In Summary: * A quiet Friday winds down. In the bottom of the sixth inning, my Rangers are leading the Rockies 9 to 2. Earlier today in the college basketball game I followed, Michigan beat Ohio St. 71 to 67. As Michigan is predicted by many to with the NCAA Championship, I'm proud of Ohio State's performance. After this baseball game ends there's nothing else I have scheduled other than finishing my night prayers and turning in early.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night. Details of that regimen are linked to my link tree, which is linked to my profile page here.

Starting Ash Wednesday, 2026, I've added this daily prayer as part of the Prayer Crusade Preceding the 2026 SSPX Episcopal Consecrations.

Health Metrics: * bw= 230.49 lbs * bp= 143/85 (64)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups

Diet: * 06:05 – 1 banana * 08:30 – fried chicken * 09:15 – lasagna * 14:40 – more lasagna * 16:00 – 1 fresh apple * 18:05 – 1 peanut butter sandwich

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 05:00 – bank accounts activity monitored * 05:10 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, and nap * 10:30 – listening to the pregame show ahead of today's Ohio St. vs Michigan men's basketball game * 13:25 – and Michigan wins, 71 to 67. * 15:00 – activated the MLB Gameday Screen, and the audio feed for the radio call of this afternoon's game between the Rangers and the Rockies * 18:05 – and the Rangers win, 9 to 4.

Chess: * 15:30 – moved in all pending CC games

There are no strangers here; only friends you have not yet met.

“D’ya realize how long you’ve been in Europe?” the Irish immigration officer asked.

“Well,” I smiled. “I like to think that I’m less in Europe at this point than it’s in me.”

He was not amused. “What the feck does that mean!? What are ya? Some kind of poet or somethin'?”

I smiled and did a little performative bow. Kindness and charm usually worked wonders. But this morning, after stepping off the ferry from Cherbourg, France to Dublin, Ireland, Officer O’Flynn was neither charitable nor open to kindness.

I'd just disembarked the overnight crossing. I was a little bit scared, but afraid to let it show. I'd wandered around with barely a plan for months and expected it to work here. All of a sudden, things were a bit too official when I least expected it.

“Well, I don’t care what ya do for a livin’… ya show up in my country—no return flight or trip, no forwarding address—just a ‘trust me’ attitude! How would you feel if I showed up in your country, hat in hand and a promise not to overstay?”

I had the feeling in my gut that my natural answer would not be received well: Why, welcome to Texas! Try Pecan Lodge BBQ—it’s a helluva good time! Stay out of Austin, it’s more California than Texas these days.

So instead I just smiled and eased out, “I can understand your point of view. I assure you, we mean no harm. Just here wrapping up an extended journey before heading back to Texas in the US.”

He flips through my passport book for the fourth time.

“So when did ya come into Europe?” he asks dismissively, flipping pages. “And why don’t you have any other stamps besides Spain?”

“December 10,” I answer. “And I went from Portugal to Spain to France to Italy to France to Italy to Switzerland to Italy to Switzerland to Italy to Switzerland to Germany to Liechtenstein to Germany to France over the course of more than two months, and not once has a crossing asked for anything. A few times I even stopped and asked them to review and stamp my passport. Always the same message: ‘We don’t do that here.’”

“I came with a return flight, but decided to overstay that and cancelled it, planning to rebook when I was out of time and energy for exploring the continent. Ireland is just the last leg, and I might add, the highlight of my trip. My Irish ancestors left here in 1648 and never looked back. I’m here for me, for my father, and for my art.”

O’Flynn is unmoved. Subtly rolls his eyes and stamps the book.

I light up. “Oh! Yay! Thank you. Don’t worry—I won’t disappoint your trust.”

The last thing I want is to get cross with the immigration police and get banned for life. I have a friend this happened to in North America. Left, and when he came back, his home of 30 years was locked out forever.

Wild.

But that’s the cost of romance. You can’t plan every grain of sand. That’s a pilot's move; a pragmatists answer. Poets just wander around until they can’t stand it anymore. It’s a terrifying and electrifying state. You are building the bridge as you cross it, like a cartoon character.

This all occurs to me as I sit in a solarium in western Ireland. The ocean is POUNDING and ROARING a sixth of a mile away. Four donkeys graze in the rain next to a babbling brook that runs down and away from me to the sea. The ubiquitous stone walls divide the landscape beneath me into paddocks. How beautiful that they never adopted the grotesque barbed wire we run everywhere back in the United States.

This landscape is very much like Officer O’Flynn: hard and unforgiving, but with good reason. This island has stood for thousands of years and is fiercely independent. It’s not possible to hold one’s own without keeping your face to the wind. But underneath the harsh exterior is so much beauty that it is tear-inducing. Life everywhere. Celebrated with good beer (nay, great beer) and trad music.

I need to live here for a year. I am not yet bored, and until boredom sets in, creativity can’t truly flourish.

I want to live here, make love here, grow weary of the place and let it grow weary of me.

Typical for a romantic poet-essayist.

I think I’ll go for a walk.

When most people imagine the men who walked beside Jesus, they picture fishermen, wanderers, and ordinary laborers whose lives were close to the soil and the sea. Few imagine a government collaborator sitting behind a tax table, collecting money from his own neighbors on behalf of a foreign empire. Yet one of the most extraordinary figures in the entire New Testament began his story exactly there. Matthew, known also as Levi, was not merely a tax collector but part of a system that symbolized betrayal, exploitation, and social corruption in the eyes of his fellow Jews. The Roman tax system relied on local contractors who would pay Rome a fixed amount and then collect whatever additional money they could from the population. Because of this structure, tax collectors were widely assumed to be greedy and dishonest, enriching themselves by squeezing their own communities. Their profession placed them outside the moral boundaries of respectable society, and many religious leaders considered them permanently stained by collaboration with the occupying power. In a culture that placed enormous importance on ritual purity, tax collectors were often treated as untouchable figures whose presence itself was offensive to the spiritual conscience of the nation. Into this tension-filled environment steps the quiet but powerful story of Matthew, a man whose life demonstrates that the grace of God reaches into the most unlikely corners of the human experience.

To understand the magnitude of Matthew’s transformation, one must first appreciate the depth of social hostility directed toward tax collectors in first-century Judea. These men were not merely disliked professionals performing an unpopular task; they were widely regarded as traitors to their own people. Every coin they collected represented the power of Rome pressing down upon Jewish life, and every transaction reminded the public that the empire controlled their land, their economy, and their political destiny. The tax booth was therefore more than a workplace. It was a symbol of compromise and moral surrender, a place where loyalty to money appeared to outweigh loyalty to God and nation. Those who occupied that booth were excluded from synagogue life, distrusted by neighbors, and frequently grouped together with other marginalized figures such as sinners and prostitutes. Religious leaders often used the phrase “tax collectors and sinners” as though the two were naturally inseparable categories. This was the world in which Matthew lived before his encounter with Jesus, and it is precisely this social backdrop that makes his calling one of the most remarkable moments recorded in the Gospel accounts.

The Gospel narratives tell us that Jesus encountered Matthew sitting at his tax booth and offered him a simple yet profound invitation: “Follow me.” Those two words contain an entire universe of transformation, because the command was not merely about changing professions but about abandoning an identity that had defined Matthew’s life for years. Leaving the tax booth meant leaving behind wealth, security, and a system that had likely provided him with considerable financial stability. It also meant stepping into uncertainty, criticism, and a life that would soon be marked by persecution and sacrifice. When Matthew rose from his seat and followed Jesus, he was not simply changing careers. He was walking away from a world that had shaped his reputation and entering a new story defined by grace and discipleship. The moment carries extraordinary symbolic power, because the booth represented everything that had separated Matthew from the spiritual community around him. By standing up and leaving it behind, he was physically demonstrating what spiritual redemption looks like when it unfolds in real human life.

One of the most striking details surrounding Matthew’s conversion appears in the feast he hosted shortly after joining Jesus. According to the Gospel accounts, Matthew organized a large gathering in his home and invited many other tax collectors and socially marginalized individuals to share a meal with Jesus and the disciples. This gathering quickly attracted criticism from religious leaders who questioned why a teacher claiming moral authority would willingly associate with such people. Their objection reveals the rigid social boundaries that dominated religious thinking at the time, where holiness was often interpreted as separation from those considered morally compromised. Jesus responded with words that have echoed through centuries of Christian thought: “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.” In that moment, the entire moral framework of the situation was reframed. The presence of sinners was not a reason to avoid them but a reason to reach them, and Matthew’s home became a living example of that philosophy in action. The feast was not merely a dinner party but a declaration that the kingdom of God welcomes those who believe they are too far gone to be restored.

Matthew’s background as a tax collector also provides insight into why he later became such a compelling Gospel writer. The profession required literacy, numerical skill, and a familiarity with record keeping, all abilities that would have been extremely valuable in documenting the life and teachings of Jesus. Unlike fishermen whose daily work involved nets and boats, Matthew’s previous occupation had trained him to observe details, maintain accounts, and organize information carefully. These skills appear clearly in the structure of the Gospel that bears his name, which presents the teachings of Jesus with a remarkable sense of order and thematic coherence. The Gospel of Matthew frequently arranges teachings into structured sections, including extended discourses such as the Sermon on the Mount. Scholars have long observed how the text demonstrates a deliberate effort to present Jesus as the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, weaving references to Hebrew scripture throughout the narrative. Matthew’s background likely contributed to this careful arrangement of material, allowing him to communicate the story of Jesus in a way that connected deeply with Jewish audiences familiar with the sacred texts.

The transformation of Matthew also reveals a profound truth about the nature of calling. In many spiritual traditions, calling is often imagined as something reserved for those who have already demonstrated moral excellence or religious devotion. The story of Matthew challenges that assumption in a dramatic way. Here is a man whose profession placed him at the very edge of social respectability, yet he becomes one of the twelve apostles entrusted with spreading the message of the kingdom of God. The invitation extended to him suggests that divine calling does not always follow human expectations about worthiness or reputation. Instead, it often appears in moments where grace interrupts the ordinary rhythm of life and invites a person to step into something greater than they previously imagined possible. Matthew’s life reminds us that the power of redemption is not limited by the past, and that the most unlikely individuals can become instruments of extraordinary influence when they respond to that invitation.

Part of what makes Matthew’s story so compelling is the quietness of his transformation compared to some of the more dramatic figures in the New Testament. The apostle Peter is known for bold declarations and impulsive actions, while Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus is marked by a blinding vision and a powerful confrontation with divine truth. Matthew’s story, by contrast, unfolds with remarkable simplicity. There is no recorded speech from him during his calling, no argument, no hesitation described in the text. The Gospel simply states that Jesus called him, and he followed. This quiet obedience highlights an often overlooked aspect of spiritual transformation. Not every moment of redemption arrives with thunder and spectacle. Sometimes the most profound changes begin with a simple decision to stand up from the life one has known and walk toward something new.

Matthew’s authorship of the first Gospel also played a crucial role in shaping how early Christians understood the identity of Jesus. His narrative places particular emphasis on Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah promised in Hebrew scripture, frequently quoting prophetic passages and demonstrating how events in Jesus’ life fulfilled those ancient expectations. This approach was especially meaningful for Jewish readers struggling to reconcile their traditional beliefs with the emerging Christian movement. By presenting Jesus within the framework of prophetic fulfillment, Matthew helped bridge the gap between the Old Testament and the developing theology of the early church. The Gospel thus serves not only as a historical account but also as a theological bridge connecting centuries of spiritual expectation with the life and ministry of Christ.

Another fascinating dimension of Matthew’s legacy involves the way his personal history mirrors the broader message of the Gospel itself. The story of Christianity is fundamentally a story about redemption, forgiveness, and the possibility of transformation through divine grace. Matthew’s life embodies that message in a deeply personal way. The man who once represented exploitation and collaboration with imperial power becomes a messenger of a kingdom defined by humility, service, and love. The one who collected taxes for Rome eventually helps proclaim a message that challenges earthly empires by pointing to a higher authority rooted in God’s justice and mercy. His transformation illustrates that redemption is not merely a theological concept but a lived reality capable of reshaping a human life from the inside out.

Matthew’s presence among the twelve apostles also demonstrates the diversity of backgrounds represented within the earliest Christian community. The disciples were not drawn from a single profession or social class but included fishermen, political activists, and individuals with vastly different life experiences. This diversity suggests that the movement surrounding Jesus was never intended to be restricted to a narrow segment of society. Instead, it reflected a vision of spiritual community where people from different walks of life could unite around a shared commitment to the teachings of Christ. Matthew’s inclusion within that group would have been particularly striking to observers who knew his past, serving as a living reminder that the boundaries of grace extend further than many people are willing to imagine.

