One of the basic principles of free enterprise is that the market determines the survival of a business. If you don’t deliver a quality product or service, if you don’t listen to your clients, if you abuse your clients, if you price yourself out of the market, your business will sputter and fail.
Governments through the ages have been immune to this principle – to a point. People endured products and services of questionable quality; governments ignored the wishes of its clients or even abused them; fees and taxes were increased without regard to the taxpayers’ ability to pay.
At some point in the decline of a business, the customers lose their trust in the product and stop buying it. Often they turn to a competitor, but sometimes they realize they no longer need the product. Centuries ago businesses and industries thrived around products that depended upon horse power; when horsepower became a unit of mechanized energy rather than a literal description, those businesses dwindled to nothing.
At some point in the decline of a government, the customers lose their trust and change the regime.
The most clever governments gave people the option to switch leaders on a regular basis through the voting process; that relieved the sense of hopelessness that comes when a leader seized control for life. It also reduced the violence with which governments were overthrown.
But when our violent revolution turned out to be illusory, when Silas Fredersen was replaced by Badiah Sinclair and almost nothing improved, and when 35 Sirians were killed by the forces of “free” Sirius 4, a different switch was thrown in people’s psyches.
Yes, our lives depend on choosing the right leader – but we came to understand that means leading our own lives, not handing the reins to someone else.
Yes, we need to work together and respect each other’s boundaries, but no one need dictate to a free people how that happens.
And so, in the aftermath of my trial that was not a trial, people realized that the power of government resided in their cooperation – what a wise man once called “the consent of the governed.” Simply put, we withdrew our consent en masse. Government began to sputter and fail without taxes, without support, without the people’s cooperation and participation.
Badiah Sinclair thought of doing what many a leader has done in the past – go after the dissenters with security forces to intimidate people into compliance. Two problems presented themselves when he called his generals together to discuss the options. First, there were too many dissenters; I was right in saying that if we work together, they can’t arrest us all. Second, as we saw at my trial, people refused to participate.
They were happy to help fight off an alien invasion from Earthians bent on subjugating the planet. They had no desire to threaten and kill people whose only motivation was to live their lives free.
As I said at the beginning, I always thought war was stupid. Finally, one day, the people of my planet agreed. Badiah Sinclair and the council resigned and disbanded the government, and life went on.
Showing posts with label Badiah Sinclair. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Badiah Sinclair. Show all posts
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Entry 82. Backlash
Entry 82. Backlash
Badiah Sinclair was quick to attempt to mollify the public outrage. I was surprised at how unwilling people had become to trust the great hero of Sirius 4.
In his address to the planet, he made the same arguments he had been making all along.
“I had no choice.”
“Like hell!” people barked back at the screen.
“ImagCorp intended to defend its business, and we were forced to comply with their demands.”
“Like hell!” people scrawled on walls and pavement.
“We could no longer allow Imaginary Structures to continue operations without concessions to ImagCorp.
“Like hell!” people roared in the streets.
And another phrase began to work its way into the public consciousness.
People receiving tax bills began to respond not with payment but with, “I choose not to participate.”
Building inspectors who visited construction sites were met not with a properly filed building permit but with, “I choose not to participate.”
Even marriages were performed without a license. More than one officiant who asked, “Well, shall we sign the license now?” was greeted with, “We chose not to participate.”
None of the speeches I had given about nonviolent noncooperation was as effective in convincing people as Badiah Sinclair’s violent cooperation with ImagCorp. Others took to the streets, but with gentle words, not implements of destruction. Most remarkable to me as I reflected in my cell: No one at Imaginary Structures had met fire with fire. Of 6,500 people in that crowd, surely some of them had brought their personal weapons to the scene. None fired back at the security officers.
As word spread beyond Sirius 4 about the incident at Ganges Pass, so did the outrage, and it soon became apparent that Sirians were not the first to wonder why ImagCorp still needed to license its basic technology 200 years after developing it.
Because ImagCorp left Badi Sinclair twisting in the wind.
“Like the people of Sirius 4, we condemn violence,” read the official statement from ImagCorp. “If Sirius 4 and Imaginary Structures Inc. wanted exemptions to our licensing program, all they had to do was ask. Those exemptions are hereby granted.”
I am tempted to write, “It was that easy.” But there is nothing easy about the sacrifice of 35 souls.
Badiah Sinclair was quick to attempt to mollify the public outrage. I was surprised at how unwilling people had become to trust the great hero of Sirius 4.
In his address to the planet, he made the same arguments he had been making all along.
“I had no choice.”
“Like hell!” people barked back at the screen.
“ImagCorp intended to defend its business, and we were forced to comply with their demands.”
“Like hell!” people scrawled on walls and pavement.
“We could no longer allow Imaginary Structures to continue operations without concessions to ImagCorp.
“Like hell!” people roared in the streets.
And another phrase began to work its way into the public consciousness.
People receiving tax bills began to respond not with payment but with, “I choose not to participate.”
Building inspectors who visited construction sites were met not with a properly filed building permit but with, “I choose not to participate.”
Even marriages were performed without a license. More than one officiant who asked, “Well, shall we sign the license now?” was greeted with, “We chose not to participate.”
None of the speeches I had given about nonviolent noncooperation was as effective in convincing people as Badiah Sinclair’s violent cooperation with ImagCorp. Others took to the streets, but with gentle words, not implements of destruction. Most remarkable to me as I reflected in my cell: No one at Imaginary Structures had met fire with fire. Of 6,500 people in that crowd, surely some of them had brought their personal weapons to the scene. None fired back at the security officers.
As word spread beyond Sirius 4 about the incident at Ganges Pass, so did the outrage, and it soon became apparent that Sirians were not the first to wonder why ImagCorp still needed to license its basic technology 200 years after developing it.
