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 nonviolence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nonviolence. 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.
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
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Entry 77. Reporting for work
At the hour when the workday at Imaginary Structures Inc. usually began, three distinct and large groups were gathered near the front gate.
Forming a perimeter around the complex were hundreds of security officers, armed, wearing face masks and armor, and holding large shields. Facing them were 5,000 witnesses surrounding 1,500 company employees, who were dressed for an average workday.
At the front of the line was Lon Weston, president and founder of Imaginary Structures, with a big smile on his face. It seemed a little forced, as if he was trying as hard as he could to look serene but it wasn’t working so well.
I stood near Lon with Buffalo and John Hemlock. We witnesses were going to form a corridor through which the workers would walk. In an ideal world, the small army of security personnel would step aside, but they looked as though they were prepared to stand their ground.
The plan was for the workers to press forward until they were taken into custody; once in custody, they would respectfully decline to cooperate with authorities. Asked their name, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Pressed for a contact number or address, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Threatened with jail or prison, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.”
With all 1,500 employees of Imaginary Structures Inc. being processed, the court system would have precious little time for real criminals.
Looking at his timepiece, Lon Weston proclaimed loudly, “All right folks, let’s go to work.” And he began to stride toward the line of shields. The company’s associates came forward behind him.
“This plant is closed. Do not come any farther or you will be trespassing,” an authoritative voice barked from somewhere behind the dark force.
Lon Weston and his team came forward.
“It’s such a beautiful day to work,” Weston called, spreading his arms to indicate the warm, bright sun.
“You are trespassing. Turn back now,” barked the disembodied voice.
Lon Weston and his team came forward. Except for the armed men with shields blocking their path, it could have been any other morning as people approached the factory entrance. Perhaps there was less of the everyday chattering of conversation.
“Halt. This is your final warning,” barked the voice.
“We choose not to participate,” someone called from behind Lon Weston, and a few people laughed nervously.
The crowd was three to five meters from the security force. “Here come the arrests,” I said to no one in particular.
And then, for the second time, John Hemlock saved my life.
He stepped in front of Buffalo and me, yelled “Get down!” and not waiting for us to react, tackled us flat and covered us with his massive body.
Not quite comprehending, as I fell backwards I caught a glimpse of dozens of security forces aiming their weapons.
Entry 78
Forming a perimeter around the complex were hundreds of security officers, armed, wearing face masks and armor, and holding large shields. Facing them were 5,000 witnesses surrounding 1,500 company employees, who were dressed for an average workday.
At the front of the line was Lon Weston, president and founder of Imaginary Structures, with a big smile on his face. It seemed a little forced, as if he was trying as hard as he could to look serene but it wasn’t working so well.
I stood near Lon with Buffalo and John Hemlock. We witnesses were going to form a corridor through which the workers would walk. In an ideal world, the small army of security personnel would step aside, but they looked as though they were prepared to stand their ground.
The plan was for the workers to press forward until they were taken into custody; once in custody, they would respectfully decline to cooperate with authorities. Asked their name, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Pressed for a contact number or address, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Threatened with jail or prison, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.”
With all 1,500 employees of Imaginary Structures Inc. being processed, the court system would have precious little time for real criminals.
Looking at his timepiece, Lon Weston proclaimed loudly, “All right folks, let’s go to work.” And he began to stride toward the line of shields. The company’s associates came forward behind him.
“This plant is closed. Do not come any farther or you will be trespassing,” an authoritative voice barked from somewhere behind the dark force.
Lon Weston and his team came forward.
“It’s such a beautiful day to work,” Weston called, spreading his arms to indicate the warm, bright sun.
“You are trespassing. Turn back now,” barked the disembodied voice.
Lon Weston and his team came forward. Except for the armed men with shields blocking their path, it could have been any other morning as people approached the factory entrance. Perhaps there was less of the everyday chattering of conversation.
“Halt. This is your final warning,” barked the voice.
