Obi-Wan's
Passive-Aggressive Emails

Anakin,

I hope this message finds you well, though given the circumstances of our last interaction, I suspect "well" may be a relative term. I am writing to follow up on the incident on Mustafar, specifically regarding the high ground situation. I have attached a diagram (see HighGround_Tactical_Analysis_v3_FINAL_FINAL.pdf) that clearly illustrates why jumping toward someone who holds an elevated position is, tactically speaking, inadvisable.

I want to be clear: I did warn you. I said, and I quote, "I have the high ground." This was not a suggestion. This was not an invitation to try your luck. This was a statement of military fact. The high ground confers a significant tactical advantage, which I thought you would appreciate given that I personally trained you for over a decade. In combat strategy. Which includes the concept of elevation.

I am not writing this to say "I told you so." I am writing this because the Jedi Order's insurance provider requires an incident report, and frankly, "He jumped anyway" does not fill enough space on the form. Please confirm receipt of this email at your earliest convenience. I understand typing may be difficult given the current state of your limbs, and for that, I am genuinely sorry. I did not want any of this. You were my brother, Anakin.

Warm regards, Obi-Wan Kenobi Jedi Master (Retired) P.S. — The diagram is in color. I used red for the lava. I thought that was a nice touch.

Anakin,

I am circling back on my previous email titled "Please Do Not Murder the Younglings," which I notice you did not respond to. I understand you are busy with your new role — congratulations on the promotion, by the way, though I do have some concerns about the organizational culture at your new employer — but I feel this matter warrants a timely response.

To be direct: the security footage from the Jedi Temple was deeply concerning. I watched it with Master Yoda, and while Yoda is typically stoic, I believe I saw him shed a single tear, which for a 900-year-old Jedi Master is the emotional equivalent of a complete breakdown. The younglings, Anakin. They called you "Master Skywalker." They looked up to you. One of them literally asked you for help. This is not a grey area. This is the most black-and-white ethical situation I can imagine, and you chose a color I did not know existed.

I have cc'd HR on this email, though I am aware the Jedi Order's HR department no longer exists, because — and I want to be clear about the causal chain here — you dismantled it. Along with the rest of the organization. I am attaching a link to an article called "10 Signs Your Coworker May Be a Sith Lord." In retrospect, I should have read it sooner.

Best, Obi-Wan P.S. — I am not angry. I am disappointed. Which, as you know, is worse.

Anakin,

Quick update: Padmé asked about you. This was shortly before events took a turn that I will not detail in an email that may be subject to Imperial surveillance. She asked how you were doing. I told her you were "fine," which is technically true in the sense that you are alive, and technically false in the sense that "fine" typically implies a level of emotional and physical wellness that your current situation does not reflect.

I want you to know that I tried to talk to her. I tried to explain what happened. I used phrases like "he's going through a difficult transition" and "he's exploring new career opportunities" and "he may have committed some light treason." She saw through all of it, because Padmé is a diplomat and diplomats are professionally trained to detect nonsense. She cried, Anakin. A senator. A queen. A woman who once faced down an entire Trade Federation without flinching. She cried because of you.

I am not telling you this to make you feel guilty. I am telling you this because I believe in radical transparency, even when the truth is that your wife is heartbroken and your former best friend is writing you emails from a cave on Tatooine while watching over your son, who does not know you exist. We will discuss the parenting arrangement in a separate thread.

Regards, Obi-Wan P.S. — She also asked me to return a sweater you left at her apartment. I will hold onto it for now.

Thank you for your email.

I am currently out of the office on an extended leave of absence. By "extended," I mean approximately 19 years. By "leave of absence," I mean I am living in a cave on Tatooine under an assumed name, watching over the infant son of my former best friend who tried to murder me on a volcano planet. Standard sabbatical, really.

I will have limited access to email during this time, as Tatooine's wifi infrastructure is, charitably, nonexistent. The Jawas have set up a mesh network using salvaged Imperial transmitters, but the signal drops every time a sandstorm hits, which is constantly, because this planet is 97% sand and 3% despair. I chose to live here specifically because it is the last place in the galaxy anyone would want to visit, which is both my security strategy and an accurate Yelp review.

For urgent matters, please contact Master Yoda at yoda@dagobah.swamp, though I should warn you that his responses will be grammatically unconventional and may take several weeks, as his email client is a hollowed-out log. For matters related to the Galactic Empire, please direct your inquiry to Emperor Palpatine's office. I understand he has an excellent assistant, though the turnover rate is high due to Force-choking incidents.

I will respond to your email upon my return, which will coincide with the moment a young farm boy asks me about his father and I have to decide how much truth a 19-year-old can handle. (Spoiler: not much.) May the Force be with you, Ben Kenobi (formerly Obi-Wan Kenobi) Jedi Master (Officially Extinct)

Anakin,

Thank you for your reply, though I notice your response was entirely composed of heavy breathing sounds, which my email client interpreted as an audio attachment labeled "KHHH_PURRR_KHHH.wav." I listened to the full 47 seconds. It was both haunting and oddly meditative. I may use it as a white noise track for sleeping.