Because ImagCorp left Badi Sinclair twisting in the wind.
“Like the people of Sirius 4, we condemn violence,” read the official statement from ImagCorp. “If Sirius 4 and Imaginary Structures Inc. wanted exemptions to our licensing program, all they had to do was ask. Those exemptions are hereby granted.”
I am tempted to write, “It was that easy.” But there is nothing easy about the sacrifice of 35 souls.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Entry 81. The night before
(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.
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.
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
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
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Entry 71. Getting there
Although a few people seemed to agree with me about the value of noncooperation versus violent revolution, and I was being heard by influential people, it wasn’t a popular opinion when there was an occupying force from Earth walking the streets. But when Badiah Sinclair began to act like Silas Fredersen, there were no calls for civil war. Perhaps some grumbling, and there definitely were more people who came to hear me speak.
Also giving me some assurance was the fact that of the two childhood friends, I was still the only one who had ever stared down the barrel of an assassin’s gun. Ironic, that – but men and women of peace do make the violent anxious.
Badiah Sinclair had been probably the most popular political figure Sirius 4 would ever see, and that made the disappointment that much greater when he began to run the government – and attempted to run our lives – just like pretty much everyone who had come before him. But few people wanted to do violence to him or to any of our neighbors who served on the security force. Again: The nature of Sirians is to leave our neighbors alone as long as our neighbors leave us free to live our own lives.
That’s why noncooperation could work on Sirius 4. I dare say it would work on any world where that core value is instilled, but our world was especially ripe for the effort.
Therefore it wasn’t long before the questions at my lectures became more specific and less about the general theory of passive resistance.
For instance: “What would a Jim Simmons do, if an armed force was sent to make sure his building was torn down?”
That was always a tough question.
“Find a way to stay alive,” I would reply. Simmons’ death played out exactly as successful passive resistance could, except perhaps that he displayed a rifle and the intention to use it. Because he was willing to die for the principle of using his own property as he saw fit, the government acted in an obviously foolish way, and the result was public outrage loud enough that the Earthian rulers withdrew, albeit temporarily. The idea was to do anything to block the tyrant’s progress, short of killing or maiming him.
There was one assuring thing – zoning administrators under Badi Sinclair weren’t going to bring in army units to back themselves up. A Jim Simmons could probably win his point by blocking the progress of any heavy equipment sent to raze his building, if it got to that.
The more everyday applications of noncooperation were a little less onerous. If the government bans the sale of alcohol, buy and sell alcohol anyway. If it taxes something for the sake of taxing it, don’t pay the tax. If called to jury duty against someone charged with a crime that shouldn’t be a crime, don’t show up. If the government bans the use of native salt, march to the sea and gather salt. Anything to throw a monkey wrench into the operation of an overreaching government.
Heads would always begin to nod in understanding and agreement.
Also giving me some assurance was the fact that of the two childhood friends, I was still the only one who had ever stared down the barrel of an assassin’s gun. Ironic, that – but men and women of peace do make the violent anxious.
Badiah Sinclair had been probably the most popular political figure Sirius 4 would ever see, and that made the disappointment that much greater when he began to run the government – and attempted to run our lives – just like pretty much everyone who had come before him. But few people wanted to do violence to him or to any of our neighbors who served on the security force. Again: The nature of Sirians is to leave our neighbors alone as long as our neighbors leave us free to live our own lives.
That’s why noncooperation could work on Sirius 4. I dare say it would work on any world where that core value is instilled, but our world was especially ripe for the effort.
Therefore it wasn’t long before the questions at my lectures became more specific and less about the general theory of passive resistance.
For instance: “What would a Jim Simmons do, if an armed force was sent to make sure his building was torn down?”
That was always a tough question.
“Find a way to stay alive,” I would reply. Simmons’ death played out exactly as successful passive resistance could, except perhaps that he displayed a rifle and the intention to use it. Because he was willing to die for the principle of using his own property as he saw fit, the government acted in an obviously foolish way, and the result was public outrage loud enough that the Earthian rulers withdrew, albeit temporarily. The idea was to do anything to block the tyrant’s progress, short of killing or maiming him.
There was one assuring thing – zoning administrators under Badi Sinclair weren’t going to bring in army units to back themselves up. A Jim Simmons could probably win his point by blocking the progress of any heavy equipment sent to raze his building, if it got to that.
The more everyday applications of noncooperation were a little less onerous. If the government bans the sale of alcohol, buy and sell alcohol anyway. If it taxes something for the sake of taxing it, don’t pay the tax. If called to jury duty against someone charged with a crime that shouldn’t be a crime, don’t show up. If the government bans the use of native salt, march to the sea and gather salt. Anything to throw a monkey wrench into the operation of an overreaching government.
Heads would always begin to nod in understanding and agreement.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Entry 70. Same as the old
President Badiah Sinclair addressed the planet and spoke about how the existing structure of the government remained in place, but now it belonged to us, not the Earthians. And that was comforting for the moment.
“We are a free world led by free people,” he said. If it seemed things were very much still the same, well, we still had that “free world, free people” image to fall back on. And in one mighty symbol of the difference, the Imaginary Structures plant at Ganges Pass was reopened.
Life without the tether to Earth was a bit of a challenge, especially for those whose role in life had been to pass wealth from Sirius 4 back to the old world and accept a fraction of the tribute back in return. But it wasn’t long before the treasury wasn’t paying all of the bills. To keep the new/old government running, Sinclair and his council implemented new regulations, some rationing and even curfews – so that some of the police force could have an occasional night off and still others could be laid off.