The later traditions surrounding Matthew’s ministry after the resurrection of Jesus add further layers to his story, though historical details vary among different sources. Some early Christian writings suggest that Matthew preached in regions such as Ethiopia, Persia, or other parts of the eastern world. These accounts portray him as a missionary carrying the message of the Gospel far beyond the land where his story began. While the exact details of these journeys remain uncertain, the broader theme remains clear: the man who once sat behind a tax booth eventually became a traveler spreading a message of spiritual freedom across distant lands. This dramatic shift in direction reflects the transformative power of the calling he received from Jesus.

The enduring significance of Matthew’s life can be seen in the way his Gospel continues to shape Christian thought and devotion across centuries. The Sermon on the Mount, preserved within his narrative, remains one of the most influential collections of moral teachings in human history. Its messages about humility, forgiveness, and love for enemies challenge readers to rethink their understanding of righteousness and spiritual maturity. The parables recorded in Matthew’s account invite reflection on themes such as stewardship, compassion, and readiness for the kingdom of God. Through these teachings, the voice of Matthew continues to speak long after his earthly life ended, guiding countless individuals in their search for meaning and faith.

The story of Matthew ultimately reminds us that redemption is rarely about erasing the past. Instead, it often involves transforming the meaning of that past by weaving it into a new narrative shaped by grace. The skills Matthew developed as a tax collector became tools for documenting the life of Christ. The social stigma he experienced may have deepened his appreciation for the inclusive message of Jesus. Even the structure of his Gospel reflects a mind trained in organization and careful observation. In this sense, nothing in Matthew’s life was wasted. The very experiences that once seemed to distance him from God became part of the preparation for the role he would later play in the unfolding story of Christianity.

Matthew’s transformation continues to resonate because it speaks directly to one of the deepest questions people carry within their hearts: whether change is truly possible. Many individuals feel defined by their past mistakes, their reputations, or the roles society has assigned to them. The story of Matthew challenges that sense of limitation by demonstrating that a single moment of encounter with divine grace can redirect the entire course of a life. The tax booth that once symbolized compromise and isolation becomes the starting point of a journey toward spiritual influence and lasting legacy. His story invites readers to consider the possibility that their own lives may contain similar turning points waiting to unfold.

What makes this narrative even more powerful is that Matthew never attempted to hide the truth about his former identity. In the Gospel account, he openly identifies himself as “Matthew the tax collector,” acknowledging the very reputation that once made him an outcast. This honesty reflects a profound humility and suggests that he understood his story as a testimony to grace rather than a record of personal achievement. By preserving that detail, Matthew ensured that future generations would remember the contrast between who he had been and who he became through his encounter with Jesus.

As the early Christian movement began to spread across regions and cultures, the testimony preserved by Matthew became one of the central pillars supporting the faith of believers who had never personally seen Jesus. The Gospel attributed to him did not merely record events; it constructed a theological portrait that connected the story of Christ with the ancient hopes embedded in Jewish scripture. Again and again throughout his writing, Matthew pauses to note that something occurred “so that what was spoken by the prophet might be fulfilled,” linking moments in Jesus’ life to prophetic traditions that stretched back centuries. This pattern reveals a mind deeply aware of the continuity between the promises of God and their realization in the ministry of Jesus. For Jewish readers wrestling with the idea that the carpenter from Nazareth could truly be the Messiah, Matthew’s Gospel offered a carefully woven narrative showing that the story of Christ was not a sudden departure from tradition but the culmination of it. The result is a text that bridges two worlds, honoring the heritage of Israel while inviting readers into the unfolding reality of the kingdom of God.

Within this Gospel, Matthew places particular emphasis on the teachings of Jesus as the foundation of a transformed life. Large sections of his narrative are devoted to extended discourses in which Jesus explains the deeper meaning of righteousness, humility, mercy, and spiritual devotion. The Sermon on the Mount stands as the most famous of these teachings, presenting a vision of moral life that challenges conventional ideas about power and success. Instead of praising wealth or status, Jesus blesses the poor in spirit, the meek, and those who hunger for righteousness. The message overturns the expectations of a society accustomed to measuring greatness by influence and authority. Matthew records these teachings with a clarity that suggests careful attention to their structure and progression, almost as though he understood that future generations would rely on these words as a guide for navigating the complexities of faith. Through his writing, the quiet disciple who once worked in a tax office becomes a steward of some of the most transformative teachings ever spoken.

Another remarkable feature of Matthew’s Gospel is the way it portrays Jesus as a teacher who brings the law to its deepest fulfillment rather than abolishing it. This theme would have been especially significant for Jewish audiences who valued the commandments handed down through Moses. Matthew shows Jesus interpreting the law not as a rigid set of external rules but as a pathway toward inner transformation. When Jesus speaks about anger, forgiveness, and love for enemies, he moves beyond surface behavior and addresses the intentions of the heart. In doing so, he reveals a vision of righteousness rooted not merely in compliance but in genuine spiritual renewal. Matthew’s decision to highlight this perspective suggests that he understood how revolutionary these teachings were for those accustomed to viewing religious life primarily through the lens of ritual observance. His narrative invites readers to see that the kingdom of God is not built through outward appearances but through the quiet reshaping of human character.

The transformation that began in Matthew’s own life is echoed throughout the themes of his Gospel. Time and again the narrative highlights moments when individuals on the margins of society encounter Jesus and experience restoration. Lepers are cleansed, the blind regain sight, and those considered morally compromised discover forgiveness. The repetition of these stories reinforces the message that grace is not confined to the socially respectable or spiritually accomplished. In many ways, Matthew himself stands as the first example of this pattern. The tax collector who once symbolized moral failure becomes the writer who documents the healing power of Christ. By including stories that mirror his own experience of redemption, Matthew ensures that readers understand the universality of the invitation offered by Jesus. No one is too distant, too broken, or too burdened by their past to respond to that call.

Matthew’s perspective also brings attention to the idea of discipleship as a journey of learning rather than an instant transformation into perfection. The apostles themselves often struggle to understand the teachings of Jesus, asking questions, expressing doubts, and sometimes misunderstanding the deeper meaning of his words. Matthew does not attempt to portray the disciples as flawless heroes but rather as ordinary individuals gradually shaped by their experiences alongside Christ. This honesty adds a layer of authenticity to the narrative and allows readers to recognize their own spiritual struggles within the story. Faith, in Matthew’s portrayal, is not a sudden leap into flawless understanding but a process of growth that unfolds through time, reflection, and perseverance. The former tax collector who once left his booth to follow Jesus knew firsthand that transformation does not erase human weakness but redirects it toward a greater purpose.

As Christianity expanded beyond the borders of Judea, the Gospel of Matthew continued to serve as a vital resource for communities seeking to understand the identity of Jesus and the responsibilities of those who followed him. Early Christian teachers relied on its teachings to instruct new believers about the nature of the kingdom of God and the ethical demands of discipleship. The structured presentation of Jesus’ teachings made the Gospel especially useful for teaching and reflection, allowing communities to return again and again to passages that challenged them to live according to the principles of humility, compassion, and faithfulness. Through this process, Matthew’s words became woven into the spiritual life of countless congregations, shaping the moral imagination of believers across cultures and centuries.

The legacy of Matthew also invites reflection on the broader theme of how God works through unexpected people to accomplish enduring purposes. When observers in first-century Judea looked at the man sitting behind a tax booth, they likely saw someone whose story was already defined by compromise and self-interest. Very few would have imagined that the same individual would one day produce a Gospel that would influence billions of people across the world. Yet this is precisely how the story unfolds, demonstrating that divine calling often emerges from places where human expectations see little potential. The transformation of Matthew stands as a reminder that history is frequently shaped by individuals whose earlier lives seemed ordinary or even disreputable. What matters most is not where a person begins but whether they respond when the moment of calling arrives.

Matthew’s willingness to preserve his own past within the narrative of the Gospel carries profound implications for how believers understand humility and testimony. Rather than presenting himself as a spiritual authority who had always lived righteously, he identifies himself plainly as the tax collector whom Jesus called. That detail remains embedded within the text as a quiet confession that grace rather than merit defined his journey. In doing so, Matthew establishes a model of spiritual honesty that continues to inspire readers who struggle with their own imperfections. The Gospel does not emerge from the pen of someone claiming moral superiority but from the life of a man who understood firsthand what it meant to be forgiven.

The transformation of Matthew also reveals something essential about the character of Jesus and the nature of the kingdom he proclaimed. Throughout the Gospel narratives, Jesus consistently chooses individuals who do not fit conventional expectations of leadership or holiness. Fishermen, zealots, and tax collectors become the foundation of a movement that would eventually reshape the religious landscape of the world. This pattern suggests that the kingdom of God operates according to values that differ dramatically from those of human society. Where the world often prioritizes prestige and reputation, the kingdom looks for openness, humility, and willingness to change. Matthew’s story embodies this principle in its purest form. The man once dismissed by his neighbors becomes a witness whose testimony continues to guide the faith of millions.

Tradition holds that Matthew eventually carried the message of Christ beyond the familiar landscape of Galilee and Judea, bringing the teachings of the Gospel to distant communities. Though the historical details of his later life remain less certain than those of his earlier transformation, many early sources describe him traveling as a missionary, preaching about the life and resurrection of Jesus in regions far from his former tax booth. Whether these journeys took him to Ethiopia, Persia, or other parts of the ancient world, the symbolism remains striking. The disciple who once sat collecting money for an earthly empire becomes a messenger proclaiming the arrival of a kingdom not built by human power. His life moves from serving the authority of Rome to serving the purposes of God, illustrating the profound reorientation that takes place when a person responds to the call of Christ.

Over the centuries, the story of Matthew has continued to inspire artists, theologians, and ordinary believers who recognize themselves within the arc of his transformation. Paintings depicting his calling often portray the moment when Jesus gestures toward him while he sits among coins and ledgers, capturing the instant when an ordinary workday becomes the beginning of a sacred journey. Writers have reflected on the quiet courage required for Matthew to leave behind the financial security of his profession. Teachers have pointed to his Gospel as a guide for understanding the ethical vision of Christianity. Each of these interpretations adds another layer to the legacy of a man whose life demonstrates that redemption is not an abstract doctrine but a living reality capable of reshaping human destiny.

Matthew’s story also speaks to a deeper human longing for belonging and purpose. Tax collectors in the ancient world often lived isolated lives, distrusted by the communities around them and excluded from the religious gatherings that formed the center of social life. When Jesus called Matthew to follow him, he was not only inviting him into a new vocation but also welcoming him into a community where he would no longer stand alone. The circle of disciples offered companionship, shared mission, and a sense of belonging that contrasted sharply with the isolation of his former profession. This aspect of the story resonates strongly with modern readers who may feel disconnected or misunderstood within their own environments. Matthew’s journey reminds us that spiritual transformation frequently involves discovering a new community where faith and purpose can flourish together.

The deeper message of Matthew’s life ultimately points toward the boundless reach of grace. The invitation extended to him beside that tax booth echoes through history as a reminder that no human story is beyond redemption. Every life carries chapters that seem to define its direction, yet the presence of divine grace introduces the possibility of an entirely new narrative. Matthew did not erase his past; instead, his past became the backdrop against which the power of transformation could be clearly seen. The same man once known for collecting taxes eventually helped collect testimonies about the life of Jesus, preserving them for generations that would follow.

When readers encounter the Gospel of Matthew today, they are not simply reading a historical document but engaging with the testimony of a man whose life embodies the message he recorded. The teachings of Jesus about mercy, humility, and forgiveness gain additional weight when remembered through the perspective of someone who personally experienced those gifts. Every reference to compassion for the marginalized carries the quiet echo of Matthew’s own history. Every reminder that the kingdom of God welcomes the lost reflects the moment when he himself was welcomed. The Gospel becomes not only a record of Christ’s ministry but also a reflection of how that ministry transformed the life of the one who wrote about it.

