(Editor's note: This entry fits between entries 76 and 77.)
Badiah Sinclair called me the night before the Ganges Pass demonstration.
“This thing they’re going to do, you have to help me talk them out of it, Ray. I need your help,” Badi said.
“It’s a little late for that, Badi, they have to do what they have to do,” I replied. “You don’t give people their hope back and then jerk it away again arbitrarily.”
“This isn’t arbitrary. You don’t understand – ImagCorp could destroy Sirius 4’s entire economy if it withdraws all of its licenses.”
“Why don’t we withdraw? What if we refuse to play by their rules anymore? Will they really risk losing an entire planet’s worth of business?”
“You say ‘an entire planet’ as if our population is equivalent to Earth’s, or even Barnard’s Star. The risk is on our side. I can’t allow people into that facility.”
In hindsight I should have listened less to what Badiah Sinclair said and more to the tremor in his voice and the anxiety in his eyes. But his words were defiant, and I matched him word for word.
“You can’t allow this to happen? It’s out of your hands. You’re going to have to arrest us all.”
“Ray, please, I’m begging you, don’t force the issue.”
“Sorry, old friend. The issue is forced. I couldn’t talk the workers out of doing this if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.”
He still seemed to be trying to form the right words when I broke the connection.
Showing posts with label Ganges Pass. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ganges Pass. Show all posts
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Entry 80. Once a beautiful face
“Freeze it there.”
I didn’t really want to see it, but I wanted to freeze the recording there, an instant after the bullet struck Jaklyn Sanders in the bridge of her nose – just to confirm that it was a precision, carefully targeted shot.
The image was macabre. It was still clear that she was a beautiful woman – the bright and intelligent eyes, the high cheekbones, the carefully quaffed mane of hair – but those features were all out of place, like a jigsaw puzzle with the pieces broken apart but still close to each other. I couldn’t help but stare at her eyes, which still had a spark of light that was fading fast, one eye unnaturally an inch or two above the other and separated by a large, round, red hole with black around the edges.
One instant she was describing the sudden attack by government forces on unarmed protesters, and the next instant she was gone, simply gone.
“A shot like that, that’s a well-aimed shot,” I said. “Somebody took her out deliberately. This wasn’t random.” I sensed agreement around the room, but no one else spoke. They were all staring at the image, too, trying to make sense of the sight, their brains trying to re-assemble the face into its proper alignment.
The official story was that the officers had fired to defend themselves against an angry mob, that they just fired indiscriminately to drive off the rioters. I was charged with inciting the riot, never mind that it wasn’t an actual riot until the shots were fired.
But here was grisly but hard-to-dispute evidence that at least one shot wasn’t indiscriminate, and that particular shot happened to kill the reporter who was closest to the center of action, the reporter who could affirm to the world that the chaos and destruction was caused by the security force, not by the people who wanted nothing more than to go to work and to support the people who were reporting to their office.
My defense would depend on convincing a jury that my intentions were peaceful and nonviolent. At least, that was the strategy.
I didn’t really want to see it, but I wanted to freeze the recording there, an instant after the bullet struck Jaklyn Sanders in the bridge of her nose – just to confirm that it was a precision, carefully targeted shot.
The image was macabre. It was still clear that she was a beautiful woman – the bright and intelligent eyes, the high cheekbones, the carefully quaffed mane of hair – but those features were all out of place, like a jigsaw puzzle with the pieces broken apart but still close to each other. I couldn’t help but stare at her eyes, which still had a spark of light that was fading fast, one eye unnaturally an inch or two above the other and separated by a large, round, red hole with black around the edges.
One instant she was describing the sudden attack by government forces on unarmed protesters, and the next instant she was gone, simply gone.
“A shot like that, that’s a well-aimed shot,” I said. “Somebody took her out deliberately. This wasn’t random.” I sensed agreement around the room, but no one else spoke. They were all staring at the image, too, trying to make sense of the sight, their brains trying to re-assemble the face into its proper alignment.
The official story was that the officers had fired to defend themselves against an angry mob, that they just fired indiscriminately to drive off the rioters. I was charged with inciting the riot, never mind that it wasn’t an actual riot until the shots were fired.
But here was grisly but hard-to-dispute evidence that at least one shot wasn’t indiscriminate, and that particular shot happened to kill the reporter who was closest to the center of action, the reporter who could affirm to the world that the chaos and destruction was caused by the security force, not by the people who wanted nothing more than to go to work and to support the people who were reporting to their office.
My defense would depend on convincing a jury that my intentions were peaceful and nonviolent. At least, that was the strategy.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Entry 79. Fighting rage
The staccato firing of shots, the whine of lasers, and the smell of death.
John Hemlock holding himself just over us, palms down, arms on either side of me and Buffalo, head ducked.
Screams. Shouts. Someone shouting, “Cease fire! Cease fire!” from behind the lines. A thundering noise I believe was the sound of 5,000 people running in every direction. Moans of pain. Shrieks of agony. Higher-pitched screams as loved ones recognized the victims.
John holding his position as best as he could with dozens of people jostling past us. His body was bruised and scratched afterward, but he was committed to protecting us at any cost.
“Don’t worry about it,” he would say later when we gasped at his purple and blue arms and ribs. “Looked a lot worse after Super Bowl CCX.”
They knew we were unarmed; they knew we had pledged to take our stand without lifting a hand. They shot at us anyway, they wounded hundreds anway, they killed 35 of us anyway.
These were not cold-blooded killers, they were not Earthians shooting at strangers. They were our neighbors, and though I did not realize it at the time, that would make all the difference.
I did not hear about Washburne until much later, did not know that one of the shooters brushed a young woman’s brain matter off his uniform in horror, tossed down his weapon, and walked off.
“Washburne! Get back here and hold this line!” his commander barked.