“Why do you still need all this bureaucracy, anyway?” I said during one of our increasingly rare lunches together. “Most of your government apparatus was created to facilitate the subjugation of Sirius 4 to Earth’s orbit. Not needed anymore.”
“Ray, I know it seems unnecessary,” the president said in a tone that was starting to sound like a parent lecturing a willful child. “Before you can obtain that ideal society based on liberty, there must be a period of transition to pave the way. We can’t just stop enforcing the law one day.”
“If it’s a bad or obsolete law, why not?”
My old friend laughed like my old friend, but also like someone who was getting tired of being patient. “Come on. What do you do with criminals? How do you enforce regulations?”
“You’re not hearing me, Badi. A lot of those regulations were designed to keep us in line. You’ve got a planet full of people who were tired of being told how to live their lives by someone who wasn’t here.”
“But now their leaders are here; the power is in Sirian hands.”
“The power to do what? Tell us how to live our lives? Remember the part where we were tired of that?”
“It’s only for a little while, until the people are ready for a little more autonomy,” Badi said, now approaching irritability. “You don’t just change everything overnight.”
“Well, actually, that’s the purpose of a revolution, isn’t it? When do you decide when it’s OK to loosen the chains?”
“That’s a little unfair, to talk about chains, Ray,” he said. “Really? Chains?”
“When is it OK to ‘give us a little more autonomy’?” I persisted.
“We’ll know when we’re there.”
About a year after the Earthians left, it was clear we weren’t going to get “there” anytime soon.
Entry 71
“We are a free world led by free people,” he said. If it seemed things were very much still the same, well, we still had that “free world, free people” image to fall back on. And in one mighty symbol of the difference, the Imaginary Structures plant at Ganges Pass was reopened.
Life without the tether to Earth was a bit of a challenge, especially for those whose role in life had been to pass wealth from Sirius 4 back to the old world and accept a fraction of the tribute back in return. But it wasn’t long before the treasury wasn’t paying all of the bills. To keep the new/old government running, Sinclair and his council implemented new regulations, some rationing and even curfews – so that some of the police force could have an occasional night off and still others could be laid off.
“Why do you still need all this bureaucracy, anyway?” I said during one of our increasingly rare lunches together. “Most of your government apparatus was created to facilitate the subjugation of Sirius 4 to Earth’s orbit. Not needed anymore.”
“Ray, I know it seems unnecessary,” the president said in a tone that was starting to sound like a parent lecturing a willful child. “Before you can obtain that ideal society based on liberty, there must be a period of transition to pave the way. We can’t just stop enforcing the law one day.”
“If it’s a bad or obsolete law, why not?”
My old friend laughed like my old friend, but also like someone who was getting tired of being patient. “Come on. What do you do with criminals? How do you enforce regulations?”
“You’re not hearing me, Badi. A lot of those regulations were designed to keep us in line. You’ve got a planet full of people who were tired of being told how to live their lives by someone who wasn’t here.”
“But now their leaders are here; the power is in Sirian hands.”
“The power to do what? Tell us how to live our lives? Remember the part where we were tired of that?”
“It’s only for a little while, until the people are ready for a little more autonomy,” Badi said, now approaching irritability. “You don’t just change everything overnight.”
“Well, actually, that’s the purpose of a revolution, isn’t it? When do you decide when it’s OK to loosen the chains?”
“That’s a little unfair, to talk about chains, Ray,” he said. “Really? Chains?”
“When is it OK to ‘give us a little more autonomy’?” I persisted.
“We’ll know when we’re there.”
About a year after the Earthians left, it was clear we weren’t going to get “there” anytime soon.
Entry 71
Monday, October 1, 2012
Entry 67. Imaginary victory
But the war had to play itself out – there were not enough thinkers thinking like John, like Buffalo, like me.
And play itself out it did. Dozens of Earthians breathed their last each week, and their bodies were returned to their home planet. Dozens of Sirians also died defending their homeworld, and their ashes returned to the soil.
As is the case in war, the killings did not change minds. Earthians continued to believe they had a claim to Sirius 4, and the people of Sirius 4 were more convinced than ever that Earth had no such claim. But as is usually the case in war, those who lived in the disputed territory held the greatest resolve.
It was not a very long time – although it seemed forever to those who lost loved ones – before Earth requested a cease fire and negotiations were hastily resumed. not long after that, the peacekeepers were gathered up and prepared to be shipped back to Earth.
Lt. Joshua True and other dignitaries from Earth made a great showing of how Sirius 4 was now prepared to live on without peacekeepers, and President Badiah Sinclair – now recognized as such by the departing forces – was magnaminous enough to allow them to live the illusion that they were leaving because their job was done.
Badi told me later that as they made their final farewells, True gripped his hand as hard as he could – and he could grip mightily – and said, “This is your choice, Sinclair, but you know we’ll be ready when it all falls apart on you.”
Smiling as politically as he could and wincing in pain, Sinclair replied, “Thanks for the warning. We’ll stay ready to chase you away again.”
True’s eyes narrowed – true be told, he always kept his eyes narrowed – and he strode onto his ship without another word. Without a sound beyond their faint mosquito-like buzz, the imagination-powered ships rose into the sky and were gone, quietly and without fanfare.
They were accompanied by the roar of the crowd that had come to see them off. Badiah took the opportunity to make a speech – he was nothing if not a politician, after all.
It was quite a stirring speech, as you know, with as poignant turns of phrase as had ever been turned on Sirius 4. No longer simply a leader with dreams of a better tomorrow, Badi was now a great planetary hero who had delivered on the promise.
There is much talk about “us” in that speech – We turned back the invaders, and now we will move forward together, that sort of thing – and in all honesty there was only one moment when I winced and wondered if it may all be an illusion.
That was when the “we” turned singular: “Let me tell you about my vision for a free Sirius 4,” he said.