The journey from tax collector to apostle reveals a truth that lies at the heart of the Christian message. God does not merely recruit the already righteous but redeems the broken and calls them into new purpose. Matthew’s story stands as living evidence that the past does not have the final word over a human life. What matters most is the willingness to rise from the place where one has been sitting and follow the voice that calls toward something greater. In that sense, the story of Matthew continues to unfold every time a person decides that their past does not define their future and that grace has the power to write a new chapter.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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Vandergraph Po Box 271154 Fort Collins, Colorado 80527

When most people imagine the men who walked beside Jesus, they picture fishermen, wanderers, and ordinary laborers whose lives were close to the soil and the sea. Few imagine a government collaborator sitting behind a tax table, collecting money from his own neighbors on behalf of a foreign empire. Yet one of the most extraordinary figures in the entire New Testament began his story exactly there. Matthew, known also as Levi, was not merely a tax collector but part of a system that symbolized betrayal, exploitation, and social corruption in the eyes of his fellow Jews. The Roman tax system relied on local contractors who would pay Rome a fixed amount and then collect whatever additional money they could from the population. Because of this structure, tax collectors were widely assumed to be greedy and dishonest, enriching themselves by squeezing their own communities. Their profession placed them outside the moral boundaries of respectable society, and many religious leaders considered them permanently stained by collaboration with the occupying power. In a culture that placed enormous importance on ritual purity, tax collectors were often treated as untouchable figures whose presence itself was offensive to the spiritual conscience of the nation. Into this tension-filled environment steps the quiet but powerful story of Matthew, a man whose life demonstrates that the grace of God reaches into the most unlikely corners of the human experience.

To understand the magnitude of Matthew’s transformation, one must first appreciate the depth of social hostility directed toward tax collectors in first-century Judea. These men were not merely disliked professionals performing an unpopular task; they were widely regarded as traitors to their own people. Every coin they collected represented the power of Rome pressing down upon Jewish life, and every transaction reminded the public that the empire controlled their land, their economy, and their political destiny. The tax booth was therefore more than a workplace. It was a symbol of compromise and moral surrender, a place where loyalty to money appeared to outweigh loyalty to God and nation. Those who occupied that booth were excluded from synagogue life, distrusted by neighbors, and frequently grouped together with other marginalized figures such as sinners and prostitutes. Religious leaders often used the phrase “tax collectors and sinners” as though the two were naturally inseparable categories. This was the world in which Matthew lived before his encounter with Jesus, and it is precisely this social backdrop that makes his calling one of the most remarkable moments recorded in the Gospel accounts.

The Gospel narratives tell us that Jesus encountered Matthew sitting at his tax booth and offered him a simple yet profound invitation: “Follow me.” Those two words contain an entire universe of transformation, because the command was not merely about changing professions but about abandoning an identity that had defined Matthew’s life for years. Leaving the tax booth meant leaving behind wealth, security, and a system that had likely provided him with considerable financial stability. It also meant stepping into uncertainty, criticism, and a life that would soon be marked by persecution and sacrifice. When Matthew rose from his seat and followed Jesus, he was not simply changing careers. He was walking away from a world that had shaped his reputation and entering a new story defined by grace and discipleship. The moment carries extraordinary symbolic power, because the booth represented everything that had separated Matthew from the spiritual community around him. By standing up and leaving it behind, he was physically demonstrating what spiritual redemption looks like when it unfolds in real human life.

One of the most striking details surrounding Matthew’s conversion appears in the feast he hosted shortly after joining Jesus. According to the Gospel accounts, Matthew organized a large gathering in his home and invited many other tax collectors and socially marginalized individuals to share a meal with Jesus and the disciples. This gathering quickly attracted criticism from religious leaders who questioned why a teacher claiming moral authority would willingly associate with such people. Their objection reveals the rigid social boundaries that dominated religious thinking at the time, where holiness was often interpreted as separation from those considered morally compromised. Jesus responded with words that have echoed through centuries of Christian thought: “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.” In that moment, the entire moral framework of the situation was reframed. The presence of sinners was not a reason to avoid them but a reason to reach them, and Matthew’s home became a living example of that philosophy in action. The feast was not merely a dinner party but a declaration that the kingdom of God welcomes those who believe they are too far gone to be restored.

Matthew’s background as a tax collector also provides insight into why he later became such a compelling Gospel writer. The profession required literacy, numerical skill, and a familiarity with record keeping, all abilities that would have been extremely valuable in documenting the life and teachings of Jesus. Unlike fishermen whose daily work involved nets and boats, Matthew’s previous occupation had trained him to observe details, maintain accounts, and organize information carefully. These skills appear clearly in the structure of the Gospel that bears his name, which presents the teachings of Jesus with a remarkable sense of order and thematic coherence. The Gospel of Matthew frequently arranges teachings into structured sections, including extended discourses such as the Sermon on the Mount. Scholars have long observed how the text demonstrates a deliberate effort to present Jesus as the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, weaving references to Hebrew scripture throughout the narrative. Matthew’s background likely contributed to this careful arrangement of material, allowing him to communicate the story of Jesus in a way that connected deeply with Jewish audiences familiar with the sacred texts.

The transformation of Matthew also reveals a profound truth about the nature of calling. In many spiritual traditions, calling is often imagined as something reserved for those who have already demonstrated moral excellence or religious devotion. The story of Matthew challenges that assumption in a dramatic way. Here is a man whose profession placed him at the very edge of social respectability, yet he becomes one of the twelve apostles entrusted with spreading the message of the kingdom of God. The invitation extended to him suggests that divine calling does not always follow human expectations about worthiness or reputation. Instead, it often appears in moments where grace interrupts the ordinary rhythm of life and invites a person to step into something greater than they previously imagined possible. Matthew’s life reminds us that the power of redemption is not limited by the past, and that the most unlikely individuals can become instruments of extraordinary influence when they respond to that invitation.

Part of what makes Matthew’s story so compelling is the quietness of his transformation compared to some of the more dramatic figures in the New Testament. The apostle Peter is known for bold declarations and impulsive actions, while Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus is marked by a blinding vision and a powerful confrontation with divine truth. Matthew’s story, by contrast, unfolds with remarkable simplicity. There is no recorded speech from him during his calling, no argument, no hesitation described in the text. The Gospel simply states that Jesus called him, and he followed. This quiet obedience highlights an often overlooked aspect of spiritual transformation. Not every moment of redemption arrives with thunder and spectacle. Sometimes the most profound changes begin with a simple decision to stand up from the life one has known and walk toward something new.

Matthew’s authorship of the first Gospel also played a crucial role in shaping how early Christians understood the identity of Jesus. His narrative places particular emphasis on Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah promised in Hebrew scripture, frequently quoting prophetic passages and demonstrating how events in Jesus’ life fulfilled those ancient expectations. This approach was especially meaningful for Jewish readers struggling to reconcile their traditional beliefs with the emerging Christian movement. By presenting Jesus within the framework of prophetic fulfillment, Matthew helped bridge the gap between the Old Testament and the developing theology of the early church. The Gospel thus serves not only as a historical account but also as a theological bridge connecting centuries of spiritual expectation with the life and ministry of Christ.

Another fascinating dimension of Matthew’s legacy involves the way his personal history mirrors the broader message of the Gospel itself. The story of Christianity is fundamentally a story about redemption, forgiveness, and the possibility of transformation through divine grace. Matthew’s life embodies that message in a deeply personal way. The man who once represented exploitation and collaboration with imperial power becomes a messenger of a kingdom defined by humility, service, and love. The one who collected taxes for Rome eventually helps proclaim a message that challenges earthly empires by pointing to a higher authority rooted in God’s justice and mercy. His transformation illustrates that redemption is not merely a theological concept but a lived reality capable of reshaping a human life from the inside out.

Matthew’s presence among the twelve apostles also demonstrates the diversity of backgrounds represented within the earliest Christian community. The disciples were not drawn from a single profession or social class but included fishermen, political activists, and individuals with vastly different life experiences. This diversity suggests that the movement surrounding Jesus was never intended to be restricted to a narrow segment of society. Instead, it reflected a vision of spiritual community where people from different walks of life could unite around a shared commitment to the teachings of Christ. Matthew’s inclusion within that group would have been particularly striking to observers who knew his past, serving as a living reminder that the boundaries of grace extend further than many people are willing to imagine.

The later traditions surrounding Matthew’s ministry after the resurrection of Jesus add further layers to his story, though historical details vary among different sources. Some early Christian writings suggest that Matthew preached in regions such as Ethiopia, Persia, or other parts of the eastern world. These accounts portray him as a missionary carrying the message of the Gospel far beyond the land where his story began. While the exact details of these journeys remain uncertain, the broader theme remains clear: the man who once sat behind a tax booth eventually became a traveler spreading a message of spiritual freedom across distant lands. This dramatic shift in direction reflects the transformative power of the calling he received from Jesus.

The enduring significance of Matthew’s life can be seen in the way his Gospel continues to shape Christian thought and devotion across centuries. The Sermon on the Mount, preserved within his narrative, remains one of the most influential collections of moral teachings in human history. Its messages about humility, forgiveness, and love for enemies challenge readers to rethink their understanding of righteousness and spiritual maturity. The parables recorded in Matthew’s account invite reflection on themes such as stewardship, compassion, and readiness for the kingdom of God. Through these teachings, the voice of Matthew continues to speak long after his earthly life ended, guiding countless individuals in their search for meaning and faith.

The story of Matthew ultimately reminds us that redemption is rarely about erasing the past. Instead, it often involves transforming the meaning of that past by weaving it into a new narrative shaped by grace. The skills Matthew developed as a tax collector became tools for documenting the life of Christ. The social stigma he experienced may have deepened his appreciation for the inclusive message of Jesus. Even the structure of his Gospel reflects a mind trained in organization and careful observation. In this sense, nothing in Matthew’s life was wasted. The very experiences that once seemed to distance him from God became part of the preparation for the role he would later play in the unfolding story of Christianity.

Matthew’s transformation continues to resonate because it speaks directly to one of the deepest questions people carry within their hearts: whether change is truly possible. Many individuals feel defined by their past mistakes, their reputations, or the roles society has assigned to them. The story of Matthew challenges that sense of limitation by demonstrating that a single moment of encounter with divine grace can redirect the entire course of a life. The tax booth that once symbolized compromise and isolation becomes the starting point of a journey toward spiritual influence and lasting legacy. His story invites readers to consider the possibility that their own lives may contain similar turning points waiting to unfold.

What makes this narrative even more powerful is that Matthew never attempted to hide the truth about his former identity. In the Gospel account, he openly identifies himself as “Matthew the tax collector,” acknowledging the very reputation that once made him an outcast. This honesty reflects a profound humility and suggests that he understood his story as a testimony to grace rather than a record of personal achievement. By preserving that detail, Matthew ensured that future generations would remember the contrast between who he had been and who he became through his encounter with Jesus.

As the early Christian movement began to spread across regions and cultures, the testimony preserved by Matthew became one of the central pillars supporting the faith of believers who had never personally seen Jesus. The Gospel attributed to him did not merely record events; it constructed a theological portrait that connected the story of Christ with the ancient hopes embedded in Jewish scripture. Again and again throughout his writing, Matthew pauses to note that something occurred “so that what was spoken by the prophet might be fulfilled,” linking moments in Jesus’ life to prophetic traditions that stretched back centuries. This pattern reveals a mind deeply aware of the continuity between the promises of God and their realization in the ministry of Jesus. For Jewish readers wrestling with the idea that the carpenter from Nazareth could truly be the Messiah, Matthew’s Gospel offered a carefully woven narrative showing that the story of Christ was not a sudden departure from tradition but the culmination of it. The result is a text that bridges two worlds, honoring the heritage of Israel while inviting readers into the unfolding reality of the kingdom of God.

Within this Gospel, Matthew places particular emphasis on the teachings of Jesus as the foundation of a transformed life. Large sections of his narrative are devoted to extended discourses in which Jesus explains the deeper meaning of righteousness, humility, mercy, and spiritual devotion. The Sermon on the Mount stands as the most famous of these teachings, presenting a vision of moral life that challenges conventional ideas about power and success. Instead of praising wealth or status, Jesus blesses the poor in spirit, the meek, and those who hunger for righteousness. The message overturns the expectations of a society accustomed to measuring greatness by influence and authority. Matthew records these teachings with a clarity that suggests careful attention to their structure and progression, almost as though he understood that future generations would rely on these words as a guide for navigating the complexities of faith. Through his writing, the quiet disciple who once worked in a tax office becomes a steward of some of the most transformative teachings ever spoken.

