Members of a bomb unit and emergency crews investigate a possible explosion at a law firm in Winnipeg. Photo courtesy Trevor Hagan/The Canadian Press

A woman was seriously injured Friday in Winnipeg after she opened a package containing an explosive device.

Emergency crews surrounded the offices of Petersen King law firm on River Avenue following reports of an explosion. The woman was transferred to hospital with "very serious injuries to her upper body," Constable Eric Hofley told reporters at the scene.

Metro News and CBC reported the victim is Winnipeg family law attorney Maria Mitousis, who has worked at Petersen King since last fall.

Following the blast, Mitousis was rushed to hospital. The Canadian Press reported she lost a hand and was at risk of losing the other.

A fully-outfitted bomb disposal unit checked the building and surrounding area for explosives Friday afternoon. Members of the uniformed patrol and fire department were on the scene.

Hofley told reporters he didn't know whether there was another explosive device in the building, but said police were airing on the side of caution.

"That's why we have those members fully equipped in their bomb unit outfit and they are going in right now to check, should there be any other explosive device," he said.

"I'm not sure how this device came to be in her possession, whether it was mailed or dropped off or something like that, but at this point you know it certainly does appear that however it came into her possession, it was an explosive device that was triggered inadvertently by this woman."

He said no one else was injured in the blast and the building was evacuated.

Hofley said a window had been damaged but wasn't able to say more about the damage to the building.

Metro News also reported Mitousis is the girlfriend of Winnipeg lawyer Barry Gorlick who was recently disbarred for professional misconduct. His former workplace also evacuated following the blast, Metro reported, but a police spokesperson said people in the building evacuated voluntarily.

According to CBC News, Gorlick deliberately created false documents, misled his staff and partners, and misappropriated funds. Almost $60,000 of client funds were paid to the benefit of him and his family, a Law Society of Manitoba report states.

The Law Society of Manitoba warned its staff in a statement to "exercise caution when dealing with mail and deliveries."

Police had not announced any suspects Friday afternoon.

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Field Notes is a new series featuring hosts and producers of some of our documentaries. They come together to discuss what went on behind the scenes, issues that came up during filming, and why certain decisions were made.

In the first episode, "Abortion Access in the Maritimes" host Sarah Ratchford and producer Patrick McGuire talk to VICE News Canada editor Natalie Alcoba about filming in New Brunswick and PEI, why Sarah went undercover to a pregnancy crisis centre, and what happened when one pro-life protester got too close for comfort.

Watch the full-length documentary here, and read Sarah's piece on the topic here.

The internet is great, isn't it? It's like the playground of your childhood, when shins were kicked and unpopular kids stood stony still as goalposts, turned inside out and spread all over electronic stuff that 99 percent of its users don't actually understand, where the tallest tale can quickly become hardened fact simply through enough sharing. If it's popular enough, it's got to be legit, right? Digital whisper one moment, pen-a-headline-and-publish-the-shit-out-of-it the next. Go, social network news sourcing!

But then again, that's completely wonderful, and leads to genuinely heart-warming incidents like CNN reporting the presence of an ISIS flag at London's Pride march of last week, when it was actually an image of several silhouetted dildos. Oh, the internet, you perfect bastard of a creation we can't control, you.

Today's hotly shared-on-the-socials titbit of if-this-is-true-it's-like-Half-Life-3-confirmed-big gaming news is the "discovery" by some chap who goes under the imgur user name of DanDiebold (we can always guess that his name is Dan, can't we? Let's call him Dan) of a prototype Nintendo-meets-Sony SNES PlayStation. "What the hell?" I hear you exclaim. Okay, I'll keep this amazingly simple for you, mainly because I already wrote about this once already (over here).

Before PlayStation became PlayStation – Wipeout and Tekken and Lara Croft and a bunch of other games you think would still be amazing today but that's nostalgia fucking with you, trust me – Sony were tit-deep into a development deal with Nintendo to produce a CD peripheral for the gaming giant's SNES, which subsequently turned into an entirely new console capable of playing games from both companies. The deal went spectacularly sour, with the Mario makers deciding to pal up with Philips instead before canning the SNES-CD project entirely. Scorned, Sony pressed ahead with the PlayStation on their own terms, abandoning the cartridge element to focus only on CDs and, well, the rest is history. As business-world middle fingers go, it's pretty amazing.

Today, Dan put pictures of a prototype model of what Nintendo and Sony had been creating on Reddit, and the internet subsequently melted down – at least in the corners occupied with gamers. Look! Here are some of those photos, below. (All via imgur and Nintendo Life)

Specialist gaming websites have, naturally, been asking the most pertinent question possible in this situation. Which is not "how much is that thing worth, I mean, come on, it must be thousands?" But yes, it probably is, if only there wasn't the small matter of that actually-the-most-important-question, which is: seriously, guys, this has got to be a wind up, right? Doesn't it? Think about it.

Like playing games of the past? Check out VICE's history of pinball...

Or something rather more up to date: our documentary on eSports

It looks completely awful

It does, doesn't it? I appreciate that this is, supposedly, just a prototype, but the Japanese Super Famicom, as the 16bit console was called in its homeland, was a sleek and curved beauty of a machine, with big buttons and a distinct colour scheme: green, blue, yellow, red. Even at the prototype stage, you'd expect to see this reflected on the body of the console – but as you can see, nope. Now, take a look at this image, an "official" SNES PlayStation model from the time. (Two hundred of these were mocked up, as this post from 2007 seems to confirm.) Compare the two and it's almost like what we've seen today is someone's best attempt at crafting what they've only seen before on a screen, from a collection of nearly-no-seriously-nearly-but-not-quite parts. It's mostly convincing, but there are several small details that don't match up. The panel that the controllers plug into, with its headphone socket and volume control, is different, likewise the power button.

There's a code on it, "SFX-100", that the internet doesn't seem to have seen before

Look beneath where it says "PlayStation" on the top of the console. "SFX-100", whatever can that mean? You'd have thought that kind of information would be out there in the wild, since the world's known about Sony's dealings with Nintendo since their falling out. But a decent amount of Google searching pulls in nothing that explicitly connects those letters and numbers with the PlayStation SNES project. The SNEStation? No, no, that'll never do. Anyway, there is a more tenuous connection or two: look at the code on this prototype SNES controller, "SFX-003". And the Super FX, the "SFX" (said nobody ever, but I suppose you could), was a chip inside certain SNES cartridges, powering games like Star Fox and Dirt Racer. If you were going to fake something Nintendo-shaped, beginning its code with "SFX" makes sense, I suppose.

And it does have that classic SNES "yellowing" going on

But so does a lot of white plastic from the 1990s. Go stick your head in a landfill full of ancient fridge-freezers and PC monitors. Looks like everything's been pissed on.

The pad only has Nintendo details on the back

There's often a lot of information on the back of your chosen controller, as this PS3 pad proves. Dan's Nintendo PlayStation SNES PlayStation whatever-we're-calling-it controller has Sony branding on the front, beside the Super Famicom "buttons" logo, while full model details, Nintendo only, are found on the flip. Now, check the code there: "SHVC-005". It's a standard Super Famicom controller, nothing more, nothing less. I'm not saying that, at the prototype stage, we should be seeing an all-new pad bearing all-new code – but then again, this could also mean that all Dan, or whoever, has done is paint the Sony branding onto the front of the pad. Wouldn't be hard. Total piece of piss, in fact. That plug mightn't have been quite so easy to fake, though. Hmm.

On Motherboard: You Can Never Go PlayStation Home Again

There's no mention of Nintendo on the body of the console at all

Unless I'm missing something? There's not even that button logo that features on the pad. Granted, there's nothing Nintendo-y on this image made public in 2012, either, but notice that the "PlayStation" on the pad is in a different font to what we see in Dan's snaps. They're not the same, is what I'm saying – and why would that be when the SNES PlayStation we saw three years ago was apparently how the 200 produced appeared? The story's beginning to sound like, like...

The story sounds like utter horseshit

Seriously, have you seen what Dan posted to go with his photos? Check this out:

"My dad worked for a company, apparently one of the guys he used to work with, I think his name was Olaf, used to work at Nintendo and when my dads company went bankrupt, he found it in a box of 'junk' he was supposed to throw out."

As Nintendo Life reports, this mysterious Olaf could be Ólafur Ólafsson, president and CEO of Sony Interactive Entertainment from its founding in 1991 until 1997. He never worked at Nintendo, though, and what about Dan's dad's company? What was that? Why would Dan not mention that? Was it the FBI or the CIA or Nestlé or someone? We're back in the playground again, as this sounds like the purest poppycock. It's easy to find out who was in and around the PlayStation during Sony's conversations with Nintendo – "Olaf" is mentioned, beside that magical 200 figure, in this 2007 post on the SNES CD – and the vagueness of any other details spells, for me, horseshit.

There's a ripple of support behind the suggestion that this guy made it

This Belgian fellow, Vadu Amka, who's clearly adept at modding the shit out of consoles. This French site writes that Dan's story is a "tall tale" (check the translation) adding that it may well be the work of "the deceptive" Amka. Me? I'm not so sure, but it's certainly a possibility. It might be that only a pro could make something so authentically shitty looking.