“We choose not to participate,” someone called from behind Lon Weston, and a few people laughed nervously.
The crowd was three to five meters from the security force. “Here come the arrests,” I said to no one in particular.
And then, for the second time, John Hemlock saved my life.
He stepped in front of Buffalo and me, yelled “Get down!” and not waiting for us to react, tackled us flat and covered us with his massive body.
Not quite comprehending, as I fell backwards I caught a glimpse of dozens of security forces aiming their weapons.
Entry 78
Monday, October 22, 2012
Entry 76. Preparations
Lon Weston had taken Imaginary Structures from, well, a figment of his imagination to one of the larger businesses on Sirius 4 and certainly the economic engine of Ganges Pass. He was not an imposing man physically, but he had a quiet energy that simmered under the surface all the time and frequently bubbled over.
Usually that energy was expressed in enthusiasm and encouragement; now the best words seemed to be anger and frustration. He and his associates, 15 hundred strong, had decided to show up for work as usual the next morning, and now Weston had asked me to coach them on passive resistance.
“We’re scientists and programmers, not activists,” he said. “I need you to give us all a short course on how this works.”
As I had said so many times over the years, and especially to the thousands more who would back up the workers in the morning, I stressed the importance of nonviolence.
“Presuming there will be a security force there to turn you back, you should be firm in your resolve but not raise a hand to them,” I said. “One of the basics of civil disobedience is being willing to accept the consequences of your disobedience. I’m guessing they will either let you through the gates or arrest you; our goal is to fill the jail and clog up the system. But don’t resist arrest – try very hard to get in and don’t stop until they bring you into custody, but let them bring you into custody. There’s a component of raising public sympathy here, and believe me it’s all on your side, but that can shift if you slug a cop or do anything else to hurt them.”
“Why if they try to hurt us?” someone asked from the middle of the group. “Don’t we have a right to defend ourselves?”
I told them about Gandhi’s march to the sea, about how the protesters were urged not even to raise their hands to defend themselves if the police started beating them, about how wave after wave of people did just that, and how the result was a revulsion so universal that the British government agreed to relax its restrictions and, more important, never had the power it once had over the Indian people.
“Gandhi called it satyagraha – satya is a word meaning a truth that equals love, and graha means force. If you do this with a spirit of love, you will accomplish amazing things,” I said. “I don’t think they will try to hurt you, but if they do, if you don’t try to hurt them back, your power will increase exponentially.”
What smug assurance I had when I said, “I don’t think they will try to hurt you.”
Entry 77
Usually that energy was expressed in enthusiasm and encouragement; now the best words seemed to be anger and frustration. He and his associates, 15 hundred strong, had decided to show up for work as usual the next morning, and now Weston had asked me to coach them on passive resistance.
“We’re scientists and programmers, not activists,” he said. “I need you to give us all a short course on how this works.”
As I had said so many times over the years, and especially to the thousands more who would back up the workers in the morning, I stressed the importance of nonviolence.
“Presuming there will be a security force there to turn you back, you should be firm in your resolve but not raise a hand to them,” I said. “One of the basics of civil disobedience is being willing to accept the consequences of your disobedience. I’m guessing they will either let you through the gates or arrest you; our goal is to fill the jail and clog up the system. But don’t resist arrest – try very hard to get in and don’t stop until they bring you into custody, but let them bring you into custody. There’s a component of raising public sympathy here, and believe me it’s all on your side, but that can shift if you slug a cop or do anything else to hurt them.”
“Why if they try to hurt us?” someone asked from the middle of the group. “Don’t we have a right to defend ourselves?”
I told them about Gandhi’s march to the sea, about how the protesters were urged not even to raise their hands to defend themselves if the police started beating them, about how wave after wave of people did just that, and how the result was a revulsion so universal that the British government agreed to relax its restrictions and, more important, never had the power it once had over the Indian people.
