I decided to go to this office for Nazi crimes, decided to do something important. After a certain time I realized that one of the legal system's policies was wrong—that they only brought someone to court for National Socialist crimes if they were responsible for murder or accessory of murder directly, by using their own hands. I thought, "This is absolutely wrong!" You learn as a university student that accessory to a crime doesn't require you to use your hands.

So you helped spearhead the movement to bring justice to Nazis guilty of murder who weren't considered "directly" involved?
Yes. These so-called "smaller fish," they have not been investigated all these years. They were very important because if one of these guys hadn't done his job then the killing machinery would have stopped. By legal terms and my legal measuring, it's no argument to say, "If I didn't do it someone else would, the machinery would not stop." It's not an excuse.

Is that how you feel about Groening's defence as well?
Yes, well, Groening even spoke himself to Der Spiegel about being just a "cog in the machine." But the fact is, he was there, he did his job at the ramp, and so he is guilty. The testimony from family members that I'm gathering will not answer the question, "Is he guilty or not," but rather will show what the Holocaust means inside the families of the victims, to the court and to the public.

Your Father, Rudolph, hid two Jewish families in the house during the Kristallnacht riots of 1938. Did this in part inspire what you're doing now?
Yes, there is a connection. I have quite a close mental connection to my father. He has been important to my education. My knowledge and feeling of what is right and wrong mostly comes directly from my father. And these two stories about [hiding] his friends' families, I have always been very proud that he did such things.

What is it like to speak so openly with Holocaust survivors, to relive their memories with them?
The co-plaintiffs all have very, very personal stories about their family lives and how the Holocaust has affected them. This is what I'm trying to show, because nobody can possibly understand what it means to have 300,000 people murdered in 57 days—nobody can imagine what it means.

It is hard at first, but after a short time they open themselves up and speak about it. I always have the feeling that it is good for them. They have a good feeling that somebody is paying attention to that time and the crimes against their own parents and siblings, that there will be a trial where the names and the fates of the lives of their closest family members will be described. It's very late justice for them.

So are the families of the victims hoping to get a statement from Groening?
I don't know if he will personally speak with them. But they want to ask him questions. They want to know how he feels when he looks at them. They might think, "We are nearly the same age. We were at Auschwitz together and he was an SS man who was on the ramp, and my parents were there."... After 70 years they will ask, "What is going on? How do you feel?"

Groening lived a relatively normal life after his involvement in the Holocaust. He had a family and a nice job at a glass factory in Germany. For years it's as though he got away with what he did. What does that mean for you?
The justice system simply didn't work. He had the chance to get away from legal consequences and he had a good life. He has two sons and he was married and his wife passed away four years ago. He had a normal peaceful life. He is a very, very important person for me, because he is the result of my forgoing work for years. So April 21st, the beginning of the trial, will be a very important day for me.

Why is it important to get justice, even so long after the crime has been committed?
It's not only important for the victims' families, but it also can send a message. You see what just happened in France [the Charlie Hebdo massacre], or for example there are 600 or 700 Germans fighting with ISIS right now. If 70 years after the Holocaust Nazis are found guilty of aiding and abetting murder from Auschwitz, perhaps they will also be brought to justice if they ever come back to Germany, even if they only stood watch as a journalist was beheaded.

You've had a unique look at humanity from extreme points: you've seen what many consider to be the most evil, but also the inspiring togetherness that those events created. How has this shaped how you see humankind?
Looking at the very, very dark side of humankind, and having connected with the families of the survivors of this hellish situation, it gives me an impression, yes. But the hope that mankind is learning from its past, that the evil cannot come back—I am not so sure.

You look at ISIS, the boulevard of Paris, Israel and Gaza, the anti-Islamic group PEGIDA in Germany—this way of mass violence completely out of racism and ideological differences is a starting point for things we do not want to have again! It is not the decision of Islam or Judaism or Christianity or anything else. If people start killing because of such things, then it is perhaps a signal that mankind is not so clever at learning from history.

Do you think that standing up for justice like you are now can help with this seemingly abysmal picture?
Yes, I think it is a good idea. To stand up and to try to work for justice and for truth, that's always something that is useful, and if anything can help, perhaps this can help a little bit.

Follow Stephen Keefe on Twitter.

VICE INTL: The Ship Breakers of Bangladesh

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There aren't too many places left in the world where the practice of ship breaking—scrapping old ships for metal—can still exist. These days, environmental and labor regulations in the developed world have displaced the practice to India, Bangladesh, and Pakistan, where cargo carriers are salvaged for their steel.

The largest vessels wind up on the shores of the city of Chittagong in Bangladesh, where the industry has become a vital part of the country's urbanization. It employs roughly 200,000 workers and supplies the country with 80 percent of its steel. Ship breakers beach and dismantle vessels daily wearing flip­-flops and T-shirts. It's no easy task, considering ships are constructed to withstand the elements for the 30 years they spend operating on international waters. We decided to check it out.

Remembering the Jacka, Bay Area Icon

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Remembering the Jacka, Bay Area Icon

East Londoners Talk About the Gentrification of Their Neighborhoods

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This post originally appeared on VICE UK.

As you approach them from the Wanstead Flats, the Fred Wigg and John Walsh Towers in Leytonstone, in East London, jut into the skyline like the last two teeth in a gummy mouth. The towers have provided affordable council housing for local residents since the 1960s. But under new development plans from Waltham Forest Council, one of the two tower blocks will be sold off and become private housing to fund a refurbishment. Seventy-four council houses are expected to be lost in a borough with a waiting list as high as 20,000.

Everybody agrees the flats are in need of repair and maintenance; the outside paintwork is discolored, the two stairwells are cold and damp, and the kitchens and bathrooms are in a dire state. But the council's plans seem to use that desire for refurbishment as a stick with which to poke residents out of the door. "We know that residents on the estate want to see their estate improved and that is why we will be investing in the area," they say. "Investing" here includes getting rid of much needed council stock. Residents feel poorly consulted and disenfranchised.