Another remarkable feature of Matthew’s Gospel is the way it portrays Jesus as a teacher who brings the law to its deepest fulfillment rather than abolishing it. This theme would have been especially significant for Jewish audiences who valued the commandments handed down through Moses. Matthew shows Jesus interpreting the law not as a rigid set of external rules but as a pathway toward inner transformation. When Jesus speaks about anger, forgiveness, and love for enemies, he moves beyond surface behavior and addresses the intentions of the heart. In doing so, he reveals a vision of righteousness rooted not merely in compliance but in genuine spiritual renewal. Matthew’s decision to highlight this perspective suggests that he understood how revolutionary these teachings were for those accustomed to viewing religious life primarily through the lens of ritual observance. His narrative invites readers to see that the kingdom of God is not built through outward appearances but through the quiet reshaping of human character.

The transformation that began in Matthew’s own life is echoed throughout the themes of his Gospel. Time and again the narrative highlights moments when individuals on the margins of society encounter Jesus and experience restoration. Lepers are cleansed, the blind regain sight, and those considered morally compromised discover forgiveness. The repetition of these stories reinforces the message that grace is not confined to the socially respectable or spiritually accomplished. In many ways, Matthew himself stands as the first example of this pattern. The tax collector who once symbolized moral failure becomes the writer who documents the healing power of Christ. By including stories that mirror his own experience of redemption, Matthew ensures that readers understand the universality of the invitation offered by Jesus. No one is too distant, too broken, or too burdened by their past to respond to that call.

Matthew’s perspective also brings attention to the idea of discipleship as a journey of learning rather than an instant transformation into perfection. The apostles themselves often struggle to understand the teachings of Jesus, asking questions, expressing doubts, and sometimes misunderstanding the deeper meaning of his words. Matthew does not attempt to portray the disciples as flawless heroes but rather as ordinary individuals gradually shaped by their experiences alongside Christ. This honesty adds a layer of authenticity to the narrative and allows readers to recognize their own spiritual struggles within the story. Faith, in Matthew’s portrayal, is not a sudden leap into flawless understanding but a process of growth that unfolds through time, reflection, and perseverance. The former tax collector who once left his booth to follow Jesus knew firsthand that transformation does not erase human weakness but redirects it toward a greater purpose.

As Christianity expanded beyond the borders of Judea, the Gospel of Matthew continued to serve as a vital resource for communities seeking to understand the identity of Jesus and the responsibilities of those who followed him. Early Christian teachers relied on its teachings to instruct new believers about the nature of the kingdom of God and the ethical demands of discipleship. The structured presentation of Jesus’ teachings made the Gospel especially useful for teaching and reflection, allowing communities to return again and again to passages that challenged them to live according to the principles of humility, compassion, and faithfulness. Through this process, Matthew’s words became woven into the spiritual life of countless congregations, shaping the moral imagination of believers across cultures and centuries.

The legacy of Matthew also invites reflection on the broader theme of how God works through unexpected people to accomplish enduring purposes. When observers in first-century Judea looked at the man sitting behind a tax booth, they likely saw someone whose story was already defined by compromise and self-interest. Very few would have imagined that the same individual would one day produce a Gospel that would influence billions of people across the world. Yet this is precisely how the story unfolds, demonstrating that divine calling often emerges from places where human expectations see little potential. The transformation of Matthew stands as a reminder that history is frequently shaped by individuals whose earlier lives seemed ordinary or even disreputable. What matters most is not where a person begins but whether they respond when the moment of calling arrives.

Matthew’s willingness to preserve his own past within the narrative of the Gospel carries profound implications for how believers understand humility and testimony. Rather than presenting himself as a spiritual authority who had always lived righteously, he identifies himself plainly as the tax collector whom Jesus called. That detail remains embedded within the text as a quiet confession that grace rather than merit defined his journey. In doing so, Matthew establishes a model of spiritual honesty that continues to inspire readers who struggle with their own imperfections. The Gospel does not emerge from the pen of someone claiming moral superiority but from the life of a man who understood firsthand what it meant to be forgiven.

The transformation of Matthew also reveals something essential about the character of Jesus and the nature of the kingdom he proclaimed. Throughout the Gospel narratives, Jesus consistently chooses individuals who do not fit conventional expectations of leadership or holiness. Fishermen, zealots, and tax collectors become the foundation of a movement that would eventually reshape the religious landscape of the world. This pattern suggests that the kingdom of God operates according to values that differ dramatically from those of human society. Where the world often prioritizes prestige and reputation, the kingdom looks for openness, humility, and willingness to change. Matthew’s story embodies this principle in its purest form. The man once dismissed by his neighbors becomes a witness whose testimony continues to guide the faith of millions.

Tradition holds that Matthew eventually carried the message of Christ beyond the familiar landscape of Galilee and Judea, bringing the teachings of the Gospel to distant communities. Though the historical details of his later life remain less certain than those of his earlier transformation, many early sources describe him traveling as a missionary, preaching about the life and resurrection of Jesus in regions far from his former tax booth. Whether these journeys took him to Ethiopia, Persia, or other parts of the ancient world, the symbolism remains striking. The disciple who once sat collecting money for an earthly empire becomes a messenger proclaiming the arrival of a kingdom not built by human power. His life moves from serving the authority of Rome to serving the purposes of God, illustrating the profound reorientation that takes place when a person responds to the call of Christ.

Over the centuries, the story of Matthew has continued to inspire artists, theologians, and ordinary believers who recognize themselves within the arc of his transformation. Paintings depicting his calling often portray the moment when Jesus gestures toward him while he sits among coins and ledgers, capturing the instant when an ordinary workday becomes the beginning of a sacred journey. Writers have reflected on the quiet courage required for Matthew to leave behind the financial security of his profession. Teachers have pointed to his Gospel as a guide for understanding the ethical vision of Christianity. Each of these interpretations adds another layer to the legacy of a man whose life demonstrates that redemption is not an abstract doctrine but a living reality capable of reshaping human destiny.

Matthew’s story also speaks to a deeper human longing for belonging and purpose. Tax collectors in the ancient world often lived isolated lives, distrusted by the communities around them and excluded from the religious gatherings that formed the center of social life. When Jesus called Matthew to follow him, he was not only inviting him into a new vocation but also welcoming him into a community where he would no longer stand alone. The circle of disciples offered companionship, shared mission, and a sense of belonging that contrasted sharply with the isolation of his former profession. This aspect of the story resonates strongly with modern readers who may feel disconnected or misunderstood within their own environments. Matthew’s journey reminds us that spiritual transformation frequently involves discovering a new community where faith and purpose can flourish together.

The deeper message of Matthew’s life ultimately points toward the boundless reach of grace. The invitation extended to him beside that tax booth echoes through history as a reminder that no human story is beyond redemption. Every life carries chapters that seem to define its direction, yet the presence of divine grace introduces the possibility of an entirely new narrative. Matthew did not erase his past; instead, his past became the backdrop against which the power of transformation could be clearly seen. The same man once known for collecting taxes eventually helped collect testimonies about the life of Jesus, preserving them for generations that would follow.

When readers encounter the Gospel of Matthew today, they are not simply reading a historical document but engaging with the testimony of a man whose life embodies the message he recorded. The teachings of Jesus about mercy, humility, and forgiveness gain additional weight when remembered through the perspective of someone who personally experienced those gifts. Every reference to compassion for the marginalized carries the quiet echo of Matthew’s own history. Every reminder that the kingdom of God welcomes the lost reflects the moment when he himself was welcomed. The Gospel becomes not only a record of Christ’s ministry but also a reflection of how that ministry transformed the life of the one who wrote about it.

The journey from tax collector to apostle reveals a truth that lies at the heart of the Christian message. God does not merely recruit the already righteous but redeems the broken and calls them into new purpose. Matthew’s story stands as living evidence that the past does not have the final word over a human life. What matters most is the willingness to rise from the place where one has been sitting and follow the voice that calls toward something greater. In that sense, the story of Matthew continues to unfold every time a person decides that their past does not define their future and that grace has the power to write a new chapter.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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Ce texte est mis en circulation avec une intention simple : donner à une idée la possibilité de faire son chemin. Il n’engage à rien d’autre qu’à cela. Il est publié sous licence Creative Commons CC BY-SA 4.0.

Le numérique, un bien commun

On parle souvent du numérique comme d’un secteur, d’un marché ou d’un ensemble d’outils. C’est pourtant devenu bien davantage que cela. Le numérique structure une part centrale de nos échanges, du travail, de l’accès aux services, à l’information, à la culture, à l’éducation, et jusqu’aux formes les plus banales de la coordination sociale. Mais cette centralité s’accompagne d’une dépendance quasi totale à des acteurs privés, nationaux et surtout transnationaux, dont les choix sont d’abord orientés par la rentabilité et leurs intérêts propres plutôt que par l’utilité sociale, et dont les stratégies comme la stabilité restent elles-mêmes soumises à un contexte politique, économique et géopolitique mouvant. Plus profondément encore, la production numérique repose déjà sur un immense socle collectif de savoirs, de standards, d’infrastructures, de logiciels et de travail technique accumulé, sans lequel aucun des grands acteurs du secteur ne pourrait prospérer, alors même qu’une part importante de ce travail reste insuffisamment reconnue et rémunérée au regard de la valeur qu’elle rend possible. Dans le même temps, la logique marchande tend à produire en excès ce qui capte, enferme ou rentabilise, et à sous-produire ce qui est pourtant réellement utile : maintenance, robustesse, interopérabilité, accessibilité, outils durables ou infrastructures d’intérêt collectif. Il en résulte un décalage de plus en plus net entre l’importance sociale du numérique, les bases collectives qui le rendent possible, et la manière dont nous en organisons effectivement la production. Dès lors, la question n’est plus seulement celle des usages du numérique, de ses abus ou de sa régulation, mais surtout celle de sa production, de son financement et de son orientation.

Il ne s’agit pas ici de faire comme si une autre organisation du numérique devait être imaginée à partir de rien. Depuis longtemps déjà, des associations, des collectifs et de nombreux acteurs du logiciel libre portent des alternatives précieuses aux formes dominantes du numérique marchand. Leur travail ne se limite pas à faire exister d’autres outils : il maintient aussi des formes de coopération, de transmission, de médiation, d’entraide et de service sans lesquelles il n’y aurait pas seulement moins d’alternatives techniques, mais moins de prises collectives sur le numérique lui-même. La question posée ici est plus simple : Comment faire en sorte que ce qui existe aujourd’hui à l’état d’alternative, souvent fragile et sous-financé, puisse cesser d’être marginal et trouver une assise plus large, plus stable et pleinement assumée collectivement ?

La Production Sociale du Numérique

Par Production Sociale du Numérique, il faut entendre la mise en commun d’une part de la valeur créée par le numérique afin de financer, orienter et maintenir des productions jugées socialement nécessaires, ainsi que les capacités collectives permettant leur appropriation. Il s’agit de donner une assise durable à des logiciels, des infrastructures, des services et des outils sans lesquels une société ne peut plus réellement communiquer, coopérer, apprendre, publier, s’informer ou s’organiser, mais dont la production reste aujourd’hui largement abandonnée à des logiques de rente, de dépendance et de captation. Cette proposition ne vise pas seulement à soutenir et étendre des productions numériques socialement utiles. Elle vise aussi à mieux reconnaître le travail qui les rend possibles : développement, maintenance, documentation, administration, correction, transmission. Car une part importante de la richesse du numérique repose sur ce travail réel, souvent diffus et peu visible, tandis que sa valeur est captée bien en aval par des acteurs qui n’en assument ni le coût complet ni la reproduction. Parler de production sociale du numérique, c’est donc chercher les moyens d’organiser autrement cette production, afin que le fruit du travail revienne davantage à celles et ceux qui produisent effectivement, maintiennent les outils et rendent possible leur usage collectif. Une telle idée prolonge, dans un autre champ, une intuition déjà présente dans l’histoire de la Sécurité Sociale : certaines fonctions essentielles doivent être soustraites, au moins en partie, à la seule logique marchande et relever d’une organisation collective durable.