The words of that ancient song whispered through my mind – “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss” – but were drowned out by the crowd’s approving roar.
Entry 68
And play itself out it did. Dozens of Earthians breathed their last each week, and their bodies were returned to their home planet. Dozens of Sirians also died defending their homeworld, and their ashes returned to the soil.
As is the case in war, the killings did not change minds. Earthians continued to believe they had a claim to Sirius 4, and the people of Sirius 4 were more convinced than ever that Earth had no such claim. But as is usually the case in war, those who lived in the disputed territory held the greatest resolve.
It was not a very long time – although it seemed forever to those who lost loved ones – before Earth requested a cease fire and negotiations were hastily resumed. not long after that, the peacekeepers were gathered up and prepared to be shipped back to Earth.
Lt. Joshua True and other dignitaries from Earth made a great showing of how Sirius 4 was now prepared to live on without peacekeepers, and President Badiah Sinclair – now recognized as such by the departing forces – was magnaminous enough to allow them to live the illusion that they were leaving because their job was done.
Badi told me later that as they made their final farewells, True gripped his hand as hard as he could – and he could grip mightily – and said, “This is your choice, Sinclair, but you know we’ll be ready when it all falls apart on you.”
Smiling as politically as he could and wincing in pain, Sinclair replied, “Thanks for the warning. We’ll stay ready to chase you away again.”
True’s eyes narrowed – true be told, he always kept his eyes narrowed – and he strode onto his ship without another word. Without a sound beyond their faint mosquito-like buzz, the imagination-powered ships rose into the sky and were gone, quietly and without fanfare.
They were accompanied by the roar of the crowd that had come to see them off. Badiah took the opportunity to make a speech – he was nothing if not a politician, after all.
It was quite a stirring speech, as you know, with as poignant turns of phrase as had ever been turned on Sirius 4. No longer simply a leader with dreams of a better tomorrow, Badi was now a great planetary hero who had delivered on the promise.
There is much talk about “us” in that speech – We turned back the invaders, and now we will move forward together, that sort of thing – and in all honesty there was only one moment when I winced and wondered if it may all be an illusion.
That was when the “we” turned singular: “Let me tell you about my vision for a free Sirius 4,” he said.
The words of that ancient song whispered through my mind – “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss” – but were drowned out by the crowd’s approving roar.
Entry 68
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Entry 48. Dinner and premonitions
“So how goes the historic independence talks?” I asked Senator Badiah Sinclair as I poured myself another glass of water. The restaurant had the best panned-fried marleye anywhere, captured fresh from Lake Ptolemy, and a good seafood meal always left me relaxed and satisfied.
From the look on Badi’s face I could tell my question was not unexpected but also not terribly welcome. I saw a mixture of frustration and annoyance and even a little embarrassment.
“I’m not sure anymore that these negotiations will bring us independence in our lifetime,” he said bitterly. “The Earthians are playing games with us. They like collecting our taxes enough to placate us with nice words about freedom, but they don’t actually trust us with the tools of freedom and self-determination.”
“That’s what all governments are about in the end, treading that fine line between making people feel free enough but not so free that they actually have control of their own lives,” I suggested.
“Oh, you’ll always need governments to achieve justice and keep the peace,” Badi said. “But Sirius 4 needs to have our own government. I’m beginning to despair we’ll get that without guns and lasers and bombs, though.”
I let him stew a moment to make sure I phrased my response precisely.
“Badi,” I said, “In the end a just society can only be built on voluntary interactions between peaceful people.”
I didn’t think the statement was particularly funny or ignorant, but Badiah snorted dismissively.
“Come on, Ray,” he said. “while we’re at it let’s purge humanity of greed and ambition and, I don’t know, pure evil. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Earthians conjure up some sort of phony incident as an excuse to kill someone, punish us for daring to think we could survive without them.”
“I think almost everyone’s primary motivation is to lead the best life possible and be left alone,” I insisted.
“Almost everyone, that’s right,” Badi said. “You’re always going to need a government for no other reason than to keep the greedy and the selfish from preying on the rest of us.”
“You might be right,” I said, “but wouldn’t it be fun to try? And who better to try it than the pioneer stock we have here on Sirius 4?”
He looked at me as if he had accidentally stumbled into a psychiatric ward occupied by the harmless but completely daft.
“Nice dream, professor,” he said. “But it’s not a theory that would get very far in the real world.”
“Assistant professor,” I said with a grin, and we moved on to less weighty subjects, unaware that we had just roughly outlined the next nine years of our lives.
Entry 49. Like hell
From the look on Badi’s face I could tell my question was not unexpected but also not terribly welcome. I saw a mixture of frustration and annoyance and even a little embarrassment.
“I’m not sure anymore that these negotiations will bring us independence in our lifetime,” he said bitterly. “The Earthians are playing games with us. They like collecting our taxes enough to placate us with nice words about freedom, but they don’t actually trust us with the tools of freedom and self-determination.”
“That’s what all governments are about in the end, treading that fine line between making people feel free enough but not so free that they actually have control of their own lives,” I suggested.
“Oh, you’ll always need governments to achieve justice and keep the peace,” Badi said. “But Sirius 4 needs to have our own government. I’m beginning to despair we’ll get that without guns and lasers and bombs, though.”
I let him stew a moment to make sure I phrased my response precisely.
“Badi,” I said, “In the end a just society can only be built on voluntary interactions between peaceful people.”
I didn’t think the statement was particularly funny or ignorant, but Badiah snorted dismissively.
“Come on, Ray,” he said. “while we’re at it let’s purge humanity of greed and ambition and, I don’t know, pure evil. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Earthians conjure up some sort of phony incident as an excuse to kill someone, punish us for daring to think we could survive without them.”