It's a story replicated across London as the housing crisis continues, and the only homes that get built seem to be ones that the city's poorer residents can't afford. Here, three women living in the towers explain what they think of the redevelopment in their own words.

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From left to right: Sonia McKenzie, Particia Dunnall, and Siama Hussain

Patricia Dunnall

I've been here for the last 29 years and I've got a family that lives around Waltham Forest. We're a good community and we look out for each other. Now the council has come along and they're trying to make one block private to make money. They want to decant some people and find them properties. But as we know Waltham Forest doesn't have any council homes—it's all housing association and going to be very expensive.

I will fight as much as I can because I hate the way they have treated us.

They've run these two blocks down into the ground. Why? I don't know. Maybe they just don't care about Leytonstone. In 2011 we were treated badly after a fire. In 2012 during the Olympics the council went ahead and put missiles on the top of our roof, then published it and told everybody in the world where they would be. They made a target out of us because they don't care about the people.

I'd like to see those that want to move—those that are overcrowded—be allowed to. But those that want to stay should be able to stay. If they can give me and my son a two bedroom council house in Leytonstone then maybe I will take it. But for now, I'm staying where I am. I will fight as much as I can because I hate the way they have treated us.

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Saima Hussain

I've been here almost 18 years. I moved in with my first child in 1998 when I was pregnant with my second. At the time I wanted to be in a flat rather than a home because of personal circumstances. When I moved in here I felt safe and secure. I brought up five children in this flat. For me it's been my home. Over the years there isn't a face that I'd say I wouldn't recognize. Everybody is like a family.

Out of three options presented by the council, I said all I wanted was a new kitchen and bathroom. But Ascham Homes and Waltham Forest Council feel that they don't have to consult us on anything. We pay our rent, do up our homes, but we feel like we have no rights.

Boris Johnson is pushing people out of London because of the prices. I'm an estate agent so I know what the housing market is like. I get phone calls every week from people saying they were thrown out of their home and sent into Birmingham and asking whether I have any properties in London. The council has got no homes to offer. So far I've been offered Billericay, which is too far. I want the comfort of knowing my own area, the shops, and knowing my kids can go outside without having to worry.

At the moment, we're united and saying we're not moving.

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Sonia McKenzie

I moved in here in 1992 and have been here for the past 23 years. I believe that they are using our homes as a cash cow. When you sell off one block and lose 70 council homes, you're not solving the problem, you're adding to it.

When it comes to these two blocks, you have to fight, scream and shout to get Waltham Forest Council to help. When I first moved in the kitchen and bathroom were very old fashioned. But it wasn't until 2002 that they came in and changed it. There's a rich part and a poor part of Leytonstone and this is the poor part. As you can see we don't get any money pumped into here.

I won't accept them telling me I have to pack up 27 years, remove my son, break away from the community and my family, and turn my life upside down because they want to make money out of the two blocks.

In September 2013 the council put on an event and said we should come down and tell them what our ideas for the blocks were. They came with architects and told us we could choose the design and even the colours. But as time went on, we started to hear less and less about the community and what we want.

I'm not moving. If I have to move it'll be my own choice. I won't accept them telling me I have to pack up 27 years, remove my son, break away from the community and my family and turn my life upside down because they want to make money out of the two blocks.

Follow Philip Kleinfeld on Twitter.

VICE Vs Video Games: The Unexpected Girl Trouble of ‘Life Is Strange’

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This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

When Dontnod Entertainment released Life Is Strange to the world, the Parisian studio knew a storm would be coming. It's right there, on the screen, after all: A terrific whirlwind dominates the opening seconds of their new, five-part episodic series, on a collision course with a small Pacific Northwest town. But they probably didn't predict Polygon's response to their intimate examination of the lives of Oregon teenagers, girls whose friendships have been stretched, strained, and split, only to be sewn back together through incredible circumstances.

"Can gaming's great women characters be written by men?" came the question from the site's Colin Campbell, reflecting on the depiction of Life Is Strange's two leading characters, Max and Chloe, teens whose lives diverged five years prior to the 2013-set events of the game. I get that the role of women in games is a topic of great scrutiny right now, as it probably should be, in so many ways: how female games characters are presented, how many women work in the industry, and the gaming audience's close-to-even gender split. But Campbell was baiting his readership, pure and simple, into a response.

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Life Is Strange, launch trailer

Check out this sentence, from Campbell's piece: "The game begins in a moment of extreme peril for [Max] Caulfield. I might be going too far here, but I find it interesting that she is presented, not merely in trouble, but endangered by that most erect of phallic structures: a lighthouse. Make of that what you will."

As I saw it, Max was almost crushed by a collapsing lighthouse, and I don't really understand what more there is to make of the scene. Campbell goes on to say that the writing in Life Is Strange is "engaging and original," but then, after a detour into the writer's own fiction-writing experiences, he concludes that the game's presentation of Max "doesn't feel entirely authentic."

Now, neither Campbell nor I have ever been a teenage girl, so our perspectives on this aren't perfect. But, to me, Max was a fairly accurate rendering of so many socially reserved women that I have met in my life, fiercely intelligent and creative but almost ashamed to present those sides of their personalities beside louder, more "popular" peers. You might say aspects of her character seem cliché—the obsession with analog tech, with Polaroid over digital cameras, and acoustic guitar tunes instead of banging EDM (which, even in 2013, was Quite the Thing among American teens).

You might say that painting Max in generic colors is positively damning of the potential for female characters in contemporary video gaming, but hang on: Life is Strange is one episode, "Chrysalis," deep into a five-part series, and the absolute necessity of any developer come first contact with their headline cast is to make them memorable, recognizable come the second time, the third and fourth and fifth. Dontnod co-founder and creative lead on Life Is Strange, Jean-Maxine Moris, admits that yes, the studio has kept Max relatively stereotypical—for now.