“Gandhi called it satyagraha – satya is a word meaning a truth that equals love, and graha means force. If you do this with a spirit of love, you will accomplish amazing things,” I said. “I don’t think they will try to hurt you, but if they do, if you don’t try to hurt them back, your power will increase exponentially.”
What smug assurance I had when I said, “I don’t think they will try to hurt you.”
Entry 77
Friday, September 28, 2012
Entry 66. A change of mind
She just reappeared at my door, still dressed in her guerilla apparel, still with the gun slung over her shoulder. There’s a steeliness about Buffalo Springsteen, a rock-solid something that stabilizes her even in her softness moments, so I should have known the change would not come with great heaving sobs. She just came home.
“I’m done,” she said, looking in my eyes after we finished the long, warm hug of greeting. “Done killing.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” A pause. “I just got to thinking.”
No, there were no close encounters with enemy combatants; a sniper’s nest, it seems, is a quiet and even lonely place – a place well suited for thinking.
We were right, her hunting skills served her well picking off the enemy from a distance. She was able to cut rather deeply into the ranks of the peacekeepers. But in between kills, she had plenty of time to think.
“I started to think about the lives I’d snuffed,” Buffalo said, keeping a steady gaze on my eyes, perhaps to make sure I was still with her. “I started to imagine them living normal lives. The family back home, the friends waiting for a reunion that’s not going to happen now, the big plans they had for their lives, maybe they were married, maybe they had kids who called them in their bunk every night. I thought about how you’d feel if they got me; I thought about how I felt when I heard about the guy with the gun, the guy Johnny tackled for you, the guy who wanted to take you out.
“And I started thinking you were right, that killing them wasn’t going to end it. So I quit.”
“You walked away from the sniper’s nest?”
Now she laughed. “Not that simple, but I let them know I was done, and soon as they could spare me I left. Didn’t need to kill anyone the last few days anyway.”
I held her close. I thought about saying she had taken a big step to stop the cycle of violence, but the moment didn’t call for theories and philosophical statements. At least I didn’t think so, until she took me by both arms.
“You’re right, Ray,” she said. “That’s how you beat them – not by killing as many as you can – just stop living their vision and start living yours. And our vision is about leaving each other alone to live out our natural lives.”
No, no heaving sobs, but a single tear did find its way down her cheek.
Entry 67
“I’m done,” she said, looking in my eyes after we finished the long, warm hug of greeting. “Done killing.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” A pause. “I just got to thinking.”
No, there were no close encounters with enemy combatants; a sniper’s nest, it seems, is a quiet and even lonely place – a place well suited for thinking.
We were right, her hunting skills served her well picking off the enemy from a distance. She was able to cut rather deeply into the ranks of the peacekeepers. But in between kills, she had plenty of time to think.
“I started to think about the lives I’d snuffed,” Buffalo said, keeping a steady gaze on my eyes, perhaps to make sure I was still with her. “I started to imagine them living normal lives. The family back home, the friends waiting for a reunion that’s not going to happen now, the big plans they had for their lives, maybe they were married, maybe they had kids who called them in their bunk every night. I thought about how you’d feel if they got me; I thought about how I felt when I heard about the guy with the gun, the guy Johnny tackled for you, the guy who wanted to take you out.
“And I started thinking you were right, that killing them wasn’t going to end it. So I quit.”
“You walked away from the sniper’s nest?”
Now she laughed. “Not that simple, but I let them know I was done, and soon as they could spare me I left. Didn’t need to kill anyone the last few days anyway.”
I held her close. I thought about saying she had taken a big step to stop the cycle of violence, but the moment didn’t call for theories and philosophical statements. At least I didn’t think so, until she took me by both arms.
“You’re right, Ray,” she said. “That’s how you beat them – not by killing as many as you can – just stop living their vision and start living yours. And our vision is about leaving each other alone to live out our natural lives.”
No, no heaving sobs, but a single tear did find its way down her cheek.
