His name was Tomas Kensington. His girlfriend had ended the relationship because he seemed a little clingy, and he decided that shooting a well-known pacifist and proving that violence can change the world would impress her enough to change her mind.
My little public talks were getting somewhat bigger audiences, and Badi had called once or twice to ask me to tone down the anti-Earth rhetoric, but it never occurred to me that I was becoming “famous” until I stared down the barrel of Mr. Kensington’s weapon. Assassins don’t target the obscure.
“I never said you can’t change the world with violence, did I?” I said once my nerves had settled down enough to process what I was hearing.
“Violence doesn’t settle anything, because even if you kill the person you can’t kill their beliefs – I guess that’s a way of saying it can’t change the world,” Buffalo said, rubbing my shoulders to relieve them of the tight knots of terror.
“It can’t change the world for the better,” said the large man who by now had introduced himself as John Hemlock.
“It can win you some championships,” Buffalo said with an admiring tone. She apparently had heard about this man and his prowess on the field.
“Thank you,” he rasped. “But you need to leave the violence on the field – it can’t help you out here. Only peace can do that.”
“I appreciate your choosing this night of all nights to come hear me speak,” I told him. “You have impeccable timing.”
“It’s not my timing at all,” John Hemlock smiled. “But I didn’t come just to listen. You have a lot to say, and you need to be saying it so that people can hear and think about it. Can’t do that if you’re dead. I heard you lots of times on the link and read some of what you’re saying, and I came to Sirius 4 to see how I can help. I’m offering to be your bodyguard.”
“My –!? Oh, come on.”
“You obviously needed one tonight. You need someone to take the next bullet if it ever comes – and it might.”
Something about the night – the attempt on my life, the miraculous appearance of a rescuer, and now this offer – turned a switch inside me.
Entry 25. The day of the I-Bomb
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
Entry 23
A few mornings after Buffalo challenged my reluctance to use lethal force against any human being – even someone with no compunction about using lethal force against me – I walked that beach and found myself overwhelmed by the beauty of the water, the orange mist hanging over the generator in the distance, the birds and other animals enjoying a warm, comfortable day.
I was filled with the simple joy of being alive and reflected on all the years I have lived so far, and all the years that could lie ahead – the thousands of days, countless experiences that shape a single man.
I imagined those countless experiences multiplied by billions of human beings on a half-dozen planets, each of them unique and irreplaceable.
Who am I to steal those years, all that life, from another?
No, I have no right to deprive anyone of that precious gift, not even someone who hates me so much they would steal it from me.
 |
| The author's note that grew into this entry |
I missed her. I realized how important it had become that she understand. And that made me feel even more alive.
Entry 24. Hemlock's offer
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Entry 22. Giant, gentle hands
John Hemlock’s hands were not the first thing you noticed. That would be his eyes, the soft expression on his face that contrasted with the hard set of his huge body.
The second thing you noticed, if he spoke to you – and he would speak to you – was the gentle, raspy tone of his voice. Almost a babylike tone, except for the rasp.
No, you would not notice his hands at first, but when he took your hand in a gentle-but-firm clasp of greeting, then you would notice them – when his hand enveloped yours, when he placed his other hand over yours to emphasize his pleasure in meeting another human being he had never encountered before.
They were huge hands, rough from a lifetime of work and hard play, which for John Hemlock were one and the same.
Johnny Hemlock was born on Earth, and he was a large young man, and that attracted the attention of athletic coaches. To race through his early years, he found himself in a vast metropolis along one of Earth’s largest lakes, a city called Green Bay, where for nearly 300 years the major attraction had been an ancient sport that involved large men moving a ball across a field of grass while other large men tried to impede your progress in violent collisions.
He was one of the best athletes this city that celebrated athleticism had ever seen. And one of its gentlest souls. He had been chosen for a life of ferocious blows and clashes, but his instinct was for serenity, and his life’s ambition was to travel the galaxy sharing his love for Jesus.
Our meeting was anything but tranquil. In fact it came on the evening when one of my most cherished theories faced its first trial by fire.
“In a kill or be killed situation, there must be a third way,” I always said. When that situation arose, John Hemlock was the third way.
I was delivering a lecture about nonviolence, noncooperation and the future of Sirius 4. The crowd seemed very attentive and receptive to the message until a man stood up in the second row, worked his way to the aisle, stepped forward and raised a gun toward me. I had a clear view down the barrel and knew that in a moment my life would be over.
An impossibly large figure, moving impossibly fast, burst into my field of vision and collided with the would-be murderer with a force that lifted him off the ground and sent his weapon sailing harmlessly out of his reach – if he would have been able to reach for anything or concentrate on anything except retrieving the wind that had been knocked out of his gasping lungs.
And after he saved my life, John Hemlock reached out an impossibly large hand and grinned softly.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, professor.”
Entry 23
The second thing you noticed, if he spoke to you – and he would speak to you – was the gentle, raspy tone of his voice. Almost a babylike tone, except for the rasp.
No, you would not notice his hands at first, but when he took your hand in a gentle-but-firm clasp of greeting, then you would notice them – when his hand enveloped yours, when he placed his other hand over yours to emphasize his pleasure in meeting another human being he had never encountered before.
They were huge hands, rough from a lifetime of work and hard play, which for John Hemlock were one and the same.
Johnny Hemlock was born on Earth, and he was a large young man, and that attracted the attention of athletic coaches. To race through his early years, he found himself in a vast metropolis along one of Earth’s largest lakes, a city called Green Bay, where for nearly 300 years the major attraction had been an ancient sport that involved large men moving a ball across a field of grass while other large men tried to impede your progress in violent collisions.
He was one of the best athletes this city that celebrated athleticism had ever seen. And one of its gentlest souls. He had been chosen for a life of ferocious blows and clashes, but his instinct was for serenity, and his life’s ambition was to travel the galaxy sharing his love for Jesus.
Our meeting was anything but tranquil. In fact it came on the evening when one of my most cherished theories faced its first trial by fire.
“In a kill or be killed situation, there must be a third way,” I always said. When that situation arose, John Hemlock was the third way.
I was delivering a lecture about nonviolence, noncooperation and the future of Sirius 4. The crowd seemed very attentive and receptive to the message until a man stood up in the second row, worked his way to the aisle, stepped forward and raised a gun toward me. I had a clear view down the barrel and knew that in a moment my life would be over.
An impossibly large figure, moving impossibly fast, burst into my field of vision and collided with the would-be murderer with a force that lifted him off the ground and sent his weapon sailing harmlessly out of his reach – if he would have been able to reach for anything or concentrate on anything except retrieving the wind that had been knocked out of his gasping lungs.
And after he saved my life, John Hemlock reached out an impossibly large hand and grinned softly.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, professor.”
Entry 23
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Entry 21
We are violent when we sustain a government whose creed is violence. It bases itself finally not on right but on might. Its last appeal is not to reason, nor the heart, but to the sword. We are tired of this creed and we have risen against it.
Let us not ourselves belie our profession by being violent. Though the English are very few, they are organised for violence. Though we are many we cannot be organised for violence for a long time to come. Violence for us is a gospel of despair.
Mahatma Gandhi
from "The Greatest Thing"
Entry 22. Giant, gentle hands
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Entry 20. Breaking the cycle
“I think you’re full of crap,” Buffalo Springsteen said one day. The bemused eye twinkle was there, with the hint of the smile, but the challenge was unmistakable. Because I happened to be talking about my favorite subject – nonviolent passive resistance – the statement was a stab of adrenaline to my fight-or-flight response.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she said, dabbing a napkin at her lip and tossing it down next to the coffee cup. “You’re full of crap.”
We were not far into our relationship; this was perhaps our second or third visit over coffee or lunch.
Everything had gone swimmingly so far – I found her as sharp and intellectually stimulating as my eyes found her a delight to look at. She was athletic, a skilled hunter and free-spirited. At some point in the not too distant future, I intended to test the waters of “Would you like to stop by my apartment after this?” and was getting strong signals the answer would be in the affirmative.
But first, it seemed, I would have to leap the hurdle that she thought I was full of crap.
“How so?”
“Are you kidding? ‘In a kill-or-be-killed situation there must be a third alternative?’”
“Isn’t that self-explanatory?”
“If it was, I wouldn’t be asking, would I?” Again the twinkle. “What third alternative?”
“Well –”
“Guy comes after you with a gun. No time to talk. He’s aiming, going to pull the trigger. OK, you duck out of his way, and then –?”
“I’m –”
“He’s coming in your direction, he knows you’re unarmed, you’re famous for that. He means to kill you, and he’s not going to stop until you stop him.”
“Stop him, yes, but –”
“He means to kill you. Maim him, disable him, but he’s going to keep coming.”
“I’m not going to kill him!” I said emphatically. “There must be a way to stop him short of killing him.”
She looked at me skeptically. “Then he’s going to kill you,” she said matter of factly. “The nonviolence movement ends there.”
