Description:
A year since Windy's [last comic](/images/2870730) took place.
She and her father fled South Zebrica for the Equestrian Federation. They were given temporary refuge and eventually settled in the great southern metropolis of Atlantail, Peachtree. Here, Windy and her father tried to start a new life. As her papa took up a job as a baggage handler for Darter Airlines, she restarted her junior year of high school in Equestria. She tried to be the friendly young mare she always was, but some just took her as annoying and desperate for friendship. After having to flee her homeland, she absolutely was trying to find some friends to confide in. But on top of being the weird mare from Zebrica, she was also a pony from Zebrica. Something she was very open about. She loved her country and had many fond memories of her childhood in the Goldfields. On the darker side, however, South Zebrica had a tumultuous history of colonial oppression and modern racial strife amongst the native zebras. Unfortunately, being the descendant of the ponies who had colonized the land hundreds of years ago was reason enough for a few to villainize her without a second thought.
One such pony had always been passive aggressive towards her, but Windy is a little bit of a clueless mare. One day she noticed Meadow Lark throw her project off to the side, obviously annoyed at it. Windy offered to help, but Meadow decided to take a few more pot shots at her. But when the subject turned towards their mothers, and how Windy didn't have one, she had to relive the time when she did. And how the last time she saw her mother was when her body bag was closed on the side of the road that winded through the countryside of the Freestate. Before she had time to notice, she was holding a beaten Meadowlark by her scarf out the window of their upstairs classroom. After asking for and receiving an apology, she let Meadow back onto her hooves without another word.
By the time Windy's father arrived at her school, the police were already there, waiting outside the door to the bathroom she had locked herself in. He could hear her pained crying as soon as he saw the door. He couldn't hold back his tears as the police officer had explained what happened to him. That his baby girl had snapped from the memory of her mother's murder. His wife's. He put his head against the door, trying to muster the words. He spoke through the door, telling her in Zebrikaans "Honey. Daddy is here." As the crying continued, he pleaded with his daughter to open the door, only to be met with Windy screaming out for her mother.
She and her father fled South Zebrica for the Equestrian Federation. They were given temporary refuge and eventually settled in the great southern metropolis of Atlantail, Peachtree. Here, Windy and her father tried to start a new life. As her papa took up a job as a baggage handler for Darter Airlines, she restarted her junior year of high school in Equestria. She tried to be the friendly young mare she always was, but some just took her as annoying and desperate for friendship. After having to flee her homeland, she absolutely was trying to find some friends to confide in. But on top of being the weird mare from Zebrica, she was also a pony from Zebrica. Something she was very open about. She loved her country and had many fond memories of her childhood in the Goldfields. On the darker side, however, South Zebrica had a tumultuous history of colonial oppression and modern racial strife amongst the native zebras. Unfortunately, being the descendant of the ponies who had colonized the land hundreds of years ago was reason enough for a few to villainize her without a second thought.
One such pony had always been passive aggressive towards her, but Windy is a little bit of a clueless mare. One day she noticed Meadow Lark throw her project off to the side, obviously annoyed at it. Windy offered to help, but Meadow decided to take a few more pot shots at her. But when the subject turned towards their mothers, and how Windy didn't have one, she had to relive the time when she did. And how the last time she saw her mother was when her body bag was closed on the side of the road that winded through the countryside of the Freestate. Before she had time to notice, she was holding a beaten Meadowlark by her scarf out the window of their upstairs classroom. After asking for and receiving an apology, she let Meadow back onto her hooves without another word.
By the time Windy's father arrived at her school, the police were already there, waiting outside the door to the bathroom she had locked herself in. He could hear her pained crying as soon as he saw the door. He couldn't hold back his tears as the police officer had explained what happened to him. That his baby girl had snapped from the memory of her mother's murder. His wife's. He put his head against the door, trying to muster the words. He spoke through the door, telling her in Zebrikaans "Honey. Daddy is here." As the crying continued, he pleaded with his daughter to open the door, only to be met with Windy screaming out for her mother.
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Oh it's definitely virtue signaling. The art would be better without it. I don't really care who's qualified to speak on South African politics though. It's a decent depiction of a post-traumatic psychotic break, even if the artist isn't exactly a sociology professor.
Lots of people want to write a book without ever having read one. There is a reason conventions have arisen in storytelling techniques. People don't know what they don't know. Telling stories is a craft. It requires work to do it well. Some people are just lazy. I think that's part of what we're seeing here.
Over and above that, when I see an infodump that contains something like "South Zebrica had a tumultuous history of colonial oppression," I cannot but wonder whether the whole storytelling exercise, all the drawing, all the typing, all the editing, was slapped together with the minimum possible effort and time to get to the position of being able to lecture us about complex and bloody real-world politics, viewed from the author's fashionable political perspective and simplified in order to fit on a bumper sticker. All of this exists so that the author can signal to all of us that he's a good and virtuous person. He's not going to put in the effort of showing us this in the story—no, he's going to stop and infodump his virtue-signaling in order to barter it for updoots from his fellow goodthinkers. And that was the whole point of the exercise. The story and art are props. "Quick! Upvote me! I worked on this for nearly an hour! Tell me what a good person I am!" I am also going to guess that the individual responsible for this has never been to South Africa. Or Africa. Or outside the US. Or met an Afrikaner.
Thing is they can tell the story without stopping everything to infodump, but for some reason they still infodump at great, great length. Insecurity complex?
If you can't tell the story without stopping everything to infodump at the reader at great, great length, that's a skill issue.
>>6432980t
>>6427068t
Edited