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Max (left) and Chloe are the game's leading characters—you play as the former throughout episode one.

"In many ways, the characters that you find in episode one are more archetypal than you'd find in other, non-episodic games—but that's just like comparing a television series to a film. We faced narrative challenges, like breaking down the story so that each episode was self-contained and had a sense of closure while also leaving things open enough for the next episode, without giving too much away. There are a lot of challenges that we're facing."

Moris—J-Max to many a friend and stranger alike—speaks repeatedly of challenges, which is entirely expected as Life Is Strange represents a new step into the unknown for his team. Dontnod's only previous game was the Capcom-published Remember Me (which I wrote about for Edge last year), a future-Paris-set third-person brawler that mixed Arkham-comparable combat with neat memory remixing mini-games. Despite some critical appreciation, it didn't really connect with the mainstream—not form that telegraphs success with this new project.

I'm not shying away from the fact that there is a problem with our industry, but the truth is that sexism is a problem in society as a whole. There is sexism in games, just as there is everywhere else.

Life Is Strange's gameplay hook is again about rewinding events—but here it's in "real" time, as Max can undo events around her to make a better (immediate) future. Like getting a schoolmate to dodge an incoming football, or tamper with a tin of paint to ensure the Queen Bitch of her academy has her cashmere cardigan ruined. Using this ability allows Max to avoid death beneath that lighthouse, late on in the episode. Which brings us back to where we came in.

Campbell's piece has, understandably, struck a nerve with Moris. "I think that men can write great female characters," he tells me, with categorical assurance. I don't disagree: think of the great female characters that authors from Shakespeare to Stieg Larsson have created. "So, I totally disagree with You Know What. We went through a very rigorous creative process, and we are not making the fact that we have lead female characters our main selling point. We have, however, always been really open to having female leads, and once we made that decision, we stuck to it.

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As Max, you get the chance to poke around Chloe's house—but be warned that not everything you find in the cupboards of her step-dad is entirely pleasant

"I get that the way women are seen in games is a very important topic these days—but we don't make a big deal out of our choices with Life Is Strange's characters, and if nobody else did, it wouldn't be. I'm not shying away from the fact that there is a problem with our industry, but the truth is that sexism is a problem in society as a whole. There is sexism in games, just as there is everywhere else. It wasn't invented by us (games makers), and it won't be solved by us, either. In terms of character development, whether they're male or female doesn't matter much to me—I just want good characters.

"We put a huge amount of research into this game—into knowing how teenagers of Oregon would act and speak in 2013. We spent a lot of time essentially living like teenagers. And here we are. I'm very happy with where we're at, and whole everything we've done and will do is open to criticism, of course, it shouldn't be because of the fact that we're males."

Life Is Strange is memorable—for its characters, however broad their personality brushstrokes right now, and more besides (including its "hella" slang, which has grated against some critical assessments). Its art style mightn't push the capabilities of current-gen consoles—the game is cross-gen, for PlayStations 3 and 4 and Microsoft machines, and Windows—but it's painterly pretty, and its lighting hugely atmospheric. Its puzzles in episode one are simple, and its major decisions not as life-or-death as, for example, Telltale's on-going Game of Thrones series.

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Even when she's reunited with Chloe and visits her home, Max casts a lonely shadow.

The studio's aim was for the art "to have this strong sense of nostalgia, a positive nostalgia," and while I've no connection to its setting or many of Max's idiosyncrasies, I know what Moris is getting at. As far-out as the time-rewind mechanic is, so much of Life Is Strange is distinctly everyday and universal of relatability, from the overdue bills on the sideboard at Chloe's place, to the schooldays cliques butting heads for no real reason besides boredom. Most British players won't have seen the town's rich kid wave a gun about in a bathroom, but maybe that was all the rage in 2013 Oregon.

And it might just be a watershed moment for gaming, too. Life Is Strange looks every inch the indie production, with its emphasis on gentle problem-solving, long conversations and its general aesthetic. But it's backed by a massive publisher in the shape of Square Enix—according to Moris, the only potential publishing partner that didn't want to change a thing about the game, like replacing Max and Chloe with male alternatives.

"It is ground breaking, and we're in a really unique spot. We are between indie and triple-A. Square is taking a risk, where other publishers didn't want the game, for all the wrong reasons. But this is a very meaningful relationship to us, and I hope it is to them, too. This is not a game for everybody, but I think it's one that is going to matter, both now and when we look back at it."

Episode one of Life Is Strange, "Chrysalis" is out now. Episode two, "Out of Time," is released in March.

Follow Mike on Twitter.

VICE Vs Video Games: What Does Katy Perry’s Mobile Game Mean for the Platform’s Genuine Innovators?

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Katy Perry. Photo via Facebook

Following in the gilded footsteps of Kim Kardashian and her Hollywood hit of 2014—a favorite with millions of "casual" gamers and noted critics like Leigh Alexander alike—Katy Perry is set to get her own mobile game later this year.

Glu Mobile, the "leader in 3D freemium mobile gaming" behind the wildly successful Hollywood, confirmed the news with a statement leaning more on Perry's social media visibility than her appropriateness as a video game avatar. With some 170 million followers across her socials and over 64 million on Twitter alone, Katy Perry's is the biggest account on the network, so the studio's decision makes perfect sense. If KK's free-to-play (F2P) app quadrupled Glu's revenue, making $43 million in just three months, imagine the money a game based on someone who's not ranked a lowly 16th amongst Twitter's elite could generate for the San Francisco company.

Whatever the Perry app proves to be—no title is locked in yet, but of course it'll be free to "get" and loaded with microtransaction options—it's said to feature both the singer's likeness and voice. It will, says Glu, "introduce players to a digital playground of global success and talent." It will be a hit—Perry is a superstar on a worldwide level, with number ones in countless territories, and Glu's announcement comes directly after her rapturously received Super Bowl half-time performance. It will not fail. But with Glu on record that they "went to Hollywood... to do a number of deals" in 2013, who might be next for their own mobile game—and what does this mean for the platform's more creative studios?