Le numérique présente en outre une propriété particulière, qui confère à cette proposition une portée spécifique. Dans bien des cas, le coût principal se concentre dans la phase de conception, de développement, de maintenance et d’organisation du travail, alors que la diffusion ultérieure d’un outil, d’un logiciel, d’une ressource ou d’un service peut se faire à grande échelle pour un coût marginal relativement faible. Là où d’autres activités essentielles supposent qu’une même prestation soit rendue à nouveau pour chaque bénéficiaire, une partie importante du numérique utile peut, une fois produite, être partagée, copiée, déployée et appropriée très largement. Cela ne supprime ni les coûts d’infrastructure, ni les exigences de maintenance, ni le travail humain nécessaire. Mais cela signifie qu’un financement mutualisé en amont peut produire des effets sociaux considérables en aval. De ce point de vue, laisser dans la précarité des productions numériques d’utilité commune est non seulement discutable politiquement, mais souvent absurde au regard de ce qu’elles pourraient rendre possible une fois stabilisées.

Cette propriété a une autre conséquence importante. Une production sociale du numérique financée dans un cadre national ne bénéficierait pas seulement à celles et ceux qui y auraient directement cotisé. Parce que les productions numériques peuvent être copiées, partagées, adaptées et réemployées bien au-delà de leur point d’origine, leurs effets dépasseraient nécessairement le seul cercle des cotisants français. Y voir une limite serait une faute de jugement majeure. C’est précisément cette capacité à circuler, à être réutilisée, modifiée et enrichie au-delà de son cadre initial qui fait la force historique du logiciel libre et open source. Sans elle, il n’aurait jamais pu devenir aussi central, ni s’imposer jusque dans les infrastructures et les chaînes techniques des plus grands acteurs privés. Une production numérique d’utilité commune, dès lors qu’elle devient visible, robuste et largement appropriable, peut susciter en retour des usages, des traductions, des contributions, des améliorations et des coopérations venues bien au-delà du territoire qui l’a rendue possible. Là où d’autres formes de socialisation restent largement bornées par le territoire ou par le moment de la prestation, le numérique ouvre la possibilité d’un élargissement progressif du cercle des bénéficiaires, mais aussi de celui des contributeurs. Une telle dynamique ne se décrète pas, bien sûr. Mais elle constitue l’un des traits singuliers du numérique : ce qui est produit collectivement ici peut devenir le point de départ d’une capacité de diffusion, d’appropriation et d’enrichissement beaucoup plus large.

La Production Sociale du Numérique n’aurait donc de sens que si elle produisait prioritairement des outils, des ressources, des standards et des services ouverts. Le code, la documentation, les formats et les principes techniques qui en sont issus devraient pouvoir être audités, partagés, réutilisés, adaptés et améliorés. Sans cela, la socialisation du financement risquerait de déboucher sur une nouvelle forme d’appropriation fermée, ce qui contredirait sa logique même. Dans le numérique, l’ouverture n’est pas un supplément moral : elle est la condition par laquelle une production financée collectivement peut réellement devenir commune dans ses effets, circuler au-delà de son point d’origine, et appeler en retour de nouvelles contributions. De ce point de vue, la Production Sociale du Numérique n’a pas vocation à produire un nouvel espace propriétaire, mais à donner des moyens plus stables, plus larges et plus durables à un numérique ouvert, partageable et améliorable.

Elle ne se limiterait pas au financement de quelques logiciels libres supplémentaires ni à la seule défense d’un écosystème déjà convaincu. Elle pourrait recouvrir un ensemble beaucoup plus large de productions et d’activités : maintenance de briques techniques essentielles, documentation, interopérabilité, hébergement, outils de communication, de coopération, de publication, d’archivage, services utiles aux associations, aux collectivités, à l’éducation, à la culture ou à d’autres besoins collectifs mal servis par le marché. Elle pourrait aussi soutenir ce qui manque souvent autant que les outils eux-mêmes : les formes de transmission, de médiation et d’éducation populaire sans lesquelles il n’y a pas d’appropriation réelle du numérique, mais seulement un changement d’outillage sans changement de dépendance. Car une société ne se réapproprie pas le numérique par la seule existence d’alternatives techniques. Elle s’en réapproprie aussi les usages, les logiques et les possibilités lorsqu’elle se donne les moyens d’en comprendre les outils, d’en discuter les finalités et d’en partager les savoirs.

Un financement collectif institutionnalisé

Il existe déjà plusieurs manières de financer les logiciels libres et open source: bénévolat, temps salarié indirectement mis à contribution, dons individuels, sponsoring, fondations, subventions, ou programmes ciblés de soutien à certains projets jugés critiques. Ces mécanismes ont permis de rendre possibles des réalisations considérables, et il serait absurde de les mépriser. Il existe même, depuis longtemps, des structures et des projets portés explicitement au nom de leur utilité sociale, qui cherchent à proposer des services, des outils ou des espaces numériques réellement émancipateurs. Mais cette valeur reconnue repose encore très souvent sur des équilibres fragiles : économie du don, faibles rémunérations, engagement militant durable, ou sous-financement chronique du travail fourni. Dans le même temps, une autre partie de l’écosystème est soutenue selon des logiques d’opportunité, de visibilité ou d’intérêt stratégique ponctuel. La question posée ici est plus large. Il ne s’agit pas seulement de mieux financer certains logiciels ou certaines structures exemplaires, mais de reconnaître et de soutenir une fonction sociale plus étendue : production d’outils, maintenance, hébergement, documentation, transmission, médiation, éducation populaire, accompagnement, interopérabilité, et plus largement tout ce qui permet à une société de se doter d’un numérique utile sans en abandonner l’essentiel à des intérêts privés. Ce qui manque, autrement dit, n’est pas seulement davantage de soutien à des projets ; c’est une forme institutionnelle capable de financer durablement un écosystème numérique d’intérêt collectif.

Dès lors, cela ne pourrait pas reposer sur une logique de subventions ponctuelles, d’appels à projets dispersés ou de bonne volonté militante prolongée indéfiniment. Si cette proposition doit désigner autre chose qu’un vœu pieux, cela suppose au contraire des principes de fonctionnement stables : la mise en commun durable d’une part de la valeur produite par le numérique, une orientation collective de ce qui mérite d’être financé, une reconnaissance plus juste du travail nécessaire à cette production, et une continuité suffisante pour sortir de la précarité structurelle qui affecte aujourd’hui tant d’alternatives utiles. Ce n’est qu’à cette condition qu’une production réellement sociale du numérique pourrait cesser d’être une marge tolérée et commencer à devenir une forme instituée.

Concrètement, cela suppose une cotisation obligatoire assise sur la richesse produite dans le champ numérique. C’est sans doute le seul mécanisme à la hauteur de ce qui est proposé ici : ni don, ni sponsoring, ni subvention ponctuelle, mais une mise en commun stable, durable et institutionnalisée d’une part de la valeur créée. Il ne s’agit pas non plus d’un simple impôt supplémentaire. La logique d’une cotisation est différente : elle vise à affecter durablement une part de la richesse produite au financement d’une fonction reconnue comme essentielle, au moyen d’institutions propres, au lieu de la dissoudre dans les arbitrages du budget général. L’enjeu n’est donc pas seulement de trouver des ressources supplémentaires, mais de reconnaître qu’une fonction devenue essentielle à la vie collective doit relever d’un financement lui aussi essentiel, et non d’équilibres précaires ou de générosités variables. La mise en place de cette cotisation ne profiterait d’ailleurs pas seulement aux travailleurs du numérique ou aux usagers. Elle contribuerait aussi à stabiliser, maintenir et renforcer des socles communs dont l’ensemble du secteur dépend déjà, y compris les acteurs privés eux-mêmes. En ce sens, il ne s’agirait pas d’opposer artificiellement intérêt collectif et activité économique, mais de faire en sorte que la richesse produite dans le numérique serve aussi à entretenir les bases communes sans lesquelles aucune activité durable n’est réellement possible.

Des institutions collectives et démocratiques

La Production Sociale du Numérique n’a donc de sens que si elle donne lieu à des institutions propres, chargées d’en organiser l’usage. Il faut le rappeler : il ne s’agirait ni de laisser cette ressource se dissoudre dans le budget général de l’État, ni de la replacer sous la seule dépendance des acteurs dominants du secteur. Là encore, le principe n’a rien d’inédit. L’histoire de la Sécurité sociale a déjà montré qu’une société pouvait se doter de caisses et d’organismes spécifiques pour financer des fonctions essentielles. Le numérique relèverait de la même logique. L’organisation démocratique de telles institutions devrait reposer d’abord sur celles et ceux qui produisent, maintiennent et utilisent réellement les outils concernés : travailleurs du numérique, usagers, associations, structures de médiation, d’éducation populaire ou d’intérêt collectif. D’autres acteurs pourraient y prendre part, y compris des représentants publics ou privés, mais sans en fixer seuls les priorités ni en devenir majoritaires. L’enjeu ne serait pas de créer une administration de plus, mais des institutions capables d’orienter durablement des ressources vers ce qui est utile, selon une logique démocratique, stable et indépendante des seules stratégies de marché.

Parmi les missions de tels organismes figurerait l’entretien durable de composants, d’outils et d’infrastructures déjà existants dont l’utilité commune est décisive, mais dont la survie repose encore trop souvent sur des équilibres précaires. Ils pourraient également soutenir, selon des priorités définies collectivement, le développement de nouvelles productions, la transmission, l’hébergement, l’interopérabilité, l’accessibilité, la médiation ou l’éducation populaire au numérique. Une telle action ne pourrait être menée qu’en lien étroit avec les associations, collectifs, fondations, mainteneurs et structures qui accomplissent ce travail depuis des années. Il ne s’agirait ni de se substituer à eux, ni de réduire leur place, mais de leur donner des moyens plus stables, plus durables et plus proportionnés à la valeur sociale de ce qu’ils rendent possible. Cela n’exclurait pas que de tels organismes puissent aussi embaucher, produire directement, porter certaines infrastructures ou développer des services lorsque cela s’avère nécessaire. Mais leur existence n’aurait pas vocation à restreindre la liberté d’initiative ; elle viserait plutôt à garantir que tout ce qui relève d’une utilité commune réelle puisse être pris en charge, soutenu ou produit durablement, sans dépendre exclusivement d’engagements fragiles, d’intérêts ponctuels ou de stratégies privées.

Un vecteur de transformation de la société

Cette proposition ne transformerait pas seulement les conditions de financement du numérique utile. Elle pourrait aussi rouvrir des prises concrètes sur des choix qui, aujourd’hui, structurent largement la vie quotidienne sans relever d’aucune délibération réelle pour celles et ceux qui en dépendent. Une grande partie des usages numériques contemporains est organisée par des décisions prises loin des usagers, souvent loin aussi des travailleurs eux-mêmes, puis imposée sous la forme de services qu’il ne reste plus qu’à accepter, contourner ou quitter. En instituant des organismes capables d’orienter une partie de la production numérique selon des critères d’utilité commune, on recréerait des espaces où des décisions effectives pourraient être discutées par ceux qui produisent, maintiennent, utilisent et rendent possible ce numérique. Il ne s’agit pas de promettre une démocratie idéale, mais de réintroduire, dans un domaine désormais central, des formes de prise sur le réel qui font aujourd’hui largement défaut.

Cette réorientation aurait aussi des effets très concrets sur le travail lui-même. Beaucoup de travailleurs du numérique exercent un métier dans lequel ils ont investi du temps, des études, des compétences et parfois un véritable attachement, tout en voyant leur savoir capté par des logiques qu’ils ne choisissent pas : captation de l’attention, enfermement propriétaire, extraction de données, dégradation organisée des services une fois la dépendance acquise, ou simple production d’outils dont l’utilité sociale demeure douteuse. Une production sociale du numérique ne réglerait pas à elle seule cette crise de sens, mais elle ouvrirait au moins une possibilité nouvelle : celle de continuer à exercer un métier technique sans devoir choisir entre la résignation et la désertion. Elle permettrait à une partie de ces compétences de se réorienter vers des fonctions, des services et des infrastructures dont l’utilité est plus nettement reconnaissable, et d’offrir ainsi à de nombreux travailleurs une manière plus juste d’habiter leur propre métier.

Cet effet sur le sens du travail serait inséparable d’un autre, plus matériel encore : une meilleure reconnaissance de ce qui fait effectivement tenir le numérique. Car une part décisive de sa valeur repose sur des tâches souvent peu visibles, parfois faiblement rémunérées, et pourtant absolument essentielles : maintenance, documentation, administration, correction, accompagnement, médiation, transmission. Ce travail existe déjà, mais il est trop souvent relégué à l’arrière-plan, sous-financé, ou soutenu par des formes d’engagement disproportionnées au regard de l’utilité qu’il produit. Une Production Sociale du Numérique permettrait de déplacer une partie de la richesse vers ce travail réel, non comme supplément moral, mais comme choix d’organisation. Elle rendrait possible une rémunération plus juste et plus stable de celles et ceux qui produisent, maintiennent et rendent utilisables les outils dont dépend une part croissante de la vie collective.