“I think almost everyone’s primary motivation is to lead the best life possible and be left alone,” I insisted.
“Almost everyone, that’s right,” Badi said. “You’re always going to need a government for no other reason than to keep the greedy and the selfish from preying on the rest of us.”
“You might be right,” I said, “but wouldn’t it be fun to try? And who better to try it than the pioneer stock we have here on Sirius 4?”
He looked at me as if he had accidentally stumbled into a psychiatric ward occupied by the harmless but completely daft.
“Nice dream, professor,” he said. “But it’s not a theory that would get very far in the real world.”
“Assistant professor,” I said with a grin, and we moved on to less weighty subjects, unaware that we had just roughly outlined the next nine years of our lives.
Entry 49. Like hell
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Entry 47
I did not see Badi Sinclair on a regular basis for the next three to five years, but I was able to keep up through news reports and occasional conversations. He was one of several new senators swept in on an independence platform, and Governor Silas Fredersen was many things but not stupid. The governor met with the independent thinkers, called in some emissaries from Earth and gathered them all around a table. For the next three years there were offers and counteroffers, concessions and accommodations, progress and retreat, but nothing approaching independence. If anything the Earthians were more insistent than ever that Sirius 4 remain part of the Earth system, and the Sirians were more insistent than ever that our governmental systems ought to be as separate as our planetary systems.
I am a firm believer that violence accomplishes nothing, and so for a while I had to acknowledge that the violent episode that claimed Jim Simmons’ life had moved the negotiations forward. Of course, it was not long before we learned the Earthians had merely made a strategic retreat before upping the violence ante.
One chat I had with Badi over dinner a couple of years into the negotiations should have given me all I needed to foretell the future, but it is only clear by hindsight.
Entry 48. Dinner and premonitions
I am a firm believer that violence accomplishes nothing, and so for a while I had to acknowledge that the violent episode that claimed Jim Simmons’ life had moved the negotiations forward. Of course, it was not long before we learned the Earthians had merely made a strategic retreat before upping the violence ante.
One chat I had with Badi over dinner a couple of years into the negotiations should have given me all I needed to foretell the future, but it is only clear by hindsight.
Entry 48. Dinner and premonitions
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Entry 45. Coffee and memories at the watershed
Badiah Sinclair did not, to my knowledge, have any additional serious affairs of the heart for some years after our rainy midnight journey. Not that he was saving that place in his soul for her any longer – he found what he considered a more appropriate use of his passion and energy.
Truth be known, I think his personal secretary, Marilyn Ferne, had a “thing” for him, and I believe they shared a deep friendship that went no farther than an occasional drink or meal after work. In that sense Badi was more ethical than his old childhood friend who consorted with one of his students – only one, ever, and only the one who attached herself to my heart for a lifetime, but I do recognize the dilemma I walked myself into.
No, Badi had no time for such diversions as finding the other half of his soul. He was too busy fighting for an independent and free Sirius 4 – or, as it turned out, at least an independent world.
The night before he left to take his place as the newly elected youngest senator ever to take a place in the Sirius 4 Senate – well, actually it was very early in the morning before he left – there was a soft knock on my door.
“Ray? You awake?” I heard from the other side. Recognizing Badi Sinclair’s voice, I got up and opened the door.
“I couldn’t sleep, either,” I admitted, stepping aside to wave him into the apartment. “Coffee or beer?”
“Coffee is probably more appropriate, I’m taking an oath of office in six hours,” he said. I tossed a couple clumps of ImagPro into the meal machine, pressed the buttons and pulled out a couple of cups of hazelnut-flavored comfort.
“What’s up, kid senator?” handing him his cup.
“I don’t know. I just couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my last couple of hours as a normal human being with.”
I snorted. “You stopped being a normal human being when you tossed yourself into the great campaign meat grinder, Badi.”
“Good point,” he said. “But you know what I mean. We’re both finished being apprentices together, and now it’s time to go off and slay dragons in our separate forests. This is the watershed moment.”
“Guess it is,” I reflected. “Although I have some apprenticing to do yet at the university starting in a few weeks. But it’s not going to be the same from today onward, old friend.”
That set something off behind his eyes.
“This will be the same – this,” he said, touching his heart, pointing at me and himself, and waving between us to indicate the friendship.
One of us would usually say something light to make such a moment less intense. I couldn’t come up with any response along those lines, so I just let the silence linger.
Then we just talked about the previous few years of growing through adolescence together. Inevitably we touched on the battle of the cookies – he did not seem to recall that I thoroughly thrashed him in my first and only foray into raging violence – the long night drive, our encounters with the opposite sex (successful and hysterically unsuccessful), nostalgic arguments over favorite films and books and songs.
The meal machine kept us soothingly caffeinated and then provided a decent breakfast. And then there was a hint of dawn through the window, and Badi rose to become a senator officially.
“Good luck, sir,” I said, holding out my hand and feeling a bit of a lump in my throat.
He looked me in the eye and said, “I love you, Ray.” Foregoing the handshake, he threw his arms around me and hugged with all his might – and, I must say, he had more might than he did when I’d beaten him senseless over a few cookies.
“Me, too,” was all I managed to say in return. That damn lump. We nodded at each other, and he walked off to become a historic figure.
Entry 46. Happily ever after
Truth be known, I think his personal secretary, Marilyn Ferne, had a “thing” for him, and I believe they shared a deep friendship that went no farther than an occasional drink or meal after work. In that sense Badi was more ethical than his old childhood friend who consorted with one of his students – only one, ever, and only the one who attached herself to my heart for a lifetime, but I do recognize the dilemma I walked myself into.
