Okay, for those of you waiting ever so patiently for the next page of War of the Forums, I sincerely apologize for the delay. I've been overwhelmingly busy, and now that I finally have a free moment, Ada roped me into writing this. (Yes, you did! You dared me to do this! Don't deny it!)

I won't bother with long introductions. Please enjoy this piece of nonfiction fiction.




Argument for the Reformation of Pokémon Rights in the Kanto Prefecture
by Nat Ariel Persson


"I couldn't have done it without my friend, Rapidash!"

These were the words of famed trainer Jon Dickson after winning the Johto League Silver Conference championship last year. Dickson is quite correct: as any battling fan knows, the vast majority of Pokémon would have succumbed well before the fourth Body Slam by his opponent's Snorlax. Rapidash, one could argue, was the primary reason for Dickson's victory.

But whether or not he was aware of it, Dickson illustrated an important point at that press conference. As he clutched his trophy tighter than a hungry baby with a bottle, as he thanked his Pokémon profusely for their determined efforts, the very comrades with whom he claimed to share his glory were nowhere to be found. Rapidash, Rhyhorn, and all the others were tucked away in their Pokéballs, never to be heard from.

Trainers treat their Pokémon as friends; at least, that's what we tell ourselves. They are our equals, no better or worse than the people who raise them. (Some make exceptions, deeming legendary Pokémon "sacred." Other notable subcultures view all Pokémon as mere tools. These rare cases are moot points.) So why is it, then, that our allies are tossed into their Pokéballs any time it's inconvenient for them to exist in the world?

"Pokéballs are the most humane method of Pokémon transportation available," claimed the Elite Four's Agatha Kikuko in the February 3 issue of Trainers Weekly. "They offer Pokémon the comfort of a five-star hotel even as their trainers struggle through the severest of conditions. The majority of Pokémon are thankful for their existence."

The first part of Agatha's statement is beyond debate. Any Charmander with a brain would rather slumber in a Pokéball than trudge through a thunderstorm. Pokéballs, however, are not always welcome retreats. An injured Pokémon may be protected from further harm, and its condition may be stabilized as a result of the Pokéball technology, but what is the excuse for confining perfectly healthy partners?

There is none. We don't even bother to say "There isn't room for all of them," or "Some people are afraid of Pokémon." Even these invalid answers are too much trouble, as we don't bother to ask the question.

Are trainers afraid to share their triumphs with their partners? Are they so insensitive as to knowingly cast their Pokémon aside? Or are they simply too ignorant of their own malfeasance to care?

Ignorance seems an increasingly unlikely reason. Recent research by Prof. Samuel Oak has shed new light on the topic of Pokéball rejection, the formerly obscure phenomenon of Pokémon who dislike Pokéballs. Prior analysis suggested a fear of the containment devices: a variation on human claustrophobia, if you will. But Oak's latest article, "Divisions Among Specie Responses in Regard to Compression and Transportation Devices," demonstrated that many Pokémon experience discomfort inside Pokéballs that range from subtle cramps to severe, psychologically impairing spatial distortions.

Perhaps the most notable example Oak cited was Pikachu, a favorite of intermediate class trainers. One would think that consistent refusal to enter a Pokéball would indicate a problem to even the most amateur trainer. However, of the 37 anonymous respondents who owned a Pikachu that showed at least "moderate unwillingness" to submit, 25 said they routinely recalled their Pikachu anyway regardless of health or external factors. Convenience, it seems, wins out.

Why is it that trainers are, in general, unwilling to heed the demands of their partners, their equals? After all, they surely would not impose their wills upon fellow trainers without due cause; one who unduly tries to control the actions of others could be considered a bully at best and a criminal at worst.

We come, therefore, to the crux of this argument. The ability to recall Pokémon at will is invaluable for any caring trainer; more than a few lives have been saved by this simple act to allow a hasty escape from the most dangerous of situations. Consider the infamous Cinnabar Gym, where even the hardiest of Pokémon could have perished from a simple fall into the magma. There is no arguing with this.

Unfortunately, their use of this technology has gone too far and created a culture of dominance. When trainers recall their Pokémon for no reason other than convenience, they are exerting power instead of showing concern by controlling not only the actions of their Pokémon but their place in the world as well. It is not about teamwork, but the perception of superiority.

This shift in power becomes very clear when we consider the trends of Pokémon battling in the last several decades. Early last century, many world leaders tried to stop the budding sport of battling, calling it "a barbaric practice that serves only to unnecessarily shed blood for the entertainment of the masses." Public opinion triumphed, however, and battling flourished; with this success came the Pokémon League and its slogan, "Gotta Catch 'Em All!"