The Reddit thread that this all started from, yesterday, has gone private today

See? What's that about? Actually, perhaps it means Nintendo and/or Sony are taking action and sorting this mess out, as I'm fairly sure nobody amongst the public should have one of these things. So, maybe this is 100 percent legit? And what if it works? Oh god, what if it works? I want it so bad. Let meee.

@MikeDiver

More from VICE Gaming:

Nintendo Is Perhaps the Only Games Developer That Understands 'Play'

The Weird, Weird Games of the Nintendo 64

Dating in 'Grand Theft Auto Online' Is Like Real Life, Only with More Robot Hand-Jobs

We were secular Jewish girls in 21st century London, but Amy Winehouse was our saint. Even before she died, Winehouse was our Lady of Rebellion, an icon of brooding talent and great eyeliner for legions of London teens. She was the intercessor between us and the god of hedonism we were learning to venerate. She was both relatable and achingly distant, triumphant and tragic, horrid and beautiful. And when she died, Amy became our martyr. Her death felt like a personal condemnation.

I vividly remember that summer, all of us sitting in the Hawley Arms, recounting the times we had seen her, or almost seen her, or the people we had known who'd known her. The ladies' bathrooms in the Hawley Arms and the sign for Camden Square are covered in messages to her, reassuring her that "you are now safe in heaven," and quoting her lyrics. One girl even made a pilgrimage to the newsagents where Amy was always photographed buying ice lollies and newspapers with her own picture on the cover. CDs are obsolete, but I still see copies of Back to Black peeking out of nooks in my friends' bedrooms, Amy watching over them from the cover.

Photo via Flickr user Oriol Lladó

Asif Kapadia's new film, Amy, recounts her martyrdom at the hands of the press. Relic after relic of found footage, from her promising childhood to her early death, has been collected and pieced together in a modern hagiography. In her last years, Amy lost control of her own image; her story veered into tragedy, following the contours of familiar narratives.

We love our martyrs now as we did then: for fighting their demons valiantly, before succumbing to them completely. Otherwise, they wouldn't be mortal.

In the Medieval ages, female martyrdom was simultaneously terribly public and terribly lonely. The eyes of the press feasted on Amy's body, battered and bloodied after each altercation. Saints seem indestructible for a very long time, until they prove not to be: St. Catherine of Alexandria's touch shattered the spiked wheel she was to be killed upon, and then she was beheaded. We love our martyrs now as we did then: for fighting their demons valiantly, before succumbing to them completely. Otherwise, they wouldn't be mortal. St. Margaret is said to have been swallowed whole by a demon, before bursting it from the inside out; later, she was sentenced to death. The media portrayed our lady Amy as someone condemned to death long before she died. Despite all the vitriol, she still seemed forgiving of her captors: There are photographs of Amy bringing tea and biscuits to the journalists stationed outside her house around the clock.

Tribute left outside of Amy's home after her death. Photo via Flickr user Kalexander2010

But just because you end up a martyr doesn't mean you want to be one. Amy was working on a new album, still singing in her last interview before she died. Saints don't choose their fates, even if they accept them: St. Augustine famously wanted "chastity and continence, but not yet." Maybe Amy could have escaped martyrdom; Kapadia observes that many close to her were aware of how close to the sun she was flying. The frightening possibility is that no one stopped Amy because we needed her narrative to end in that perversely satisfying way, with an awful bang instead of a whimper.

Saint Amy. Photo via Flickr user duncan

Churches all over London are emptying out, their congregations aging and ceilings deteriorating. But popular piety doesn't die, it just finds new saints.

Now, her image is graffitied all over Camden, her thick eye-shadow, beehive hair, and tattoos making her instantly recognizable, in the same way we might recognize St. Lucy by her eyes or St. Cecilia by her viola. Some of the images present her with wings or an abstract halo behind her, and in these she often appears sad or pensive, cool as the Virgin Mary. Camden has been losing its edge for a long, long time, but thousands of tourists still visit to pay their respects to the 60s counterculture it once housed. With her conscious adoption of 60s imagery, and her subsequent membership in the 27 Club, Amy became the ideal patron saint for the area.

Uncanny Amy in Camden Square. Photo via Flickr user Neil Crump

Churches all over London are emptying out, their congregations aging and ceilings deteriorating. But popular piety doesn't die: It just finds new saints. A local estate agent had to start vetting people who asked to view Amy's house because of the number of tourists who made appointments in order to get inside and take photographs. Almost immediately after Winehouse died, flowers, candles, messages, and bottles were left in front of her home and the surrounding trees. Teenagers and tourists gathered there in great crowds. Eventually, Camden council put up an uncanny statue of Amy in Stables Market, to redirect the worship somewhere else. The council keeps clearing the offerings away, but sometimes at night you still see them there: young girls like the one I once was, heads bent before the house, paying silent homage.

Amy is out in US and UK theaters now.

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Firing lumination rounds in Iraq. Photo via United States Forces Iraq

Fuck the Fourth of July. This was my attitude back in 2004, back when I was serving in the United States Army over in some country called Iraq, stationed in some city called Mosul. It was month eight of our year-long deployment and I was in no mood to celebrate. It was 110-plus degrees—in the shade—and all I wanted on the fourth was some goddamn air-conditioning. That's it. That's all I wanted.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The Army had other plans. Not only did we have a late afternoon movement-to-contact mission and a late evening counter mortar mission, but there was a "mandatory fun" lunchtime BBQ that we had to attend. Happy Fourth.

Our mandatory fun took place at a makeshift BBQ stand that a couple of Turks had opened up as a business on our forward operating base, just a couple of wooden picnic tables set up under no shade. No beer was served, though there was an advertisement for beer taped up on a cooler. It was a European beer that I'd never heard of before and the ad depicted an ice-cold beer, in an icy cold glass. I stood there, fixated on this holy image, sweating my fucking ass off as I nostalgically thought back to all the beers I had consumed and enjoyed on previous July Fourths.

From a combat zone I sat there and wondered what my friends back home were doing to celebrate this day. Probably the same ol' shit. They probably purchased an insane amount of alcohol to be consumed at some public park, with a nice little BBQ going so they could watch the fireworks show while totally annihilated. As I sat there on that wooden bench in Iraq, I wondered if any of my friends back home knew what I was up to that day, or if they even knew I was in Iraq, if they even cared.

Probably not.

An American officer in Mosul. Photo via The U.S. Army

After "mandatory fun" was over, we set off for our movement-to-contact mission, where we drove around town praying for an IED not to blow us all up. After that, we set up our counter mortar mission on Operation Post Abraham, a hellishly dull mission that we did nearly every other day. Our entire platoon would drive all our vehicles to this one location, park, dismount, sit around and wait for hours and hours for something, anything, to happen. They say "War is long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror" and nine times out of ten nothing happened other than being bored to death while burning alive from the heat.

That July Fourth my squad was positioned on the rooftop of a two-story building overlooking the city of Mosul. At around 22:00 we got so bored that some of us decided to throw a fireworks show. We started launching illumination rounds up in the air. In hindsight, this was a great way to make the enemy aware of our location so they could drop mortars down on us.

Our squad leader then came around and handed everyone an illumination round. One by one, we each fired a round up in the air.

Illumination rounds are primarily used to locate the enemy at night, so that you can see and kill them. They come in a silver tube. To fire them, you twist the cap off and place it on the opposite end of the tube. That acts like the firing pin when you slam it on the ground. Once it ignites, it fires a "lum" round up in the air and the glowing round slowly floats back to earth on this little parachute.

Our squad leader then came around and handed everyone an illumination round. One by one, we each fired a round up in the air. Dozens of stray dogs barked at the lum rounds lighting up the Mosul night sky. Watching the lums float slowly and silently back down to earth, I was sure many perplexed Iraqis were wondering what in the fuck those crazy Americans were doing. It was the same way when we'd stand around wondering what in the fuck was going on when they'd fire their AK-47s up in the air whenever their soccer team scored a goal.

At first, it was kind of fun watching these lum rounds go off, but then I started feeling really homesick. The more they tried to make it feel like the Fourth of July, the more it all felt like masturbating to a photo of a naked person. You could play all you want, but it'll never feel like the real thing.

I wanted to return back to the life I had before, where I got to enjoy many of the freedoms that Americans back home experienced that day. The freedom to drink, to picnic, to set off fireworks. The freedom to not go out on multiple missions a day. The freedom to not worry, each time you left the wire and locked and loaded your weapon, if today was the day you wouldn't come back.

Watch our HBO report on veterans with PTSD:

That night was the last time I set fireworks off on Independence Day, and perhaps the last time I ever will. Back home now and no longer in the military, I hear stories from time to time about veterans suffering with PTSD getting flashbacks whenever a bottle rocket or roman candle goes off. Some even post signs outside their residences, letting everyone know that a "Combat Veteran Lives Here Please Be Courteous with Fireworks."

There must be something wrong with me because I'm not really like that at all. When I hear fireworks go off I don't see or hear an insurgent pointing an AK barrel at me or think that I'm back in the shit. All I hear is the sound of people throwing their money away.