“I can’t accept that. There must be a way to defend myself without taking a life.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out when it happens. It will depend on the situation.”
“And if there’s no choice but to kill the other guy, you’re willing to let him kill you instead?”
“There’s always a choice.”
“I don’t see it. I think sometimes you’re backed into a corner and you have to fight your way out.”
I had to think long and hard before speaking again.
“Yes,” I said finally.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, if I couldn’t escape, I would have to let him kill me. Well, I wouldn’t let him kill me – I’d defend myself to my last breath. But I couldn’t kill him. The cycle ends with me.”
“So, kill or be killed, you choose to be killed.”
“No – I choose to figure out a third way. I just don’t know what it is yet. I do know it takes us to a better place as a species.”
She looked me over in a way that made me curious about the taste of her lips.
“It’d be a waste,” she said.
“No one wants to kill an opponent who won’t fight back,” I offered.
“Now you are kidding,” Buffalo Springsteen laughed. “That’s a pretty dumb statement coming from a history prof.”
True. History is awash with the blood of victims unwilling or unable to fight the oppressor.
“There’s always a third way,” I repeated. “Take an option off the table, and another alternative will present itself.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” she said. “But I still think you’re full of crap.” And she laughed so musically I wanted to live forever.
Entry 21
Monday, June 25, 2012
Entry 19. Basics of imaginary physics
EDITOR’S NOTE: Several readers have asked what the heck is this “imaginary physics” stuff. It certainly would help to provide at least a brief overview of the scientific breakthrough that made the colonization of Sirius 4 possible, by reducing the trip to one measured in years to one measured in hours. To provide a handy primer in imaginary physics, here is an excerpt from the novel The Imaginary Bomb, in which (as usually happens) foolish humans decide to explore what kind of bomb might be made using the seemingly limitless power of the imagination.
It goes back to the old days when scientists were trying to develop a way to go faster than the speed of light, seeing as otherwise most of the universe was years and even centuries away.
They tried for years without success until the historic day when someone in R&D at what is now ImagCorp threw up his or her hands and said. “This is nuts. I can’t imagine how we’re going to achieve faster than light speed.” And the proverbial light bulb went off. Imagination was the key!
They reasoned out the first tenet of imaginary physics: The power of the imagination is unlimited. Therefore, an engine powered by the imagination theoretically could travel at unlimited speeds. The trick was developing a computer with an imagination to power the engine, but once that was accomplished, the galaxy opened up.
“ID 1.97” refers to the setting on the ImagDrive that enabled the Betsy Ross to travel at 1.97 times the speed of imagination. I know, I know, if the power of imagination is unlimited, how can you go twice as fast? Wouldn’t that be infinity times two? Well, yes and no. Imaginary engines, in theory, could get you somewhere in the blink of an eye. The problem with moving at an unlimited speed is that old devil, friction. Once you exceed lightspeed, those slow-pokey little light particles pull against your vehicle just like air does; the early ImagDrive ships came close to burning up the same way satellites burn up in the atmosphere. So “ID 1.00” isn’t really the speed of imagination — it’s the safest maximum speed of the first ships equipped with the ImagDrive. Nowadays, of course, technology has advanced, so Bob and Pete’s ship can go at ID 1.97, and actually a little faster than that.
As for the Betsy Ross itself, remember those silly-looking rocket ships that Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers would use to cruise around in the old movie serials? Who would have thought that those low-budget specials would perfectly approximate the shape you need to slice efficiently through the milky atmosphere of lightspeed-plus? Fortunately for everyone’s nerves, however, they don’t resemble the movie versions to the point where they buzz like a mosquito on steroids or emit sparks and smoke out the exhaust pipe. They just rush through space at twice the speed of imagination, looking pretty peculiar but doing the job, quietly and without fanfare.
As long as this is a story about the power of imagination, I’m letting you decide what color Bob and Pete’s hair and eyes are, or how tall they are, or the shape of their chins. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait for the movie — and even then it’ll be the casting director’s opinion of what these guys should look like.
Now, about tenets 2 and 3 of imaginary physics. When they tried to make machines that created food and other stuff using imaginary power, they discovered they couldn’t do it unless they first provided the device with some raw materials. They couldn’t just “imagine” food out of nothing; hence tenet number 2: “Matter still can’t be created or destroyed.” Newton had things pretty much figured out.
Einstein, on the other hand, was a little off with his idea that time slows down if you travel faster than light. The first people who traveled using the ImagDrive expected to come home after a 30-day trip to a changed world years and years into the future; what they really came home to was parents angry and hurt because they hadn’t called for a month. Nor could you travel backwards in time; hence tenet number 3: “What’s done is done.”
Entry 20. Breaking the cycle
It goes back to the old days when scientists were trying to develop a way to go faster than the speed of light, seeing as otherwise most of the universe was years and even centuries away.
They tried for years without success until the historic day when someone in R&D at what is now ImagCorp threw up his or her hands and said. “This is nuts. I can’t imagine how we’re going to achieve faster than light speed.” And the proverbial light bulb went off. Imagination was the key!
They reasoned out the first tenet of imaginary physics: The power of the imagination is unlimited. Therefore, an engine powered by the imagination theoretically could travel at unlimited speeds. The trick was developing a computer with an imagination to power the engine, but once that was accomplished, the galaxy opened up.
“ID 1.97” refers to the setting on the ImagDrive that enabled the Betsy Ross to travel at 1.97 times the speed of imagination. I know, I know, if the power of imagination is unlimited, how can you go twice as fast? Wouldn’t that be infinity times two? Well, yes and no. Imaginary engines, in theory, could get you somewhere in the blink of an eye. The problem with moving at an unlimited speed is that old devil, friction. Once you exceed lightspeed, those slow-pokey little light particles pull against your vehicle just like air does; the early ImagDrive ships came close to burning up the same way satellites burn up in the atmosphere. So “ID 1.00” isn’t really the speed of imagination — it’s the safest maximum speed of the first ships equipped with the ImagDrive. Nowadays, of course, technology has advanced, so Bob and Pete’s ship can go at ID 1.97, and actually a little faster than that.
As for the Betsy Ross itself, remember those silly-looking rocket ships that Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers would use to cruise around in the old movie serials? Who would have thought that those low-budget specials would perfectly approximate the shape you need to slice efficiently through the milky atmosphere of lightspeed-plus? Fortunately for everyone’s nerves, however, they don’t resemble the movie versions to the point where they buzz like a mosquito on steroids or emit sparks and smoke out the exhaust pipe. They just rush through space at twice the speed of imagination, looking pretty peculiar but doing the job, quietly and without fanfare.
As long as this is a story about the power of imagination, I’m letting you decide what color Bob and Pete’s hair and eyes are, or how tall they are, or the shape of their chins. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait for the movie — and even then it’ll be the casting director’s opinion of what these guys should look like.
Now, about tenets 2 and 3 of imaginary physics. When they tried to make machines that created food and other stuff using imaginary power, they discovered they couldn’t do it unless they first provided the device with some raw materials. They couldn’t just “imagine” food out of nothing; hence tenet number 2: “Matter still can’t be created or destroyed.” Newton had things pretty much figured out.
Einstein, on the other hand, was a little off with his idea that time slows down if you travel faster than light. The first people who traveled using the ImagDrive expected to come home after a 30-day trip to a changed world years and years into the future; what they really came home to was parents angry and hurt because they hadn’t called for a month. Nor could you travel backwards in time; hence tenet number 3: “What’s done is done.”
Entry 20. Breaking the cycle
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Entry 18. A call to unarmed revolution
This is the statement I read and released after Badiah Sinclair began to implement the Austerity Initiative in S4Y 144. Badi was not happy with me, but the concept started to resonate with people.
The trouble with killing people to make your point is that the argument that started the fight is still breathing.
The Earthians who invaded us were doing the will of people who sincerely believed Sirius 4 was Earth's property. They killed some of us to make their point, but that only made us believe more fervently in our independence. We killed more of them to drive them away, but that only made them want our world even more.
No, not until we sat down and talked – setting aside our weapons but with the threat of more violence as the alternative – did Earth agree to let our experiment in freedom continue.
But now that freedom won with violence is being stripped with violence – oh, perhaps not literally, but with the same old threat of force that governments have always hung over us. What if we struck back in a way that does not meet violence with violence? What if we simply choose to live free, simply ignoring these onerous attempts to curb our liberty, promising not to kill our oppressors but to love them, to return force with a smile, violence with nonviolence, simply refusing to follow their unjust rules? What if we just stopped cooperating?
Using violence we won an imaginary victory over a violent tyranny, and knowing only violence, that which replaced the foreign tyrant has become a domestic tyrant. Now we need a second revolution – a rebellion over our violent nature – to secure our freedom for a much longer term.
I have no illusion that such a revolution would still carry the threat of violence in the background. Taking back what rightfully belongs to us by force is always an option, but that would merely prolong the cycle of violence. True security only comes when we appeal to our better angels, when we take the alternative of violence off the table, when we agree to the principle that no one has a right of aggression over others.