You don't have to think for too long before several possible celebrities come into focus, individuals who'd comfortably top the App Store fronting their own game. Just scan that list of Twitter's biggest again, and pick three at random from the top 40. Bieber? Sure, a total no brainer, though it's tough to see Glu or an equivalent player in the F2P market incorporating side-missions revolving around paternity disputes. Taylor Swift? Yep. Lady Gaga? Obviously. Bill Gates? So the line needs drawing somewhere. But the point is that it barely matters what the actual game is, so long as one of our mega-celebrities has a cartoony render of their face plastered over it.

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'Kim Kardashian: Hollywood' made Glu $43m in three months, so expect to see more titles in its vein.

And that could really dent the prospects of studios like Sweden's Simogo, a small team of multi-award-winning developers whose iOS titles are splendidly idiosyncratic and entirely unlike anything else on the market. In 2013, they released Year Walk, a legitimately scary first-person crawl through spooked Scandinavian woods, and Device 6, a singularly styled text adventure that really has to be experienced to be understood. Both attracted significant acclaim, and the studio's sole release proper of 2014, the interactive picture book of The Sailor's Dream, might have been expected to emulate said success. It didn't.

"We don't do numbers like the big indie games, like Braid or The Stanley Parable—we do maybe a tenth of those games," Simogo co-founder Simon Flesser told me the day before the Perry announcement. "We're a two-man company, though, so the games are generally profitable. But not all of them are—you win some, you lose some, I guess."

"The Sailor's Dream hasn't done really well for us, at all. I'm not sure we'll ever make the money back that we spent on it. But I have totally given up trying to work out how this industry works, so it's easier for us to just concentrate on making the things that we want to, and hopefully these are things that other people will be interested in. That's all we can do, really."

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'The Sailor's Dream' is a beautifully original experience, but it hasn't made its money back.

One of the most striking hits of mobile gaming in 2014 was Monument Valley, a puzzle game that actually looked to popular music for some inspiration. Designer Ken Wong told me (for Kotaku) that he's approached the M.C. Escher-indebted title "a lot like an album," more specially "an album like [Pink Floyd's] The Dark Side of the Moon. There's a story to that album, but it's tonal and lyrical. You might not have the firmest idea of what's happening, but you get that feeling of emotional ups and downs." Monument Valley did convey an ambiguous story wrapped in a melancholic aesthetic, but while it topped the App Store's paid chart and won an Apple Design Award, its charged-for brevity attracted heavy criticism from users used to the F2P model—the microtransactions-heavy set-up of games like Kim Kardashian: Hollywood.

When the games director at Monument Valley's developers, ustwo, Neil MacFarland, spoke to me for The Future According to VICE, he was quick to not blame App Store customers themselves, but more the culture that F2P games has bred. "The economics of app stores are strange, but they're also fluid, which means developers have the opportunity to try new models. Games face challenges because of free-to-play models, [but] all of this means we're living in interesting economic times."

Monument Valley earned its makers $5.8 million in revenue, from development costs of under $1.5 million. It sold two and a half million copies, and is installed on over ten million unique devices. It's a hit—and a paid-for one, too, selling for around $3 at release. But it's a massive exception to the rule of the App Store, where the top-grossing games are always F2P titles: Clash of Clans, Candy Crush, iterations and Game of War make up the top five at the time of writing, with only Spotify preventing a games whitewash, placing fourth.

It used to be that the editorial team at the App Store made a point of highlighting new releases of intrigue, which stood aside from the endless clones and freemium cash-grabs. But today that position seems to have changed, from the perspective of Flesser, at least.

"We've been around for five, six years, and I still have to chase for coverage. Apple has been good at spotlighting interesting games, but I'm not sure they're so good anymore. I used to have a lot of respect for their editorial teams, but a lot of the stuff I see them featuring now, I don't think it's as interesting as what they were featuring two years ago, where they would feature strange things that sort of promoted the platform in itself."

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F2P games like Candy Crush dominate the App Store's top-grossing chart.

As the likes of Glu bring more "viral oops"-exploiting games fronted by superstars to the market, as well as massive tie-ins with James Bond and The Terminator, can smaller teams, like the eight-person ustwo and even smaller Simogo, hope to see their projects make an impression amongst Hay Day, My Talking Tom, and the other crap clogging the top-grossing list?

I'd like to be optimistic, because the mobile platform is so important for widening gaming's audience and encouraging the most even gender balance between players. And at the happening-right-now Casual Connect conference in Amsterdam, The Binary Family's Thorsten Rauser rounded on mobile devs' obsession with F2P. "There's reason to believe we are fucked," he said. "Our industry has become bad, [and] if we look at casual games in 2015, what's out there is mostly crap. It's three or four game principles... It's all the same thing." He compared F2P games to gambling, adding: "What we're doing is selling (these) games to children. I think it's so disgusting."

But when the man behind Candy Crush, Tommy Palm, and Epic's CEO Tim Sweeny are convinced that F2P is the future, that's incredibly likely to be the case. Whether we're talking Supercell barbarians or superstar pop singers, it doesn't really matter: Raw numbers are threatening true creativity in the field, compromising coming projects' chances of App Store visibility, and that's something anyone who loves games can feel more than a little depressed about.

Follow Mike Diver on Twitter.

The Bizarre and Deadly Political Scandal Consuming Argentina

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In the past few weeks, Argentina has resembled a dystopian wonderland where everything can be horribly obvious or ridiculously warped. Or both. A prosecutor accuses the president of covering up a terrorist attack, and a few days later that prosecutor is found dead. Oh, and that prosecutor had recently drafted a warrant for the arrest of the country's president, Cristina Fernández de Kirchner.

If you think this sounds like the plot of a Tom Clancy novel or a multi-episode arc on House of Cards, you're not wrong. But how did Argentina get to this surreal place?