I understand that July Fourth is an epic family fun holiday for many Americans to enjoy and celebrate. It's an excuse to drink and go out. People watch fireworks and hang out with friends, eat some barbecue. It seems like it should be a good day. But ever since Iraq, I now view July Fourth and every other holiday as being "mandatory fun." Meaning: I'd rather not.

Photo via Flickr user verpletterend

It's hot. Everything is outdoors. There are too many people and there's too much small talk. Everyone's obnoxiously drunk, traffic's a nightmare, parking is a pain in the ass, and the music is too loud. "Stars and Stripes Forever" is always blasting on some shitty speakers. The lines for the port-a-potties are insane. Afterwards, people discard their mini American flags , not in the trash cans, but on the ground like they're burnt-out cigarette butts. The fireworks are never as good as last year's. It's a holiday of manufactured uber-patriotism. In sum, I have no interest whatsoever in observing the Fourth of July or even in purchasing fireworks, just like I have no interest in purchasing a firearm. I'd much rather sit in my room by myself and enjoy the air conditioning.

Each time a loud firework would go off, my son would shout, "Awesome!" or "Whoa!" It was the same response I saw soldiers give whenever a TOW missile impacted an enemy position.

But last year, I did force myself to go out and participate in some mandatory Fourth of July fun by taking my five-year-old son out to a block party that had a midwest county fair vibe. It was the very last place you'd want go to if you were on a diet; they had fried everything. Snickers bars, Oreos—everything unhealthy made worse. Luckily, there were games to play. For a buck or two, some meth addict-looking carnie would let you throw a ball at a bunch of coke bottles and hand you a prize if you knocked them all down.

That night, while my son was still on a sugar high from all the cotton candy he ate earlier, we held hands and walked over to the nearby park to observe the firework show. He was proudly wearing the Styrofoam Goofy hat that I had bought for him earlier, since he insisted that this was a must-have item. He stood next to me holding a large teddy bear I'd helped him win and watched in awe as all the colorful fireworks went off. Each time a loud one would go off he'd shout, "Awesome!" or "Whoa!"

It was the same response I saw soldiers give whenever a TOW missile impacted an enemy position.

In my opinion, if you've seen one fireworks show, you've seen them all. I wasn't all that interested in the explosions. Instead, I remained fixated on my son's expression every time a firework illuminated his face. My son doesn't view the fourth of July with his back toward it like his father does, nor does he view all the other holidays as mandatory fun. He sees the world with a smile on his face, and I watch him seeing the world.

A lot of people never made it back to experience this. At times, I didn't think I would.

Follow Colby on Twitter.

Photo by Flickr user Mario Arias

If America were a person, she would have a tricked out Super Sweet Sixteen every year, and she would call it the Fourth of July: a party stretching from sea to sea, dedicated to getting hammered, blowing things up, and singing songs of her praise. Over three million people would attend and even though some of them would talk shit about the party behind her back, everyone would be glad they'd been invited.

Since most Americans will spend this Fourth of July stuffing their faces with hot dogs and singing "I'm Proud to Be an American," it's easy to get wrapped up in patriotism. After all, we live in the land of the free! The home of the brave! A place where it's actually encouraged to wear the national flag on a string bikini! So, as a birthday present (and an ego check) for our great nation, we decided to ask some of our international VICE offices about their countries' views toward the US. They told us pretty much what we expected: The stereotypes of Americans as fast food-loving, gun-weilding, irresponsible, racist bigots hold strong around the world. But while we might not be the greatest country in the world, we sure know how to throw a nationwide party.

VICE AUSTRALIA

To symbolize America, VICE Australia chose this photo of the ShamWow guy, via Wikimedia Commons.

In Australia, the term "American" is literally used to describe anyone or anything that's a bit too confident, open, or optimistic. Friendly waiters, big celebrations in sports, talking about yourself like you're not a complete pile of shit—these all qualify as American things to do and generally aren't encouraged.

On the other hand, Australia likes America so much that a recent video in which American nobodies try our national breakfast spread has been viewed over 8 million times. Our total population is around 21 million, so that's a lot Aussies who care a lot about what you guys see us.

Why do we care? Mainly because every time you talk about us, it's like our favorite TV show is breaking the fourth wall and communicating directly through the screen. You're the cooler, more confident version of us that we deep down wish we could be.

Australians pride ourselves on being laid back and no bullshit, but that's only because we know we can't compete with you guys in the bullshit stakes. We'd love to talk engagingly for hours on end about nothing in particular, but we can't. Put an average Aussie on camera and you'll get a sweaty uncomfortable mess. Point a camera at an American and you'll get an Apatow movie.

It's this ballsiness and comfort in your own skin that we begrudgingly admire, even to the point where your gun laws, police brutality, and weird denial of evolutionary theory are no barriers to the thousands of us entering the Green Card Lottery every year. ––– VICE Australia

VICE SPAIN

To symbolize America, VICE Spain chose the 1989 political cartoon "Ten Thousand Miles from Tip to Tip," representing US domination, via Wikimedia Commons.

Since everyone in Spain (and maybe the whole fucking rest of the world) listens to American music, watches American movies, wears American-branded clothes, eats at American fast food restaurants, uses American technology, masturbates to American porn, and basically does all things American, there's only one thing we can say: YOU MADE IT.

We hate all the usual American clichés—you know, lots of Christian-obsessed families, lots of fast food, lots of fat people, lots of people who don't really get homosexuality; politicians and corporations generating war conflicts around the world; that weird shit you eat while you wait for the day you'll die ("beef jerky" I think it's called), and so on—but there's no doubt you are part of us, so we are forced to love you. You are like a virus inside everyone in this world. This spreading represents the success of capitalism and liberal politics. Basically, Spain is the embassy of the US in... Spain. And so on with the other countries in the west.

But it's not all bad. You've got Carver, Coppola, David Byrne, and Vanilla Coke. It's a real shame that we don't. ––– Pol Rodellar, Staff Writer, VICE Spain

VICE CANADA

To symbolize America, VICE Canada chose this photo of Apollo Creed from Rocky, via Wikimedia Commons.

Dear America,

We're really honored you want to know our opinion of you. Us, just folks from Queen Elizabeth's Canada. We mean, sure, America sent us an email when we were half-in-the-bag on Canada Day saying: "We kinda forgot about you up there, but we've asked all the other countries this question, so we should ask you, too." But did our hearts not soar like the titular iron eagle in the great Canadian-American film Iron Eagle?

It's hard to summarize this sort of relationship, so we initially turned to HBO's True Detective to learn about complex partnerships. Oh, did you know Rachel McAdams and Taylor Kitsch are Canadian? Kitsch used to be a decent hockey player, we think you should know that. It's a really fast game that you should consider caring about, but we like basketball and football too. We should play sometime, would you like to come over? We have the new Madden and mom got a bunch of new chips and pop, you know, soda. Oh, you are too busy? Well, maybe another time.

TBH, a lot of us talk tough behind your back and say pretty awful things about you, but we are also still a little excited about being mentioned in the South Park movie. Can you believe that was 16 years ago? We wish it was on the Canadian Netflix.

You are America, home of where all of our stuff comes from! The TV shows, Apple and Google, Levi's and Wal-Mart, bro-country and hip-hop (Did you know Drake is from Toronto and used to be on a TV show called Degrassi? Kevin Smith was on it a few times, and oh boy, that was a big treat for us), and you give us so many things to talk about. We would like to mildly suggest that you take it a bit easier on Barack Obama; he seems pretty reasonable for a politician. Also, we are a little confused why Mad Men couldn't make Canadian whisky cool again. Dad has a great bottle, maybe we could share it and we'll play you a Canada Day playlist on Spotify up in our room? We promise not to bring up guns. Why focus on our differences when we have everything else in common to talk about?

Thanks so much for asking!

Canada

P.S. We promise to keep writing to you like Ryan Gosling in The Notebook. Did you know he's Canadian? ––– Josh Visser, Managing Editor, VICE Canada

VICE MEXICO

To symbolize America, VICE Mexico chose this image via Wikimedia Commons.

Mexico's relationship with the US has always been complicated. There's a phrase that was coined decades ago that says: "Poor Mexico, so far from god, and so close to the United States." I think it's an idea that still resonates a lot in the country. There is a lot of trade, we consume a lot of the culture that's produced in the US, and a lot of people admire the country, but many also loath it, somewhat like a young brother would resent a bad, bully, older brother.

I personally admire a lot of things about the US: I think it's a beautiful country, I've lived there, and I found opportunity, and great people. At the same time, something that saddens me a lot is how much hate there is in the US against Mexico and against Mexicans living and working in the US. Of course not everyone thinks like that, but it pains me to see how so many people in the US see us that way, because of ignorance and arrogance.––– Bernardo Loyola, Content Director, VICE Mexico

VICE Serbia

To symbolize America, VICE Serbia chose this photo by Flickr user Ian Burt.

We have a long-lasting love/hate relationship with the US. We hate the US world dominance, but we are passionately filling out forms for the Green Card Lottery. Although US planes were a part of NATO air forces that bombed us in 1999 for 78 days, we stopped queuing in McDonald's only for a couple of days. Visiting New York is at the top of the dream-trip lists for many, but we are still struggling with accepting Halloween as a holiday.