“No, sir,” Washburne called over his shoulder. “I choose not to participate.”
I know now that at least a half-dozen other security officers followed Washburne off the field. At that moment, however, I had no idea. All I knew was that Badiah Sinclair had to have ordered this.
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.
And so I held Buffalo in my arms, and John Hemlock shielded the two of us, until officers came and told me I was under arrest.
“I am under arrest?” I said. “I am under arrest? For what?”
“Inciting a riot,” said the commanding officer, reading from a document. Yes, they had prepared the arrest warrant before the riot. They killed 35 people and brought me into custody, and it was all part of a plan. Those who’d laid down their lives deserved better than the outrage that threatened to consume my heart.
So I swallowed my rage, took several deep breaths, and as lovingly as I could, I said, “All right. Take me where we’re going.”
Entry 80 - Once a beautiful face
John Hemlock holding himself just over us, palms down, arms on either side of me and Buffalo, head ducked.
Screams. Shouts. Someone shouting, “Cease fire! Cease fire!” from behind the lines. A thundering noise I believe was the sound of 5,000 people running in every direction. Moans of pain. Shrieks of agony. Higher-pitched screams as loved ones recognized the victims.
John holding his position as best as he could with dozens of people jostling past us. His body was bruised and scratched afterward, but he was committed to protecting us at any cost.
“Don’t worry about it,” he would say later when we gasped at his purple and blue arms and ribs. “Looked a lot worse after Super Bowl CCX.”
They knew we were unarmed; they knew we had pledged to take our stand without lifting a hand. They shot at us anyway, they wounded hundreds anway, they killed 35 of us anyway.
These were not cold-blooded killers, they were not Earthians shooting at strangers. They were our neighbors, and though I did not realize it at the time, that would make all the difference.
I did not hear about Washburne until much later, did not know that one of the shooters brushed a young woman’s brain matter off his uniform in horror, tossed down his weapon, and walked off.
“Washburne! Get back here and hold this line!” his commander barked.
“No, sir,” Washburne called over his shoulder. “I choose not to participate.”
I know now that at least a half-dozen other security officers followed Washburne off the field. At that moment, however, I had no idea. All I knew was that Badiah Sinclair had to have ordered this.
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.
And so I held Buffalo in my arms, and John Hemlock shielded the two of us, until officers came and told me I was under arrest.
“I am under arrest?” I said. “I am under arrest? For what?”
“Inciting a riot,” said the commanding officer, reading from a document. Yes, they had prepared the arrest warrant before the riot. They killed 35 people and brought me into custody, and it was all part of a plan. Those who’d laid down their lives deserved better than the outrage that threatened to consume my heart.
So I swallowed my rage, took several deep breaths, and as lovingly as I could, I said, “All right. Take me where we’re going.”
Entry 80 - Once a beautiful face
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Entry 78. Thirty-five lives
Lon Weston, 56, kissed his wife on the cheek as he left for work that morning. He had spent his entire adult life dreaming of starting and running a business; Imaginary Structures was a dream come true.
Randy Derringer, 32, did not kiss his wife as he left that morning; in fact he felt badly about the selfish way he had acted. He planned to apologize when he came home that evening.
Mai Vang, 27, was planning her wedding. Her best friend was refusing to divulge any details about the bachelorette party except that she was supposed to bring a towel.
Camille Harper, 20, was still chattering to her best friend about what a terrific family reunion she had attended a few days earlier, reconnecting with cousins she hadn’t seen in years.
Stan Aziz, 63, was concerned that his grandson didn’t seem to have a plan for his life. Kids nowadays seem so aimless and uncaring about where their lives are going, he thought.
Phyllis Henderson, 49, had been Lon Weston’s personal secretary for 23 years. She and her husband vacationed every year at Lake Ptolemy.
Maureen Fisher, 22, was concerned about her great-grandmother’s failing health. She was planning to meet with her that night to suggest she move in as a full-time caretaker. She expected resistance from her feisty, independent Great-grandmama.
Snooky Wong, 33, had owned the first and most popular bar in the Proximi Centauri 3 encampment, but she abandoned that dream to accompany her husband to Sirius 4. Rather than deal with the rigors of running another late-night establishment, she chose to put her talents to work in a day job at Imaginary Structures.
Pete Wong, 38, had worked in the logistics industry as an independent contractor. He and his partner had their ship hijacked during the imaginary bomb incident; after marrying, he decided to settle on Sirius 4 because of its independence.
Lian Wong, 1, had an entire life ahead of her. Her parents were sure it would be a happy one because of the way she laughed and smiled impishly all the time.
Seth Johnson, 23, was a hunter who astonished his friends with his skills as a wild game chef. He eschewed manufacturing meals out of ImagPro and liked to talk about how food was “meant” to be prepared.
Juniper Lapin, 31, saved Michael McWilliams’ life during an attack on their campsite during the Earthian occupation. I need not remind you of how important McWilliams’ medical research has been in recent years.
Benny Cardova, 94, was having a dispute with builders over where to locate the lakefront home where he planned to spend the last 20-30 years of his life. But he told friends if Sinclair were to get away with closing this business, it wouldn’t matter where he wanted the home built.
Shen Hu, 17, wished his friends understood how what happens to a factory in Ganges Pass could affect everyone on the planet.
Taja al Reshedi, 49, was one of the most respected physicians on Sirius 4.
Salman al Reshedi, 51, proudly lived in the shadow of his well-known wife and dabbled in sculpture.
Russell Perry, 71, had coached successful competitive swimmers for decades but confided in friends that in another 10 years he might be ready to retire.
Brenda Henderson, 33, was an architect who was pushing the envelope of using Imaginary Structures’ technology for bold design, but her friends said recently she was most excited about learning her third child was on the way.