Les bénéfices seraient aussi perceptibles du point de vue des usages eux-mêmes. Une caractéristique frappante du numérique contemporain est que beaucoup de services commencent par être utiles, puis se dégradent à mesure qu’ils consolident leur position. Une fois la dépendance installée, il devient possible d’alourdir les interfaces, de multiplier les mécanismes de publicité, d’enfermer davantage les usages, d’exploiter plus intensément les données, ou de détériorer progressivement la qualité au profit de la rente. Ce mouvement n’a rien d’accidentel : il découle souvent du modèle économique même de ces services. Soutenir durablement des outils, des services et des infrastructures qui n’ont pas pour condition de survie la dégradation de leur propre utilité changerait donc très concrètement la vie des gens. Cela ne ferait pas disparaître d’un coup les grandes plateformes, mais cela rendrait enfin possible l’existence stable d’alternatives qui n’auraient pas intérêt à trahir leur fonction première pour continuer d’exister.

Cette transformation toucherait également à la question des données et de la surveillance ordinaire. Une grande partie de l’économie numérique repose aujourd’hui sur une gratuité apparente qui se paie autrement : par l’attention, par la dépendance, par la collecte et la valorisation des comportements. En instituant un financement socialisé pour certaines fonctions numériques essentielles, il deviendrait possible de soutenir des services dont la viabilité ne dépend pas structurellement de cette extraction. Le bénéfice n’est pas abstrait. Il se traduirait par des espaces numériques moins soumis à la publicité, moins structurés par l’exploitation des traces d’usage, et davantage conçus à partir des besoins réels de celles et ceux qui s’en servent.

Enfin, cela ne produirait pas seulement des outils ou des services supplémentaires. Cela contribuerait à une forme plus générale d’autonomie collective. Car il ne suffit pas que des alternatives existent pour qu’une société se les approprie réellement. Encore faut-il qu’elle dispose aussi des moyens de les comprendre, de les discuter, de les apprendre et de les transmettre. C’est pourquoi la Production Sociale du Numérique ne pourrait se limiter à financer des composants ou des infrastructures : elle aurait aussi vocation à soutenir des formes de médiation, d’accompagnement et d’éducation populaire sans lesquelles le rapport au numérique reste essentiellement passif. De ce point de vue, l’enjeu n’est pas seulement technique. Il est de permettre à davantage de personnes de ne plus vivre le numérique comme un décor imposé ou une dépendance sans recours, mais comme un ensemble de choix, de savoirs et d’institutions sur lesquels il est à nouveau possible d’agir.

Les effets de ce système de production du numérique ne se résument donc ni à un meilleur financement du logiciel libre, ni à une correction marginale du marché. Il s’agit plus largement de mieux rémunérer le travail utile, de stabiliser ce qui est aujourd’hui précaire, de rendre possibles des services qui n’ont pas intérêt à se dégrader pour survivre, de rouvrir des prises démocratiques sur des choix concrets, et de permettre à davantage de personnes de reconnaître dans le numérique autre chose qu’un système extérieur qu’elles subissent. En ce sens, la Production Sociale du Numérique ne relèverait pas seulement d’une politique sectorielle. Elle pourrait constituer, à son échelle, une manière de réintroduire de la capacité d’agir dans une société qui en manque.

Reprendre la main

Le numérique ne peut plus être pensé comme un simple secteur technique, ni comme un marché parmi d’autres. Il est devenu une condition ordinaire de la vie collective, un lieu de travail, de communication, de coordination, d’accès au savoir, d’organisation sociale et de dépendance croissante. À ce titre, il n’est plus absurde de considérer qu’une part de sa production devrait relever d’un choix collectif explicite, financé durablement, gouverné démocratiquement, orienté vers l’utilité commune et non vers la seule captation de valeur. Cette proposition ne prétend pas abolir toute initiative privée, ni remplacer d’un coup les formes existantes du libre, de l’associatif ou de l’action publique. Elle invite plus simplement à prendre acte d’un décalage devenu difficile à défendre : d’un côté, un numérique central, fondé sur un immense socle de travail collectif, indispensable à la vie sociale ; de l’autre, des formes de financement encore largement précaires, des usages dégradés par la rente, et un travail utile trop souvent sous-rémunéré ou invisibilisé. Répondre à ce décalage, ce n’est pas ajouter un correctif marginal. C’est reconnaître qu’une fonction devenue essentielle mérite des institutions à la hauteur de son importance.

L’histoire sociale française a déjà montré qu’il était possible de transformer profondément la société en soustrayant certaines fonctions vitales à la seule logique marchande et en leur donnant des formes de financement et de gouvernance propres. Il ne s’agit pas ici d’en reproduire mécaniquement le modèle, mais de s’en souvenir comme d’un repère : une société peut décider qu’une activité décisive ne doit plus dépendre uniquement de l’intérêt privé, de la visibilité ou de l’opportunité. Elle peut se donner des institutions pour la faire exister autrement.

Dans le cas du numérique, une telle bifurcation prend aujourd’hui un relief particulier. Parce que les productions numériques peuvent être partagées, réutilisées, améliorées et diffusées largement une fois produites, leur socialisation potentielle a déjà une portée que peu d’autres secteurs connaissent sous cette forme. Mais l’essor actuel de l’IA marque aussi un tournant majeur dans l’histoire du numérique lui-même. Il ne modifie pas seulement les rythmes de production ou les promesses de productivité ; il élargit encore la place prise par le numérique dans le travail, dans l’accès au savoir, dans la circulation de l’information, dans l’organisation des activités et, de plus en plus, dans les médiations ordinaires de la vie sociale. À mesure que cette puissance s’accroît, il devient de moins en moins acceptable qu’elle soit orientée principalement par des intérêts privés, des positions de marché ou des décisions prises loin de celles et ceux qui en dépendent. Plus que jamais, le numérique doit faire l’objet de choix collectifs explicites : Que voulons-nous financer, ouvrir, maintenir, partager, et au service de quelles finalités ?

Il est temps que les décisions numériques qui façonnent notre vie collective redeviennent une affaire commune.

Julien Varlès.

Izzy's Quiet Rage

#nsfw #Izzy

Izzy left the church through the back entrance. She made it to her car undetected and drove home. For the first time in her life, she felt emotions she didn't have words for. She clenched her teeth. Hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. Speeding… Izzy was seething. Enraged.

The only rational voice in her mind right now was the one reminding her she should be reasonably responsible in traffic. Nothing else seemed to stick. Every other thought was scattered in tiny pieces. Her mind went deep into her past.

She remembered her college friends who tried to open her eyes. She thought long and hard about her fixation with Marco. Instead of praying, she decided to rationalize and think clearly. She finally realized that Marco was just being nice but didn't know how to say 'no.' But his actions were painfully obvious. She was angry her parents didn't tell her the truth; instead, they told her to pray. They deflected so much… her mother especially. She growled under her breath.

Every adult question in the book was spun around into a Bible verse or some other form of shielding that put a veil over the truth. She was having a reality crisis. The world around her blurred as she expertly wove through traffic to get as far as she could from that church. Her prison. Her cage of lies. She didn't know what was real anymore and what was fabricated. Whatever darkness in her heart was rising to the surface. It no longer wanted to be contained. She let it rise.

Izzy parked in the driveway, staring blankly. She looked at her home. Actually, it's her parent's home. She just lived there. She looked at the manicured lawn, the flawless garden, the religious signs, and other Christian decorations that dotted the exterior.

Everything was just perfect. Curated. Bland. Nothing out of place.

They did the same thing to their daughter. Izzy was just an extension of this quiet web of control. She would not find the answers she was looking for if she stayed here. She turned the car off. All she did today was leave one prison and was about to walk into another. She took a deep breath, and then she screamed.

This scream was a call, an invitation, a howl. This scream was fueled by intense emotions, repression, and realization. But it had power beyond the veil. Her screen had a haunting, otherworldly tone. It was primal, guttural, dark, and foreboding. Her voice was changing. Something did not sound normal. She did not notice. If she did, she didn't care. If she had been outside her car, she would have noticed the birds had stopped chirping and all life around her had grown still.

Izzy was summoning something. She was ignorant of this. No one told her the real power of words and intent. She did not know the true nature of this world. She didn't know she had latent, deep, and dark spiritual abilities. Not only that, but she never had emotions strong enough to invoke any of this until now.

Izzy was in full crisis mode. Mentally fragmented, defeated, and in deep spiritual pain. She began to regret every decision she made after her purity ceremony. Her voice was hoarse, her hands shaking. She needed to speak out loud to no one in particular, but she needed to say something. Her Christian filters were gone, and she said things she's never spoken before.

“That TRAMP! She just walked in off the street and took everything... I DEVOTED EVERYTHING, and THIS is my reward!? FUCK!”

Despite the fact Izzy's voice was shot at this point, she screamed again. That same longing, that same need, it was a battle cry. Unnerving, unsettling. A call to arms. Little did she know something inside, dormant, had awakened. It crossed the void, and it was listening. It was looking for a way in. What she didn't hear was something growling and howling with her. Something confirming her call.

In her scream there was a hint of duality, a supernatural undertone, something inhuman on the waves. She was too angry to take notice. She didn't even realize she cursed. The last utterance felt foreign but also familiar. She was dizzy. Then Izzy felt a sensation between her legs, and she sighed. It was another problem to deal with.

She knew what it was. She spent more time than she admitted denying her sexual urges; she was horny again. But this time it was at the most inappropriate time. Why now? In her darkest hour, she felt like the darkest forces were tempting her once again. But she was too fragmented to know what to do. Her ingrained instinct was to pray. Her right hand reached over to her left and twirled her purity ring.

When she felt this sensation between her legs, she reminded herself of the promise, what it meant. But the promise was starting to lose weight. She spent years hoping and poured her life force into this devotion. But to what end? She spun the purity ring on her finger, looking down at the gold band as it glinted in the sun.

She took a deep breath, picked up her purse, and went inside. There was nowhere else to go. Her unspoken need was throbbing furiously. She didn't know what to do anymore. All of her anger had been purged. She was just obscenely horny. Other than that, she was numb. She decided to take a long shower. Maybe shedding the weight of oppressive clothing will ease her mind.

Izzy rarely looked into the mirror when she undressed. She just did the basics, checked her breasts, looked for imperfections, but didn't linger too long. This time she undressed and took a long look at herself. Instinctual modesty triggers like “lust of the flesh” intruded into her thoughts. She gritted her teeth again and growled. This new behavior was oddly comforting. It was a new way of rejecting intrusive thoughts that put her down.

She was tired of scolding herself. She was so pious that she even judged herself just for looking at her own reflection. Izzy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again, and then took a slow, long look at herself.

Izzy's smooth brown mahogany skin glowed softly under the bathroom lights. Her face is heart-shaped with high cheekbones. Her lips are full and are always framed in a light, natural gloss. She has naturally long eyelashes, and they frame her wide, expressive eyes beautifully.

For makeup, she wears just a touch of mascara, maybe a brow pencil, but nothing more.

“Vanity is a sin,” another intrusive thought crept in.

She muttered, “Fuck off, brain,” and she smiled. She liked saying it…that word…'fuck.' She didn't know what got into her, but she liked it. It felt good to say it. She didn't question where it came from. She just continued to study her nude form.

Izzy's build is soft and curvy. She has full breasts, rounded hips, and a well-defined waist that no one else has seen. Her posture is straight and composed. She stood with her hands clasped together in front of her belly button. As she stood there nude in the mirror, her weight shifted, almost averting her gaze, still deeply ashamed of her own flesh.

She felt uneasy. Mostly because a sheen of fresh and wet arousal was slowly making its way down her leg. She sighed. She raised her hands, and with learned practice, her well-manicured hands let her curly hair down from its tight bun. She took out her small hoop earrings, her simple gold necklace, and her watch. She opened the taps and stepped into the warm shower.

Izzy needed to find a place of her own. She needed to get out of this house. But first, she needed to take care of something more important. As the warm water caressed her naked body, her left hand casually traveled down below her navel, down through her soft curly hair, and slowly made its way to her sacred place. Her inner folds. Her most precious gift.