In 1994, a car bomb exploded in the Argentine Israelite Mutual Association (AIMA), a Jewish cultural organization in the middle of downtown Buenos Aires. Killing 85 people and injuring over 200, this was the worst terrorist attack in Argentine history—and no one was ever punished for it. One of the initial theories about the attack was "the Syrian connection"—basically, that this was the product of a vendetta against former President Carlos Menem for his support of the US-led coalition in the first Iraq War, among other things. But federal prosecutor Alberto Nisman was focused squarely on the "Iranian connection," the idea being that Tehran provided financial and strategic support for a Hezbollah cell that carried out the attack. In 2006, Nisman and the state of Argentina, under the presidency of Néstor Kirchner, issued international arrest warrants for eight former Iranian agents allegedly involved in the intelligence behind the attack.

In January 2013, after years of unsuccessful attempts by Buenos Aires and Interpol to bring the suspects to Argentine court, President Kirchner—widow of the previous president—signed a memorandum of understanding with Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad that implied, among other things, that the accused could only be judged in Iranian territory. The agreement was presented as a breakthrough in an investigation that seemed to have reached a dead end. But it was strongly rejected by Jewish organizations and was later declared unconstitutional by Argentina's Federal Court.

On January 14, two years after the agreement, Nisman presented a report that accused President Kirchner and her Foreign Minister Héctor Timerman, among other officials of the government, of having concocted that pact in order to cover up for the Iranian suspects. They argued the government had made this secret deal in exchange for badly needed oil. The following Sunday, hours prior to his presentation before Congress, Nisman was found with a bullet in his head in his apartment's bathroom. The federal government quickly tried to advance the hypothesis of a suicide through Secretary of Security Sergio Berni.

Nisman's death was caused by the bullet of an old Bersa .22, which had been given to him hours before by his close collaborator, the analyst Diego Lagomarsino. He said Nisman had asked him for the gun because he feared for his safety.

"I don't even trust my security detail," Nisman supposedly said to Lagomarsino on Saturday. At the time of his death, his desk was full of files about the investigation and luminous highlighter pens, and there was a shopping list for his maid, who was supposed to come to work on Monday.

Nicolás Wiñazki, a journalist for the Argentine newspaper Clarín who had been in touch with Nisman while he was preparing his allegations, told VICE, "I met with him the same day he presented his report, and after that we kept talking on the phone, and exchanging Whatsapp messages until Saturday, hours before his dead body was found. I don't think he killed himself. He was super active, energetic. He was very confident in the evidence he had." (Nisman also told VICE News days before his death that his "proof is strong.")

"None of us believe you were the maker of this end," Judge Sandra Arroyo Salgado, Nisman's ex-wife and the mother of his daughters, said at his funeral. His coffin rests in a parcel devoted to martyrs in the Jewish cemetery in La Tablada. One day before the tragic news broke, Salgado received a magazine issue in her home with a retouched picture of her ex-husband. A black (bullet) hole had been drawn over his forehead.

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President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner. Photo via Flickr user Global Panorama

At this point, many people in Argentina are convinced Nisman didn't kill himself. Kirchner, who initially encouraged the hypothesis of a suicide from her Facebook account, now says that she's sure that he was killed ("I have no proof, but I don't have any doubts either.") Leaving aside the accusatory, blogger-like tone employed by a president routinely taking to Facebook in the midst of national turmoil, Kirchner's new story implicates Lagomarsino as an undercover spy cooperating with Antonio Stiuso, a local J. Edgar Hoover of sorts who had 100 cell phones despite being ousted from the intelligence services in December. He was also the main source for Nisman's allegations.

According to this story, the assassination of the prosecutor was only the last act of a scheme to corner Kirchner after she was implicated in the coverup of the 1994 bombing. The president, for her part, recently announced a plan to reform the intelligence services.

"It is very serious, and noteworthy, to say the least, for the president to overtly accuse a common citizen. It would be good if she could present the evidence to court," Maximiliano Rusconi, Lagomarsino's attorney, told VICE. On Wednesday, Rusconi formally requested that Kirchner be called to testify as a witness.

In the meantime, prosecutor Viviana Fein, in charge of the investigation of Nisman's death, has not offered much clarity. The crime scene was strangely disrupted in the hours after the body was found by the presence of Berni, the security official. Early this week, Fein announced that she would take her vacation toward the end of the month—which is odd when you are in charge of investigating the greatest political crime in recent memory—but changed her mind, confirming she will stay in charge.

Beneath this tangled mess of intrigue remains the investigation of the 1994 bombing, and lingering suspicion of a coverup operation. For the moment, Judge Daniel Rafecas—a Holocaust expert—will take over Nisman's probe. Although there are plenty of opinions regarding the legal soundness of Nisman's accusations, there's evidence in the form a reported 300 CDs—yes, compact discs—worth of telephone taps of government officials. Some of them have already leaked and spread throughout the media, exposing the sordid political machinations and blackmailing ways of the intelligence services. Nothing to be stunned by, maybe, but it's still unnerving to see our darkest assumptions about powerful figures borne out.

Pablo Plotkin is a writer and editor of the Argentine edition of Rolling Stone. Follow him on Twitter.


Leaked Detail About New Chinese Aircraft Carrier Leaves Bigger Questions Unanswered

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Leaked Detail About New Chinese Aircraft Carrier Leaves Bigger Questions Unanswered

Your Guide to the Koch Brothers, America's Favorite Dark Money Billionaires

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With their recent pledge to spend $889 million on the 2016 presidential election, it's time to recognize a weird truth about American politics: The Koch brothers, namely Charles and David, with an assist from David's twin William, have a financial influence on par with the two major political parties.

Who are the Koch brothers? What is a Kochtopus? And should we all start preparing to live on boats by 2025? If you live in the United States, and you aren't planning to move to Mars before 2016, pay attention.