Cliff Henderson, 32, had worried out loud that Imaginary Structures was making his building skills obsolete but also touted the value of maintaining those old skills for clients who wanted “the real thing.”
Jaklyn Sanders, 45, had produced some of the most insightful news features about Badiah Sinclair and took some of the dramatic footage of the Ganges Pass incident up to her death.
Marjorie Butler, 19, wrote a beautiful poem about freedom that was read at the memorial service for The Thirty-Five.
Victor Foster, 109, was known as “Poppy Po” to his great-great-grandchildren and often spoke to them about the important of standing up for their beliefs.
Milt Gray, 50, councilor, was one of Badi Sinclair’s early political allies but was not at all pleased with some of the president’s recent decisions.
Chester Washington, 25, Councilor Gray’s chief aide, was one of the brightest analysts of fiscal data at the capital.
Everett Brooks, 60, was renowned for his gardening abilities. Friends spoke of how serene he always seemed, especially after a full day working the soil.
Cora Patterson, 19, had entered the university that semester but was already telling friends and family it was a mistake. She was writing the plan for her new business and expected to finish her classes and launch the endeavor.
Leona Ross, 21, was also planning to leave the university but had no plan for her future. Her mother feared she lacked of direction, but her father spoke of his daughter’s remarkable compassion for animals and was confident something would have come of that.
Patrick Carroll, 54, entertained children for a living. His friends said he was a big kid himself and may have been the happiest man on Sirius 4.
Aidan Hughes, 42, came to Ganges Pass to meet John Hemlock and perhaps get his autograph. His passion for following Earthian football was the only thing that all of his friends mentioned.
Hanna Whyte, 98, inspired generations of her family to succeed, coaching, cajoling and chiding them not to settle for producing anything less than something others would love.
Philippe Losnedahl, 59, was one of the founders of a popular beverage company who gave more than half of his fortune to the arts and charities. The Losnedahl Foundation is a major contributor to the university’s music programs.
John Olhouser, 36, was an obstetrician-gynecologist from a well-placed family; his parents had made a fortune developing the Olhouser brewery; he was active in political causes and injected passion into everything he did.
Beverly Symanczyk, 43, lived for weekends at her retreat on Lake Ptolemy, a little cottage she had saved to purchase for the first decade of her career. A popular face at Imaginary Structures, she was a reliable worker whose heart and soul lived for that waterfront property.
Gavin Ndebele, 63, was a dedicated sales engineer who made time for fishing, hunting and working in the great outdoors. He would not hesitate to pick up his guitar and entertain visitors at the slightest hint of an invitation.
Trevor Rubio, 83, owned his own business in the energy industry. His children each laughed spontaneously recalling an incident involving their father, a rotten tomato and an unexpected gust of wind.
So often one hears that many people had died at one time and place but their individual lives become lost in the number. I met with each of The Thirty-five’s survivors to make sure they would be remembered.
Entry 79 - Fighting rage
Randy Derringer, 32, did not kiss his wife as he left that morning; in fact he felt badly about the selfish way he had acted. He planned to apologize when he came home that evening.
Mai Vang, 27, was planning her wedding. Her best friend was refusing to divulge any details about the bachelorette party except that she was supposed to bring a towel.
Camille Harper, 20, was still chattering to her best friend about what a terrific family reunion she had attended a few days earlier, reconnecting with cousins she hadn’t seen in years.
Stan Aziz, 63, was concerned that his grandson didn’t seem to have a plan for his life. Kids nowadays seem so aimless and uncaring about where their lives are going, he thought.
Phyllis Henderson, 49, had been Lon Weston’s personal secretary for 23 years. She and her husband vacationed every year at Lake Ptolemy.
Maureen Fisher, 22, was concerned about her great-grandmother’s failing health. She was planning to meet with her that night to suggest she move in as a full-time caretaker. She expected resistance from her feisty, independent Great-grandmama.
Snooky Wong, 33, had owned the first and most popular bar in the Proximi Centauri 3 encampment, but she abandoned that dream to accompany her husband to Sirius 4. Rather than deal with the rigors of running another late-night establishment, she chose to put her talents to work in a day job at Imaginary Structures.
Pete Wong, 38, had worked in the logistics industry as an independent contractor. He and his partner had their ship hijacked during the imaginary bomb incident; after marrying, he decided to settle on Sirius 4 because of its independence.
Lian Wong, 1, had an entire life ahead of her. Her parents were sure it would be a happy one because of the way she laughed and smiled impishly all the time.
Seth Johnson, 23, was a hunter who astonished his friends with his skills as a wild game chef. He eschewed manufacturing meals out of ImagPro and liked to talk about how food was “meant” to be prepared.
Juniper Lapin, 31, saved Michael McWilliams’ life during an attack on their campsite during the Earthian occupation. I need not remind you of how important McWilliams’ medical research has been in recent years.
Benny Cardova, 94, was having a dispute with builders over where to locate the lakefront home where he planned to spend the last 20-30 years of his life. But he told friends if Sinclair were to get away with closing this business, it wouldn’t matter where he wanted the home built.
Shen Hu, 17, wished his friends understood how what happens to a factory in Ganges Pass could affect everyone on the planet.
Taja al Reshedi, 49, was one of the most respected physicians on Sirius 4.
Salman al Reshedi, 51, proudly lived in the shadow of his well-known wife and dabbled in sculpture.
Russell Perry, 71, had coached successful competitive swimmers for decades but confided in friends that in another 10 years he might be ready to retire.
Brenda Henderson, 33, was an architect who was pushing the envelope of using Imaginary Structures’ technology for bold design, but her friends said recently she was most excited about learning her third child was on the way.
Cliff Henderson, 32, had worried out loud that Imaginary Structures was making his building skills obsolete but also touted the value of maintaining those old skills for clients who wanted “the real thing.”