“This is my pussy.” She said, with a breathy smile. A deep coo and undertone that was slightly otherworldly. Something inside Izabel was compelling her to touch herself. She was giving in to pleasure. She no longer wanted to be pure.

Codex – as opposed to Copilot that lives within an IDE – plays nicely with command line tools. I like that because it ties the future of software development (some say the end) to its very beginnings. As a bonus, Codex sets up the nvim configuration in minutes. When I did this a year and a half ago, it took me days of watching YouTube videos and reading READMEs on GitHub.

This morning I’ve been having a flash back to when the Mac + LaserWriter + PostScript + PageMaker combo suddenly put ‘professional grade’ typesetting and layout tools within reach in the mid-1990s.

Non-designers could pick any font, size, and layout, which led to the “ransom note effect”: too many clashing typefaces and chaotic layouts just because the tools made it easy.

Professional designers didn’t disappear; instead, their value shifted to knowing when not to use all the options, enforcing hierarchy, rhythm and restraint.

The result was a huge expansion in volume (newsletters, flyers, zines) plus a visible layer of amateurish work that made good design more distinctive.

Flash forward to today (early 2026) were generative AI assistants now let almost anyone produce syntactically correct, plausibly structured code very fast, massively increasing volume and velocity.

That same ease produces “AI slop” : code that complies and looks fine but is over-verbose, fragile, poorly factored, or subtly wrong, especially when users accept suggestions uncritically.

Experienced engineers end up cleaning up anti-patterns, hidden bugs, and unnecessary complexity, much like seasoned designers had to fix ransom note layout from early desktop publishing.

In both cases you get ‘democratized output’, but also technical debt and a stronger need for people who understand architecture, testing and constraints.

There are important differences as well:

• Stakes: Ugly flyers waste paper; ugly code can create outages, security holes, and compounding technical debt, so the cost curve is steeper for software.
• Opacity: Bad design is visible to lay people; bad architecture in code is invisible until it fails under load or change, which makes slop harder to detect early.
• Feedback loop: AI tools are starting to train on AI-generated content, so slop can reinforce itself; by contrast, fonts and layout tools didn’t '“learn” from user junk.

tl;DR : early Desktop Publishing tricked people into thinking fonts = design; early AI coding is tricking people into thinking “it runs” = engineering.

Lydia's Weekly Lifestyle blog is for today's African girl, so no subject is taboo. My purpose is to share things that may interest today's African girl.

This week's contributors: Lydia, Pépé Pépinière, Titi. This week's subjects: The Bottom Line: Be Ready to Mix Tradition with Innovation!, Fake high end thrift fashion, Black paints black, and Jazz in Accra

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The Bottom Line: Be Ready to Mix Tradition with Innovation! The upcoming corporate fashion trends in West Africa are nothing short of exciting. From Afro-futurism to gender-fluid designs, the corporate world is embracing a more inclusive, sustainable, and creative approach to workwear. It’s about breaking the mould, celebrating culture, and looking to the future with designs that feel both relevant and fresh. As we have stepped into 2026, expect to see these trends popping up everywhere, from boardrooms to coffee shops. Whether you’re looking to revamp your work wardrobe or just keep up with what’s hot, West African fashion is sure to inspire. The Return of Bold Prints & Bright Colours: One of the things we love about West African fashion is its unapologetic use of colour. Bright, bold prints are set to dominate the corporate world in 2026, making your 9-to-5 wardrobe a whole lot more exciting. Think vibrant, eye-catching patterns like tie-dye, floral prints, and of course—Ankara. Whether it's a printed shirt under a structured suit or a bold, patterned dress for those important business meetings, expect to see a lot more vibrancy in your workwear. And let’s not forget those matching accessories—brightly coloured bags, shoes, and scarves will be the perfect finishing touch to any corporate outfit. Fake high end thrift fashion. Fake fashion brands are common here and you can buy a nicely branded handbag for 100 GHC, the real thing would probably cost you 500 USD or more. LVMH, holder of 18000 intellectual property rights (including trademarks, designs, and copyrights) through brands like Louis Vuitton, Christian Dior, Tiffany & Co, Moët & Chandon and Hennessy, fights tooth and nail to make sure no one copies, and has many many court cases simultaneously, sometimes initiated by them, but also initiated by artistes against them, who claim their designs were copied into one of the LVMH items. For some reason they are not doing anything here, maybe the average length of a Ghana court case of 980 days is a deterrent. But careful, don’t carry these things to Europe, it may be taken from you plus a hefty penalty. There is also the thrift market for real luxury branded items, like Birkin bags or Rolex watches. These items are offered on specialized web sites who earn brokerage money. Turnover was 50 billion dollars in 2024, 50 billion US dollar of high end thrift items. Up 7% on the precious year. But is it real? Or fake? So they have experts checking every individual item before it is put up for sale. The leather, the threads, the zip, the lock, every little item is checked. Basic training to become an authentication expert takes about 5 months, after that you specialize in bags, shoes, watches, clothing, jewelry. Fake items offered for sale to these specialized brokers used to be 30%, but now that it's up, half the items offered to the brokers are fake. The broker and the original manufacturer now cooperate, the manufacturer points out the little secret details which few know, and the brokers inform the manufacturers on the latest in fakes. And some don't care to walk around with a fake, like us here.

Black paints black. Paintings of black people have become fashionable of late, and as a serious art collector you better have at least one painting of a black person in your collection. It may be worth while, some paintings go for several hundreds of thousands of dollars, sometimes millions. Will it last? I doubt it, because everybody is now producing the same fashionable things. Examples are Emy Sherald, a black American who became fashionable after painting Michelle Obama and Ghanaian Amoako Boafo who was a forerunner here in Ghana. Emy Sherald's painting of Michelle Obama Amoako Boafo

Jazz in Accra. About 12 years ago Dr Adrian Odoi of Akai House Clinic and Co (some family, some friends) started the +233 Jazz Club and Grill at Dr. Isert Street in North Ridge, Accra, at the former Bass Line Jazz Club with the motto “keeping music alive”. The name +233 was a genius, Ghana's international dialing code, and also the addition of “grill” was clever, they took a very good kebab griller from Zorzor bar, a popular bar in Osu, (now closed) and that alone brought customers. From a small inside stage which soon could not hold enough public the band slowly moved outside, then that stage was enlarged, then the platform for the customers was enlarged twice and now there are even 3 upstairs, 2 facing the stage. The sound system is absolutely tops, and indeed Odoi and Co have kept music alive, ayeeko. Though it is called a jazz Club there is also evergreens, highlife, local Ga and others. Except Mondays there is something going on every night, Tuesday being for the Ghana Jazz Ensemble. Some foreign artistes like Joss Stone – Grammy-winning English singer-songwriter known globally for soul, R&B and pop, Milena Casado – American jazz trumpeter and composer, Jackie Ribas – Brazilian-American jazz vocalist, Native Vibe with Jeff Kashiwa & Kevin Flournoy – U.S.-based jazz fusion band and their special guests (including saxophonist Jeff Kashiwa), and Alune Wade – and Senegalese bassist and bandleader have performed at the +233 Jazz and Grill bar. Food is not too bad, though pricy, the kebabs are still mostly very good, a beef kebab goes for 65 GHC but looking at what you get it is worthwhile. Though sometimes they are out of beef. Yam chips are often nicely crispy. They sell local and foreign draft beers but often run out of the foreign ones and then it is back to the bottle And no hot dogs. Sunday is mainly football but without the sound, rather a DJ with nice music. They have a large vodka list but in reality only have a few. Grilled chicken and jollof go for 140 GHC, meat samosa 65, soda water 25.

Lydia...

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Today, when I publish this, was a day full of sleep and dreams. In one, I was late for a meet-up that was supposed to happen at 5pm IRL, but in my dream I woke up at 7pm and was late to meet my friend. Thankfully, because of that…I ended up waking/getting up out of bed and arriving at the meeting-point right on time. These anxiety-filled dreams feel directly linked to the precarity of my current living situation. I’m living a different sort of life and it’s not for the faint of heart. Because of this non-mainstream choice, I think it’s natural to have anxiety and fear come up. This life is a matter of great faith and hope, that everything will be okay.

I am definitely remembering my dreams more vividly, and I am dreaming more than I used to compared to when I was overworked. My dreams are bizarre, but I haven’t been disciplined enough to meditate regularly and write about them as soon as I wake.

I’ve also resurrected this Swedish deck, called the Outgrow Yourself Tarot and Oracle deck, which was originally in Swedish. It’s been lovely to spend the afternoon with it and studying it.

Rangers vs Rockies.

The second game I plan to follow today is an MLB Spring Training Game featuring my Texas Rangers vs the Colorado Rockies. Opening pitch is scheduled for 3:10 PM Central Time this afternoon, and the call of the game will be provided by Colorado's KOA 850 AM. Go Rangers!

And the adventure continues.

Kama 11:53 pm, Biyernes

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there are things i really want to say to you, but i’ll just let you live

Friday finds me targeting two games to follow. First up will be a men's college basketball game from the Big Ten Conference Tournament: the Ohio St. Buckeyes playing the Michigan Wolverines. This is an early game. I'm currently following the pregame broadcast from the Ohio State Sports Network. Opening tip is scheduled for 11:00 AM Central Time.

More about today's second game I plan to follow later.

And the adventure continues.

Jumping the Fence of the Walled Garden

There's a version of freedom that looks a lot like a prison cell. The walls are clean. The lighting is warm. Everything has its place and works exactly as it should. Inside you're safe, protected, and sheltered from any outside threats. It's so comfortable, you didn't notice the door lock behind you while you were admiring the edgy yet industrial finish on your new laptop.

That's Apple's walled garden.

The “garden” metaphor is amazing marketing on Apple's part — gardens are cultivated, beautiful, safe. You're not trapped; you're tended to. But spend enough time inside and the metaphor starts to crack. Try to leave and you'll find your photos are in a proprietary format (HEIC format anyone?), your messages won't port cleanly (iMessage plays nice with no one), your music library is leased not owned, and every subscription you added for convenience has quietly become load-bearing infrastructure in your daily life. The garden was never really yours. You weren't invited to enjoy the luscious greenery or experience the calm of walking through a beautiful botanical garden barefoot. No, my friend, you are a crop.

Apple has spent decades building the most elegant extraction machine in consumer technology. Not through surveillance dashboards or creepy ad targeting — that's Google's aesthetic. Apple's method is subtler: make the cage beautiful, make the lock feel like a feature, and charge a premium for the privilege of staying in. While everyone was watching Google and Meta, Apple quietly pockets $18 billion a year from Google to remain the default search engine on every iPhone — meaning every Apple device is, functionally, a Google search terminal with better margins and a cleaner logo.

I spent years rationalizing how staying in the walled garden was the best choice for my wallet, my data, and my family's digital safety. But the rationalizations were just the cage talking. You're not a customer in this ecosystem. You're inventory.

So I decided to leave.

The Enshittification of Cool

In 2022, writer and activist Cory Doctorow coined a term that instantly explained something millions of people had felt but couldn't name: enshittification. The enshittification process looks like this — a platform first makes itself useful to attract users, then it leverages those users to attract business customers, then it squeezes both to extract maximum value for shareholders. You've watched it happen to Facebook, Amazon, Uber, and Google in real time. The feeds got worse. Prices went up while quality went down. The search results filled with ads. The recommendations became indistinguishable from paid placements. Features that were once part of the service were turned off and paywalled as an 'upgrade.'

But Apple? Apple gets a pass. Apple is supposed to be different.

The problem is, it isn't.

Apple's enshittification just wears better clothes. The process is the same, the aesthetic is different. Where Google's extraction is loud and obvious — your Gmail is read, your searches are profiled, your location is sold — Apple's is architectural. The extraction isn't in what they read. It's in what they've built around you.

Consider the trajectory. In the early 2000s Apple genuinely was the scrappy alternative. The “Think Different” campaigns weren't just marketing, they reflected a real product philosophy — elegant hardware, open file formats, interoperability. iTunes could sync with non-Apple devices. The ecosystem was porous by design. Apple needed users and users needed Apple.

Then came the iPhone, and the calculus changed permanently.

With a captive mobile platform came the App Store — a 30% tax on every digital transaction run through it, enforced by the only company with the keys to the store. Then came iCloud, which made your data convenient to access and inconvenient to move. Then came Apple One, a bundle so frictionless it practically subscribes itself, tying music, storage, news, fitness, and television into a single monthly charge that feels reasonable right up until you try to cancel any piece of it and realize how much of your digital life has been quietly load-bearing on Apple's infrastructure.