Only when that principle prevails above all others will the cycle of violence be broken and will we be able to enjoy this common wealth of Sirius 4 in peace and prosperity.
Entry 19. Basics of imaginary physics
The trouble with killing people to make your point is that the argument that started the fight is still breathing.
The Earthians who invaded us were doing the will of people who sincerely believed Sirius 4 was Earth's property. They killed some of us to make their point, but that only made us believe more fervently in our independence. We killed more of them to drive them away, but that only made them want our world even more.
No, not until we sat down and talked – setting aside our weapons but with the threat of more violence as the alternative – did Earth agree to let our experiment in freedom continue.
But now that freedom won with violence is being stripped with violence – oh, perhaps not literally, but with the same old threat of force that governments have always hung over us. What if we struck back in a way that does not meet violence with violence? What if we simply choose to live free, simply ignoring these onerous attempts to curb our liberty, promising not to kill our oppressors but to love them, to return force with a smile, violence with nonviolence, simply refusing to follow their unjust rules? What if we just stopped cooperating?
Using violence we won an imaginary victory over a violent tyranny, and knowing only violence, that which replaced the foreign tyrant has become a domestic tyrant. Now we need a second revolution – a rebellion over our violent nature – to secure our freedom for a much longer term.
I have no illusion that such a revolution would still carry the threat of violence in the background. Taking back what rightfully belongs to us by force is always an option, but that would merely prolong the cycle of violence. True security only comes when we appeal to our better angels, when we take the alternative of violence off the table, when we agree to the principle that no one has a right of aggression over others.
Only when that principle prevails above all others will the cycle of violence be broken and will we be able to enjoy this common wealth of Sirius 4 in peace and prosperity.
Entry 19. Basics of imaginary physics
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Entry 17. First casualty
The Imaginary Revolution began in a small town called Fillmore, when a farmer named Jim Simmons had a disagreement with a state inspector. Miles away at the capital, the independence coalition (led by now by Senator Badiah Sinclair) was in its third year of talks with Earth about how our planet could manage its own affairs.
Simmons had built a new pole building on his property, and the inspector measured the building as 2.9 meters from the property line.
“The setback’s 3 meters,” the inspector said. You’ll have to take down the building or move it.”
“Like hell,” said Jim Simmons.
“Move it or we’ll move it for you,” the inspector said.
“Like hell,” repeated Jim Simmons, this time drawing a rifle from behind the front seat of his truck. “Now get off my land.”
“It won’t be your land for long if you won’t follow the codes,” the inspector said, beating a strategic retreat.
The inspector returned with three workers prepared with the equipment necessary to raze the pole building. As soon as they stepped on his property, Jim Simmons approached them with his rifle and warned them to leave.
At this point the squad of Earth soldiers, which the inspector had brought along in case of contingency, stepped forward and shot Jim Simmons stone dead. Then they razed the building.
When word of the incident spread, the revolution was on.
No, it wasn’t about a persnickety building inspector who called in the army to back him up, although that was a symptom of a bigger problem, the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Years of Earthian agents acting as if Sirius 4 was Earth, as if the same rules were relevant here, as if rules were needed in the first place when we had the tapestry of an entire planet to weave with, had built up a resentment and then a seething hatred of what was described as our local government but what felt like an occupation force, even though at the time the troop level was relatively low.
One might expect that armed citizens would have risen up against Jim Simmons’ killers after all that. In fact, another two years would pass before things got really violent, because the independence coalition had the good sense immediately to react to the Simmons incident not with a call to arms, but with a parliamentary move that unilaterally declared Sirius 4 an independent planet, removed the Earthian governor, ordered him back to his homeward and insisted that he bring his “security force” with him.
It happened so peacefully that I believed my entreaties to Badiah Sinclair had had some impact. What really had happened was that the Earthians were a bit embarrassed by the Simmons incident and retreated to regroup. The Imaginary Bomb incident was considered a wakeup call to prepare for a less cordial response from Earth, so the invasion of S4Y 140 was not exactly a complete surprise.
Entry 18. A call to unarmed revolution
Simmons had built a new pole building on his property, and the inspector measured the building as 2.9 meters from the property line.
“The setback’s 3 meters,” the inspector said. You’ll have to take down the building or move it.”
“Like hell,” said Jim Simmons.
“Move it or we’ll move it for you,” the inspector said.
“Like hell,” repeated Jim Simmons, this time drawing a rifle from behind the front seat of his truck. “Now get off my land.”
“It won’t be your land for long if you won’t follow the codes,” the inspector said, beating a strategic retreat.
The inspector returned with three workers prepared with the equipment necessary to raze the pole building. As soon as they stepped on his property, Jim Simmons approached them with his rifle and warned them to leave.
At this point the squad of Earth soldiers, which the inspector had brought along in case of contingency, stepped forward and shot Jim Simmons stone dead. Then they razed the building.
When word of the incident spread, the revolution was on.
No, it wasn’t about a persnickety building inspector who called in the army to back him up, although that was a symptom of a bigger problem, the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Years of Earthian agents acting as if Sirius 4 was Earth, as if the same rules were relevant here, as if rules were needed in the first place when we had the tapestry of an entire planet to weave with, had built up a resentment and then a seething hatred of what was described as our local government but what felt like an occupation force, even though at the time the troop level was relatively low.
One might expect that armed citizens would have risen up against Jim Simmons’ killers after all that. In fact, another two years would pass before things got really violent, because the independence coalition had the good sense immediately to react to the Simmons incident not with a call to arms, but with a parliamentary move that unilaterally declared Sirius 4 an independent planet, removed the Earthian governor, ordered him back to his homeward and insisted that he bring his “security force” with him.
It happened so peacefully that I believed my entreaties to Badiah Sinclair had had some impact. What really had happened was that the Earthians were a bit embarrassed by the Simmons incident and retreated to regroup. The Imaginary Bomb incident was considered a wakeup call to prepare for a less cordial response from Earth, so the invasion of S4Y 140 was not exactly a complete surprise.
Entry 18. A call to unarmed revolution
Friday, June 22, 2012
Entry 16. The kid senator
So. Badiah Sinclair. What an incredible mixture of contradictions. The heroic champion for freedom. The tyrant who was worse than the one he replaced, because he pledged that he would not be. The eloquent orator. The tongue-tied miscreant.
I love that man for where he led us. I believed he hated where he tried to take us after our triumph, but he had no faith in the alternative. When all you know is one way, it’s hard – perhaps impossible – to embrace another.
Let’s talk about the hero first – the boy senator, elected at age 19 with a wisdom beyond his years, president at 25.
My friend. One night Badi and I rode through a particularly rainy night mostly in silence while he stewed about the girl who had broken up with him because he was too intense too soon, and two years later he was Senator Sinclair. That made me a bit of a celebrity among my fellow sophomores at the University of Sirius 4 – the pacifist wacko whose best friend was the kid senator.
He shook up some of the older and more established senators with the fire of his belief in Sirian independence. It wasn’t the angry flame you might expect in someone our age, just a confident optimism that the people of Sirius 4 were best equipped to determine the course that Sirius 4 should be following. We all shared the same frustration in the intrusive, parent-like government of Earth, whose representatives seemed to believe that the descendants of space pioneers – and the thousands who were emigrating to settle on Sirius 4 every year – were somehow not ready to make grownup choices.
(We had some interesting conversations as my training as a historian began to reveal to me that this smarter-than-you attitude was not just a trait of Earth’s government regarding Sirius 4; it’s an occupational hazard common through the ages to most who choose government as a career.)
Within months (weeks, really) of his entry into the Senate, Badiah had assembled a coalition of lawmakers who pressed the governor for negotiations intended to lead to greater autonomy – and eventually independence – for Sirius 4.
In hindsight it’s pretty clear that Mommy Earth was patronizing the coalition, sitting down with pretty words and a few simple reforms that gave our legislature a comfortable illusion of progress. The governor was still an appointee of Earth with veto power and a security force as backup.
But Badiah and his colleagues believed they had Earth’s ear. They believed that would be enough to make us free someday, and without the “need” for bloodshed.
I was all for that, of course. The focus of my studies had been on people who had made a difference on history without the use of violence. In recent Earth history Ramsey Sardonicus had won independence for a small landlocked nation called Colorado with his synthesis of the teachings of King, Thoreau and Gandhi. A campaign of noncooperation succeeded in gaining Colorado’s right to secede from Texas in a bloodless revolution. It was my hope that Badiah’s coalition would be able to do the same for an entire planet.
He certainly projected the confidence that it could be done, with his youthful good looks, that big confident smile, and the persuasiveness of his call to freedom. At least he persuaded many people on Sirius 4. It wasn’t until the Simmons incident that we understood how fully he had failed to persuade Mommy Earth.
Entry 17. First casualty
I love that man for where he led us. I believed he hated where he tried to take us after our triumph, but he had no faith in the alternative. When all you know is one way, it’s hard – perhaps impossible – to embrace another.
