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DS9 - History is written by the victors.
Title: Misremembering the Alamo
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to slavery, racism, colonialism)
Words: 658
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Julian and Miles generally don't know much about the history behind their holosuite programs, beyond the information provided by the creators. Captain Sisko, however, does.
Author's Notes: Being Canadian, I'm in something of a different position than American viewers of the American-produced DS9. Normally, that doesn't affect my viewing in the slightest, but every once in a while, having the perspective of an outsider results in some...dissonance.
Miles and Julian's Season 6 and 7 holosuite program is the example that stands out the most to me. I learned about American history outside the American school system, and so my reaction to hearing about their newest program was perhaps--not what the writers were intending. And that's what this fic is about.
By now, Miles hardly noticed all the attention he attracted on the way to the holosuites. He barely heard Keiko's sighs as he got ready to leave and if anyone pointed at him and Julian strolling along the promenade in reproductions of historical costumes from Earth, it practically didn't bother him at all.
That said, it was another matter entirely when Captain Sisko was the one doing the staring today.
Well, it was to him. Julian didn't seem too bothered—he even tipped his coonskin cap at their commanding officer. "Good afternoon, sir."
Sisko smiled in response. It wasn't the sort of smile meant to make fun, but all the same Miles felt the need to pull off his hat and just . . . hang onto it for a while.
"So, where are the two of you off to this afternoon?"
"The, uh, the Alamo, sir," Miles said.
Abruptly, the Captain's smile disappeared. His eyebrows rose so far that they would have hit his hairline if he still had one. Miles' expression froze.
"The Alamo?" Sisko repeated.
Miles shared a confused glance with Julian. What on Earth was wrong with the Alamo?
"That's right," Julian answered, smoothing away a frown. "A glorious battle against impossible odds—it's exciting, a bit of fun."
The Captain gave him an odd look. Miles couldn't put his finger on what it meant, exactly, but regardless, it was making him sweat.
"I wouldn't describe it in those terms. And I'd advise against letting Major Kira know this is your idea of a good time. I can't say I'm too pleased to hear it, myself."
"Why is that, sir?" Miles asked.
Sisko set his hands on his hips. "Because, gentlemen, the Alamo was part of the Texas Revolution. And one of the main reasons for that particular revolution was that the Texians, the people defending the Alamo, didn't want to give up on owning slaves."
It was like someone had just jammed a boot into his gut. That—that couldn't really be right, could it? Maybe the Captain had gotten things wrong. Maybe he was thinking of some other Alamo.
Julian looked just as sick as Miles felt when he asked, ". . . Slaves, sir?"
"That's right. Sure, they weren't processing ore, but that didn't mean their lives were any easier."
Slowly, Julian reached up and removed his coonskin cap. Miles tried to wad his own into his pocket.
"What say we, uh, switch sides today, Julian?" Miles suggested, hoping his face wasn't really as livid red as it felt.
Sisko, however, was the one to answer, and once again, his eyebrows had lifted. "I'm not so sure that's much better. When you come down to it, the land that was being fought over didn't belong to either side. Both groups had colonised territory home to the aboriginal peoples of the continent."
When neither of them had anything to say to that, Sisko sighed. "That's the problem with programs based on real historical events: there's rarely a clear-cut 'good' side and a 'bad' one. And most of the time, the version of history that we learn is either the one written by the victors or the one that makes the best story. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to be in ops."
With a nod to both of them, Captain Sisko continued on his way.
Miles didn't have much to say after that. He didn't look at Julian, and probably Julian didn't feel like looking at him, either.
Finally, Julian spoke. "Julian Bashir, Secret Agent?"
And for once, Miles didn't bother arguing about taking role of the Falcon. He crammed his cap even farther into his pocket. "Let's go get changed."