Entry 67
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Entry 65. Homecoming
Entry 65. Homecoming
I guess I should have known that Buffalo and I would eventually be together again and that she would accept the path of non-violence. Well, if I must be precise, she accepted that killing is not the path to peace. I never have convinced her on the matter of what she calls a pre-emptive first strike when violence seems inevitable.
John Hemlock was right; we are too much alike not to come to similar conclusions about core values. Our coming together again, however, was not quite as I envisioned.
I expected drama. I even imagined how she would come to the conclusion that war is no solution. She would be caught in some kind of combat that ended with only two survivors, herself and a gravely wounded Earthian soldier. With the heat of battle raging around them, Buffalo would get to know her combatant more personally; perhaps they would save each other’s lives somehow and forge a tentative friendship. It’s easy to kill “an Earthian,” not as easy to kill a friend.
When the other person died, Buffalo would come to understand the toll of war, the stupidity of war, the uselessness of war. Tears would be shed in great quantities as the enormity of what she had done weighed on her conscience.
There was no drama and few tears. One day Buffalo simply ended her combat career and came back. The circumstances were dramatic in a different way than I’d imagined.
Entry 66
I guess I should have known that Buffalo and I would eventually be together again and that she would accept the path of non-violence. Well, if I must be precise, she accepted that killing is not the path to peace. I never have convinced her on the matter of what she calls a pre-emptive first strike when violence seems inevitable.
John Hemlock was right; we are too much alike not to come to similar conclusions about core values. Our coming together again, however, was not quite as I envisioned.
I expected drama. I even imagined how she would come to the conclusion that war is no solution. She would be caught in some kind of combat that ended with only two survivors, herself and a gravely wounded Earthian soldier. With the heat of battle raging around them, Buffalo would get to know her combatant more personally; perhaps they would save each other’s lives somehow and forge a tentative friendship. It’s easy to kill “an Earthian,” not as easy to kill a friend.
When the other person died, Buffalo would come to understand the toll of war, the stupidity of war, the uselessness of war. Tears would be shed in great quantities as the enormity of what she had done weighed on her conscience.
There was no drama and few tears. One day Buffalo simply ended her combat career and came back. The circumstances were dramatic in a different way than I’d imagined.
Entry 66
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Entry 63. Attempt at appeasement
The war was not going well for either side. Remains were shipped back to Earth on a regular basis, and remains were processed routinely on Sirius 4 as well. Guns and grenades and lasers ended lives and damaged property, but they did little to convince anyone to change their minds about the wisdom of Sirian independence.
Even the bizarre violence of the imaginary grenade failed to extinguish the fire in our hearts. The things would simply cause their targets to collapse without an explosion, quietly and without fanfare.
Seeing them work was a chilling experience, but they did not end the revolution. Our engineers simply went to work figuring out how to replicate the program so we could have imaginary force of our own.
I was alone in my office when Lt. Joshua True sent his message. The fact that it came from True himself piqued my interest enough to enable video.
“Professor Kaliber, it’s an honor to speak with you,” the precise voice said in a military-precise tone. I was sorely tempted to reply, “I wish I could say the same,” but I didn’t want this encounter to descend into tawdry melodrama.
“The only honor you could do me is to leave this planet,” I said. I’d like to say I was angry and defiant, but the truth is I was more than a little nervous and that was the only response I could think to give.
“Heh. Well. It turns out that is the reason I’m calling,” he said, passing a hand over his short gray skullcap hair, as if the precisely cut bristles needed to be brushed into place. “I wanted to express my appreciation for the public statements you have been making, the call to nonviolence.”
This was rich.
“Do you mean the statements where I say you represent a tyrannical regime that deserves to be ignored, not obeyed?”
The precision smile tightened into a precise thin line, but still a smile.
“Heh. Well, I might have a quarrel with your terminology, but we all want a peaceful solution to this.”
“Do we.”
“Of course. No one seems to understand better than you what a waste of lives it is to resist authority this way,” True said. “I thought perhaps together we could convince our brothers and sisters to lay down their arms and reason together.”