We love your music and films; in cinemas, we always wait for the end credits to check whether there is a name from our country there. We laugh at your jokes, but your political correctness is too much for us. We still think you're the world's cop, in politics, culture, and life—but we want to be you. We blame you for many things, but we want you to like us more than anyone else. ––– Aleksandra Niksic, News Editor, VICE Serbia

VICE AUSTRIA

To symbolize America, VICE Austria chose this photo by photographer Gioia Zloczower.

The United States is only as dear to us Austrians as the upcoming episode of Game of Thrones or True Detective. Which, to be fair, is quite dear. But for some reason, your run-of-the-mill Austrian will not connect the dots and see what one thing has to do with the other. We love American pop culture, but somehow, we also manage to see all that pop culture as completely detached from the actual place called America. We say things like "I love The Simpsons, but that's not the real America" as often as our right-wing assholes rant against Syrian refugees.

If you conducted a street poll somewhere between the Alps and Vienna, chances are Austrians would describe the prototypical American citizen with tag words like "fat," "unsophisticated," "stupid," and "doesn't even know that Hitler's not our Emperor." Austrians have a long history with inferiority complexes and simply can't stand the idea of somebody else not knowing every fucking detail about our home. But then again, what do we know about New Jersey, which is pretty much exactly as big, populated, and significant as our little Alpine republic? I've asked Austrians this, and when they mumble something about "cultural significance," I smack them in the face and tell them that being prejudiced against 320,000 people because of their nationality is called racism and start running like the freedom-loving motherfucker I am.

Sure—as far nation-branding goes, Bush may have almost fucked up America's reputation beyond repair. And yes, a deeply Catholic country like Austria will never fully understand how people can be proud and bold instead of envious and self-pitying. But slowly, Obamania seems to catch on even here, in the Western outback. People here are still skeptical, but at least, universal health care and a "pop culture President" strike a chord. As always, we're ten years too late—I guess some things just never change.

I've often asked myself why I never embraced the elitist notion of anti-Americanism. I guess the answer is almost embarrassingly simple: I always loved pro wrestling. So I always felt right at home at the hyperbole, patriotic sideshow-performance that is Murica. Happy Fourth of July, everybody. (But John Cena sucks.) ––– Markus Lust, Deputy Editor, VICE Alps

VICE ITALY

To symbolize America, VICE Italy chose this photo from Portland Is a Paradise by photographer Bryan Kyckelhahn.

We like you, but we are glad not to be you. It's a bit like if you were our jacked, bodybuilding older cousin: We're so impressed and thanks for inviting us to the gym, but no thanks. Still, as younger cousins do with their older cousins' video games and T-shirts, we Italians have always unconsciously tried to imitate you. Most of times, of course, we just end up as a worse version of you.

It's all fun and games until the cousin is charged with selling steroids. Because when you guys make a bad choice, you make sure to fuck everything up in the worst way possible for everyone else and then put it in an ideologic light and it all becomes frankly indefensible.

But thanks a lot for the Marshall Plan, for swivel chairs, for Cheerios, for hip-hop music, for gay marriage, for Faulkner, and for creating an environment distressing enough for people to go mad and become great writers/singers/etc. Happy Independence Day. ––– Elena Viale, Staff Writer, VICE Italy

VICE DENMARK & VICE SWEDEN

To symbolize America, VICE's Nordic offices chose this photo by Flickr user Andres Rodriguez.

America is all about extremes. Taking it to the max. Las Vegas, the death penalty, American football. And as Danes and Swedes, we marvel and salivate at this, loudly shrugging it off as ridiculous American pompousness, whilst secretly dreaming of being as cool. Everyone deserves the freedom to fill their bodies with as many vile, artificial, fatty substances as humanly possible, should they so desire—without some pesky health authority preventing the influx of precious synthetic goodness.

But we're oddly ambiguous about the United States, and how much America we're actually willing to saturate our innocent nations' culture with. When it's awesome stuff—like Game of Thrones, Beyoncé, or McTastys—we can't get enough. Sweden has most McDonald's per capita outside of North America.

And yet, many hardliner nationalist Danes are calling for a de-Americanization of our language and pop-culture. This is currently being given the metaphorical middle finger by the over one-fifth of Danes with Netflix-subscriptions and the recent unveiling of Denmark's first Dunkin' Donuts.

In recent history, both Denmark and Sweden have intensely been kissing the political ass of the United States. We've proudly sent our highly trained and super relevant Danish military forces into the oily frontiers of the Middle East to fight alongside our American brethren. If and when America sticks their Halliburton-tipped broom of freedom and democracy up the wrong third world hornet's nest, and subsequently ignites a thermonuclear war, we're sort of hoping the Nordics can take your place in the world. Just too bad you guys have already had all of the fun, unchecked, pre-Digital Age years of treating sovereign nations around the world as a rock band would a hotel room.

But hey, USA, thanks for all the cool stuff! The world would be a way healthier, considerably less hostile, and a hell of a lot more bland place if it weren't for you Hollywood-centric, freedom-loving, SuperSizing Americans. You'll always be our favorite Cold War-superpower. Happy Fourth of July from VICE Nordics. ––– Caisa Ederyd, VICE Sweden; and Alfred Maddox,VICE Denmark

VICE GERMANY

To symbolize America, VICE Germany chose this photo by Flickr user Robert Bejil.

Hey America. You know, we really love you. You brought down the Nazis, and the Marshall Plan helped to rebuild Germany into the xenophobic, capitalist, garden-gnome-speckled country it is today. And you gave us Kim Kardashian.

So thanks for that. But there are some issues we need to talk about: What's with the guns? Between 1998 and 2013, the German police shot 109 people dead (that's a 15-year period btw). Your men in blue killed 385 people—from January and May of this year (that's a five-month period). You see what we mean?

Then there's health care, and your general fear of "big government." Guys, believing that you shouldn't have to sell your house and live in abject poverty for the rest of your life (if you're lucky) just because you have cancer doesn't make you a socialist.

Also, you might want to think about your media: What you see on Fox News isn't news. It doesn't make you smarter, and it doesn't make you informed about the world. This is a list of questions a few of us were asked by some of your countrymen and women on various occasions: Do you have streets? (Yes.) Do you have running water? (Yes.) Also: Do you have seasons? (Yes!) What we're trying to say is, please broaden your horizons a bit. You guys are great, but you aren't the only country in the world.

And finally, the environment. You have all these beautiful landscapes and national parks and the great wide open and all that, so maybe you should think about not destroying it. To come back to what we already said above, riding a bike to work and recycling don't make you into a socialist either. Give it a try. ––– Stefan Lauer, Senior Editor, VICE Germany

VICE NEW ZEALAND

To symbolize America, VICE New Zealand chose this photo via YouTube.

As a relatively tiny player in global affairs, New Zealand hasn't been made to do as much horrible stuff at America's behest as say, Australia. Maybe it's because of this that our feelings towards you guys are generally pretty good. We didn't even care very much when Kim Dotcom was telling us the NSA was spying on our metadata. The needle barely moved.

Our opinion of America centres mainly on the things you've given us. You're the people that created such crucial cultural totems as Starter hats, gangsta rap, and WWF wrestling. New Zealand would be virtually unrecognisable without that stuff. On the other hand, we don't get tipping, it's greasy for both parties. We prefer New Zealand's free culture of being able to be rude to customers sometimes.

And by the way, good stuff on the gay marriage thing. You were only a year and four months behind us.–––VICE New Zealand

VICE ROMANIA

To symbolize America, VICE Romania chose this photo of one of the country's most commercial poets during the communist regime being painted as Ronald McDonald by graffiti artists, by photographer Mircea Topoleanu

In Romania, we've pretty much loved the American dream since the 80s. When we were under the communist regime, we all watched Chuck Norris movies on bootleg tapes. We were crazy about American blue jeans (we still call them "blugi"), which were brought in as contraband by sailors. In the 90s, we loved watching Dallas, so much that we rebuilt JR's ranch as a tourist attraction. Back then, McDonald's was considered a sort of deluxe restaurant, and our first democratic president (who was a former communist) appeared in public, wearing one of their aprons and eating their French Fries.

When I was little, the US embassy would put on a giant Fourth of July fireworks display, and all the people from Bucharest would come see it. Since then we've always pretty much looked to America as our savior from the shithole that is Eastern Europe. That's why we don't dub your sitcoms and movies, and why some of us end up speaking English better than Romanian. Nowadays we just hope you guys and NATO can save our asses in case of a Russian invasion.

Of course, the American dream sometimes turns into a nightmare for us. During World War II, when we were under a fascist regime, you guys bombed some of our refineries and civilian villages. My history teachers told me stories of Americans dropping expensive and shiny pens near villages, where kids would pick them up and they would explode. A lot of people here blame the Americans for selling us out to the Soviet Union after World War II. Our grandparents kept waiting for you guys to save us from communism, like you saved the French from the Nazis. And because our country wants to suck up to you guys so much, we let controversial American corporations like Bechtel and Chevron to treat our citizens like shit.