They hurried back to their quarters with stiff movements. Later that afternoon, Miles' Alamo outfit went back into the replicator to be reclaimed. Some things just weren't meant to be games—especially when they were being played on a former Cardassian ore processing centre.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to slavery, racism, colonialism)
Words: 658
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Julian and Miles generally don't know much about the history behind their holosuite programs, beyond the information provided by the creators. Captain Sisko, however, does.
Author's Notes: Being Canadian, I'm in something of a different position than American viewers of the American-produced DS9. Normally, that doesn't affect my viewing in the slightest, but every once in a while, having the perspective of an outsider results in some...dissonance.
Miles and Julian's Season 6 and 7 holosuite program is the example that stands out the most to me. I learned about American history outside the American school system, and so my reaction to hearing about their newest program was perhaps--not what the writers were intending. And that's what this fic is about.
By now, Miles hardly noticed all the attention he attracted on the way to the holosuites. He barely heard Keiko's sighs as he got ready to leave and if anyone pointed at him and Julian strolling along the promenade in reproductions of historical costumes from Earth, it practically didn't bother him at all.
That said, it was another matter entirely when Captain Sisko was the one doing the staring today.
Well, it was to him. Julian didn't seem too bothered—he even tipped his coonskin cap at their commanding officer. "Good afternoon, sir."
Sisko smiled in response. It wasn't the sort of smile meant to make fun, but all the same Miles felt the need to pull off his hat and just . . . hang onto it for a while.
"So, where are the two of you off to this afternoon?"
"The, uh, the Alamo, sir," Miles said.
Abruptly, the Captain's smile disappeared. His eyebrows rose so far that they would have hit his hairline if he still had one. Miles' expression froze.
"The Alamo?" Sisko repeated.
Miles shared a confused glance with Julian. What on Earth was wrong with the Alamo?
"That's right," Julian answered, smoothing away a frown. "A glorious battle against impossible odds—it's exciting, a bit of fun."
The Captain gave him an odd look. Miles couldn't put his finger on what it meant, exactly, but regardless, it was making him sweat.
"I wouldn't describe it in those terms. And I'd advise against letting Major Kira know this is your idea of a good time. I can't say I'm too pleased to hear it, myself."
"Why is that, sir?" Miles asked.
Sisko set his hands on his hips. "Because, gentlemen, the Alamo was part of the Texas Revolution. And one of the main reasons for that particular revolution was that the Texians, the people defending the Alamo, didn't want to give up on owning slaves."
It was like someone had just jammed a boot into his gut. That—that couldn't really be right, could it? Maybe the Captain had gotten things wrong. Maybe he was thinking of some other Alamo.
Julian looked just as sick as Miles felt when he asked, ". . . Slaves, sir?"
"That's right. Sure, they weren't processing ore, but that didn't mean their lives were any easier."
Slowly, Julian reached up and removed his coonskin cap. Miles tried to wad his own into his pocket.
"What say we, uh, switch sides today, Julian?" Miles suggested, hoping his face wasn't really as livid red as it felt.
Sisko, however, was the one to answer, and once again, his eyebrows had lifted. "I'm not so sure that's much better. When you come down to it, the land that was being fought over didn't belong to either side. Both groups had colonised territory home to the aboriginal peoples of the continent."
When neither of them had anything to say to that, Sisko sighed. "That's the problem with programs based on real historical events: there's rarely a clear-cut 'good' side and a 'bad' one. And most of the time, the version of history that we learn is either the one written by the victors or the one that makes the best story. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to be in ops."
With a nod to both of them, Captain Sisko continued on his way.
Miles didn't have much to say after that. He didn't look at Julian, and probably Julian didn't feel like looking at him, either.
Finally, Julian spoke. "Julian Bashir, Secret Agent?"
And for once, Miles didn't bother arguing about taking role of the Falcon. He crammed his cap even farther into his pocket. "Let's go get changed."
They hurried back to their quarters with stiff movements. Later that afternoon, Miles' Alamo outfit went back into the replicator to be reclaimed. Some things just weren't meant to be games—especially when they were being played on a former Cardassian ore processing centre.