No, Badi had no time for such diversions as finding the other half of his soul. He was too busy fighting for an independent and free Sirius 4 – or, as it turned out, at least an independent world.
The night before he left to take his place as the newly elected youngest senator ever to take a place in the Sirius 4 Senate – well, actually it was very early in the morning before he left – there was a soft knock on my door.
“Ray? You awake?” I heard from the other side. Recognizing Badi Sinclair’s voice, I got up and opened the door.
“I couldn’t sleep, either,” I admitted, stepping aside to wave him into the apartment. “Coffee or beer?”
“Coffee is probably more appropriate, I’m taking an oath of office in six hours,” he said. I tossed a couple clumps of ImagPro into the meal machine, pressed the buttons and pulled out a couple of cups of hazelnut-flavored comfort.
“What’s up, kid senator?” handing him his cup.
“I don’t know. I just couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my last couple of hours as a normal human being with.”
I snorted. “You stopped being a normal human being when you tossed yourself into the great campaign meat grinder, Badi.”
“Good point,” he said. “But you know what I mean. We’re both finished being apprentices together, and now it’s time to go off and slay dragons in our separate forests. This is the watershed moment.”
“Guess it is,” I reflected. “Although I have some apprenticing to do yet at the university starting in a few weeks. But it’s not going to be the same from today onward, old friend.”
That set something off behind his eyes.
“This will be the same – this,” he said, touching his heart, pointing at me and himself, and waving between us to indicate the friendship.
One of us would usually say something light to make such a moment less intense. I couldn’t come up with any response along those lines, so I just let the silence linger.
Then we just talked about the previous few years of growing through adolescence together. Inevitably we touched on the battle of the cookies – he did not seem to recall that I thoroughly thrashed him in my first and only foray into raging violence – the long night drive, our encounters with the opposite sex (successful and hysterically unsuccessful), nostalgic arguments over favorite films and books and songs.
The meal machine kept us soothingly caffeinated and then provided a decent breakfast. And then there was a hint of dawn through the window, and Badi rose to become a senator officially.
“Good luck, sir,” I said, holding out my hand and feeling a bit of a lump in my throat.
He looked me in the eye and said, “I love you, Ray.” Foregoing the handshake, he threw his arms around me and hugged with all his might – and, I must say, he had more might than he did when I’d beaten him senseless over a few cookies.
“Me, too,” was all I managed to say in return. That damn lump. We nodded at each other, and he walked off to become a historic figure.
Entry 46. Happily ever after
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Entry 43. Long drive to the capital
He brooded in the passenger seat. I drove. It was a dark, stormy night. I’m not trying to be a bad novelist; that’s just the way the night was: Rain pelted the ground, lightning occasionally flashed orange across the sky, and the wind crashed against the side of my vehicle and challenged me to maintain control.
Badi Sinclair mostly just stared intently into the dark storm; when I glanced his way he seemed simply to be staring into space, blankly, but his occasional words betrayed a dark internal storm that matched his surroundings.
“Dammit, I am not too intense!” he cried at one point, intensely, and I could not help laughing. He looked at me angrily, realized what he had said and how, and finally cracked a smile himself. “All right, but I’m only intense about the things that deserve intensity.”
“I’ll give you that,” I said. “I do think she has a point, but you do care about important things.”
“And nobody is ever going to love her like I did,” he snarled.
“That's a good sign – you used past tense.”
“What?”
“‘Nobody is ever going to love her like I did,’” I repeated. “Did. Not do. First sign you’re getting over it.”
He looked dumbfounded. I think he even whispered the phrase to himself again: “Love her like I did.”
That is how Badiah Sinclair processes thoughts and emotions: He holds them hard, he is passionate as anyone I’ve ever known, but when it’s time to move on, he moves on, consequences be damned. He might have “won back” the girlfriend who walked away from his intensity that night; in fact, Badi was right – when she became a semi-celebrity by virtue of having dated Badiah Sinclair before he was THE Badiah Sinclair, she gave an interview where she said no one since Badi had ever made her feel as loved.
But she told him she couldn’t handle his intensity, and so he grieved with his best friend for a few hours and moved on. It’s a quality that made him a masterful politician – he was able to accept and absorb defeat (or victory, for that matter) quickly and move on to the next urgent matter.
The one thing, to his everlasting credit, where he refused to accept defeat was in the matter of independence for Sirius 4. He intensely believed in Sirius 4’s right to choose its own destiny. That made him our greatest hero and, eventually, one of our greatest villains.
We talked about women that night, about dreams and about nothing at all; I remember almost nothing about our conversation. In fact mostly I remembered driving in the rain while both of us were wrapped up in thought and not talking at all. What I remember most is that we arrived at the outskirts of the capital city before I realized how many miles we had traveled. It was the first time we were together in the city that would play a central role in both our lives.
But we didn’t stop; not that night. We turned around and went home.
Entry 44. Closing time
Badi Sinclair mostly just stared intently into the dark storm; when I glanced his way he seemed simply to be staring into space, blankly, but his occasional words betrayed a dark internal storm that matched his surroundings.
“Dammit, I am not too intense!” he cried at one point, intensely, and I could not help laughing. He looked at me angrily, realized what he had said and how, and finally cracked a smile himself. “All right, but I’m only intense about the things that deserve intensity.”
“I’ll give you that,” I said. “I do think she has a point, but you do care about important things.”
“And nobody is ever going to love her like I did,” he snarled.
“That's a good sign – you used past tense.”
“What?”
“‘Nobody is ever going to love her like I did,’” I repeated. “Did. Not do. First sign you’re getting over it.”
He looked dumbfounded. I think he even whispered the phrase to himself again: “Love her like I did.”