Jaklyn Sanders, 45, had produced some of the most insightful news features about Badiah Sinclair and took some of the dramatic footage of the Ganges Pass incident up to her death.
Marjorie Butler, 19, wrote a beautiful poem about freedom that was read at the memorial service for The Thirty-Five.
Victor Foster, 109, was known as “Poppy Po” to his great-great-grandchildren and often spoke to them about the important of standing up for their beliefs.
Milt Gray, 50, councilor, was one of Badi Sinclair’s early political allies but was not at all pleased with some of the president’s recent decisions.
Chester Washington, 25, Councilor Gray’s chief aide, was one of the brightest analysts of fiscal data at the capital.
Everett Brooks, 60, was renowned for his gardening abilities. Friends spoke of how serene he always seemed, especially after a full day working the soil.
Cora Patterson, 19, had entered the university that semester but was already telling friends and family it was a mistake. She was writing the plan for her new business and expected to finish her classes and launch the endeavor.
Leona Ross, 21, was also planning to leave the university but had no plan for her future. Her mother feared she lacked of direction, but her father spoke of his daughter’s remarkable compassion for animals and was confident something would have come of that.
Patrick Carroll, 54, entertained children for a living. His friends said he was a big kid himself and may have been the happiest man on Sirius 4.
Aidan Hughes, 42, came to Ganges Pass to meet John Hemlock and perhaps get his autograph. His passion for following Earthian football was the only thing that all of his friends mentioned.
Hanna Whyte, 98, inspired generations of her family to succeed, coaching, cajoling and chiding them not to settle for producing anything less than something others would love.
Philippe Losnedahl, 59, was one of the founders of a popular beverage company who gave more than half of his fortune to the arts and charities. The Losnedahl Foundation is a major contributor to the university’s music programs.
John Olhouser, 36, was an obstetrician-gynecologist from a well-placed family; his parents had made a fortune developing the Olhouser brewery; he was active in political causes and injected passion into everything he did.
Beverly Symanczyk, 43, lived for weekends at her retreat on Lake Ptolemy, a little cottage she had saved to purchase for the first decade of her career. A popular face at Imaginary Structures, she was a reliable worker whose heart and soul lived for that waterfront property.
Gavin Ndebele, 63, was a dedicated sales engineer who made time for fishing, hunting and working in the great outdoors. He would not hesitate to pick up his guitar and entertain visitors at the slightest hint of an invitation.
Trevor Rubio, 83, owned his own business in the energy industry. His children each laughed spontaneously recalling an incident involving their father, a rotten tomato and an unexpected gust of wind.
So often one hears that many people had died at one time and place but their individual lives become lost in the number. I met with each of The Thirty-five’s survivors to make sure they would be remembered.
Entry 79 - Fighting rage
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Entry 77. Reporting for work
At the hour when the workday at Imaginary Structures Inc. usually began, three distinct and large groups were gathered near the front gate.
Forming a perimeter around the complex were hundreds of security officers, armed, wearing face masks and armor, and holding large shields. Facing them were 5,000 witnesses surrounding 1,500 company employees, who were dressed for an average workday.
At the front of the line was Lon Weston, president and founder of Imaginary Structures, with a big smile on his face. It seemed a little forced, as if he was trying as hard as he could to look serene but it wasn’t working so well.
I stood near Lon with Buffalo and John Hemlock. We witnesses were going to form a corridor through which the workers would walk. In an ideal world, the small army of security personnel would step aside, but they looked as though they were prepared to stand their ground.
The plan was for the workers to press forward until they were taken into custody; once in custody, they would respectfully decline to cooperate with authorities. Asked their name, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Pressed for a contact number or address, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Threatened with jail or prison, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.”
With all 1,500 employees of Imaginary Structures Inc. being processed, the court system would have precious little time for real criminals.
Looking at his timepiece, Lon Weston proclaimed loudly, “All right folks, let’s go to work.” And he began to stride toward the line of shields. The company’s associates came forward behind him.
“This plant is closed. Do not come any farther or you will be trespassing,” an authoritative voice barked from somewhere behind the dark force.
Lon Weston and his team came forward.
“It’s such a beautiful day to work,” Weston called, spreading his arms to indicate the warm, bright sun.
“You are trespassing. Turn back now,” barked the disembodied voice.
Lon Weston and his team came forward. Except for the armed men with shields blocking their path, it could have been any other morning as people approached the factory entrance. Perhaps there was less of the everyday chattering of conversation.
“Halt. This is your final warning,” barked the voice.
“We choose not to participate,” someone called from behind Lon Weston, and a few people laughed nervously.
The crowd was three to five meters from the security force. “Here come the arrests,” I said to no one in particular.
And then, for the second time, John Hemlock saved my life.
He stepped in front of Buffalo and me, yelled “Get down!” and not waiting for us to react, tackled us flat and covered us with his massive body.
Not quite comprehending, as I fell backwards I caught a glimpse of dozens of security forces aiming their weapons.
Entry 78
Forming a perimeter around the complex were hundreds of security officers, armed, wearing face masks and armor, and holding large shields. Facing them were 5,000 witnesses surrounding 1,500 company employees, who were dressed for an average workday.
At the front of the line was Lon Weston, president and founder of Imaginary Structures, with a big smile on his face. It seemed a little forced, as if he was trying as hard as he could to look serene but it wasn’t working so well.
I stood near Lon with Buffalo and John Hemlock. We witnesses were going to form a corridor through which the workers would walk. In an ideal world, the small army of security personnel would step aside, but they looked as though they were prepared to stand their ground.
The plan was for the workers to press forward until they were taken into custody; once in custody, they would respectfully decline to cooperate with authorities. Asked their name, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Pressed for a contact number or address, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Threatened with jail or prison, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.”
With all 1,500 employees of Imaginary Structures Inc. being processed, the court system would have precious little time for real criminals.