Despite all this, we wouldn't have any other benevolent Western overlords, and I'm not just saying this because we work for an American magazine. Happy Fourth of July, America!––– Mihai Popescu, Senior Editor, VICE Romania

VICE UK

To symbolize America, VICE UK chose this photo by Flickr user Daniel Oines.

America is hot dogs and fireworks and pool parties. America is 50 stars and 13 stripes printed neatly on a pair of bikini briefs. America is a thousand hot bullets shot into the desert sky. America is Pamela Anderson fellating Tommy Lee on a boat. America is pork products. If you asked me to paint one enduring image of America, it would be a dude in a muscle vest smoking a cigar while driving a Mustang full of babes over a row of motorcycles and into a canyon. But it would also be a suburban dad picking the mail up (Why is the post not just delivered to your door? Why is it always left at the bottom of your garden in a box?) before having a heart attack he can't afford while sprinklers jet water onto his perfect green lawn.

That's the duality, isn't it. The America we see from a distance is like peeking over at a neighbor's house party we're jealous not to have been invited to: excess, hubris, confidence, gunfire. Someone in a hot tub getting fingered. But then we never see the morning after clean-up; we never see the truth, the bones of the country. Like, why can people not afford basic medical care? Why are your police all murderers? Why are there so many shootings? How many fast food chains do you actually need? Why are your fat people so much fatter than our fat people? I mean, we have fat people—some real pigs—but yours are something more.

So much of British culture is filtered through the lens of America: Our TV, our music, our books, and our films are all in your voice. There is no Briton alive who has ever had a tense conversation in a roadside diner while someone stirs an entire pourer of sugar into a black cup of coffee, but we have seen the scene a thousand times, a million times. Neither of your two major sports make sense. The size of the country does not make sense. The weird thrill you get over shooting things makes no sense. And what is a corn dog?

But we like you. You're our weird cousin who we only see a couple times a year, and we never quite know how the party's going to end when we hang. You're our weird cousin who brings his own moonshine to the BBQ and berates the vegetarians. You're our weird cousin who is cool and confident and loud and has been arrested on more than one occasion for DUI. You're the weird cousin we like but who sort of scares us, too. Happy birthday, or whatever July 4th is. Enjoy your pork and your loud noises. ––– Joel Golby, Staff Writer, VICE UK

Photo via Flickr user centralasian

Look at how he moves: the way he teeters between instinct and study, still learning how to be light on his feet. In the ring, he fucks up often. His body pitches without balance, flinging one way while his limbs go off in another.

But when he strikes, those moments of glory are so intense and earned that they feel paralyzing, like the legend of American manhood coming to life.

His name is Rocky Balboa, and I first saw him when I was seven years old, in 1999, on Independence Day. You may think my parents are crazy for letting me watch Rocky (1976) when I should have been watching My Neighbor Totoro, but look at any list of movies you should watch on the Fourth of July and there he is: Rocky Balboa, the debt collector with an American dream, fighting the fight of his life.

It's not hard to see why the movie is considered so seminal. Rocky is one of celluloid's most naïve distillations of the American dream: a man is born with nothing, and he makes that nothing into something. Talent is not in his blood, so he works hard to compensate for it.

And, over time, he has become America's obsession. Rocky's triumphant song, played against the image of him running through the dew of dawn and up the Rocky Steps, has become the elevator music underscoring our own petty battles.

Some of those lists recommend you watch the whole series. Others recommend you watch a select, patriotic few, like that first quintessential movie that kick-started a franchise-turned-American institution. Or Rocky IV, the ridiculous one set to the rhythms and currents of the Cold War. Or Rocky Balboa, the most recent one, because that's the one where it's easiest to laugh at Sylvester Stallone as he descends into self-parody.

But the Rocky Balboa of 1976, a man of ugly glory, was the man I wanted to become—for perhaps no other reason than that I felt, one day, I could become him. He was average; he could have been anybody. He was not terribly handsome. His breed of heroism was attainable. And the battles he won seemed like the ones I could win, too.

When I was seven, I loved everything about Rocky's story. And my love for it made very little sense, because there I was: brown skin, the child of two immigrants, living in the suburbs, and, though I didn't know it yet, gay. Those were all things that Rocky wasn't. But I loved the way Adrian, his bespectacled lover, slowly became his fighting cause. I loved the non-spectacular way Rocky fought, not with the fluid gymnastics of a trained professional but instead with the fatiguing, dedicated effort of an amateur always telling himself to try harder. I loved his broken family dynamics, where dinners would dissolve into routine shouting matches that resembled my family's own.

READ: I Spent the Fourth of July Fighting in Iraq

And most of all, I loved the justification he gave Adrian for fighting. "I just wanna prove somethin'," he mutters. "I ain't no bum. It don't matter if I lose. Don't matter if he opens my head. The only thing I wanna do is go the distance. That's all."

This was the essence of what I thought becoming an American man was: exhausting, but worth it for the privilege of getting to spit in the face of every asshole who put you down. That was glory. That was what made a man in America: effort, followed by sweet cosmic justice.

Rocky was an aspirational model for me, an underdog kid in a nation that fancied itself top dog from the Cold War onward. But what made him so easy to love, when he embodied every American ideal I would, with time and bitter experience, grow to hate?

Underdogs can turn into dicks once they win, and that's what Rocky did. He grew obnoxious once he knew America loved him.

Consider his appeal when the film first came out. America swallowed Rocky like a welcome drug in 1976, a break from the particularly harsh autumn of American movies that gave us Taxi Driver and Network and All the President's Men. Those three films, all nominated for Best Picture, spelled out for America the myriad ways it was fucked up.

But Rocky won, because its story told us a sweeter myth: that with brute force and concerted effort, you could rise up against the privileges America did not give you. It was all, of course, bullshit. No matter: Rocky had finessed the art of jingoistic schmaltz, and I was hooked.

Most critics saw right through it, but some fell as hard as I did. Vincent Canby, in the New York Times, wrote that it was "pure 30s nostalgia," a "sentimental little slum movie," a machine carefully calibrated to dredge up sentiment. Roger Ebert loved it, and he was painfully candid about the reasons why: It was a film that made him remember why he was going to the movies in the first place. Pauline Kael wrote of Rocky, the character, as "repulsive one moment, noble the next," a man who worked against America's better judgment and won them over.

That was Rocky, and Stallone's, magic. Stallone danced between two poles, one revoltingly gorilla and the other unexpectedly dignified. Listen to the way he shouts with triumphant desperation after he's bloodied and battered post-fight in Rocky's finale, clamoring for his tiny, klutzy lover.

"Adrian, Adrian!" he limps through the crowd of passersby, one eye shut and bloodied, the other just barely staying open.The words sound lodged in his throat, and in that moment we are as desperate for Adrian's arms as he is, because we are just like Rocky. He just lost the battle, but Adrian's arms are enough to make our losses feel like victories.

Sly Stallone was not Nicholson, he was not De Niro, he was not Pacino—now-fallen actors who once occupied the same, exasperating breath. He wasn't an actor with training. He was all brawns and no brain, faking his way through it, his spirit emerging triumphant in the end.

Over the course of the five Rocky follow-ups, Sly's ego mushroomed. He directed four of the movies; John G. Avildsen, the original director of Rocky, directed the fifth. Stallone's lack of directorial prowess was glaringly obvious. The glamor of the original Rocky was gone, and only the worst parts—the cloying themes and ham-fisted moralistic tidings and overly patriotic subtext—remained.

Underdogs can turn into dicks once they win, and that's what Rocky did. He grew obnoxious once he knew America loved him. I shouldn't be surprised. After all, behind Sly's bone-headed ego is a man probably insecure about the size of his dick, praying that he will be taken seriously, that people will love him. Trying to prove something to others as much as to himself. He can do this. We can do this.

Over time, the Fourth of July has become a symbol of a particularly noxious kind of patriotism for me. It's a day when we rarely acknowledge our country's ugly past and ugly present. Rocky is just like our country at its blindest moments: failing, fighting wars he probably won't win, but refusing to quit.

As I grew older in America, I realized that mimicking Rocky's upward journey was not that easy. When you are born with certain social handicaps, bobbing and weaving and dodging your opponents just to become a man is hard, no matter how much effort you put out. Sometimes they punch you. Sometimes you never really recover from the wound. But if you are born with Rocky's dogged spirit, you can keep on trying. Behind Rocky Balboa's American dream is a crisis of masculinity too proud and myopically defiant to give up.

In November, Rocky will go to the movies again, with a spinoff called Creed. Its trailer was released just a few days ago, and the response is already rhapsodic. I'm excited; it's directed by the very gifted man who directed Fruitvale Station, starring that movie's undersung star, Michael B. Jordan. Maybe this will finally be Rocky's return to form.

But while I wait for Creed, I will watch Rocky again this Fourth of July—because, like the man I once wanted to become, I just never know when to quit.

Follow Mayukh on Twitter.

The author at a Satanic black mass. All photos by Cody Orrell

Hot dogs on the grill. Cold Budweiser in hand. Blake Shelton blaring from your speakers. Sounds like the Fourth of July the way God intended: boring as hell. Thankfully, there's an alternative route: celebrating freedom like a Satanist. The Satanic Temple loves nothing if not liberty, and many Satanists believe America is the only country where Satanism can really flourish. America is a nation founded on values of religious and individual freedom—and there may be no one who embodies those ideals more extremely than a Satanist.