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David Koch. Illustration by Irene Rinaldi

WHO ARE THE KOCH BROTHERS?
When you use the words "Koch brothers" in relation to American politics, you're probably talking about Charles and David Koch. But there are two more Koch brothers: Frederick, the oldest, and William, David's twin. Here's the breakdown on the family.

FRED KOCH
The family patriarch is Fred Koch, who started what his sons would later rename Koch Industries. Fred was a chemical-engineering graduate from MIT, and he invented a new way of converting oil into gasoline, which he used, largely, in the Soviet Union. Because of his presence there, he bore close witness to Stalin's excesses, and it bred in him a deep—some would say paranoid and pathological—distrust of Communism.

In 2010, Jane Mayer published the definitive profile of the Kochs in the New Yorker , and she wrote of Fred, "In 1958, Fred Koch became one of the original members of the John Birch Society, the arch-conservative group known, in part, for a highly skeptical view of governance and for spreading fears of a Communist takeover. Members considered President Dwight D. Eisenhower to be a Communist agent... 'The colored man looms large in the Communist plan to take over America,' [Fred Koch] warned. Welfare was a secret plot to attract rural blacks to cities, where they would foment 'a vicious race war.'"

Sounds like a fun guy, right? His sons thought so. Fred raised Frederick, Charles, David, and William in his image, forcing them to work long days on the family ranch and flooding them with his political opinions.

FREDERICK
The eldest of the Koch brothers, Frederick was essentially disowned by his father when he decided to go to Yale instead of MIT and study drama. In his 2010 New York magazine profile on the Kochs, Andrew Goldman wrote, "Frederick busies himself, William says, 'buying castles,' like the Schloss Bluhnbach in Austria, the former hunting lodge of Archduke Franz Ferdinand." According to Mayer, Frederick moved to Monaco and began collecting objects of historical significance. Politically, he appears to play little role in the family now.

CHARLES
The second eldest, Charles is the brother who turned Koch Industries into the second-largest privately-owned company in the United States, with a revenue of $115 billion, according to Forbes. (David also played a role in the company, but most of the credit is given to Charles.) Products under the Koch chemical umbrella include Dixie cups, Angel Soft toilet paper, and Brawny paper towels, which the Nightly Show's Larry Wilmore painfully discovered when he tried to boycott the company. Koch Industries is also a leading producer of formaldehyde, and worked hard to fight the government's labeling of the chemical as a known carcinogen — an effort that ultimately failed after David resigned from the National Institute of Health's board.

DAVID
Mayer and Goldman's 2010 articles were a shock to plenty of folks in New York who had previously thought of David Koch as the rich guy who just gave everyone money. David's philanthropy is the most complicating factor in the Koch family narrative. In The Chronicle of Philanthropy 's top 50 philanthropists of 2013, Koch placed No. 24 with a donation to New York-Presbyterian Hospital of $101 million. Beyond that, he's given $100 million to MIT, resulting in the creation of the David H. Koch Institute for Integrative Cancer Research, and hundreds of millions more toward a number of causes: fighting prostate cancer, which he suffers from; renovating the Smithsonian's dinosaur hall; a wing at the American Museum of Natural History; $65 million to the Metropolitan Museum of Art; and $100 million to the State Theater of New York at Lincoln Center, which was renamed the David H. Koch Theater and is home to the New York City Ballet and New York City Opera.

David also had a rep as a playboy: Mayer wrote that he was "described by associates as 'affable' and 'a bit of a lunk,' enjoyed for years the life of a wealthy bachelor. He rented a yacht in the South of France and bought a waterfront home in Southampton, where he threw parties that the website New York Social Diary likened to an 'East Coast version of Hugh Hefner's soirées.'" He's since settled down with a wife, and told Goldman that prostate cancer had sapped his sex drive.

David and Charles are tied as the 9th-richest people in the world, and David is the richest man in New York City, eclipsing former Mayor Michael Bloomberg.

WILLIAM
If Frederick's the black sheep, William is the runt. Goldman wrote that William lived in David's shadow, playing behind him on the MIT basketball team and believing himself the least-preferred of the Koch boys growing up. Goldman, among others, have attributed William's dogged pursuit of America's Cup—he spent $65 million to win the amateur sailing competition in 1992—to be one protracted dick-measuring contest against Charles and David.

William's issues with the family to a litigious turn when he and Frederick tried to buy out Charles from Koch Industries. They failed, and William sold out his shares for $470 million, but believed he was undercut. The 15-year legal battle against his brothers—which included Charles and William cold-shouldering each other at their mother's funeral—ended in 2001 with a settlement. In the meantime, William started his own chemicals company, the Oxbow Group. He also collected art, including model boats and a photo of Billy the Kid, once had to file a lawsuit to evict a lover from one of his condominiums, and got duped by a wine merchant who sold him $5 million worth of fake wines. He's now married, for the third time, to a Rooney, as in the family that owns the Pittsburgh Steelers.

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Charles Koch. Illustration by Irene Rinaldi

WHAT DO THE KOCH BROTHERS BELIEVE?
If you were to describe the Koch brothers' political views in one word, it would be "libertarian." But through their pursuit of power and influence—especially over the last few years—that easy label has been muddled somewhat. Because despite their MIT educations, and David's endless fueling of the arts and science research, the Koch brothers have become the financial engine that makes the Tea Party go.

Both David and Charles were heavily influenced by Friedrich von Hayek's free-market bible The Road to Serfdom , and further by the work of Robert LeFevre, an advocate for the abolition of government. David ran as the Libertarian Party's vice presidential candidate in 1980, spending $2 million on the campaign. Among the party's goals were the abolition of various federal law enforcement and regulatory agencies, including the CIA, the SEC, and the Department of Energy. The party also wanted to eliminate Social Security, minimum wage laws, gun control laws, and income taxes—positions the Koch brothers still hold, to varying degrees. (On the flip side, they have become less vocal about legalizing prostitution and recreational drugs, which were also included in party's platform that year.)