Looking at his timepiece, Lon Weston proclaimed loudly, “All right folks, let’s go to work.” And he began to stride toward the line of shields. The company’s associates came forward behind him.
“This plant is closed. Do not come any farther or you will be trespassing,” an authoritative voice barked from somewhere behind the dark force.
Lon Weston and his team came forward.
“It’s such a beautiful day to work,” Weston called, spreading his arms to indicate the warm, bright sun.
“You are trespassing. Turn back now,” barked the disembodied voice.
Lon Weston and his team came forward. Except for the armed men with shields blocking their path, it could have been any other morning as people approached the factory entrance. Perhaps there was less of the everyday chattering of conversation.
“Halt. This is your final warning,” barked the voice.
“We choose not to participate,” someone called from behind Lon Weston, and a few people laughed nervously.
The crowd was three to five meters from the security force. “Here come the arrests,” I said to no one in particular.
And then, for the second time, John Hemlock saved my life.
He stepped in front of Buffalo and me, yelled “Get down!” and not waiting for us to react, tackled us flat and covered us with his massive body.
Not quite comprehending, as I fell backwards I caught a glimpse of dozens of security forces aiming their weapons.
Entry 78
Monday, October 22, 2012
Entry 76. Preparations
Lon Weston had taken Imaginary Structures from, well, a figment of his imagination to one of the larger businesses on Sirius 4 and certainly the economic engine of Ganges Pass. He was not an imposing man physically, but he had a quiet energy that simmered under the surface all the time and frequently bubbled over.
Usually that energy was expressed in enthusiasm and encouragement; now the best words seemed to be anger and frustration. He and his associates, 15 hundred strong, had decided to show up for work as usual the next morning, and now Weston had asked me to coach them on passive resistance.
“We’re scientists and programmers, not activists,” he said. “I need you to give us all a short course on how this works.”
As I had said so many times over the years, and especially to the thousands more who would back up the workers in the morning, I stressed the importance of nonviolence.
“Presuming there will be a security force there to turn you back, you should be firm in your resolve but not raise a hand to them,” I said. “One of the basics of civil disobedience is being willing to accept the consequences of your disobedience. I’m guessing they will either let you through the gates or arrest you; our goal is to fill the jail and clog up the system. But don’t resist arrest – try very hard to get in and don’t stop until they bring you into custody, but let them bring you into custody. There’s a component of raising public sympathy here, and believe me it’s all on your side, but that can shift if you slug a cop or do anything else to hurt them.”
“Why if they try to hurt us?” someone asked from the middle of the group. “Don’t we have a right to defend ourselves?”
I told them about Gandhi’s march to the sea, about how the protesters were urged not even to raise their hands to defend themselves if the police started beating them, about how wave after wave of people did just that, and how the result was a revulsion so universal that the British government agreed to relax its restrictions and, more important, never had the power it once had over the Indian people.
“Gandhi called it satyagraha – satya is a word meaning a truth that equals love, and graha means force. If you do this with a spirit of love, you will accomplish amazing things,” I said. “I don’t think they will try to hurt you, but if they do, if you don’t try to hurt them back, your power will increase exponentially.”
What smug assurance I had when I said, “I don’t think they will try to hurt you.”
Entry 77
Usually that energy was expressed in enthusiasm and encouragement; now the best words seemed to be anger and frustration. He and his associates, 15 hundred strong, had decided to show up for work as usual the next morning, and now Weston had asked me to coach them on passive resistance.
“We’re scientists and programmers, not activists,” he said. “I need you to give us all a short course on how this works.”
As I had said so many times over the years, and especially to the thousands more who would back up the workers in the morning, I stressed the importance of nonviolence.
“Presuming there will be a security force there to turn you back, you should be firm in your resolve but not raise a hand to them,” I said. “One of the basics of civil disobedience is being willing to accept the consequences of your disobedience. I’m guessing they will either let you through the gates or arrest you; our goal is to fill the jail and clog up the system. But don’t resist arrest – try very hard to get in and don’t stop until they bring you into custody, but let them bring you into custody. There’s a component of raising public sympathy here, and believe me it’s all on your side, but that can shift if you slug a cop or do anything else to hurt them.”
“Why if they try to hurt us?” someone asked from the middle of the group. “Don’t we have a right to defend ourselves?”
I told them about Gandhi’s march to the sea, about how the protesters were urged not even to raise their hands to defend themselves if the police started beating them, about how wave after wave of people did just that, and how the result was a revulsion so universal that the British government agreed to relax its restrictions and, more important, never had the power it once had over the Indian people.
“Gandhi called it satyagraha – satya is a word meaning a truth that equals love, and graha means force. If you do this with a spirit of love, you will accomplish amazing things,” I said. “I don’t think they will try to hurt you, but if they do, if you don’t try to hurt them back, your power will increase exponentially.”
What smug assurance I had when I said, “I don’t think they will try to hurt you.”
Entry 77
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Entry 74. Taking action
I believe the most beautiful place on Sirius 4 is the beach of Lake Ptolemy, but an argument can be made for the region around Ganges Pass. This was a lush forested land that settlers had cleared strategically to conserve the woods while making room for crops and homes. The great river that flowed through the region evoked the memory of a mighty Earthian waterway, and so those early adapters named their settlement after that memory.
When the occupying force first took up stations around the Imaginary Structures factory and blocked the path of anyone attempting to report to work, I called on people to report to work anyway.
“What are they going to do, murder 1,500 people for trying to make a living?” I said at the time.
A handful of people did make the attempt but were peacefully turned away, if being shoved to the ground or arrested for trespassing can be called “peaceful.” In comparison to what Badiah Sinclair’s forces ended up doing, it had been peaceful indeed.