To find out more about celebrating the Fourth in Satanic style, I called up the cofounder of and spokesman for the Satanic Temple, Lucien Greaves, who also goes by Doug Mesner. (You may have seen him schooling Megyn Kelly on Wednesday night.)

The Satanic Temple had a recent victory when the Oklahoma Supreme Court ruled to remove a Ten Commandments monument from the Capitol grounds. The Temple built their own monument of Baphomet to erect alongside the Ten Commandments in Oklahoma, but now that the Ten Commandments monument has been taken down, they're turning their attention elsewhere. The statue may end up in Arkansas, where the state just recently approved a new Ten Commandments monument on Capitol grounds. It's like playing Ten Commandments whack-a-mole.

I spoke to Greaves about the American Revolution, our history of paranoia, how the Satanic Temple is fighting for freedom in America, and how to party like a Satanist on Independence Day. Hint: Celebrate however the fuck you want. But maybe don't play Blake Shelton.

VICE: Let's talk about the Fourth of July. To me, the Satanic Temple seems like an embodiment of American freedom.
Lucien Greaves: The idea that we're the true embodiment of American freedom is an under-recognized concept. A lot of conspiracy theory ideas attributed to Satanism really formed the modern paranoia [about Satanists]. [For example,] there's the idea that the French Revolution was contrived by the Jews, the Illuminati, or the Freemasons; the shorthand term is always "Satanists." There's that idea of the "threat from below." [When it comes to] the American Revolution, it's interesting that the independence of the United States was supported by politicians that belong to the Hellfire Club, one of the most ostentatious "Satanic" movements of the day.

A lot of people feel like this is the one nation where Satanism can truly exist and flourish.

Which people seem to forget sometimes today.
It's funny given the conservative push today for religious values, because we have a constitution that is a direct contradiction to the Ten Commandments. You have commandments like 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me' and that kind of thing, which directly contradicts the First Amendment, our explicit separation of church and state. But even with the American Revolution and the development of a secular nation, we have that fear of a "threat from below" [from any oppressed group]. There are still prevalent conspiracy theories about Jews. When we were keeping slaves, it was believed that slaves had pacts with the Devil that helped them overthrow their oppressor, as well. But earlier, before the revolution, [people believed] the Native Americans were Satanized. Even today, we have simple-minded idiots like Pat Robertson putting forward these notions. It's funny how given the paranoia and supernatural notions about Satanists, there's still this idea that Satanism [the force behind] the oppressed who are going to overthrow their oppressor. In that way, it perfectly fits in with the idea of independence in the American Revolution!

Will you expand on the Temple's concept of independence and freedom?
Well, that's really what the whole metaphor for Satan is from the Miltonian perspective. The ultimate rebel against the ultimate tyranny.

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What do Satanists think of the Fourth of July as a holiday?
You will actually find a strand within Satanism of people who do have a sense of patriotism and pride for the United States, for the very fact that we were founded explicitly as a secular nation. A lot of people feel like this is the one nation where Satanism can truly exist and flourish. [America] is often portrayed as a Christian nation and we have this virulent strand of Evangelicalism, especially today, but we view it completely differently. We think more in line with what the founding fathers intended.

What does the holiday symbolize for Satanists?
We don't dictate those types of things, but as responsible hedonists, any time to celebrate is a good time.

Speaking of freedom, you guys are filing a federal lawsuit against Missouri's abortion restrictions. Will you tell me about that?
In Missouri, we have two lawsuits against the abortion restrictions, a state lawsuit and a federal lawsuit. They have an informed consent mandate in Missouri that demands that a woman read material that is fraudulent and medically invalid. It's just outright wrong. The material explicitly puts forward a religious opinion: life at conception. And that's in contradiction to our own view, which is that a nonviable fetus should be considered tissue, and it's up to the woman whose body harbors it whether she wants to keep it or not.

You've done a lot of research on false memories. Would you say, in a sense, Americans have a false memory of our nation's history?
When you're writing an autobiographical narrative it's true, there's a definite push for that right now. There's Texas of course, they're trying to revise their textbooks to includes Moses as one of the founding fathers. There's definitely a revisionism that's trying to benefit a theocratic view that has no place in American foundational values at all.

What are you going to be doing on the 4th of July?
You know, I haven't actually made plans yet. It's possible that I'll be with the monument, helping it come to Detroit.

What's a good Satanic way to celebrate?
Any way you want.

Follow Sophie on Twitter.

MATTE magazine is a photography journal I started in 2010 as a way to shed light on good new photography. Each issue is devoted to the work of one artist,and the magazine is printed in full color with no ads and sold for the cost of production. MATTE is sold at Printer Matter, Inc, MoMA PS1, and the International Center of Photography.

The 4th of July Issue of MATTE collects Richard Renaldi's photographs of young Americans from the past 15 years. A current Guggenheim fellow, Renaldi's work is the subject of three books by Aperture: Figure and Ground, Touching Strangers, and Manhattan Sunday (forthcoming). Purchase his issue of MATTE here.

See more photos by Richard Renaldi here. Purchase his issue of MATTE here. Collectors edition plates available here.

Screenshots from 6degree.org

Mira* was 14 when she was lured away from her impoverished Indonesian hometown with promises of lucrative restaurant work in nearby Singapore. Instead, she was given false documents that identified her as 19 and spent two years serving wealthy Singaporeans—performing sex work in a hotel instead of the waitressing work she was promised.

Now Mira is 16 and desperately trying to start over. It's her dream to return to Indonesia and enroll in a hairdressing course. The cost for her travel, mental health care, reintegration, and vocational training is $2600.

Stories like Mira's are upsettingly common; in addition to mental and physical recovery, many victims of human trafficking face huge financial obstacles when attempting to build a life beyond modern slavery. Now there's a crowdfunding platform to help them start over called 6degree. What Kickstarter does for your friend's web series, 6degree hopes to do for the victims of human trafficking: give them hope, cash, and the chance for a fresh start.

We're used to having everything put in front of us: pictures of people suffering, of malnourished children in Africa. We've become desensitized to it. —Miranda Simpson

6degree was launched last week as a partnership between Microsoft and non-profit IOM X, the International Organization for Migration's anti-trafficking initiative. As one of the world's first crowdfunding portals explicitly designed to help you donate directly to human-trafficking victims, 6degree shares the stories of survivors through simple maps and easy-to-understand explanations.

Australian Miranda Simpson was the first person to make a donation using the site. The marketing professional chose to give to Xiao, a 23-year-old Indonesian woman forced into unpaid domestic labor and physically abused for six years before being sheltered by IOM X. Xiao is now awaiting the $1500 it will take to get her home, healthy, and into vocational training. A third of the money has already been raised via 6degree.

When helping a survivor of human trafficking is broken down into manageable sums, people see that their $25 or $50 really can make a difference. The new portal is highly reactive and users get the satisfaction of seeing their donation immediately applied to the survivor's goal sum, placing them a few steps closer to home.

To protect the identity of victims, pictures aren't used on the site. Instead, IOM X created a simple portal that crafts compelling narratives using clickable maps. The maps demonstrate each step of the victim's journey through human trafficking. All traces of sensational or exploitative storytelling are absent.

RELATED: I Was Kidnapped by a Bulgarian Human Trafficking Ring

This was part of the appeal for Simpson, who told VICE, "We're used to having everything put in front of us: pictures of people suffering, of malnourished children in Africa. We've become desensitized to it. 6degree allows you to understand the stories and donate with respect for the victims."

VICE spoke with IOM X's Bangkok-based Digital Outreach Manager and a passionate advocate for the project, Mike Nedelko, about how 6degree hopes to change the lives of many.

VICE: Tell us about the concept for 6degree.
Mike Nedelko: It's a way that we can tell individual stories about survivors of human trafficking, and accept donations for them, without compromising their safety or security.

What were the biggest stumbling blocks in the project?
We couldn't use pictures of the victims because it's crucial to protect their identities. So the issue was: How can we tell these human stories in a way that would allow a user to empathize, to understand the circumstances, without revealing individual identities? Pictures are the common answer but we had to come up with an alternative. We decided to tell the stories via maps.

This allows us to tell each story using clickable locations and letting users follow the journey. Each click opens up another step in their narrative.

Do you feel like there will be a demand for more information about the victims?
In this age of information, people want access to every detail. They want images, to connect on that level. We understand that there is a desire to know the individual whose life you are affecting, but at the same time, we want to create awareness that you're contributing to very vulnerable people. If your objective is to remove them from danger, then there are certain details that you can't have in order to keep them safe.

Who do you think 6degree will appeal to?
Two groups. First, the engaged global network of anti-trafficking advocates. Second, the people who care about the issue but are less involved on a daily basis. 6degree provides them with a concrete way to take action. Trafficking is a complex, sensitive issue but we wanted to provide people with a way to feel that they are having an immediate impact and connecting with those who are living through these experiences.