Let’s talk about the hero first – the boy senator, elected at age 19 with a wisdom beyond his years, president at 25.
My friend. One night Badi and I rode through a particularly rainy night mostly in silence while he stewed about the girl who had broken up with him because he was too intense too soon, and two years later he was Senator Sinclair. That made me a bit of a celebrity among my fellow sophomores at the University of Sirius 4 – the pacifist wacko whose best friend was the kid senator.
He shook up some of the older and more established senators with the fire of his belief in Sirian independence. It wasn’t the angry flame you might expect in someone our age, just a confident optimism that the people of Sirius 4 were best equipped to determine the course that Sirius 4 should be following. We all shared the same frustration in the intrusive, parent-like government of Earth, whose representatives seemed to believe that the descendants of space pioneers – and the thousands who were emigrating to settle on Sirius 4 every year – were somehow not ready to make grownup choices.
(We had some interesting conversations as my training as a historian began to reveal to me that this smarter-than-you attitude was not just a trait of Earth’s government regarding Sirius 4; it’s an occupational hazard common through the ages to most who choose government as a career.)
Within months (weeks, really) of his entry into the Senate, Badiah had assembled a coalition of lawmakers who pressed the governor for negotiations intended to lead to greater autonomy – and eventually independence – for Sirius 4.
In hindsight it’s pretty clear that Mommy Earth was patronizing the coalition, sitting down with pretty words and a few simple reforms that gave our legislature a comfortable illusion of progress. The governor was still an appointee of Earth with veto power and a security force as backup.
But Badiah and his colleagues believed they had Earth’s ear. They believed that would be enough to make us free someday, and without the “need” for bloodshed.
I was all for that, of course. The focus of my studies had been on people who had made a difference on history without the use of violence. In recent Earth history Ramsey Sardonicus had won independence for a small landlocked nation called Colorado with his synthesis of the teachings of King, Thoreau and Gandhi. A campaign of noncooperation succeeded in gaining Colorado’s right to secede from Texas in a bloodless revolution. It was my hope that Badiah’s coalition would be able to do the same for an entire planet.
He certainly projected the confidence that it could be done, with his youthful good looks, that big confident smile, and the persuasiveness of his call to freedom. At least he persuaded many people on Sirius 4. It wasn’t until the Simmons incident that we understood how fully he had failed to persuade Mommy Earth.
Entry 17. First casualty
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Entry 15. A man and a thinker
The only way a person can travel through the valley of the shadow of death is if they understand there is always a mountain peak on the other side, a place worth going. The incident at Ganges Pass would have crushed us forever, and we would be today still grumbling about the tyrant Sinclair, if there was no vision of a better way of life. Hundreds that day envisioned that better way; many perished in its name; by insisting they would not die in vain, we persevered.
I have lived an interesting life; I have lived a routine and uninspired life. I have seen and performed amazing acts that still astonish me to think I was the one who saw and performed them. I have seen and performed despicable acts that defy common sense. I am, in short, no better and no different from anyone else.
I’m just a man and a thinker. I am surprised every time a woman or a man takes my hand and looks into my eyes to tell me how I have inspired them and what a great man I am. I know much good has happened in the name of freedom because I offered my little insights, but those people who heard those thoughts and took them to heart and acted – they are where the greatness lies. The first person who held back the urge to beat his neighbor over the head and take his corn crop, who instead offered to trade his beans, or to repair his neighbor’s tractor, in exchange for some corn – that is the hero. The first person who held up his shield to defend himself against the killing blow, and responded not with a killing blow of his own, but with love – that is the greatness. Those people who refused to participate in the tyranny and were cut down like slaughtered sheep – they paved the way for those of us who refused to participate in the tyranny and, in so doing, drained the tyrant of his power.
Maybe it makes sense for the remembered joy to compete with the memory of agony for my attention as I compose this. I love my wife with an intensity as bright and as deep as the pain of losing friends – and strangers – whose passions my words ignited. A life well lived has much pain and much joy, apparently in equal measures.
As I take my red-haired companion in my arms and we shelter each other from the night, I imagine demons whispering, “You don’t deserve this,” and the spirits of the 35 whispering, “This serenity we purchased for you; savor it.”
Entry 16. The kid senator
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Entry 14
Thirty-five dead. Thirty-five lives. Thirty-five varied collections of hopes, dreams, triumphs, disappointments. Thirty-five stories. Countless grieving friends and family members.
And I understood the power of rage. Nearly my entire being wanted to find a weapon – any weapon, a stick or a rock would do fine – find my oldest and dearest friend, good old Badi, strike him in the head, again and again, keep striking until there was nothing left but a bloody, dead mass.
Somewhere, deep down, I knew that if I did that, 35 lives would be wasted. And Badiah would die knowing that he had won.
My only choice was to forgive the unforgiveable, to fight through the rage and give more than I receive. Not give back more death than I received – give more of what I fight with than any purveyor of death can possibly resist.
The time when loving your neighbor is most important is when there is every reason not to love.
Entry 15. A man and a thinker
And I understood the power of rage. Nearly my entire being wanted to find a weapon – any weapon, a stick or a rock would do fine – find my oldest and dearest friend, good old Badi, strike him in the head, again and again, keep striking until there was nothing left but a bloody, dead mass.
Somewhere, deep down, I knew that if I did that, 35 lives would be wasted. And Badiah would die knowing that he had won.
My only choice was to forgive the unforgiveable, to fight through the rage and give more than I receive. Not give back more death than I received – give more of what I fight with than any purveyor of death can possibly resist.
The time when loving your neighbor is most important is when there is every reason not to love.
Entry 15. A man and a thinker
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Entry 13. After class
I don’t remember much of the rest of the roll call from the day Buffalo Springsteen first appeared in my class, except that the boy who made fun of Buffalo’s name turned out to be named Carson McGillicudy, so I guess he knew something about lightening up over his parents’ naming decisions. In fact the laugh over his name was bigger than the one over hers, given the circumstances.
The dustup between Carson and Buffalo gave me a good opportunity to segue into the class themes.
“Now we had a little incident here a minute ago, and before I get into the syllabus, I’m going to use it as what we educator types like to call a teaching moment,” I told the class. “Buffalo here had a difference of opinion with young Mr. McGillicudy, and she chose not to use diplomacy in resolving those differences.
“I’m going to make the proposition that Buffalo Springsteen accomplished nothing by going after poor Carson here physically. No, actually, I’m going to say that she produced exactly the opposite of what she hoped to accomplish. What do you think, McGillicudy?”
“I don’t know, Dr. Kaliber,” Carson replied ruefully. “I don’t think I’m ever going to call her Buffy again.” We all laughed at that.
“Yes, but here’s the most important thing about that — did she change your mind about whether ‘Buffy’ is an appropriate nickname for someone named Buffalo?”
“No, of course not.”
“You’ve got it precisely correct,” I said. “She didn’t change your beliefs in any way, shape or form — in fact, I believe even after she did her best to persuade you, you used the word ‘psycho.’” Even she smiled.
I went on to mention a quote from Thoreau's Resistance to Civil Government — the one about how the state “is not armed with superior wit or honesty, but with superior strength.” I outlined my core belief that people will use force to win an argument, especially when they have a government at their command, but they don’t actually ever win the argument.
“My point is that violence might force people to change their behavior, but it can’t change their minds,” he said. “The most brutal regimes in the history of humanity have all faded to dust eventually, because you can’t brutalize an idea out of existence.”
“Hang on a second,” McGillicudy persisted. “A lot of those brutal regimes were overthrown violently. I mean, how else do you get rid of violent oppression if not by violence?”
“Good question. That’s a big chunk of the syllabus, and we’ll get into that in depth as we go along. For now, let me suggest that you recognize the names of Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King faster than the names of Nathuram Godse or James Earl Ray. The names of the men who fought for freedom without raising a hand in violence live on in our memories more than the names of their assassins.”
“We remember Hitler and Raynoldizon, too,” Buffalo interjected.
“True,” I sighed, “but we sure don’t admire them the way we do Gandhi or King or Thoreau. No one wants a Hitler or Raynoldizon in charge — in fact, the nastiest insults politicians usually throw at each other are comparisons to tyrants like that. They never shake their fist and say, ‘My opponent is just like Gandhi.’ Tyrants are the bad example; nonviolent resistance is the good example.
“I’m off on a tangent. My point is simply that you can force Carson not to call you by a nickname, but you can’t force him to change his mind. Changing minds is a more complicated process. That’s why so often you’ll find that a violent revolution only results in a new violent regime, sometimes more violent than the old one.”
I’d like to say I was bold enough to stop Buffalo Springsteen after class that first day and launch into what now seems to be an inevitable courtship, but truth be known, it was a week or two into the semester that I caught up with her as she walked purposefully across the campus – she always walked as if she knew exactly where she was going.
We exchanged greetings and small pleasantries, and then I came to the point.