That is how Badiah Sinclair processes thoughts and emotions: He holds them hard, he is passionate as anyone I’ve ever known, but when it’s time to move on, he moves on, consequences be damned. He might have “won back” the girlfriend who walked away from his intensity that night; in fact, Badi was right – when she became a semi-celebrity by virtue of having dated Badiah Sinclair before he was THE Badiah Sinclair, she gave an interview where she said no one since Badi had ever made her feel as loved.
But she told him she couldn’t handle his intensity, and so he grieved with his best friend for a few hours and moved on. It’s a quality that made him a masterful politician – he was able to accept and absorb defeat (or victory, for that matter) quickly and move on to the next urgent matter.
The one thing, to his everlasting credit, where he refused to accept defeat was in the matter of independence for Sirius 4. He intensely believed in Sirius 4’s right to choose its own destiny. That made him our greatest hero and, eventually, one of our greatest villains.
We talked about women that night, about dreams and about nothing at all; I remember almost nothing about our conversation. In fact mostly I remembered driving in the rain while both of us were wrapped up in thought and not talking at all. What I remember most is that we arrived at the outskirts of the capital city before I realized how many miles we had traveled. It was the first time we were together in the city that would play a central role in both our lives.
But we didn’t stop; not that night. We turned around and went home.
Entry 44. Closing time
Monday, July 23, 2012
Entry 42
I have been avoiding setting down my memories and thoughts about the central conflict of this whole narrative – the disillusionment and break with the best friend I ever had, Badiah Sinclair. With some trepidation, I acknowledge it’s time to stat writing those chapters.
One of my greatest sources of pride was watching my old chum lead Sirius 4 to independence. It always gave me chills (and made me laugh a little) to see the boy, who a decade earlier had skipped stones across Lake Ptolemy and earnestly debated the secrets of game codes with me, fanning the flames of liberty across a planet.
And the greatest horror of my life was watching what became of that promise.
Now I have sat at my station for 20 minutes trying to write about that horror. And I find I’m still not ready.
Let me for one more day savor the good memories ...
Entry 43. Long drive to the capital
One of my greatest sources of pride was watching my old chum lead Sirius 4 to independence. It always gave me chills (and made me laugh a little) to see the boy, who a decade earlier had skipped stones across Lake Ptolemy and earnestly debated the secrets of game codes with me, fanning the flames of liberty across a planet.
And the greatest horror of my life was watching what became of that promise.
Now I have sat at my station for 20 minutes trying to write about that horror. And I find I’m still not ready.
Let me for one more day savor the good memories ...
Entry 43. Long drive to the capital
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Entry 41. The governor
Silas Fredersen was not a bad man. But he will not be remembered as a good man.
Appointed governor of Sirius 4 in S4Y 132, he had the unenviable task of implementing increasingly unreasonable Earthian policies over an increasingly restless populace. He was a true believer, but only to a point.
It made perfect sense to him, for example, that the people of Sirius 4 had a perpetual debt to Earth for the investments made more than a century earlier – the interstellar flights, the establishment of bases, the construction of the oxygen-nitrogen generators. He had no problem collecting our taxes and transferring them to unseen and, to us, irrelevant bureaucrats 8.6 light years away.
But he always admitted he felt uncomfortable that he was the leader of Sirius 4 not because we wanted him but because one of those unseen and irrelevant bureaucrats selected him to rule over us.
That instinct is one big reason why I say he was not a bad man; he understood the need of free men and women to rule themselves.
That instinct is what made him able to sustain negotiations for Sirius 4 independence for three full years, even as it became increasingly obvious that his Earthian masters were not going to let us be any more independent than they were willing to dictate.
“Silas always made us feel like he believed in our ultimate goal, to let Sirians determine the future of Sirius 4,” Sen. Badiah Sinclair told me as we watched the ship carry Fredersen and the last of his security forces fly away on that fateful day in S4Y 138. “I think that’s what kept us at the table.”
History later showed that Fredersen convinced Earth not to let the Simmons incident escalate into full-blown revolution, instead retreating back to the homeworld and allowing us to feel our oats as an independent planet for a couple of years. That was how long it took for Earth to decide it couldn’t live without our tax payments after all, and they sent Joshua True to collect our freedom.
Without Fredersen’s reluctance to make Jim Simmons just the first of many martyrs for the cause, the bloody phase of our story would have come much sooner. And perhaps we would have lost that war. Perhaps we needed to taste a couple of years of freedom to fully appreciate its flavor.
So for all of those reasons, I believe Silas Fredersen was not a bad man. In some ways he was even heroic. But he also was responsible for running a government where a bureaucrat felt justified murdering a landowner for defending his right to erect a pole building 10 centimeters closer to his property line than the law allowed.
Therefore, we won’t ever remember him as a good man, either.
Entry 42
Appointed governor of Sirius 4 in S4Y 132, he had the unenviable task of implementing increasingly unreasonable Earthian policies over an increasingly restless populace. He was a true believer, but only to a point.
It made perfect sense to him, for example, that the people of Sirius 4 had a perpetual debt to Earth for the investments made more than a century earlier – the interstellar flights, the establishment of bases, the construction of the oxygen-nitrogen generators. He had no problem collecting our taxes and transferring them to unseen and, to us, irrelevant bureaucrats 8.6 light years away.
But he always admitted he felt uncomfortable that he was the leader of Sirius 4 not because we wanted him but because one of those unseen and irrelevant bureaucrats selected him to rule over us.
That instinct is one big reason why I say he was not a bad man; he understood the need of free men and women to rule themselves.
That instinct is what made him able to sustain negotiations for Sirius 4 independence for three full years, even as it became increasingly obvious that his Earthian masters were not going to let us be any more independent than they were willing to dictate.