“You mean surrender.”
“I mean resume the negotiations.”
“There are no negotiations to resume,” I replied. “You left. We are free.”
“Not so much, I would think,” True said. “We are here now. You need our authority to prevent chaos.”
“Let me make something clear, lieutenant, because you’re not in possession of your senses. Your authority is causing the chaos. There was no chaos here before your thugs landed their ships.”
“If you say so. You’re not seeing it from Earth’s perspective.”
“Earth’s perspective is that Sirius 4 belongs to Earth. One person does not own another. One planet of individuals does not possess another planet of individuals.”
“But individuals must work together.”
“Yes, sometimes they must to achieve common goals. Restoring Earth’s insane hold on the people of Sirius 4 is not a common goal. You’re laboring under a misunderstanding, True.”
“You advocate a nonviolent solution.”
“I advocate active noncooperation with your thuggery,” I shouted. It irritated me that I’d allowed my calm to break first. “Just because I don’t believe you deserve to die doesn’t mean I don’t believe you deserve to leave.” I paused to settle my emotions. “You’ll get no help from me, lieutenant. We won’t be interacting again until you’re off my planet.”
“Perhaps you’ll feel different about this inside a prison cell,” True said evenly.
I chuckled. “A wiser man than I once wrote, ‘the state never intentionally confronts a man’s sense, intellectual or moral, but only his body, his senses. It is not armed with superior wit or honesty, but with superior strength.
“‘I was not born to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion. Let us see who is the strongest,’” I said, pleased that a lifetime of studying Henry David Thoreau gave me the words to confront the precise thug.
Now it was Lt. True’s turn to let a long pause hang in the air. He did not give me the satisfaction of responding to my anger with an outburst of his own, but I did detect a twitch or two around the edges of his iron expression.
“Heh. Well. Thank you for your time, professor.” The screen went dark.
Entry 64
Even the bizarre violence of the imaginary grenade failed to extinguish the fire in our hearts. The things would simply cause their targets to collapse without an explosion, quietly and without fanfare.
Seeing them work was a chilling experience, but they did not end the revolution. Our engineers simply went to work figuring out how to replicate the program so we could have imaginary force of our own.
I was alone in my office when Lt. Joshua True sent his message. The fact that it came from True himself piqued my interest enough to enable video.
“Professor Kaliber, it’s an honor to speak with you,” the precise voice said in a military-precise tone. I was sorely tempted to reply, “I wish I could say the same,” but I didn’t want this encounter to descend into tawdry melodrama.
“The only honor you could do me is to leave this planet,” I said. I’d like to say I was angry and defiant, but the truth is I was more than a little nervous and that was the only response I could think to give.
“Heh. Well. It turns out that is the reason I’m calling,” he said, passing a hand over his short gray skullcap hair, as if the precisely cut bristles needed to be brushed into place. “I wanted to express my appreciation for the public statements you have been making, the call to nonviolence.”
This was rich.
“Do you mean the statements where I say you represent a tyrannical regime that deserves to be ignored, not obeyed?”
The precision smile tightened into a precise thin line, but still a smile.
“Heh. Well, I might have a quarrel with your terminology, but we all want a peaceful solution to this.”
“Do we.”
“Of course. No one seems to understand better than you what a waste of lives it is to resist authority this way,” True said. “I thought perhaps together we could convince our brothers and sisters to lay down their arms and reason together.”
“You mean surrender.”
“I mean resume the negotiations.”
“There are no negotiations to resume,” I replied. “You left. We are free.”
“Not so much, I would think,” True said. “We are here now. You need our authority to prevent chaos.”
“Let me make something clear, lieutenant, because you’re not in possession of your senses. Your authority is causing the chaos. There was no chaos here before your thugs landed their ships.”
“If you say so. You’re not seeing it from Earth’s perspective.”
“Earth’s perspective is that Sirius 4 belongs to Earth. One person does not own another. One planet of individuals does not possess another planet of individuals.”