There was this gap where people were passionate about this issue but felt that there was no way they could help. That's why we started working with crowdfunding. —Mike Nedelko

Why is there a need for crowdfunding for this sort of thing?
It comes down to reaching our target audience. There was this gap where people were passionate about this issue but felt that there was no way they could help. That was an opportunity we saw and why we started working with crowdfunding.

The portal solves a funding issue but also allows us to raise awareness on a larger scale. It allows contributors to connect with real stories and develop a deeper understanding of the trafficked human experience.

Do you actually put cash in the victims' hands?
No. The funds go directly to that person but are dispersed through the IOM assistance program and a case officer who is on the ground working with these individuals to help them get re-established.

RELATED: Corruption, Torture, and "Ethics" in Thailand's Human Trafficking Industry

Are donor names and contribution amounts on 6degree anonymous?
Yes. For the moment we want the experience of the trafficked individual to be at the center of the giving process.

How do you choose cases for 6degree?
The officers in the field recommend victims based on need. We've started small by launching with just four cases at a time but will be adding more. We want to make sure we're scaling sustainably. As each case gets funded, it will be replaced with a new one.

If crowdfunding for trafficked individuals gains traction, will we end up with competing tragedies and stories presented in an overly sensational way to get funding?
I think it relates to the kind of experience people expect from today's internet. Even if another portal opened up providing a similar service, I can't imagine IOM X would ever want to tell the stories in a different way to up the ante. With our long history of helping so many people, I think we have credibility in the field.

What's been the initial reaction to 6degree?
Great. People have said they've been waiting for something like this and sharing it on social media. It's encouraging because the potential of this for the counter-trafficking movement is huge. You don't get the opportunity to make such a direct impact on others that often in life.

* Names and some identifying details have been changed to protect the victims' identities.

Give to 6degree.org and follow Laurel on Twitter.

A demonstrator at a "no" rally in Athens earlier this week (Photo by Panagiotis Maidis)

This article originally appeared on VICE Greece

Since news of a bailout referendum broke last Saturday morning, things have been more than a little tense in Greece.

Over the last week, "yes" and "no" have been the two most-discussed words in the country, with Greeks of all ages debating what each might mean for the country. While some folks are taking to the streets to actively demonstrate for one or the other, there seems to be a suspicion among some that, regardless of the outcome, very little will actually change post-vote, with the country remaining in just as dire a situation.

We spoke to a couple of Greek girls who hold that exact opinion.

Elina, 22-years-old, Studying Linguistics

I met Elina close to where her and her father live in Athens. Their apartment—near the famous Acropolis—may be situated in one of the most beautiful neighborhoods in the city, but she assures me that the fact they live there is purely coincidental. "People think that if you live here you have no problems, but it isn't true. We just happen to live in a nice area. Just like other kids my age, I belong to a generation of potentially unemployed," Elina said as we walked towards her house.

VICE: How do you think things are going to play out from Monday onwards? What's going to happen after the referendum?
Elina: I don't think it'll change anything. At least, not immediately. I don't think there'll be any tremendous changes come Monday. In general, I'm quite optimistic for the future. I don't know what I'm basing that on, but I need to be. I'm not going to sit here and make myself sick with worry; I need to stay positive.

Do you think that one of the choices in the referendum is better than the other?
I'm not sure which of the two is the right choice. I don't even know if there is a right choice.

Does that mean you aren't going to vote?
Well, I probably shouldn't vote if I don't think it'll change anything, but for some reason I'm leaning towards voting no. I can't really explain why I'm going to, though. Even people who are well informed are having difficulty explaining why they're voting one way or the other. For some reason, I think no is the best choice.

But if you don't think it'll change anything, why vote no?
Because I'm bored of bowing down and accepting everything that Europe says. People who have far more responsibility than I have can't keep on bowing either. If a no vote actually brings about the things they're warning us about on TV, then we're in for a very bad time. But both options are a mess.

So your choice is egotistical?
Yeah. I'm pretty sure that Europe isn't going to turn around say: "Oh, OK guys. We were too hard on you, but you seem to want it really badly so we'll leave you in peace." But this can't just go on. We signed our first memorandum because we were told that it would help us avoid all of these exact things that have eventually happened.

What's the solution, then? Is there a third choice?
I don't know. I don't know how to talk about politics and economics. I don't think anyone does, for that matter. Everyone has their opinion, but nobody actually knows what's best. I don't know if a third option exists. The ideal solution would be if our debts were cancelled, I guess. If only I could just show up at the houses of these European politicians and just scare them into writing off our debts. But that's probably about as realistic as the referendum having some sort of positive outcome.

Anastasia, 22-years-old, Employee at a clothing company

Anastasia returned to Greece a year ago after finishing her studies in England. Currently, she's working part-time at a clothing store. Her and her boyfriend just rented an apartment in Athens. They happened to find out about the referendum as they were moving into their new place.

VICE: How do you think things are going to be from Monday on?
Anastasia: I try not to let it scare me. I think that, no matter what, things will be bad for a long time. I don't think a "future" exists—at least, not in the conventional sense of the word. To find a good job, you basically have to turn up and work for free. That's how it was before the referendum and that's how it'll be afterwards, too.

So you aren't going to vote on Sunday?
I'm going to vote. I've already decided to vote no.

But why vote if you don't think it'll change anything?
I don't think it'll change anything, but at the same time, enough is enough. I think that voting no is a matter of dignity. It's a way of hitting back.

Watch: 'Migrants Stranded on Kos":

With everything that's going on in Greece, do you miss living abroad?
No. The economy is better abroad, but I don't miss living over there. In England, where I lived, they're just using Thatcher's political ideas. That's the reason I wanted to leave and come to Greece. Socially, life is different here: there's solidarity among us—we haven't become so individualized.

Do you think you'll consider leaving again if you can't make it in Greece?
I've been thinking about it, but I want to avoid that. It seems strange to leave purely for economic reasons. The entire situation affects me a lot, but I don't want to move again. I'd be leaving so much behind me. I'd prefer to stay and fight.

If you think that neither yes nor no will change much, what do you think could? Is there an ideal situation?
Overall, I think we should get out of the European Union. But I've always thought that. The European Union represents a lifestyle that isn't for the Greeks. I'm not sure if it's the best time to do it right now, though. I think the country needs to change some things before we leave.

Thanks, Anastasia.

War of the Worlds, Paramount Pictures

It is not surprising that the tragedy of 9/11 would leave its mark on our nation's art as well as its consciousness. But it's only now, nearly 15 years later, that we are able to parcel through the patterns that have rippled out of the event. Looking back at television in the aftermath of 9/11, it's clear that shows like SNL and Friends—both of which saw significant improvement in their ratings in 2002—provided some sort of comfort for Americans. Meanwhile, Hollywood was negotiating its own uncharted territory, determining how to serve as a kind of entertaining, money-making therapy session for the American masses.

In the immediate aftermath of the attack, Hollywood started to stall. A host of films—most notably Arnold Schwarzenegger's Collateral Damage, which centered around a terrorist bombing in downtown Los Angeles—saw massive premiere delays. Others, like Jackie Chan's Nosebleed, about a window washer who stops a terrorist attack on the World Trade Center, would be canceled altogether.

Yet it was superhero movies that would come to define the decade that followed, thanks to a renewed interest in a world delineated into heroes and villains. 2002's Spider-Man captured New York City's charged, post-attack energy best. Nowhere is the city's resilience more opaquely plotted than in the film's third act, when the citizens of New York defend Spider-Man in a brawl along the Brooklyn Bridge. One New Yorker even screams, "You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us."

The patriotism and sentimentality that featured in 2002 while the wound was still fresh began to harden up shortly thereafter, and a cultural narrative break occurred between films released immediately after 9/11 and those released after our invasion of Iraq. If Spider-Man captures a momentary blip of renewed American uber-patriotism, the superhero films in the latter years of the Bush administration capture a completely different trend, one that reflects the state of perpetual anxiety wrought by 9/11 alongside the moral queasiness of US strategy abroad. This was most apparent in Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy, the most definitive blockbusters of the post-9/11 era. Dealing with the heady themes of fear, terrorism, moral incertitude, and class warfare, the Dark Knight films are a topographical map of the country's ideological triggers through the aughts.

Hollywood would attempt to match Nolan's tone—most broadly, "grittiness"—in Blockbuster films to come, employing them in everything from fringe properties like V For Vendetta to cultural mainstays like the James Bond franchise, which would be stripped of humor and wonder in favor of something more recognizable and far more bleak. This renewed interest in realism can be traced back to filmmaker Paul Greengrass, who popularized a radical "handheld" aesthetic in 2004's The Bourne Supremacy. The energy of the effect, dubbed "shakey cam" by critics and viewers, established a new kind of visual language for films of the 2000s, one that largely did away with the conventional Hollywood sheen in an effort to get at something more "real."

This idea of "real" is one that most commonly framed peoples' reaction to September 11, the single most documented catastrophe in human history. Predicated largely by the birth of the 24-hour news cycle, 9/11 coverage spewed a pool of constant content that eventually began to circulate individual cell phone recordings as often as official news footage. This subjective and choppy documentation became our new aesthetic reference point, giving rise to the formal exploration of single takes.