And then there's the Google deal.

Every year Apple accepts somewhere between $18 to $20 billion from Google to remain the default search engine across all Apple devices. Cory Doctorow explains;

“Apple's single largest source of revenue is a check for more than $20 billion that Google writes it every year to buy the default search box in Safari and on the iPhone. That $20+ billion check is also Google's single largest expenditure.” (Enshittification: Why Everything Suddenly Got Worse and What to Do About it, p. 81)

That's not a partnership. That's Apple selling its users' attention and search behavior to the largest surveillance capitalist on the planet — and pocketing the check while marketing itself as the privacy-first alternative. Apple's App Tracking Transparency framework, which made headlines for cracking down on Meta's ad targeting, didn't eliminate surveillance capitalism from the iPhone. It consolidated it. Third-party trackers got squeezed while Apple's own ad business quietly grew.

This is the genius and the con of Apple's brand. The cage is presented as protection. The lock is marketed as privacy. And the premium you pay for the hardware is framed as a values statement — I care enough about my data to pay more — when the reality is: I paid Apple more to make me feel better while they extracted from me more elegantly.

Doctorow's enshittification framework names what's happening, but Apple adds a layer that makes it particularly insidious: the process is slow, tasteful, and wrapped in the language of user empowerment. You don't notice the squeeze because the squeeze comes with a premium price tag, liquid glass, and 'cult of mac' aura.

Pulling Out the Hook: How I Escaped Apple One

Before we get practical, we need to name the mechanism that makes leaving any Big Tech ecosystem feel impossible: switching costs. Again, Cory Doctorow explains;

“Switching costs are everything you have to give up when you switch from one product or service to another.” (Enshittification: Why Everything Suddenly Got Worse and What to Do About it, p.13)

Tech companies know switching costs are a pain in the ass, that's how they've designed it to work. It's not a bug, it's the business model. Apple didn't design HEIC photo formats, iMessage lock-in, and iCloud's proprietary sync because they were the best technical solutions. They designed them because every hour you spend dreading the migration is another month of subscription revenue. Big Tech doesn't need to build a better product forever — they just need leaving to feel harder than staying. Once you name switching costs for what they are — a retention strategy dressed up as an ecosystem — the intimidation starts to dissolve. Yes, there's work involved in leaving. But it's a finite amount of work that purchases an indefinite amount of freedom. Here's how I did it.

iCloud → MEGA

iCloud is the connective tissue of the Apple ecosystem — it's in your photos, your documents, your device backups, your passwords. Apple knows this, which is why 5GB of free storage is a cruel joke designed to funnel you into a paid plan as fast as possible. The switching cost here is psychological more than technical: your stuff feels safe in iCloud because Apple has spent billions making sure it feels that way.

MEGA offers 20GB of free encrypted cloud storage with end-to-end encryption baked in by default — not as a premium feature, not as a marketing claim, but as the architectural foundation of how the service works. Your files are encrypted before they leave your device, meaning MEGA can't read them even if they wanted to. For documents, backups, and general file storage, it does everything iCloud does without the Apple tax or the surveillance architecture underneath.

Cost: Free

Apple Photos → Ente

Photos are the highest-stakes switching cost in the Apple ecosystem. Years of memories, locked in HEIC format, organized in Apple's proprietary library structure. The thought of migrating them feels like moving a house one brick at a time. But Ente makes the process manageable — and the peace of mind on the other side is worth every minute of it.

Ente is open-source, end-to-end encrypted, and built specifically to be the privacy-respecting alternative to iCloud Photos and Google Photos. There are no algorithms scanning your family photos to serve you better ads. There's no facial recognition data being harvested. Your photos are yours — fully, actually, not just in the terms of service fine print.

Cost: $119.88/year (1TB family plan)

Apple Music → Tidal + Physical Media

Apple Music is a masterclass in the leased life. You pay monthly for access to music you don't own, on a platform you don't control, through an app Apple can revoke access to at any time. The moment you stop paying, the library goes dark. That's not a music collection. That's a rental agreement dressed up as a lifestyle.

We switched to Tidal for our streaming needs — lossless audio quality, a better royalty model for artists, and no Apple infrastructure required. But streaming alone still felt like renting, so we've also started doing something that felt almost countercultural at first: buying physical media.

At least once a month my family jumps in our SUV and makes an adventure out of looking for vinyl records, CDs, and Blu-rays of our favorite bands and movies. We also take our time to peruse, compare prices, and find the best deals before making a purchase. When you own a record, no corporation can revoke your license to it. No subscription lapses. No platform shutdowns.

The music is yours in the most literal sense — it exists as a physical object in your home that will outlast any streaming service's terms of service. In a culture that has normalized renting everything from movies to music to software, choosing to own the art you love is a quiet but meaningful act of resistance.

Tidal cost: $16.99/month

Apple Notes → Craft

Apple Notes is the stickiest switching cost most people don't see coming. Notes accumulates years of thinking — meeting notes, journal entries, half-finished ideas, grocery lists that somehow became important. It's invisible infrastructure. And because it syncs so seamlessly across Apple devices, you never feel the lock-in until you try to leave.

Craft is a genuinely excellent notes and document app that puts Apple Notes to shame on nearly every dimension that matters. It's fast, beautifully designed, works offline by default, and doesn't treat your notes as data to be mined. The family plan means everyone in the house gets access, and the export options are robust enough that your notes will never be held hostage to Craft's continued existence either.

Cost: $108/year (family plan)

Apple Mail → HEY

Email is perhaps the most loaded switching cost in the entire digital ecosystem — not because the migration is technically hard, but because your email address is your digital identity. It's on your business cards, your accounts, your decade-old forum registrations. Changing it feels like changing your name. (I should know — I've changed mine more than once)

HEY reframes what email can be. Built by 37Signals, it has no ad model, no data harvesting, and no interest in monetizing your inbox. The screening features alone — where you approve who gets to email you in the first place — make it feel like a fundamentally different relationship with a medium that has spent twenty years becoming unusable. The cost is real, but so is the relief.

Cost: $179/year

Apple News → MeansTV

Apple News is the most ideologically compromised service in the Apple One bundle — a corporate-curated feed of corporate-owned media, optimized for engagement and ad revenue, dressed up as staying informed. It is surveillance capitalism's delivery mechanism for the news.

MeansTV is its structural opposite. Worker-owned, cooperatively run, and explicitly anti-capitalist in its editorial mission. For $10 a month you get access to independent documentaries, news, and original programming made by people who aren't beholden to shareholders or ad buyers. It won't replace every media habit, but as a deliberate alternative to algorithmically curated corporate news, it's exactly what it claims to be.

Cost: $10/month

The Real Cost Comparison

When I added it up, the switch wasn't the financial sacrifice I'd been telling myself it would be. Apple One's Premier plan runs $37.95/month — $455.40 per year — for a bundle of services engineered to deepen your dependency on a single corporate ecosystem.

My current stack runs roughly $65/month when averaged across annual plans. The difference is real but not budget breaking for my family. What isn't modest is the difference in what that money funds, who controls my data, and how much friction now stands between me and leaving any single service if it stops serving my values.

You're not saving money by staying in the walled garden. You're paying a premium for the privilege of being harder to move.

Your Money is Your Power

Here's something the financial services industry accidentally got right: every dollar you spend is a vote for the kind of world you want to live in. They meant it as an argument for ethical investing. I mean it as something sharper. It's the power every individual has to stand up to tech oligarchs and say, “I'm tired of this exploitative bullshit.”

When you pay Apple, Google, Meta, Amazon, or Microsoft every month, you are actively funding the infrastructure of techno-feudalism. You are bankrolling the lobbying that fights right-to-repair legislation. You are subsidizing the App Store taxes that strangle independent developers. You are paying for the surveillance architecture that profiles your children. You are financing the concentration of wealth and power into five companies that have more economic influence than most nation-states outside of China and the US. Every subscription renewal is a quarterly earnings beat for a company that has explicitly decided your dependency is more valuable than your freedom.

This isn't an accident. It's the model.

Cory Doctorow calls it techno-feudalism — a system where the platforms own the land, set the rules, collect the rent, and evict you if you cause trouble. You don't own your digital life. You lease it, on terms you didn't negotiate, from landlords who can change the lease whenever they feel like it. In the digital enshittification world we are all techno-sharecroppers. It's how the system was designed. And the system runs on your money.

The greatest asset any individual holds in a capitalist society isn't their labor, their credit score, or their network. It's their capital — however modest — and the daily decisions about where it flows. Choosing not to give your money to the five companies most aggressively extracting value from your life is not a consumer preference. It's a revolutionary act. It's a refusal. It's a small, daily declaration that the exploitation, enshittification, and techno-feudalism are not okay! It's a middle finger letting the oligarchy know you will not fund them quietly while telling yourself you have no choice.

You have a choice. It comes with switching costs, some monetary, some Saturday afternoons migrating data, and some adjustment to new tools. But it is finite work that purchases indefinite freedom.

In the 2014 film World War Z, Brad Pitt's character watches a family freeze in their apartment, surrounded on all sides by zombies, paralyzed by the scale of what they're facing. He turns to them and says simply: “Movimiento es vida.” Movement is life.

In a zombie apocalypse, or any apocalypse for that matter, comfort is a death sentence. Those who stay put, waiting for someone else to fix it, don't make it. Those who move — even imperfectly, even scared, even without a complete plan — do.

We are in a digital zombie apocalypse. Just look at Elon Musk's acquisition of Twitter, now 'X.' Twitter is now a an endless stream of lies, supported by a neo-Nazi empathizer who has given that movement a global voice via the platform. Again Doctorow shares;

“Twitter is a cautionary tale. It tells us that the “market forces” that we'd expect to kill off services that turn into piles of shit have been neutralized. We are living in an age of zombie platforms: platforms that shamble on long after they should have been double-tapped and stuffed in a shallow grave.” (Enshittification: Why Everything Suddenly Got Worse and What to Do About it, p.51-52)

We are in a moment where the platforms that mediate nearly every dimension of our lives are accelerating their extraction, tightening their grip, and betting that the switching costs will keep us frozen. The Big Five are counting on your inertia. They have engineered your dependency and they are waiting for you to decide that leaving is too hard.

It isn't.

Move.

---

In Part Two of Breaking Up with Big Tech, I'll walk through how I broke away from big social media and the surveillance capitalism economy — and what I replaced it with.

Hey Rebel is supported by mutual aid sustainers, not paywalls. If you have the means and want to keep this work accessible for everyone, consider contributing on Ko-fi. Solidarity means no one gets left behind.

#Microsoft #Teams

Recently, a user received the following error message in Teams when trying to schedule a webinar and send email notifications:

Editing isn't available because your org hasn't finished setting up your email domain for M365 notifications yet. Contact your admin for help.

From what I could see, the user was licensed correctly and they have the permissions they need in the Teams Events settings. I searched for the text of the error message, but couldn't find any results on Google.

Here are the steps for how I got it working.

After some looking around, I found that Microsoft changed the requirements on February 1, 2026 to require additional setup in M365.

Starting February 1, 2026, organizations using premium custom HTML templates for Teams Events email notifications must set up and verify their sending domain in Microsoft 365. Without this, custom templates can't be used, and event emails must originate from an authenticated, customer-owned domain.

After reading this note, I was able to find the option in the M365 Admin center.

Before getting started, you must have the Global Administrator role in Entra ID/M365, or a custom role with the MSGraph permission microsoft.directory/organization/allProperties/allTasks

The user will need an M365 license with Teams (any Business or Enterprise license: Business Standard, E3, etc.) and a Teams Premium license.

Also, make sure that you have allowed Teams Webinars for the user from the Event settings page: https://admin.teams.microsoft.com/one-policy/settings/events

1. Navigate to the M365 Admin center: https://admin.cmd.ms/ and click Settings > Org settings
2. Search for “Teams”
3. Click on the “Send email notifications from your domain” option.
4. In the configuration pane, enable the “Use a custom send-from domain address” and add something like “noreply” and select your primary domain.
5. Click the Save button.

After changing this option, it can take about an hour for the changes to take effect. The user may need to restart Teams and/or log out and back in for the policies to refresh.

Additional information

• https://learn.microsoft.com/en-us/microsoftteams/manage-email-communications
• https://learn.microsoft.com/en-us/microsoft-365/admin/email/select-domain-to-use-for-email-from-microsoft-365-products?view=o365-worldwide