“But individuals must work together.”
“Yes, sometimes they must to achieve common goals. Restoring Earth’s insane hold on the people of Sirius 4 is not a common goal. You’re laboring under a misunderstanding, True.”
“You advocate a nonviolent solution.”
“I advocate active noncooperation with your thuggery,” I shouted. It irritated me that I’d allowed my calm to break first. “Just because I don’t believe you deserve to die doesn’t mean I don’t believe you deserve to leave.” I paused to settle my emotions. “You’ll get no help from me, lieutenant. We won’t be interacting again until you’re off my planet.”
“Perhaps you’ll feel different about this inside a prison cell,” True said evenly.
I chuckled. “A wiser man than I once wrote, ‘the state never intentionally confronts a man’s sense, intellectual or moral, but only his body, his senses. It is not armed with superior wit or honesty, but with superior strength.
“‘I was not born to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion. Let us see who is the strongest,’” I said, pleased that a lifetime of studying Henry David Thoreau gave me the words to confront the precise thug.
Now it was Lt. True’s turn to let a long pause hang in the air. He did not give me the satisfaction of responding to my anger with an outburst of his own, but I did detect a twitch or two around the edges of his iron expression.
“Heh. Well. Thank you for your time, professor.” The screen went dark.
Entry 64
Monday, September 17, 2012
Entry 62. Messengers of nonviolence
“Guy comes to me, his liver’s shot, his wife left him, he’s broke, I think his dog might have died, too,” John Hemlock said to general laughter. “He says, ‘Why would God do this to me?’ The thing is, I said, God didn’t do anything to you, son, he’s only honoring the choices you made over the years. Your life is the product of the choices you make, moment by moment. You can hang on tight, or you can relax and turn the controls over to Jesus.”
Now, everyone knew where Johnny would be coming from, so those who chose to think about the religious themes took them seriously, and those who were not so sure took what he had to say that they could apply to their lives and left the rest to simmer. That’s what I mean when I say maybe Sirians are a special breed where this could work – most of us learned early to live and let live. We have no special need to convert other people to our way of thinking, as long as they don’t try to convert us to theirs. And in that way, John Hemlock is the perfect preacher for our planet. He does his share of converting but he doesn’t fuss for the lost souls who choose to stay lost – or those who get themselves found by other means.
My half of the talking didn’t touch on the supernatural, although once I added John’s “Love your neighbor as yourself” verbiage I guess it did have that undercurrent. I was not trying to win souls as much as minds when I said it: It simply makes sense looking at human nature that the way you treat others is reflected in the way they treat you.
“When you overthrow a violent regime violently, you only replace one violence with another,” I’d say. “If you want fundamental change, you must make fundamental changes in the way you approach the problem. A government or a society that solves its problems by killing or maiming its adversaries is not going to change minds – and changing minds is the only way to achieve the real goal: ending tyranny.”
The audiences had been growing, but they dropped off again after armed soldiers began to patrol the streets. One thing that can be said about violence is that it’s quicker, although not at all effective in the long run as we learned. Ramsey Sardonicus proved in Colorado that you can take a regime down in a hurry by ignoring it, but the people of Sirius 4 wanted to try taking the tyrants on their own terms first. The only time I resented that approach was when Lt. Joshua True tried turning my resistance to violence on its head.
Entry 63
Now, everyone knew where Johnny would be coming from, so those who chose to think about the religious themes took them seriously, and those who were not so sure took what he had to say that they could apply to their lives and left the rest to simmer. That’s what I mean when I say maybe Sirians are a special breed where this could work – most of us learned early to live and let live. We have no special need to convert other people to our way of thinking, as long as they don’t try to convert us to theirs. And in that way, John Hemlock is the perfect preacher for our planet. He does his share of converting but he doesn’t fuss for the lost souls who choose to stay lost – or those who get themselves found by other means.