At the time this phrase was only the result of an unlikely collaboration between trainers and researchers. In time, however, trainers started collecting Pokémon and casting them aside just as quickly, treating each one no better than a bottle cap to be added to an attic shelf. (It should be noted that many Pokémon remain in their Pokéballs even after their trainers leave or die; a 2005 study by Pokémon Researchers of Kanto estimated that over 3,000 Pokémon are still needlessly captive in Kanto alone.)

From the time of the first rogue battlers to the first title bout on Indigo Plateau, Pokémon trainers only tried to recruit willing partners for their teams. Increasingly, though, the competitive nature of the sport drove many to take all the Pokémon they could grab, disrupting habitats and orphaning infants with little regard. Even after the near-extinction of the Doduo species, this practice continued.

Pokémon were not friends or even comrades. Modern trainers have grown to view them as subordinates, as tools, and as mere possessions to be collected. Even as we casually talk about "my Torchic," or "her Starly," or "his Chikorita," we propagate the mentality of ownership.

And, of course, Pokémon are forced to battle even when they may wish otherwise. The Pokémon League has taken measures to prevent this, adding rules such as Forfeiture Condition 3.5.3.2: "Any Pokémon that is unwilling to battle shall be treated in the same manner as one which is unable to use its attacks as described in rule 3.5.1, unless it uses a move within 15 seconds of entering the battle." But this has only further exacerbated the problem. Pokémon who will not battle are treated as dead weight in a team of six and are often discarded at the first opportunity ‒ or, worse yet, disciplined for their timidity. This form of psychological pressure can be devastating to Pokémon, as Prof. Felina Ivy outlined in her 2002 article, "The Rigors of Competition and the Social Ramifications of Abstention."

These common practices combine to create one devastating reality. We, as a society, have grown to treat our Pokémon companions more as slaves than as friends. Were a human to be caged, confined, and assaulted away from the public eye, we would view it as a tragedy; when it happens to a Pokémon we are more apt to call it "training." The collective desires of individual trainers are all too often imposed upon some of the greatest creatures in existence, and to an extent upon nature itself.

Why should Pokémon be denied the rights of humans? Many of them, it is well established, are smarter than us. The most obvious examples, Alakazam, have an estimated average IQ of 5,000 across the species. Yet we presume to know what is right for them and to control their destinies, tearing them from their homes and launching them into battle on a whim. (If you would argue that such an intelligent being could avoid capture if it so chose, recognize that nearly 98% of all Alakazam in the Pokémon League, according to Trainers Weekly, were captured as nearly defenseless Abra.)

If the Pokémon League wishes to "maintain the delicate balance of nature and foster the growing relationship between humans and Pokémon," as it claims in its mission statement, then it must decisively reform its policies. It is not enough simply to ask that trainers within its jurisdiction consult with their Pokémon before recalling them, as the culture of dominance has extended too far to allow for significant trainer input in such an interaction.

With the exceptions of recalling Pokémon in battle or protecting those that are injured or in imminent danger, there is no reason why a Pokémon cannot choose for itself when, if ever, to return to confinement. A simple tap of the device, as numerous studies have shown, is enough to activate a Pokéball. Release is a more difficult problem, but one which Devon Corporation is already working to resolve; its researchers are developing a Pokéball with an LED light which may be activated from the inside.

These are simple solutions that escape any undue inconvenience, yet they cannot be effective without force. Only the Pokémon League has the authority to change the rules governing Kanto trainers, so it must take responsibility for the well-being of Pokémon in the care of trainers who they license. The treatment of Pokémon by its legion of trainers has long since crossed the boundary of inhumanity, but simple action by authorities at the birthplace of battling can send us on the road to rectifying our wrongs. Continuing in this fashion is not only hopelessly cruel, but it risks a great deal of well-deserved backlash from our closest "friends."




References

Devon Corporation. (2007). Annual Shareholder Report. Rustboro: Stone Press.

Gabby, S. (2008, February 3). Agatha Kikuko ‒ Elite Four Exclusive! Trainers Weekly, 265, 19-25.

Goodshow, C. (Ed.). (1991). Pokémon League Official Rulebook. Indigo Plateau: Competitive Pokémon Battling Association.

Ivy, F. (2002). The Rigors of Competition and the Social Ramifications of Abstention. Journal of Pokémon Battle Theory, 8(15), 41-57.

Krane, J. (1997). A History of Pokémon Battling. Agate, Orre: Pokémon Research Foundation.

Oak, S. (2007). Divisions Among Specie Responses in Regard to Compression and Transportation Devices. Pokémon Research Quarterly, 38(30), 58-91.

Roxy, D. (2007, December 9). Top Trainer Trends. Trainers Weekly, 258, 41-45.