“Buffalo, it’s extremely inappropriate for me to ask given our teacher-student relationship, but –”
“I’d love to.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re asking me out, right?” she said with the hint of a smile, a shake of her flaming red hair and a twinkle in those remarkable sea-green eyes. “I’d love to.”
We worked out a time and place to meet for coffee the next afternoon, then she leaned up, brushed my cheek with her lips, said “See you then,” and glided away, looking back once more to share that knee-buckling twinkle.
Entry 14
Monday, June 18, 2012
Entry 12. They all ended up dead
I was between my sophomore and junior years in college, and my childhood friend Badiah Sinclair had already begun to make his name as one of the youngest people ever to be elected to the legislature. He had won on the strength of his persuasive passion for an independent Sirius 4, and his faction succeeded in getting a meeting with the governor and a representative of Earth to negotiate the possibilities.
As college friends do, a group of us were debating the issues of the day while well stocked with beer. And as college students, we were filled not just with brewskis but with ourselves, confident that we were the most insightful observers of the human condition ever to connect two dots.
The independence talks were the main news of the day, and we naturally all had opinions about it. Ralph Emerson was sure they would fail and glad of it – he thought we were still too small a colony to survive as a unified people. Nate Maples was for independence but convinced it could not be won without a war. I was knee-deep in my studies of nonviolence and believed lasting freedom could be won without bloodshed. Ed Raven didn’t believe much of anything; he got his pleasure in finding the flaws to shoot down everyone’s beliefs.
“What, you never heard of Liechtenstein? or Andorra? They did OK,” Ed teased Ralph in one of his weaker efforts.
“Those are little countries on Earth, moron,” Ralph replied. “I’m talking about a whole planet with barely more than a half-million million people trying to stand on their own against the universe.”
“Why does it have to be ‘against’ the universe?” I jumped in. “Civilization advances faster and farther when we’re not blowing each other up or slicing and dicing people.”
“You really think Earth is going to give up Sirius 4 without a fight?” Nate said. “We have the natural resources to sustain ourselves, including every scarce and precious commodity that Earth is afraid will run out soon. They’re not going to let go unless we cut off their grabby little hands and make it deadly to challenge us.”
“I thought I wasn’t free because I had no gloves, so I beat up a guy who had no hands,” Ed intoned as if he was quoting some famous proverb. Clearly the beer was winning its war against his brain cells.
“Violence just begets violence,” I said. “The best way to win a battle is by using your mind and soul, not your fists. Look at people like Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jesus, Ramsey Sardonicus –”
“They all got a lot of people killed,” Nate snapped back. “Oh, and one more little problem, Mr. Let’s Have Peace – they all ended up DEAD. All those people who said ‘I want to talk this out, I’m unarmed’? Somebody said ‘Good!’ and blew them away.”
For some reason everyone else found that hysterical. Even I had to laugh, although I don’t know why – must have been the brew.
“But they all won, Nate. Don’t you see that? Gandhi and Sardonicus won lasting independence for their countries, King got equality for his people, Jesus founded a whole religion –”
“More people have been killed in Jesus’ name than just about anyone in history,” Ralph said. I had no real answer for that one; I hadn’t met John Hemlock yet.
“Hey, it’s brilliant if you want to try winning wars without hurting anyone,” Nate said with a conciliatory tone. “I’m just saying don’t be surprised if somebody decides to blow you away for it.”
It was kind of a grim thought. Like Moses and the promised land, the leaders who led their people to a nonviolent solution often didn’t live to see their goal achieved.
“I guess that’s the price I’d have to pay,” I said as confidently as I could. I admit I wasn’t eager to march into martyrdom, but there was one positive about the idea. “It would be worth it.”
Entry 13. After class
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Entry 11. Preface
I've asked my editors to post this quote in the very front of the book when it finally gets published. Hopefully the reason will be obvious. — RDK
It is because peaceful agitation and passive resistance are, in Liberty’s hands, weapons more deadly to tyranny than any others that I uphold them, and it is because brute force strengthens tyranny that I condemn it.
War and authority are companions; peace and liberty are companions.
The methods and necessities of war involve arbitrary discipline and dictatorship. So-called “war measures” are almost always violations of rights.
Even war for liberty is sure to breed the spirit of authority, with aftereffects unforeseen and incalculable.
It is because peaceful agitation and passive resistance are, in Liberty’s hands, weapons more deadly to tyranny than any others that I uphold them, and it is because brute force strengthens tyranny that I condemn it.
War and authority are companions; peace and liberty are companions.
The methods and necessities of war involve arbitrary discipline and dictatorship. So-called “war measures” are almost always violations of rights.
Even war for liberty is sure to breed the spirit of authority, with aftereffects unforeseen and incalculable.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Entry 10
I’ve been told time and again that our nonviolent revolution could not, would not have succeeded under other circumstances. I remain convinced that it is the only form of revolution with any chance of permanent success.
Yes, some regimes are so brutal that passive resistance would take years to succeed, in places where to resist means to risk one’s life. Sadly, we learned that even in comparatively civilized places nonviolent civil disobedience can get you killed.
Everyone agreed that life was not the way it ought to be under our old governor.
The fruits of our labor were seized and much of them were sent back to Earth or mined for other colonies in other solar systems.
Rules that had been developed to ensure survival in a primitive environment were never relaxed after the environment had been civilized and we knew we were going to live.
Regulations were piled upon regulations until we had no right to make any use of our own property without the approval of some representative of Earth government.
The taxes we paid to the governor’s office amounted to more than the measure of our compensation left over for our own needs and wants.
Yes, we all agreed that we were in a state of slavery to a government far, far away. Where we disagreed was in how to throw off the shackles.
Once I had had a taste of blood, I never went back. That’s my whole story. If I had never been exposed to the thinking of Mohandas Gandhi, Henry David Thoreau, Jesus, Martin Luther King Jr. or Ramsey Sardonicus, I would have spent the rest of my life developing my own philosophy of solving challenges without forcing other people to do my will.
Insisting that coercion not be part of the equation is not easy. Insisting that in a kill-or-be-killed situation there must be a third alternative is downright dangerous. Insisting that your mortal enemy must live is very hard. But the alternative is the endless cycle of death and destruction that has plagued humanity from its earliest days.
The good news is that I was indeed exposed to the thinking of those masters of nonviolence and passive resistance, so I didn’t have to make up the idea from scratch. Who is Ray Kaliber, after all? If I could quote wisdom from 200, 400 or 2,500 years ago, my suggestions would have more weight.
Entry 11. Preface
Yes, some regimes are so brutal that passive resistance would take years to succeed, in places where to resist means to risk one’s life. Sadly, we learned that even in comparatively civilized places nonviolent civil disobedience can get you killed.
Everyone agreed that life was not the way it ought to be under our old governor.
The fruits of our labor were seized and much of them were sent back to Earth or mined for other colonies in other solar systems.
Rules that had been developed to ensure survival in a primitive environment were never relaxed after the environment had been civilized and we knew we were going to live.
Regulations were piled upon regulations until we had no right to make any use of our own property without the approval of some representative of Earth government.
The taxes we paid to the governor’s office amounted to more than the measure of our compensation left over for our own needs and wants.
Yes, we all agreed that we were in a state of slavery to a government far, far away. Where we disagreed was in how to throw off the shackles.
Once I had had a taste of blood, I never went back. That’s my whole story. If I had never been exposed to the thinking of Mohandas Gandhi, Henry David Thoreau, Jesus, Martin Luther King Jr. or Ramsey Sardonicus, I would have spent the rest of my life developing my own philosophy of solving challenges without forcing other people to do my will.
Insisting that coercion not be part of the equation is not easy. Insisting that in a kill-or-be-killed situation there must be a third alternative is downright dangerous. Insisting that your mortal enemy must live is very hard. But the alternative is the endless cycle of death and destruction that has plagued humanity from its earliest days.
The good news is that I was indeed exposed to the thinking of those masters of nonviolence and passive resistance, so I didn’t have to make up the idea from scratch. Who is Ray Kaliber, after all? If I could quote wisdom from 200, 400 or 2,500 years ago, my suggestions would have more weight.
Entry 11. Preface
Friday, June 15, 2012
Entry 9. Tenets
As long as we’re getting the basics out of the way, let’s talk about my Tenets of Common Wealth. Truth be known, I based them on the Tenets of Imaginary Physics – three short statements that sum up all you need to know about the way the universe works.
1. The power of the imagination is unlimited.
2. Matter still can’t be created or destroyed.
3. What’s done is done.
In my studies of history and nonviolent cooperation, I boiled down my philosophy into three short statements that sum up all you need to know about a successful peace. To make the analogy downright obvious, I named them the Tenets of Common Wealth.
1. Love your neighbor as yourself.
2. Interact with love — not force or violence.
3. Give more than you receive.
We’ll get into more detail as we go along, but everything I have said and done, and everything that led to this experiment that became the Commonwealth of Sirius 4, pretty much boils down to those three tenets.