The Kochs' money didn't make much of a difference. Libertarian Party candidates received one percent of the vote that year, and David and Charles retreated from conventional politics into special-interest financing efforts. They continue to represent similar political positions, with the addition of advocating for repeal of the Affordable Care Act and trumpeting climate-change denial. The latter position is likely influenced by their business interests: according to UMass-Amherst's Political Economy Research Institute, Koch Industries ranked as the country's 13th-worst air polluter in 2013. And their support of the Tea Party has caused the Kochs to promote efforts against abortion and gay marriage and in favor of interventionism, all positions that the Kochs otherwise claim to oppose.

Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders, one of the most liberal members of Congress who has been teasing a run for the 2016 Democratic presidential nomination, gives a pretty good idea of how the far-left feels about the Kochs in a statement on his website: "The agenda of the Koch brothers is to repeal every major piece of legislation that has been signed into law over the past 80 years that has protected the middle class, the elderly, the children, the sick, and the most vulnerable in this country."

HOW MUCH MONEY ARE THE KOCH BROTHERS SPENDING?
A lot. A lot. Here's how that $889 million compares to what various key elements spent in 2012, according to data compiled by the Washington Postand the New York Times:

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Infographic by Haisam Hussein

This means that, if spending levels were to hold steady into 2016, the Kochs would spend almost 50 percent more than the RNCand DNC combined and more than each candidate individually.

HOW DOES THE KOCH NETWORK WORK?
Now this is where it gets tricky. It's notoriously hard to get a full understanding of the Kochs' network—also known as the Kochtopus—because they spread their spending across so many different organizations. In 2010, Meyer wrote, "Tax records indicate that in 2008 the three main Koch family foundations gave money to thirty-four political and policy organizations, three of which they founded, and several of which they direct. The Kochs and their company have given additional millions to political campaigns, advocacy groups, and lobbyists. ... Only the Kochs know precisely how much they have spent on politics."

Their network has only grown since then. Tracking the breadth of the Kochs' donations is now a Herculean effort, but Mother Jones compiled a fairly comprehensive list this past fall. The network is highlighted by a few major organizations. On the research side, there's the Cato Institute, a libertarian-leaning think tank that the Kochs founded, and the Mercatus Center, a market-oriented research institution housed at George Mason University, each of which has received an estimated $30 million from the Kochs. The brothers have also bankrolled three groups that have played a central role in the Tea Party movement: Americans for Prosperity, which replaced the Kochs' old Citizens for a Sound Economy, and which has received an estimated $60 million from the brothers, as well as FreedomWorks and Freedom Partners.

The money the Kochs plan to spend on the 2016 election will likely be spread these groups—particularly Americans for Prosperity and Freedom Partners—as well as countless other organizations, including dozens of smaller groups representing special interests. But thanks to campaign-finance laws, it won't even be clear how much of the money comes directly from the Kochs, and how much of it comes from their network of associates and organizations.

Follow Kevin Lincoln on Twitter

Comics: Envoy - 'Colonel Dreyer's Office'

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Look at Lane Milburn's website and get his book from Fantagraphics.

Patenting a Magic Trick Is Tricky Business

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1894 promotional poster for magician Harry Kellar. Image via Flickr user trialsanderrors.

In 1921, a slick, savvy, and territorial Russian-American magician named Horace Goldin filed for a US patent on the now legendary sawing-a-lady-in-half trick. Goldin wasn't the first magician to perform the illusion, but he'd built a solid career around his painstakingly constructed and unique apparatus, and figured a patent would be a great tool to prevent his competition, even his predecessors, from bisecting ladies on stage.

His patent came through in 1923, and for a time life was good for Goldin. Then, one day in 1933, he came across an ad by R.J. Reynolds, the makers of Camel cigarettes, which included a meticulous description of his routine. They were debunking competitors' ads under the slogan, "It's Fun to be Fooled ... It's More Fun to Know," alongside rational explanations for mystic phenomena. Thanks to the requirement that any patent holder publicly disclose the workings of their protected device, Goldin's apparatus was open fodder.

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Camel's "It's More Fun to Know" campaign

A frantic Goldin rushed to the courts, arguing that this exposure was hurting his act, but his case was dismissed out of hand. Thereafter, Goldin never filed another patent and the wider magical community of America began to feel that their profession, with its peculiar balance of publicity and secrecy, wasn't well served by the existing protections offered under American law.

Magicians aren't the only creative folks who feel they've fallen between the cracks. Notable chefs and fashionistas have griped for years about how hard it is to protect their recipes and designs.

But in magic, where innovation is costly, slow, and subtle, the stakes feel pretty high. For years, prestidigitators sidestepped these concerns by developing an internal ethical code and sanction system to keep the tiny community fair and profitable. Then along came the internet and its flood of debunkers, renegade hobbyists, and general killjoys, ushering in a golden age of trick theft and exposure that left many performers biting their nails. In this jittery environment, leagues of magicians and lawyers have started to reexamine the place of magic in American law—just last June, the Thomas Jefferson School of Law in San Diego hosted a whole conference on "Law and Magic." But no one yet has a great idea of how to resolve the conundrum, much less the clout to push through a solution if there were one, meaning that rather than find protection for their patter and techniques magicians may have to change the way they find their edge and audience.

Granted, the patent system Goldin used, which gives an inventor exclusive rights to a solid invention (which few tricks use) for a number of years, isn't the only American law magicians can take advantage of. Copyrights can protect choreography, pantomime, and writings and recordings in an act and trade secret and contract law allows a magician to enforce silence amongst his employees or coworkers. (Trademarks are almost irrelevant—they just protect the name or logo of a trick.)