Our fears and anxieties caused us to create films with tidy endings, but the further we get from 9/11, the more we've begun to approach those black-and-white ideas with renewed unease.

Alfonso Cuarón's bleak, brilliant Children Of Men would explore the humanity of a world bordering dystopic ruin, featuring an uninterrupted single take during the film's final act in a momentary ceasefire between two sets of radical combatants. Greengrass himself would go on to direct the first major release about September 11 with United 93, which documented the passenger uprising of a hijacked plane that crash-landed in Pennsylvania, en route to Washington, DC.

United 93 was noted for its unnerving realism, and its use of real time mimics the same concept behind the single take: 9/11's hyper-reality came from its being the first catastrophe to break in real time, with speculation and information occurring live, unedited, and undigested.

9/11 also left its mark on horror films, spawning the herpes of horror tropes: found footage. While The Blair Witch Project took the nation two years prior to the attacks, the film's central conceit removed it from the recognizable world. Post-9/11 films like Cloverfield, [REC], and Paranormal Activity, meanwhile, were invested in the familiar, tapping into notions of anxiety and home invasion and subverting a crucial horror trope by having many of the film's key scares occur during the day. Clear, bright skies provided a new canvas for horror after decades of being afraid only of the dark.

Zero Dark Thirty, Annapurna Pictures

Before 9/11, films depicting global chaos took disparate storylines and connected them through disaster. After 9/11, disaster films returned their focus to the values and tensions of the American nuclear family. Take Steven Spielberg's 2005 War of the Worlds. The original radio broadcast by Orson Wells occurred at the height of Nazi Germany's rise in power, and the first film adaptation came at the peak of Cold War anxiety. Spielberg, whose own history with aliens never veered into horror, catapulted Worlds into the shadow of America after 9/11 and brought the scope of the film back down to human size. Instead of a global adventure, the film's focus is on a single family, with Tom Cruise as patriarch. Action and terror found themselves, suddenly, on the human scale.

War of the Worlds' teaser trailer is peppered with references to the envious eyes of an Other, baring similarity to much of the "they hate us for our freedom" rhetoric used to frame the growing conflict abroad. Even the film's tagline—"They're Already Here"—is loaded with reference to the anxiety that terrorists could be anywhere among us. The imagery of World War II—rumbling cities, dark skies, large-scale displacement—was replaced by 9/11's: steel beams as headstones, plane wreckage as the chief symbol of doomsday.

For more America, check out Life as a Truck Stop Stripper:

But some of the more interesting quagmires of American life and morality didn't come to a head until after the invasion of Iraq. The active engagement with 9/11 imagery would begin to dilute as the decade went on, and by late in the aughts, Iraq would prove the more fertile soil for cultivating our anxieties. A renewed interest in extreme cinema, most grotesquely captured in the rise of torture porn, would capture a kind of blood thirst that American horror films had moved away from during the renaissance of slasher films and Japanese remakes. Instead, around the time when the ethics of torture abroad began to launch questions about the contradictory values of the country at large, films like Saw and Hostel tested our levels of mass desensitization. Even Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ would prove to challenge the decade-long investment in realism by using violence as a proxy for retribution.

By the second decade of the new millennium, Hollywood began distancing itself from aggressive narrative engagement with September 11. Gritty fatigue gave way to a new type of sincere blockbuster, lightening the tone of superhero franchises thanks in large part to Disney's corporate takeover of Marvel studios. Films about 9/11 have, instead, entered a new era of political abstraction: from the sentimental framing of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in 2011, around the ten-year anniversary of the towers falling to the emotional ambiguity surrounding Osama Bin Laden's death in 2012's Zero Dark Thirty. Our fears and anxieties caused us to create films with tidy endings, but the further we get from 9/11, the more we've begun to approach those black-and-white ideas with renewed unease. At the end of Thirty, Jessica Chastain's fictionalized CIA analyst sits quietly on an Afghani tarmac while a military pilot asks where she'd like to go next. Hollywood and America seem similarly unsure of how to respond.

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'Yes' demonstrators in Athens. Photo by Panagiotis Maidis.

This article originally appeared on VICE Greece

Since the bailout referendum was announced on Saturday, Greece has been divided by two fairly conflicting opinions. One being: "Whatever happens, it doesn't even matter. There's nothing to lose"—which seems to be the standard argument for those in favor of a no vote—and the other: "If there's a no, then we're likely to lose everything."

Thanos and Theodoris, two young Greeks we met, will both vote yes tonight. They're certain that a no vote will send Greece into a downward spiral, and that their lives, as well as the lives of many others, will be significantly affected.

Theodoris, 29-years-old, Digital Marketer

I met up with Theodoris in Ambelokipi, one of the most beautiful neighborhoods in Athens. Theodoris lives with his family. He's been at his current job for a few months, but spent a while unemployed before that. He studied economics at Piraeus University and finished it as a Masters degree in France. Following his education, he returned to Greece, where he held a good job until he was made redundant at the start of the economic downturn.

VICE: How do you think things are going to look from Monday onwards?
Theodoris: Whether people vote yes or no, things are going to be difficult. I think the worst part of this referendum is the divide that it's created between Greeks. I hope that, whatever the outcome, it will be respected by both sides and we'll all sit down together and come up with a solution to get out of whatever dead-end we get stuck in.

Which of the referendum's two choices do you think is the correct one?
I'll vote yes because I actually agree with both the measures put forth by our lenders and the overall attitude of our European partners. That, and the fact that I can't see any sort of serious plan—financial or social—being presented that could handle the impact of a no majority. The time and manner in which this referendum was called is undemocratic—we've been asked to answer a question that isn't even clear. There was no time for anyone to get any understanding of what it all meant. Because of that, everyone interprets yes and no differently. I think that a yes vote means the political system will be under even more pressure to undertake the reforms that we very much need to change the current ills of the public sector.

What have you got to lose with a no vote?
I worry for the weaker population groups—the elderly, people will health problems and children. They will all be obliged, even if it's just for a few months, to live under unprecedented conditions. There'll be a lack of essential goods, like medicine. Personally, I'm afraid that I'll lose my job, because I have no idea whether the company I work for will be able to keep operating. I'm not too worried about losing the money in my bank account—I don't have very much.

What would a no vote mean for Greece?
This week's blow to our economy was very powerful. There was a collapse of public confidence in the banking system. That could take months, or even years, to rebuild. We lost a complete tourist season—that will have major consequences for the income of many Greeks, particularly those that live on the islands. Where I work—in the private sector—took a hit, too. From Monday on, most companies are informally putting their operations on hold. I think it's only a matter of days before the ATMs dry up completely.

So you think a yes vote has a better prognosis?
Don't get me wrong: I don't think voting yes will improve Greece's prospects. The memoranda won't create any potential for development in the country. But at least it will send a signal to Europe that Greece wants to remain in the euro. Maybe it'll instigate the creation of a coalition government that could make the reforms necessary to fix the country.

Would you consider going abroad again?
No. I love my country, even if it has bad sides. I want to stay here and help the country get out of the crisis. As difficult as it is to live and work in Greece, I can't imagine myself anywhere else. I hope I'm not forced to emigrate, like my father was in the 1960s.

Thanos, 24, Lawyer

Thanos is new to the legal world. Before entering his family's law firm, he gained a degree at the Athens School of Law. Right now, he's finishing his army service.

VICE: What's going to happy from Monday on?
Thanos: Nothing good. I think our bank accounts will be affected first. There's no way around it. I think that voting yes will leave more room for negotiation, and therefore a better chance to reach an agreement. I think that it's going to be difficult at a national level, though. Our Prime Minister has done a good job of dividing the Greek people. Sure, this whole referendum is being conducted as a democratic process, but the question that's been raised is really unclear. I'd call it illegitimate. You can't solve this issue with a simple question like that. That's why the answer isn't simple.

What are you voting?
Definitely yes. The country needs to remain in the Eurozone, the euro and Europe. We need to negotiate and find the best solution, but we need to do it within this framework. The future of our country shouldn't be compromised by being driven out in non-European, uncharted waters.

What harm could a no vote do to Greece?
The risk is that it'll disintegrate basic institutions, like security, both inside and outside of the state. Another risk is a return to the drachma. That would mean higher inflation. It's a devalued currency, so reinstating it would mean reducing imports like pharmaceuticals and petrol, as well as exports. Liquidity is also a direct threat. The banking system is about to collapse.

Watch: 'Immigrants Are Walking Hundreds of Miles from Greece to Germany':

What will change for you if the result turns out to be a resounding no?
There'll be a huge impact on the justice system, something that concerns me directly. Trust in the judicial system will collapse, and judges won't be able to do their job.

Will a yes majority solve all the country's problems?
Definitely not. But it would put us in a strong position to negotiate. A yes vote will show a Greece that wants to stay in the Eurozone. Our European partners will probably look upon us a bit friendlier.

If things were to get really bad, would you leave?
I think that question is answered best with a quote from a Greek cartoonist called Arkas: "We're like a tampon. We're in the best place, but at the worst time." I don't want to think about moving abroad. I believe in the Greek people's power, their mind and the innovative abilities. I believe that people here are resourceful enough to come up with great business ideas that can stop them having to leave.

Thanks.