Entry 10
1. The power of the imagination is unlimited.
2. Matter still can’t be created or destroyed.
3. What’s done is done.
In my studies of history and nonviolent cooperation, I boiled down my philosophy into three short statements that sum up all you need to know about a successful peace. To make the analogy downright obvious, I named them the Tenets of Common Wealth.
1. Love your neighbor as yourself.
2. Interact with love — not force or violence.
3. Give more than you receive.
We’ll get into more detail as we go along, but everything I have said and done, and everything that led to this experiment that became the Commonwealth of Sirius 4, pretty much boils down to those three tenets.
Entry 10
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Entry 8. Time line
My editors tell me it’s OK for me to jump around in the timeline but that it would be helpful to write down the timeline for readers who are not familiar with the history of Sirius 4.
I wonder why anyone who is not familiar with the history of Sirius 4 would be interested in my memoirs, but I acknowledge their concern, and so here is a list of what I consider the key moments in our history, those that I likely will be writing about in coming months.
(stated in Sirius 4 Years, S4Y)
S4Y 0– Exploratory mission lands, establishes encampment.
S4Y 1 – Construction of first oxygen generator begins.
S4Y 3 – Oxygen generator becomes operational, first settlers begin to arrive.
S4Y 22 – Population of encampment hits 1,000. Construction of outside communities authorized.
S4Y 28 – On schedule, oxygen levels reach survival stage and people begin to move into outside communities. Settlements grow into small towns, small towns grow into small cities.
S4Y 113 – I am born, for what that’s worth.
S4Y 125 – "The cookie fight."
S4Y 135 – A growing independence movement begins to build a majority in the legislature. The group begins negotiations that include the governor and the Earth administration.
S4Y 137 – I accept an assistant professorship at the University of Sirius 4.
S4Y 138 – Negotiations with Earth break down, Sirius 4 declares its independence and the governor is exiled back to the home planet. Badiah Sinclair is elected president.
S4Y 139 – An insurgent force led by Walter Ellis and Linda Franco steals the ignition disk for a prototype imaginary bomb. In an encounter between Special Forces and another insurgent group, the previously secret bomb detonates, destroying Earth’s moon. In a televised transmission Walter reveals that the government intended to use the bomb to destroy Sirius 5 as a warning to the fourth planet from our sun. (EDITOR'S NOTE: Many years from now, this incident is fictionalized in a novel called The Imaginary Bomb. Although it contains some historical inaccuracies, it is considered a pleasant diversion for fans of the early Imaginary Era.)
S4Y 140 – I meet Buffalo. Not long after, an invasion force arrives from Earth to put down the independence movement, sparking what we now know as the Imaginary Revolution.
S4Y 142 – After a series of violent clashes, the revolution is won, and Badiah Sinclair is re-elected.
S4Y 143 – Sinclair implements The Austerity Initiative, a series of regulations intended to shore up the economy and “temporarily” reinstitute some of the more onerous Earth-imposed restrictions on freedom.
S4Y 144 – With many folks advocating another violent rebellion, I do my best to convince people to take another tack.
S4Y 145 – At the height of the passive protests, Badi orders troops to open fire into a crowd. Thirty-five die, and I am arrested. The government topples on the day my trial was scheduled to begin.
S4Y 146 – During the debate over a new government, I pose the question of whether we need a government.
S4Y 147 – Commonwealth of Sirius 4 established. Not long afterward, I had a perhaps inevitable encounter along the Sanfte River with a certain man who, ironically enough, would become as loyal a friend as I have ever had, considering.
Since 147, we have had our share of challenges but, I admit to some pride in saying, the commonwealth survives and thrives.
Entry 9. Tenets
I wonder why anyone who is not familiar with the history of Sirius 4 would be interested in my memoirs, but I acknowledge their concern, and so here is a list of what I consider the key moments in our history, those that I likely will be writing about in coming months.
(stated in Sirius 4 Years, S4Y)
S4Y 0– Exploratory mission lands, establishes encampment.
S4Y 1 – Construction of first oxygen generator begins.
S4Y 3 – Oxygen generator becomes operational, first settlers begin to arrive.
S4Y 22 – Population of encampment hits 1,000. Construction of outside communities authorized.
S4Y 28 – On schedule, oxygen levels reach survival stage and people begin to move into outside communities. Settlements grow into small towns, small towns grow into small cities.
S4Y 113 – I am born, for what that’s worth.
S4Y 125 – "The cookie fight."
S4Y 135 – A growing independence movement begins to build a majority in the legislature. The group begins negotiations that include the governor and the Earth administration.
S4Y 137 – I accept an assistant professorship at the University of Sirius 4.
S4Y 138 – Negotiations with Earth break down, Sirius 4 declares its independence and the governor is exiled back to the home planet. Badiah Sinclair is elected president.
S4Y 139 – An insurgent force led by Walter Ellis and Linda Franco steals the ignition disk for a prototype imaginary bomb. In an encounter between Special Forces and another insurgent group, the previously secret bomb detonates, destroying Earth’s moon. In a televised transmission Walter reveals that the government intended to use the bomb to destroy Sirius 5 as a warning to the fourth planet from our sun. (EDITOR'S NOTE: Many years from now, this incident is fictionalized in a novel called The Imaginary Bomb. Although it contains some historical inaccuracies, it is considered a pleasant diversion for fans of the early Imaginary Era.)
S4Y 140 – I meet Buffalo. Not long after, an invasion force arrives from Earth to put down the independence movement, sparking what we now know as the Imaginary Revolution.
S4Y 142 – After a series of violent clashes, the revolution is won, and Badiah Sinclair is re-elected.
S4Y 143 – Sinclair implements The Austerity Initiative, a series of regulations intended to shore up the economy and “temporarily” reinstitute some of the more onerous Earth-imposed restrictions on freedom.
S4Y 144 – With many folks advocating another violent rebellion, I do my best to convince people to take another tack.
S4Y 145 – At the height of the passive protests, Badi orders troops to open fire into a crowd. Thirty-five die, and I am arrested. The government topples on the day my trial was scheduled to begin.
S4Y 146 – During the debate over a new government, I pose the question of whether we need a government.
S4Y 147 – Commonwealth of Sirius 4 established. Not long afterward, I had a perhaps inevitable encounter along the Sanfte River with a certain man who, ironically enough, would become as loyal a friend as I have ever had, considering.
Since 147, we have had our share of challenges but, I admit to some pride in saying, the commonwealth survives and thrives.
Entry 9. Tenets
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Entry 7
It was the moment I first realized we had a chance to make this happen. It was the moment when it struck me what exactly John Hemlock was trying to tell me. Truth be known, my first reaction was shock.
“I’m not asking you to die for me, Johnny,” I said to him. “I would never ask you to die for me.”
He looked down at me with those soft brown eyes that clashed with his massive body.
“I know, Ray,” he rasped quietly. “But I’m offering.”
Shock, at first. Then an enormous humility. And, after a few more moments, a hope as deep as I've ever known.
Entry 8. Time line
“I’m not asking you to die for me, Johnny,” I said to him. “I would never ask you to die for me.”
He looked down at me with those soft brown eyes that clashed with his massive body.
“I know, Ray,” he rasped quietly. “But I’m offering.”
Shock, at first. Then an enormous humility. And, after a few more moments, a hope as deep as I've ever known.
Entry 8. Time line
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Entry 6. Buffalo Springsteen
Truth be known, I don’t know why she doesn’t like the nickname “Buffy.” I have always associated that name with women who will do what it takes – assertive women who inspire loyalty, whose friends will go through hell for them. But she clearly doesn’t share that impression.
As a young college professor I admit you’d have to be dead not to notice the beautiful young women who passed through my classroom. Sometimes that beauty arouses a passing fantasy, but it never occurred to me to act on the attraction until Buffalo Springsteen took her place at a desk.
It was the first day of the semester in S4Y 140, and I was going through the roll. I don’t care to do things in alphabetical order – go figure! – so the third or fourth name I picked was near the end of the alphabet.
“Buffalo Springsteen?”
“Here.”
Now, others who have written about that moment – because it has achieved some place in history now – say that I paused because I was surprised to see the name belonged to a woman. Well, that’s not true, because the screen clearly said “Springsteen, Buffalo – F,” so I knew to expect a female voice.
What I didn’t expect was to have my breath taken away by the face that owned the name. The sea-green eyes, the flaming red hair, the lips that, well, any man would willingly kiss those lips with just the slightest hint of permission from those eyes. And everything south of those lips fit the societal norm of what makes a woman desirable.
So yes, I paused, but it was because I didn’t expect to be filled just that moment with an nearly uncontrollable need. You don’t know how thankful I am that this woman who hit my “lust” button at first sight turned out to be the love of my life.
“Do you go by Buffy?” I inquired, innocently enough. Now, that was the wrong question, and the suddenly seething look on her face told me pretty much right away just how wrong the question was.
“No. I prefer Buffalo,” she said in a tone intended to close the issue once and for all. There was a titter or two among the other students.