Regarding your breathing apparatus: I understand it is life-sustaining and therefore not something to be taken lightly. However, I have received complaints from Imperial officers that the sound is "distracting during meetings" and "genuinely terrifying in the elevator." Admiral Piett apparently had a panic attack when you stood silently behind him in the break room for three minutes. He thought you were a malfunctioning ventilation unit.

I realize I bear some responsibility for your current respiratory situation, and I want to acknowledge that openly. If I had not left you near that lava, you would not need the suit. This is true. It is also true that if you had not murdered a room full of children and pledged your allegiance to a man who looks like a melted candle, I would not have had to fight you in the first place. There is blame on both sides. Mostly yours. But both sides.

Have you tried turning the apparatus off and on again? I am not being facetious. My R2 unit once had a ventilation glitch that was resolved with a simple reboot. You are, at this point, approximately 60% machine. IT troubleshooting may apply. Warmly (poor choice of word, apologies), Obi-Wan

Bail, Yoda,

I am scheduling a tea on the 15th to catch up on matters of galactic importance. Please find the calendar invite attached. The location is my cave on Tatooine, which I have cleaned specifically for this occasion. I even swept the sand out, though more sand immediately came in, because that is how sand works on this planet. It is relentless. Sand is the Sith of geological formations.

I want to be explicitly clear that Anakin is NOT invited. I am putting this in writing because the last time I organized a social gathering, he showed up uninvited, killed everyone, and installed a fascist government. I do not want a repeat of that. The agenda is as follows: (1) Tea and biscuits, (2) Brief update on Luke's development — he is crawling now and has already tried to pick up a power converter, which I find both endearing and genetically predictable, (3) Discussion of long-term strategy for overthrowing the Empire, (4) More tea.

Yoda, I understand travel from Dagobah is difficult. If you need a ride, I can arrange transport, though I should mention that my current vehicle is a dewback, which has a top speed of "eventually." Bail, please bring the good tea from Alderaan. The Tatooine tea tastes like boiled sand, which, to be fair, is exactly what it is.

Looking forward to it. Best, Obi-Wan P.S. — If Anakin somehow intercepts this email: You are still not invited. It is a private event. Please respect boundaries for once in your life.

Anakin,

I came across this article while browsing the HoloNet and thought of you immediately. It is a step-by-step guide on how to apologize, written at approximately a third-grade reading level, which I feel is appropriate given the emotional maturity you demonstrated during what I will diplomatically refer to as "The Mustafar Incident" and what the rest of the galaxy refers to as "the time you joined a death cult and burned alive because you couldn't listen."

The article has seven steps. I will summarize: Step 1 is "Acknowledge what you did wrong." This would include, but is not limited to: betraying the Jedi Order, murdering colleagues, choking your pregnant wife, attempting to murder your best friend, and aligning yourself with a man whose face looks like a scrotum that was left in the dryer too long. Step 2 is "Express genuine remorse." Not the "I am powerful and you are weak" speech you gave on Mustafar. That was not remorse. That was a TED Talk from hell.

I am forwarding this with no expectation that you will read it, much less follow it. I know you. You will see the subject line, breathe heavily at your screen for several minutes, and then go Force-choke someone in the accounting department. But I am sending it anyway, because that is what I do. I keep trying. I keep reaching out. I keep writing emails to a man who cut my heart out and replaced it with 19 years of sand and solitude. Step 7, by the way, is "Give the other person time." Take all the time you need. I have nothing but time.

Sincerely yours, always, Obi-Wan

Anakin,

It has come to my attention — through a network of informants, rebel intelligence, and a surprisingly candid Glassdoor review — that you have been Force-choking the interns. I want to address this directly: it is not acceptable workplace behavior. I understand that the Imperial workplace culture may be different from what we practiced at the Jedi Temple, but even by Imperial standards, telekinetically strangling a 22-year-old who brought you the wrong coffee is considered "excessive."

The intern in question — a young woman named Ensign Patel — filed a formal complaint. She described the incident as follows: she brought you a latte when you ordered a cappuccino. You lifted her three feet off the ground by her throat and said, "I find your lack of foam disturbing." She was airborne for approximately eight seconds before Admiral Piett intervened by gently suggesting that "perhaps the Supreme Commander might consider a verbal warning first." Piett, I should note, was visibly trembling while saying this.

I trained you better than this. I trained you to resolve conflicts with words, with diplomacy, with the occasional lightsaber duel — but always with respect for the dignity of others. Force-choking someone over a coffee order is not the Jedi way. It is not even the Sith way. It is the way of a man who has completely lost perspective on proportional responses. Please attend the upcoming HR seminar on "Alternative Conflict Resolution Strategies That Do Not Involve Telekinesis." It is on Tuesday. There will be snacks.