Unrest across the land had already become a bit of a problem for the government. Councilors were getting a lot of questions why – if a healthy portion of our confiscated earnings were no longer being sent to prop up the Earthian government – they had not lowered taxes to reflect the flow of funds to Earth that was no longer flowing.
“Earth is no longer providing the services we received in return for those taxes; we have to do it ourselves,” the councilors would say. “Be patient, once we get everything established we should be able to lower the tax.”
Badiah Sinclair’s decision to enforce the ImagCorp ultimatum changed everything.
“We can’t live without the products and benefits of imaginary physics,” he pleaded with the citizenry. “Imaginary Structures Inc. is going to have to abide by the licensing process that all of these other producers are following.”
But “all of these other producers” were, at that time, on Earth. ISI was the only company on Sirius 4 using what ImagCorp described as its proprietary technology and what every licensed company using that technology had reverse-engineered and adapted more than a century earlier. They just went along with the licenses to save even higher legal costs.
Imaginary Structures didn’t see the need for the license, and for several years it had the Sirian government’s backing. Now Sinclair was yielding to ImagCorp’s extortion.
“Just go to work, all together,” I told the people who asked. “The state depends on the ‘voluntary’ cooperation of its subjects to survive. If you ignore it in unison, they may try to turn you away and even arrest all of you, but that would clog the courts – they would have to find a way to back down. Respectfully refuse to acknowledge their authority and they’re lost. That’s the essence of noncooperation.”
And so the 1,479 associates of Imaginary Structures Inc. showed up to work that morning, with more than 5,000 of us gathered near the gates in solidarity to cheer them as they entered. I never believed Badi Sinclair, whom I’d known all my life, was capable of what happened next.
Entry 75
When the occupying force first took up stations around the Imaginary Structures factory and blocked the path of anyone attempting to report to work, I called on people to report to work anyway.
“What are they going to do, murder 1,500 people for trying to make a living?” I said at the time.
A handful of people did make the attempt but were peacefully turned away, if being shoved to the ground or arrested for trespassing can be called “peaceful.” In comparison to what Badiah Sinclair’s forces ended up doing, it had been peaceful indeed.
Unrest across the land had already become a bit of a problem for the government. Councilors were getting a lot of questions why – if a healthy portion of our confiscated earnings were no longer being sent to prop up the Earthian government – they had not lowered taxes to reflect the flow of funds to Earth that was no longer flowing.
“Earth is no longer providing the services we received in return for those taxes; we have to do it ourselves,” the councilors would say. “Be patient, once we get everything established we should be able to lower the tax.”
Badiah Sinclair’s decision to enforce the ImagCorp ultimatum changed everything.
“We can’t live without the products and benefits of imaginary physics,” he pleaded with the citizenry. “Imaginary Structures Inc. is going to have to abide by the licensing process that all of these other producers are following.”
But “all of these other producers” were, at that time, on Earth. ISI was the only company on Sirius 4 using what ImagCorp described as its proprietary technology and what every licensed company using that technology had reverse-engineered and adapted more than a century earlier. They just went along with the licenses to save even higher legal costs.
Imaginary Structures didn’t see the need for the license, and for several years it had the Sirian government’s backing. Now Sinclair was yielding to ImagCorp’s extortion.
“Just go to work, all together,” I told the people who asked. “The state depends on the ‘voluntary’ cooperation of its subjects to survive. If you ignore it in unison, they may try to turn you away and even arrest all of you, but that would clog the courts – they would have to find a way to back down. Respectfully refuse to acknowledge their authority and they’re lost. That’s the essence of noncooperation.”
And so the 1,479 associates of Imaginary Structures Inc. showed up to work that morning, with more than 5,000 of us gathered near the gates in solidarity to cheer them as they entered. I never believed Badi Sinclair, whom I’d known all my life, was capable of what happened next.
Entry 75
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Entry 72. The plant at Ganges Pass
The existence of the Imaginary Structures factory was a thorn in the side of ImagCorp, which had parceled out licenses for the use of its intellectual property for close to two centuries. When Badiah Sinclair and the council decreed that the plant could reopen, alarm bells must have sounded at corporate headquarters.
It was telling, for example, that one of the invading force’s first actions had been to shut down the plant at Ganges Pass. It was not so much that people’s ability to purchase a shed or a home or a business building erected with imaginary power posed a threat to planetary security; it was the fact that this little company was using imaginary power without paying tribute to the barons of ImagCorp.
Whether an argument could be made that imaginary physics was now in the realm of public domain was irrelevant. One of the revenue streams to the company that pioneered imaginary physics was cut off. Long accustomed to having its licenses upheld and defended by the ruling government and its courts, ImagCorp exerted pressure on the independent state of Sirius 4.
When Sinclair said Imaginary Structures Inc. had a right to operate on his planet (“his” planet – another warning flag), ImagCorp responded by announcing that it would cease conducting business on Sirius 4. No new “legitimately licensed” product would be shipped here, and any license-holding entity that traded with Sirius 4 would be subject to losing its license.
To me the solution was self-evident: Encourage the freethinking entrepreneurs of Sirius 4 to fill in the market void, open facilities that manufactured meal machines and vehicles and all the other imaginary products upon which we had come to depend in our everyday lives.
To Badiah the solution was equally self-evident: “For our own protection,” he ordered that Imaginary Structures Inc. either negotiate an ImagCorp license or shut down its operation. To emphasize the point, he sent a contingent of troops to Ganges Pass.
The trickle of inquiries I was receiving about the nuts and bolts of noncooperation became a flood. Everything happened very quickly after that.
Entry 73
It was telling, for example, that one of the invading force’s first actions had been to shut down the plant at Ganges Pass. It was not so much that people’s ability to purchase a shed or a home or a business building erected with imaginary power posed a threat to planetary security; it was the fact that this little company was using imaginary power without paying tribute to the barons of ImagCorp.