“That’s an interesting name for an attractive woman, if you don’t mind my saying so,” I said, bypassing my usual self-censor.
“Thank you,” she said, looking a bit flustered by the “attractive woman” reference. “Some people think my parents were crazy, but I’m proud of the name just as it is.”
“Really.”
“Really,” she said, starting to sound irritated again. “The buffalo is a strong and noble animal, a force to be reckoned with. I like being called ‘Buffalo.’”
“All right, then, Buffalo it is,” I said, and that would have been that, except —
“Oh, come on, ‘Buffy,’ lighten up,” said a male student nearby — near enough that it wasn’t particularly hard for Buffalo to reach out, grab him by the front of the shirt, and draw him so close that the only thing in his field of vision was an astonishingly gorgeous face that a man would die to see that close if it weren’t twisted into such an extremely vicious snarl.
“I really can’t emphasize this strongly enough,” she hissed with polite menace. “Don’t — call — me — Buffy.”
“Hey now, hey, hey,” I strode over and pulled on their shoulders to separate the two students gently. “OK, Ms. Springsteen, you’ve made your point. Let’s have a little more decorum.”
“Jeez, what a psycho,” said the young man, which caused the passionate young woman to lurch in his direction again. Fortunately for him, my hand was lingering on her shoulder and I could pull her back, so she was unable to complete the lurch. She flushed almost as if it felt nice having my hand there. Truth be known, I wasn’t in a hurry to let go.
“I think you’re a little more thin-skinned than you need to be,” I said as I resumed my place in the center of the class. “But I do promise to call you Buffalo, when I’m not calling you Ms. Springsteen.”
By the end of that first class, I had a pretty firm idea who would be spending the rest of her life with me – if this noble, powerful force of nature would allow it.
The great-great-great-something-son of a musical legend had met the great-great-great-something-granddaughter of a musical legend, and they made a baby girl. The name is an homage to their ancestors’ legacy. Not the choice I would have made, perhaps. But she loves her name.
Entry 7
Monday, June 11, 2012
Entry 5. That word ‘commonwealth’
Words are tricky. When I tried to describe how I believed we should progress moving forward, people kept trying to apply words that had centuries of baggage attached. They asked: Will this be a democracy? A republic? What do we call this? And all of the words we've used before seemed inadequate.
The word anarchy, especially, was adopted from the beginning by assassins and the like, people who used violence to attempt to overturn or otherwise throw a monkey wrench into the works of government.
In its original sense, of course, the word was perfect, rooted in the Greek anarkhia, which means “lack of a leader, the state of people without a government.” It need not take violence to convince people to live together, as we proved. In its most basic sense, a government is an instrument of force, and in its original sense the word anarchy means the absence of that force.
But after all these years, declaring that Sirius 4 would be an anarchy would have suggested to many people that we were writing the description of our new society in blood, even after all that happened to reach this point. And in any case we needed to find a word that meant more than the lack of something, even as positive a development as building a world without the tyranny that inevitably is government.
Most likely the best result would have been coining a new word, but when embarking on new paths people take some comfort in an echo of the familiar. And so I landed on “commonwealth.” Yes, many governments have assumed that title over the years, but I meant the word in a different sense.
A free world is a wealthy world, and we have a common access to that wealth, guided by the principle that no one has the right, under any circumstances, to initiate force against another human being, or to advocate or delegate the initiation of force. Thus, “the common wealth of Sirius 4.”
Of course, commonwealth is still imprecise because of the baggage attached to that word “common.” Someone no doubt will eventually argue that for the “common good,” we all must be forced to take some action. No: The person who is coerced to do something remains unconvinced.
In turning down a title or an office – and in pointing out that no one need hold a title or an office for this to work – I tried to clarify that this commonwealth is not a state, and that anyone may take a leadership role for any project so long as its implementation doesn’t involve coercion.
Humans have been accomplishing great things over the years by convincing each other to do great things together. I proposed that we leave each other alone to do great things without forcing anyone to follow our path, each of us free to live our lives as long as we don’t infringe on our neighbors’ freedom.
It’s an easy concept that takes some getting used to, after centuries of the other. But it’s working out so far.
Entry 6. Buffalo Springsteen
The word anarchy, especially, was adopted from the beginning by assassins and the like, people who used violence to attempt to overturn or otherwise throw a monkey wrench into the works of government.
In its original sense, of course, the word was perfect, rooted in the Greek anarkhia, which means “lack of a leader, the state of people without a government.” It need not take violence to convince people to live together, as we proved. In its most basic sense, a government is an instrument of force, and in its original sense the word anarchy means the absence of that force.
But after all these years, declaring that Sirius 4 would be an anarchy would have suggested to many people that we were writing the description of our new society in blood, even after all that happened to reach this point. And in any case we needed to find a word that meant more than the lack of something, even as positive a development as building a world without the tyranny that inevitably is government.
Most likely the best result would have been coining a new word, but when embarking on new paths people take some comfort in an echo of the familiar. And so I landed on “commonwealth.” Yes, many governments have assumed that title over the years, but I meant the word in a different sense.
A free world is a wealthy world, and we have a common access to that wealth, guided by the principle that no one has the right, under any circumstances, to initiate force against another human being, or to advocate or delegate the initiation of force. Thus, “the common wealth of Sirius 4.”
Of course, commonwealth is still imprecise because of the baggage attached to that word “common.” Someone no doubt will eventually argue that for the “common good,” we all must be forced to take some action. No: The person who is coerced to do something remains unconvinced.
In turning down a title or an office – and in pointing out that no one need hold a title or an office for this to work – I tried to clarify that this commonwealth is not a state, and that anyone may take a leadership role for any project so long as its implementation doesn’t involve coercion.
Humans have been accomplishing great things over the years by convincing each other to do great things together. I proposed that we leave each other alone to do great things without forcing anyone to follow our path, each of us free to live our lives as long as we don’t infringe on our neighbors’ freedom.
It’s an easy concept that takes some getting used to, after centuries of the other. But it’s working out so far.
Entry 6. Buffalo Springsteen
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Entry 4
Somewhere near our core is a violent impulse, and so there will always be men and women who choose force to get their way.
But at our very deepest place, we mean no harm to others. Our deepest and highest impulse is to peace – to leave others alone and to be left alone to enjoy this life, this world, this universe.
Perhaps here, perhaps now, we may build on this world a commonwealth where all have so much plenty that none have the urge to take lives and property by violence.
Entry 5. That word 'commonwealth'
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Entry 3. The cookie fight
Other than perhaps being shot, the worst I ever felt was after I inflicted pain on someone else.
I was on my way home from the store with a container of cookies. You know those huge chocolate chip cookies bakeries make, the ones that are so sweet and just a little crunchy and the chocolate chips kind of explode in your mouth? Yes, those cookies. I had bought a sixpack of them and was walking home along one of the main corridors to share them with my family.
“Hey, are those cookies?” Badi asked after the usual kid pleasantries were exchanged.
“Yeah,” I said, prying open the plastic. “You want one?”
“Absolutely.” And then, after a few bites, “We need to share these with the guys.”
“Can’t, sorry, I told my sister I’d bring her a couple, and the others are for Mom and Dad.”
“Screw that, the guys need them more,” Badi said calmly enough.
“No, they don’t,” I replied firmly. “I bought these for my family.”
I figured that would be that, but then he said, “Your family can have cookies anytime, the guys can’t. It would be a treat for them.”
“They’ll be a treat for my family, too,” I said. “And anyway, they’re my cookies. I bought them with my money. I decide who gets ‘em.”
This is when it got weird. And sad.
“Don’t be so selfish, you little jerk, just give them to me,” he said, and he gave me a good shove.
When I still didn’t hand over the cookies, he made a fist and slugged me. Then he slugged me again, and again.
“What are you doing, Badi?”
“Teaching you a lesson about being selfish,” and he knocked the box of cookies to the floor.
That’s when the little light went on behind my eyes – “light” might be the wrong word, but I do remember light and heat and pressure and something scary powerful inside me trying to explode.
And then it exploded.
I swung as hard as I could and cracked him behind the ear with my closed fist. He put his hand to the side of his head in surprise, and I planted my fist as hard as I could into his stomach.
He crumpled to the ground and I climbed on his chest, put my knees on either side of his ribs, and started wailing the tar out of his head. Now it was his turn to put his hands up in defense, but I slapped them aside and kept hitting.
Where my mother came from, I don’t really recall, but when she peeled me off Badi I still wasn’t finished. While she was pulling on my left hand, I got in one last poke, pounding Badi’s vulnerable stomach as he lay prone on his back, feeling some savage glee in the way the blow made his body twitch up like a wounded deer that had been shot in the head.
“Ray! What is wrong with you?” Mom said, making me sit down while she tended to Badi and make sure he wasn’t seriously hurt.
“He tried to steal my cookies!” I said sullenly. I don’t remember exactly what she said in reply, except that she took away the cookies altogether.