With concern, Obi-Wan

Anakin,

This is a courtesy notification that your son turns 10 next week. His name is Luke, in case you were wondering, which you were not, because you do not know he exists. This is by design. My design. A design I sometimes question at 3 AM while staring at the ceiling of my cave and wondering if I am doing the right thing by raising your child on a desert planet without telling him his father is a seven-foot asthmatic war criminal.

The birthday party will be small. Owen and Beru are hosting. There will be a blue milk cake, because that is the only flavor available on this planet. Luke has asked for a toy starship, which I find simultaneously adorable and deeply ironic given that his father used actual starships to help establish a galactic dictatorship. I got him a model T-16 Skyhopper. He does not know his last name is Skywalker. He thinks his last name is Lars. This is the kind of operational security that I wish you had applied to literally any of your life decisions.

You are not invited. I want to be clear about that. Not because I am petty — though I am, a little, because I live in a cave — but because your attendance would compromise the safety of everyone present and also because you would almost certainly ruin the party by being yourself. Last time you attended a gathering, you killed all the guests. I am not risking that at a 10-year-old's birthday party. There will be a piñata.

I'll send photos. Best, Ben

Anakin,

I have taken the liberty of updating the Jedi Order organizational chart to reflect recent changes. You will notice that the chart is now significantly smaller than the last version, owing to the fact that you murdered most of the people on it. I have marked each deceased member with a small red X. The chart is, at this point, mostly red X's. It looks like a losing game of tic-tac-toe, which is an apt metaphor for how this entire situation has played out.

Your position has been updated from "Jedi Knight — Promising" to "Sith Lord — Estranged." I debated the wording for some time. Other options included "Former Colleague — Deceased to Me," "Darth Vader — Do Not Engage," and simply a photo of you with the word "WHY" underneath it. I went with the most professional option, because I am a professional, even when the subject matter is the systematic destruction of everything I spent my life building.

Yoda has been moved to "Emeritus" status. I am listed as "In Exile — Available for Consultation." The younglings division has been removed entirely, for obvious and devastating reasons. The IT department, remarkably, survived the purge, as no one — not even the Sith — remembers that the IT department exists. They are still responding to help desk tickets from three years ago.

Please review and confirm. Regards, Obi-Wan Kenobi Last Remaining Entry on the Org Chart

Anakin,

I have been reviewing holovids of your recent public appearances — not because I am stalking you, but because your image is broadcast across every channel in the galaxy and I cannot buy groceries without seeing your helmet on a screen — and I have noticed a significant workplace safety concern: your cape. It is long. It is dramatic. And it is a trip hazard of the highest order.

According to the Occupational Safety and Health Administration guidelines for the Galactic Empire (document OSHA-GE-4471, Section 12: "Flowing Garments in Industrial Environments"), capes worn in proximity to heavy machinery, reactor shafts, or active ventilation systems must not exceed 0.5 meters in length. Your cape is approximately 2 meters. You are walking through a space station that is, essentially, a giant reactor with hallways. The liability exposure is astronomical.

I bring this up not out of pettiness — though I will admit that watching you trip on your cape during the Death Star dedication ceremony brought me a moment of joy that I am not proud of — but out of genuine concern for workplace safety. You have already lost multiple limbs. You cannot afford to lose your footing as well. Additionally, three stormtroopers have reported stepping on your cape and being Force-choked for it, which circles back to the intern situation I addressed in my previous email.

Please consider a half-cape, or at minimum, a cape clip. Safely yours, Obi-Wan

Anakin,

This is my third and final notice regarding the return of your lightsaber, which I have been holding in safekeeping since our disagreement on Mustafar. I picked it up after our fight, along with what remained of my faith in mentorship, and I have kept it in a trunk in my cave on Tatooine for the past 19 years. It still works. I test it occasionally. Not because I use it — I am retired, and the most dangerous thing I encounter on Tatooine is a Tusken Raider with an attitude problem — but because maintaining a lightsaber is a habit, and habits are all I have left.

I am writing to inform you that I intend to give this lightsaber to your son. Yes, the son you do not know about. The one I have been raising in secret on the planet you hate most in the galaxy, because I thought "the last place Darth Vader would look" was the planet where Darth Vader grew up. In hindsight, this is either a brilliant strategy or a catastrophically stupid one, and I genuinely will not know which until it either works or does not.

The lightsaber will be presented to Luke with the explanation that it belonged to his father, who was "a good man" and "a Jedi Knight." This is technically true, in the way that saying a building "was once structurally sound" is technically true after it has burned to the ground. I will omit the parts about the younglings, the Emperor, the lava, and the breathing. He does not need that right now. He is a farm boy who wants to go to Tosche Station. He is not ready for "your dad is a cyborg dictator."

If you would like the lightsaber returned to you instead, please respond within 30 days. After that, I will consider the matter closed, along with this chapter of my life, which I will look back on as "the time I devoted 19 years to cleaning up after a man who never once said thank you." For the last time, Obi-Wan Kenobi Your brother, whether you like it or not