[youtube src='//www.youtube.com/embed/etuVHEHF3FM' width='640' height='480']

Teller performs "A Rose and Her Shadow"

A few magicians have used this combined arsenal to good effect, like Teller of Penn and Teller, who in 2012 sued a Belgian magician named Gerard Dogge, a.k.a. Bakardy, for posting an online explanation of Teller's "A Rose and Her Shadow" routine and offering to sell instructions for it, which Teller had meticulously protected years earlier. Teller won his case, but only after two years of complex legal wrangling.

For most magicians, these legal tools are just too flawed to work, not to mention the inherent exposure involved in obtaining a patent. For copyrights, there are few tests or guidelines to determine when a routine deserves protection—a 1943 court once declared magician Charles Hoffman's Think-a-Drink routine not dramatic enough for protection—or when an act is similar enough to violate copyright.

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Charles Hoffman performs his Think-a-Drink trick

As Steve Leventhal, an amateur performer and perhaps the only lawyer to have a motion filed against him for doing magic in a courtroom, puts it: "If you do the same card trick, but produce a different card at the end, is it the same trick or not?"

And trade secrets are a bust because, according to Louisiana State University law professor and curator of the Law and Magic blog Christine Corcos, "if another [person] sitting in the audience, for example, can figure out a way to perform the illusion, then the magician has no recourse against that person," because they wouldn't have signed a contract.

Even a patent wouldn't help, if the new invention were independently developed and slightly different from the original design. You can protect a very specific device and some very specific patter, but not your big idea or vital secrecy.

Almost all of this is moot because most magicians don't have the cash to push a legal case anyway, especially if it involves a magician overseas, operating under a whole different legal code like Dogge. And even if they do manage to scrape together the right protection and legal resources to win a case, says Leventhal, "they get an injunction against the other magician [doing or selling their trick], and then what?" The trick's already debunked, the legal money's already lost, and more likely than not, unless you have a well established routine like Teller that people will come to see regardless, you're back to the drawing board.

Corcos believes this environment incentivizes "more effective and amazing illusions, and more wonderful and amazing artistry."

But, explains Leventhal, "it's expensive to develop a new trick." It can take months of effort while living on very narrow margins to make something new levitate. Then a YouTube channel can just debunk the trick or a knock-off company can sell their own perhaps slightly modified tutorial online weeks later. It's crippling, not inspiring.

Some magicians, writes Simon During, a professor at Johns Hoplins University and author of Modern Enchantments: The Cultural Power of Secular Magic , try to solve this conundrum by planting false patents to throw off competitors.

But most just rely on informal, internal policing forces, which Yale Law grad Jacob Loshin argued in an influential 2007 paper, " Secrets Revealed: How Magicians Protect Intellectual Property without Law ," are more effective at capturing the idiosyncratic dynamics of magical tricks and potent in offering fitting punishments. Groups like the International Brotherhood of Magicians unite the resources of performers to develop ethical norms, ostracize transgressors, and collectively fight on behalf of magicians to stop exposure outside the magical community.

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Another Harry Kellar promotional poster

That sort of community ethical code means less and less today. These organizations' members readily share tricks amongst each other and sell them with a warning that they should never be used in one's own act or for profit without proper credit or licensing, which depends entirely on trust and ethicality in a close-knit community. But tricks are often sold to a general public hungry for the behind-the-scenes details of how they were fooled. Even magicians won't be scared off by traditional, informal threats now—Leventhal isn't in a magical organization, but he still gets work even without traditional approval.

"Fear of flaming is the only thing these groups have," says Leventhal.

And that doesn't scare many people these days. So now we've got an environment of rampant theft and exposure that would make the protagonists of The Prestige blush.

"You put a trick on YouTube and it's gone," says Leventhal. "It's brutally easy. And how do you police it?"

In an ideal world, magicians would enshrine their internal codes into some sort of enforceable laws—give their traditions teeth. In a throwback to the days of guilds, they'd have an environment in which they could share with each other, maintain their secrecy from the public, and put a strong injunction on any traitor or interloper.

But, says Corcos, "complete protection is just 'not in the cards.'" Magicians don't have the cultural capital to push for legal change—none of them even think they can lobby for it—nor do many have the resources or inclination to craft a solution. And even if they were better protected legally, "some people are just not put off by the law, and will infringe, thinking that they will not be caught, or if they are caught, the rights holder will not pursue them because it's too costly and time consuming," explains Corcos. Legally, that's far up shit creek without a paddle.

Magicians can't really protect their tricks. Months or even years of effort can go up in smoke in seconds. But magicians aren't left in the dust, shaking their fists at an angry god of internets and intellectual property. Instead, go to your average magic show, and you'll find that they're still performing updated versions of Goldin's sawing-a-lady-in-half trick—and people still pay to see it.

That's because they can still make the whole affair a glitzy spectacle, something you'll happily watch for the pomp and showmanship. Leventhal talks about one magician named Chris Hannibal who now even sells video of his tricks with full explanations of how he does them. He's not counting on mystery and belief anymore.

"He's confident people don't have his performance skills," says Leventhal. "So much of [modern magic] is in the performance, the ability to hold a crowd on the street corner for seven minutes. There are so damn few great performers. People can take the tricks, but they still can't make that less magical."

Follow Mark Hay on Twitter.

VICE Premiere: JMSN's New Video Will Satisfy Your Stalker Impulse

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We can all agree that breakups suck. A few people can neatly tie up their loose psychological ends and get on with their lives, but the rest of us tend to cry and whine and angrily smash our ex-lover's fiestaware set on the sidewalk.

Producer and R&B artist JMSN explores the aftermath of relationships in his new video for his song "Score." JMSN has already built a name for himself by popping up all over Kendrick Lamar's debut album, and this song proves that he can hold his own without Kendrick. JMSN goes on and on about how he "could have loved you better," while lurking like a creep around outside the window of his ex-girlfriend's house.

We've all been alone at home, imagining what or who an ex is doing, and JMSN takes it to the next level—he becomes an R&B-singing Casper the Friendly Ghost, trailing his disproportionally attractive ex around.

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