Whether an argument could be made that imaginary physics was now in the realm of public domain was irrelevant. One of the revenue streams to the company that pioneered imaginary physics was cut off. Long accustomed to having its licenses upheld and defended by the ruling government and its courts, ImagCorp exerted pressure on the independent state of Sirius 4.
When Sinclair said Imaginary Structures Inc. had a right to operate on his planet (“his” planet – another warning flag), ImagCorp responded by announcing that it would cease conducting business on Sirius 4. No new “legitimately licensed” product would be shipped here, and any license-holding entity that traded with Sirius 4 would be subject to losing its license.
To me the solution was self-evident: Encourage the freethinking entrepreneurs of Sirius 4 to fill in the market void, open facilities that manufactured meal machines and vehicles and all the other imaginary products upon which we had come to depend in our everyday lives.
To Badiah the solution was equally self-evident: “For our own protection,” he ordered that Imaginary Structures Inc. either negotiate an ImagCorp license or shut down its operation. To emphasize the point, he sent a contingent of troops to Ganges Pass.
The trickle of inquiries I was receiving about the nuts and bolts of noncooperation became a flood. Everything happened very quickly after that.
Entry 73
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Entry 59. Twelve dreams finished
Numbers dehumanize. It is one thing to talk about a dozen Earthian soldiers ambushed and killed; it is quite another to tell each man and woman’s individual story. For that is who died that day – not 12 soldiers but 12 ongoing dreams.
You want numbers? Those 12 people had spent a total of 281 years getting to that day. From the challenge of learning to walk to the joy and heartbreak of their first love, they each had accumulated at least two decades of life experience, working their way toward adulthood painstakingly. Some were married, three had known the joy of making new life but would not know the challenge of raising their children and watching them succeed and stumble.
All of them had ideas about where they wanted their lives to go; some had precise goals, some had a vague vision. Like most people, they wanted to make a difference, and they did make a difference – that was clear to all of the hundreds of people who were affected by their sudden and early deaths.
But they did not make the difference that Lt. Joshua True and his superiors intended. They did not convince the people of Sirius 4 to accept the rule of Earth. Nor did their deaths do anything to convince True that Sirius 4 should remain independent. That was the central disagreement, wasn’t it? Instead the taking of lives made True that much more intransigent, more eager to punish the people of Sirius 4 for daring to breathe free.
None of us has 281 years to live the life we desire. Divide that number by 12, and it’s not near enough time.
Entry 60
You want numbers? Those 12 people had spent a total of 281 years getting to that day. From the challenge of learning to walk to the joy and heartbreak of their first love, they each had accumulated at least two decades of life experience, working their way toward adulthood painstakingly. Some were married, three had known the joy of making new life but would not know the challenge of raising their children and watching them succeed and stumble.
All of them had ideas about where they wanted their lives to go; some had precise goals, some had a vague vision. Like most people, they wanted to make a difference, and they did make a difference – that was clear to all of the hundreds of people who were affected by their sudden and early deaths.
But they did not make the difference that Lt. Joshua True and his superiors intended. They did not convince the people of Sirius 4 to accept the rule of Earth. Nor did their deaths do anything to convince True that Sirius 4 should remain independent. That was the central disagreement, wasn’t it? Instead the taking of lives made True that much more intransigent, more eager to punish the people of Sirius 4 for daring to breathe free.
None of us has 281 years to live the life we desire. Divide that number by 12, and it’s not near enough time.
Entry 60
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Entry 49. Like hell
Two years later, Jim Simmons’ terse response to the inspector became a planetary battle cry.
Earth sent troops to forcefully quell what until then had been a peaceful transition to independence. Lt. Joshua True announced that Earth was back in charge of Sirius 4.
“Like hell,” the people muttered, echoing the stiff-necked farmer from small-town Fillmore.
True closed the Imaginary Structures plant at Ganges Pass and reversed President Sinclair’s declaration that ImagCorp licenses need not be paid. Companies that use imaginary technology must reimburse the corporation that had created the technology two centuries earlier, plus the concomitant taxes that applied, True announced.
“Like hell,” the people said out loud.
The president of Sirius 4 was the president of the Earthian government, and Badiah Sinclair may perhaps be the leader of the Sirian Senate, but he was a senator, not a president, True declared.
“Like hell!” the people shouted.
I continued my call for passive-aggressive resistance. I said the employees of Imaginary Structures should simply show up for work as if True’s pronouncement had never been made. If troops ordered them to cease and desist from their daily tasks, they should carry on as if they didn’t hear the order. If the troops moved to arrest or remove them, they should keep working until literally dragged from their stations.
“With absolute noncooperation, their power is nil,” I argued. “What are they going to do, arrest all of us?”
In their anger, people had the same answer for me that they had for Lt. Rodney True.
Counter the attempt to halt Sirius 4’s march to independence by force with nonviolent civil disobedience?
“Like hell!” the people screamed.
One morning about a dozen troopers were driving along a quiet street in Ganges Pass, not far from the Imaginary Structures plant, when their vehicle drove over a homemade bomb. Three people were killed instantly; those who survived were dismembered by laser fire when they climbed out of the wreckage.
As the vehicle burned and the troopers died in the street, someone took the time to paint a brief message on the wall of a nearby building.
“LIKE HELL”
Entry 50
Earth sent troops to forcefully quell what until then had been a peaceful transition to independence. Lt. Joshua True announced that Earth was back in charge of Sirius 4.
“Like hell,” the people muttered, echoing the stiff-necked farmer from small-town Fillmore.
True closed the Imaginary Structures plant at Ganges Pass and reversed President Sinclair’s declaration that ImagCorp licenses need not be paid. Companies that use imaginary technology must reimburse the corporation that had created the technology two centuries earlier, plus the concomitant taxes that applied, True announced.