“Silas always made us feel like he believed in our ultimate goal, to let Sirians determine the future of Sirius 4,” Sen. Badiah Sinclair told me as we watched the ship carry Fredersen and the last of his security forces fly away on that fateful day in S4Y 138. “I think that’s what kept us at the table.”
History later showed that Fredersen convinced Earth not to let the Simmons incident escalate into full-blown revolution, instead retreating back to the homeworld and allowing us to feel our oats as an independent planet for a couple of years. That was how long it took for Earth to decide it couldn’t live without our tax payments after all, and they sent Joshua True to collect our freedom.
Without Fredersen’s reluctance to make Jim Simmons just the first of many martyrs for the cause, the bloody phase of our story would have come much sooner. And perhaps we would have lost that war. Perhaps we needed to taste a couple of years of freedom to fully appreciate its flavor.
So for all of those reasons, I believe Silas Fredersen was not a bad man. In some ways he was even heroic. But he also was responsible for running a government where a bureaucrat felt justified murdering a landowner for defending his right to erect a pole building 10 centimeters closer to his property line than the law allowed.
Therefore, we won’t ever remember him as a good man, either.
Entry 42
Monday, July 9, 2012
Entry 32. Hard choices
One of the advantages of the president being your childhood chum is that you have the president’s ear occasionally. I had spent my entire academic career specializing in the study of nonviolent civil disobedience, and a small handful of movers and shakers had begun to notice my work before Lt. True and his occupation force arrived.
When newly independent Sirius 4 found itself invaded by its former ruling world, naturally free people bristled. Even those who were not so certain independence was a good idea found themselves insulted by the thought that Mama Earth was going to bring her errant child back in the fold unilaterally.
The call for armed resistance arose within hours of True’s announcement, and the war would have flamed up even sooner if the good lieutenant had not had the good sense to release “Senator” Sinclair into his own custody after a day of house arrest – with strict instructions to behave himself and not go off leading an armed insurrection or anything of that sort, which Badiah of course clearly intended anyway.
“We are playing into True’s hands if we meet this with violence,” I said at the first opportunity when Badi accepted my request to visit him. “The first peacekeeper who’s killed or wounded will be their excuse to crack down even harder, and independence will be that much more elusive.”
“Either that, or Earth won’t have the stomach for their sons and daughters being killed in a meaningless war light years away,” Badiah replied. “What do you suggest, hugging them into submission?”
I laughed. I had to, he was right, responding to armed occupiers with love and forgiveness was a hard sell with people. But I had something in mind less passive than that.
“We can choose noncooperation,” I offered. “Just don’t accept their authority. Ignore it. Go about our lives as if they aren’t there and haven’t laid down their stupid laws. What are they going to do, arrest us all? There’s not enough room in the jails for all of us.”
“They can hurt us. They can kill us,” President Sinclair replied softly. “I’m not going to allow that. If they’re ready to use lethal force, and they are, then we strike first.”
“Kill them because they’re prepared to kill us – even though they actually haven’t tried yet?”
“Yet, Ray – they haven’t killed anyone yet, not since Jim Simmons – but they will, unless we submit to their tyranny again. It’s us or them.”
“There’s always a third way!” I cried. He knew what I meant.
But we didn’t choose the third way, not Badiah, not most of the rest of us. Sirians fought against tyranny the old-fashioned way: Guns, knives, lasers, and when all else failed, bare hands.
And in the end, this time Badiah Sinclair was right. Earth would have no stomach for filled body bags coming home from Sirius 4. I knew he wouldn’t take my advice, but I had to try, because I also was fairly certain what would happen next.
Entry 33. The resisters
When newly independent Sirius 4 found itself invaded by its former ruling world, naturally free people bristled. Even those who were not so certain independence was a good idea found themselves insulted by the thought that Mama Earth was going to bring her errant child back in the fold unilaterally.
The call for armed resistance arose within hours of True’s announcement, and the war would have flamed up even sooner if the good lieutenant had not had the good sense to release “Senator” Sinclair into his own custody after a day of house arrest – with strict instructions to behave himself and not go off leading an armed insurrection or anything of that sort, which Badiah of course clearly intended anyway.
“We are playing into True’s hands if we meet this with violence,” I said at the first opportunity when Badi accepted my request to visit him. “The first peacekeeper who’s killed or wounded will be their excuse to crack down even harder, and independence will be that much more elusive.”
“Either that, or Earth won’t have the stomach for their sons and daughters being killed in a meaningless war light years away,” Badiah replied. “What do you suggest, hugging them into submission?”
I laughed. I had to, he was right, responding to armed occupiers with love and forgiveness was a hard sell with people. But I had something in mind less passive than that.
“We can choose noncooperation,” I offered. “Just don’t accept their authority. Ignore it. Go about our lives as if they aren’t there and haven’t laid down their stupid laws. What are they going to do, arrest us all? There’s not enough room in the jails for all of us.”
“They can hurt us. They can kill us,” President Sinclair replied softly. “I’m not going to allow that. If they’re ready to use lethal force, and they are, then we strike first.”
“Kill them because they’re prepared to kill us – even though they actually haven’t tried yet?”
“Yet, Ray – they haven’t killed anyone yet, not since Jim Simmons – but they will, unless we submit to their tyranny again. It’s us or them.”
“There’s always a third way!” I cried. He knew what I meant.
But we didn’t choose the third way, not Badiah, not most of the rest of us. Sirians fought against tyranny the old-fashioned way: Guns, knives, lasers, and when all else failed, bare hands.
And in the end, this time Badiah Sinclair was right. Earth would have no stomach for filled body bags coming home from Sirius 4. I knew he wouldn’t take my advice, but I had to try, because I also was fairly certain what would happen next.
Entry 33. The resisters
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
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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