I didn’t mind that she took them; I was no longer interested in sweet treats anyway. Looking at my friend flat on the ground sobbing and gasping for air, I couldn’t do anything but stare ahead, too ashamed to apologize, aghast at the harm I would inflict on someone I loved.
Badi thought I was looking so serious because my mother had upbraided me.
“You should have just shared the cookies,” he whispered. Getting pummeled hadn’t changed his mind.
Although I made no conscious decisions in those moments, I can trace back to that incident some of my core understandings. Although I won back the cookies, Badiah never wavered in his belief that he had the right to decide for someone else what was “necessary for the greater good.” So in a grim way I feel some responsibility for what he became.
For my part I realized that violence accomplishes nothing; his mind was not changed in the slightest.
I developed a resolve that if ever again I had such a serious disagreement with my friend – or with any other man or woman, for that matter – I would try to convince them by any means except for imposing my will through the use of force. I learned that day – and Badi learned again and again as time went on – violence only leads to more violence. I would seek a different solution.
Entry 4
I was on my way home from the store with a container of cookies. You know those huge chocolate chip cookies bakeries make, the ones that are so sweet and just a little crunchy and the chocolate chips kind of explode in your mouth? Yes, those cookies. I had bought a sixpack of them and was walking home along one of the main corridors to share them with my family.
“Hey, are those cookies?” Badi asked after the usual kid pleasantries were exchanged.
“Yeah,” I said, prying open the plastic. “You want one?”
“Absolutely.” And then, after a few bites, “We need to share these with the guys.”
“Can’t, sorry, I told my sister I’d bring her a couple, and the others are for Mom and Dad.”
“Screw that, the guys need them more,” Badi said calmly enough.
“No, they don’t,” I replied firmly. “I bought these for my family.”
I figured that would be that, but then he said, “Your family can have cookies anytime, the guys can’t. It would be a treat for them.”
“They’ll be a treat for my family, too,” I said. “And anyway, they’re my cookies. I bought them with my money. I decide who gets ‘em.”
This is when it got weird. And sad.
“Don’t be so selfish, you little jerk, just give them to me,” he said, and he gave me a good shove.
When I still didn’t hand over the cookies, he made a fist and slugged me. Then he slugged me again, and again.
“What are you doing, Badi?”
“Teaching you a lesson about being selfish,” and he knocked the box of cookies to the floor.
That’s when the little light went on behind my eyes – “light” might be the wrong word, but I do remember light and heat and pressure and something scary powerful inside me trying to explode.
And then it exploded.
I swung as hard as I could and cracked him behind the ear with my closed fist. He put his hand to the side of his head in surprise, and I planted my fist as hard as I could into his stomach.
He crumpled to the ground and I climbed on his chest, put my knees on either side of his ribs, and started wailing the tar out of his head. Now it was his turn to put his hands up in defense, but I slapped them aside and kept hitting.
Where my mother came from, I don’t really recall, but when she peeled me off Badi I still wasn’t finished. While she was pulling on my left hand, I got in one last poke, pounding Badi’s vulnerable stomach as he lay prone on his back, feeling some savage glee in the way the blow made his body twitch up like a wounded deer that had been shot in the head.
“Ray! What is wrong with you?” Mom said, making me sit down while she tended to Badi and make sure he wasn’t seriously hurt.
“He tried to steal my cookies!” I said sullenly. I don’t remember exactly what she said in reply, except that she took away the cookies altogether.
I didn’t mind that she took them; I was no longer interested in sweet treats anyway. Looking at my friend flat on the ground sobbing and gasping for air, I couldn’t do anything but stare ahead, too ashamed to apologize, aghast at the harm I would inflict on someone I loved.
Badi thought I was looking so serious because my mother had upbraided me.
“You should have just shared the cookies,” he whispered. Getting pummeled hadn’t changed his mind.
Although I made no conscious decisions in those moments, I can trace back to that incident some of my core understandings. Although I won back the cookies, Badiah never wavered in his belief that he had the right to decide for someone else what was “necessary for the greater good.” So in a grim way I feel some responsibility for what he became.
For my part I realized that violence accomplishes nothing; his mind was not changed in the slightest.
I developed a resolve that if ever again I had such a serious disagreement with my friend – or with any other man or woman, for that matter – I would try to convince them by any means except for imposing my will through the use of force. I learned that day – and Badi learned again and again as time went on – violence only leads to more violence. I would seek a different solution.
Entry 4
Friday, June 8, 2012
Entry 2
Two centuries ago as the applications of imaginary physics began to roll out, they called it "the imaginary revolution." From magic boxes that turned a small cube of protein into a complete, fully cooked meal to the "rocket" ships that carried people to the moon in 12 seconds, this was the stuff not just of science fiction but of dreams.
On Sirius 4, of course, we learned another sense of the term. My friend Badiah Sinclair, the reluctant leader of what has come to be known as the Imaginary Revolution, was and is a good man who believed in independence for our world. I don't believe most of the bureaucrats who attempted to control us from Earth were really tyrants; I think they simply tried to run things the way things had always been run.
But we Sirians had a different view – I almost said a "new" view, but that's not quite accurate. From the day the human species was born, and from the day each and every one of us was born, our instinct is for freedom and the desire to follow our dreams. In that way Sirians are not different at all, but coming from pioneer stock we were more insistent about following our instinct.
Badiah was right to lead us to throw off our shackles, but he made the same mistake so many revolutionaries have made through the centuries. Faced with an often-violent tyranny, he chose to meet force with force, to reward theft and blood with theft and blood.
I tried to convince him that violence only begets violence, and that using the means of our adversaries to accomplish our objectives would only infect his thinking. How many nights have I had trouble sleeping, wishing I had been more persuasive. I could have spared my childhood friend the pain of being as reviled as the Earth tyrants, more so because he was one of us.
It took barely a year after Sirius 4 secured our independence from Earth that the words of a very old song about revolution began to whisper in my subconsciousness. The song rings of a new constitution and a return to halcyon times "just like yesterday," but it concludes, "Meet the new boss: Same as the old boss."
I am getting ahead of myself, I suppose. This is certainly not beginning at the beginning. There are rules about storytelling and memoirs. On the other hand, a classic work of 20th-century Earth literature begins with a quote from a man named Juan Ramón Jiménez: "If they give you ruled paper, write the other way."
Still, there is one incident I should mention, which occurred when Badiah and I were 12 years old, that I should mention at the beginning. So much of what I believe goes back to what I learned the day I beat the stuffing out of my best friend.
Entry 3. The cookie fight
On Sirius 4, of course, we learned another sense of the term. My friend Badiah Sinclair, the reluctant leader of what has come to be known as the Imaginary Revolution, was and is a good man who believed in independence for our world. I don't believe most of the bureaucrats who attempted to control us from Earth were really tyrants; I think they simply tried to run things the way things had always been run.
But we Sirians had a different view – I almost said a "new" view, but that's not quite accurate. From the day the human species was born, and from the day each and every one of us was born, our instinct is for freedom and the desire to follow our dreams. In that way Sirians are not different at all, but coming from pioneer stock we were more insistent about following our instinct.
Badiah was right to lead us to throw off our shackles, but he made the same mistake so many revolutionaries have made through the centuries. Faced with an often-violent tyranny, he chose to meet force with force, to reward theft and blood with theft and blood.
I tried to convince him that violence only begets violence, and that using the means of our adversaries to accomplish our objectives would only infect his thinking. How many nights have I had trouble sleeping, wishing I had been more persuasive. I could have spared my childhood friend the pain of being as reviled as the Earth tyrants, more so because he was one of us.
It took barely a year after Sirius 4 secured our independence from Earth that the words of a very old song about revolution began to whisper in my subconsciousness. The song rings of a new constitution and a return to halcyon times "just like yesterday," but it concludes, "Meet the new boss: Same as the old boss."
I am getting ahead of myself, I suppose. This is certainly not beginning at the beginning. There are rules about storytelling and memoirs. On the other hand, a classic work of 20th-century Earth literature begins with a quote from a man named Juan Ramón Jiménez: "If they give you ruled paper, write the other way."
Still, there is one incident I should mention, which occurred when Badiah and I were 12 years old, that I should mention at the beginning. So much of what I believe goes back to what I learned the day I beat the stuffing out of my best friend.
Entry 3. The cookie fight
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Entry 1
I always thought war was stupid.
I mean, think about it. You and your adversary disagree about something, and the solution is to send your citizens to fight each other to the death?
You’re never going to succeed in killing each and every one of your adversary’s citizens, so even if you win, there are thousands of people who still believe in whatever it was you were trying to obliterate.
You can’t kill an idea.
Entry 2
I mean, think about it. You and your adversary disagree about something, and the solution is to send your citizens to fight each other to the death?
You’re never going to succeed in killing each and every one of your adversary’s citizens, so even if you win, there are thousands of people who still believe in whatever it was you were trying to obliterate.
You can’t kill an idea.
Entry 2
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)