“Like hell,” the people said out loud.
The president of Sirius 4 was the president of the Earthian government, and Badiah Sinclair may perhaps be the leader of the Sirian Senate, but he was a senator, not a president, True declared.
“Like hell!” the people shouted.
I continued my call for passive-aggressive resistance. I said the employees of Imaginary Structures should simply show up for work as if True’s pronouncement had never been made. If troops ordered them to cease and desist from their daily tasks, they should carry on as if they didn’t hear the order. If the troops moved to arrest or remove them, they should keep working until literally dragged from their stations.
“With absolute noncooperation, their power is nil,” I argued. “What are they going to do, arrest all of us?”
In their anger, people had the same answer for me that they had for Lt. Rodney True.
Counter the attempt to halt Sirius 4’s march to independence by force with nonviolent civil disobedience?
“Like hell!” the people screamed.
One morning about a dozen troopers were driving along a quiet street in Ganges Pass, not far from the Imaginary Structures plant, when their vehicle drove over a homemade bomb. Three people were killed instantly; those who survived were dismembered by laser fire when they climbed out of the wreckage.
As the vehicle burned and the troopers died in the street, someone took the time to paint a brief message on the wall of a nearby building.
“LIKE HELL”
Entry 50
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Entry 28. Licenses and fees
Ah yes, ImagCorp.
There are two ways to make a living, and one of them is the honest way: Make something or do something that benefits others to the level where they’re willing to pay you for it.
You can also force others to buy your product or service by convincing a government either to buy or to require citizens to buy. Or you can create an artifical shortage with government’s help – perhaps by taxing your product, or by making it illegal to perform your service without a government-issued license, for example.
ImagCorp’s leaders were geniuses at this. Once their researchers began to unlock the secrets of imaginary power – developing spaceships that traveled far faster than light, creating machines that could transform a cube of protein into a delicious meal – they worked hard to protect the technology from pesky entrepreneurs who might improve on their work and compete with them.
Hand in hand with the Earthian government, they manufactured reasons – usually for the sake of planetary security – why imaginary technology could not be shared with just anyone. If you wanted to make something or perform a service powered by the imagination, first you needed a license from the company, and then you needed a permit from the government – perhaps several licenses and permits the more complicated your project.
This ensured that the first beneficiaries of your labors were ImagCorp and the government, and it discouraged the most promising potential competitors by making it prohibitively expensive to develop their goods – all in the name of planetary security, of course.
When Imaginary Structures Inc. made plans to open a research, development and manufacturing facility in a small city called Ganges Pass, the Earthian government imposed the usual permits and ImagCorp sought the usual licenses. Because these expenses ate up fully two-thirds of the initial investment, Imaginary Structures could not build a structure, let alone open its doors. Oh, it had plenty of capital to get started – if only it didn’t have to pay the exhorbitant fees for the “right” to get started.
Shortly after Sirius 4 declared its independence, President Badiah Sinclair made a fateful decision.
“After more than a century and a half, imaginary technology is public knowledge and belongs in the public domain,” Sinclair declared. His government would not demand the onerous and expensive permits, and ImagCorp had no right to charge a fee for common technology. Not on free Sirius 4.
Imaginary Structures was making product within a month. In hindsight it’s probably surprising that Earth waited another 19 months to send an occupational force. No doubt ImagCorp was agitating for the invasion all that time.
Lt. Joshua True’s second act, after first securing the offices of Sirian government, was to lock down the Imaginary Structures complex. Ganges Pass was fated to become a symbol of both of our revolutions.
Entry 29. Change the question
There are two ways to make a living, and one of them is the honest way: Make something or do something that benefits others to the level where they’re willing to pay you for it.
You can also force others to buy your product or service by convincing a government either to buy or to require citizens to buy. Or you can create an artifical shortage with government’s help – perhaps by taxing your product, or by making it illegal to perform your service without a government-issued license, for example.
ImagCorp’s leaders were geniuses at this. Once their researchers began to unlock the secrets of imaginary power – developing spaceships that traveled far faster than light, creating machines that could transform a cube of protein into a delicious meal – they worked hard to protect the technology from pesky entrepreneurs who might improve on their work and compete with them.
Hand in hand with the Earthian government, they manufactured reasons – usually for the sake of planetary security – why imaginary technology could not be shared with just anyone. If you wanted to make something or perform a service powered by the imagination, first you needed a license from the company, and then you needed a permit from the government – perhaps several licenses and permits the more complicated your project.
This ensured that the first beneficiaries of your labors were ImagCorp and the government, and it discouraged the most promising potential competitors by making it prohibitively expensive to develop their goods – all in the name of planetary security, of course.
When Imaginary Structures Inc. made plans to open a research, development and manufacturing facility in a small city called Ganges Pass, the Earthian government imposed the usual permits and ImagCorp sought the usual licenses. Because these expenses ate up fully two-thirds of the initial investment, Imaginary Structures could not build a structure, let alone open its doors. Oh, it had plenty of capital to get started – if only it didn’t have to pay the exhorbitant fees for the “right” to get started.
Shortly after Sirius 4 declared its independence, President Badiah Sinclair made a fateful decision.
“After more than a century and a half, imaginary technology is public knowledge and belongs in the public domain,” Sinclair declared. His government would not demand the onerous and expensive permits, and ImagCorp had no right to charge a fee for common technology. Not on free Sirius 4.
Imaginary Structures was making product within a month. In hindsight it’s probably surprising that Earth waited another 19 months to send an occupational force. No doubt ImagCorp was agitating for the invasion all that time.
Lt. Joshua True’s second act, after first securing the offices of Sirian government, was to lock down the Imaginary Structures complex. Ganges Pass was fated to become a symbol of both of our revolutions.
Entry 29. Change the question
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
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