My half of the talking didn’t touch on the supernatural, although once I added John’s “Love your neighbor as yourself” verbiage I guess it did have that undercurrent. I was not trying to win souls as much as minds when I said it: It simply makes sense looking at human nature that the way you treat others is reflected in the way they treat you.
“When you overthrow a violent regime violently, you only replace one violence with another,” I’d say. “If you want fundamental change, you must make fundamental changes in the way you approach the problem. A government or a society that solves its problems by killing or maiming its adversaries is not going to change minds – and changing minds is the only way to achieve the real goal: ending tyranny.”
The audiences had been growing, but they dropped off again after armed soldiers began to patrol the streets. One thing that can be said about violence is that it’s quicker, although not at all effective in the long run as we learned. Ramsey Sardonicus proved in Colorado that you can take a regime down in a hurry by ignoring it, but the people of Sirius 4 wanted to try taking the tyrants on their own terms first. The only time I resented that approach was when Lt. Joshua True tried turning my resistance to violence on its head.
Entry 63
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Entry 61. Hot coals of forgiveness
John Hemlock, more perhaps than any other living soul, understood that removing violence as an option didn’t mean surrendering.
“I get that you’re angry, I get that you want to lash out,” Johnny would tell our audiences. “But you got to get past that, you have to forgive your enemies – that’s the one path to true peace. I don’t mean what they used to call a kumbya peace, a false peace, I mean when you don’t stay up at night with a tummy ache because you hate your enemies so much.”
“What if they’ve killed your brother?” the skeptical would ask, and before the question could even echo off the wall, John would bark back: “Every man is your brother. It’s a family dispute.”
But then that huge face would soften into a whimsical smile. “If you’re having trouble with the forgiveness part, think of this: If you return hate and violence with love and generosity, it’ll drive them nuts. It’ll make them crazy if they think they can’t make you angry. It’ll be as good as dumping hot coals on their head, their brains will explode.” That would usually get people laughing a little, and then he’d add: “The really sweet part is that if you do that often enough and long enough, there really will come a day when they can’t make you angry. It’ll be second nature for you to give love and generosity to everyone, even the people who think they’re your enemies. You’re not treating them with love because it drives them crazy, you’re treating them with love because you love them. At first forgiveness doesn’t change anything except what’s inside you – but if you can stick it out and forgive and forgive and respond with love every time, eventually no one will even want to be your enemy in the first place.”
We made a good one-two punch, John and I, if I may make an analogy that involves a fighting image. He would come on and talk about loving your neighbors in a practical but theoretical sense, and I would extend the theory to the realities of the present day. I knew if we could convince people that nonviolence is the core of a stable but dynamic way of life, we could change the world.
That was why Buffalo’s choice to wage the war in the old-fashioned way – killing Earthians – shook me to the core: Because nonviolence is my core. If I couldn’t convince the woman closest to me that my tenets of common wealth would lead us to a better place, literally a common wealth, how would I convince anyone? I knew the question was silly, I knew my ideas were catching on with people, but I wanted more than anything for her to embrace the concept.
“You’re the one who says we’re each and every one of us unique, and that means we’re not going to see everything the same,” John reminded me. “She’ll come around in her own way, her own time. You guys are soulmates. Half of a soul can’t go one way and the other half completely the other forever.”
“I’m talking about realizing that even Earthians are our neighbors, and she’s off to kill them. That’s pretty much opposite directions,” I said.
“She’ll come around,” he repeated. “You both have this passion for freedom. You’re both absolutely real and unique – like everyone else is, that’s what you say, right? The passion’s taking you different ways now, but you’re going to end up on the same page, I know that. You need to be together, there’s like an aura that surrounds the two of you when you’re together.”
“An aura.”
“Don’t you give me that look, Raymond, I’m telling you I see an aura. It lights you both up. You’re what you call ‘made for each other.’”
“That won’t help much if she gets herself killed,” I said ruefully.
“Hey, seems to me you’re both committed to dying for this cause if that’s what it takes,” John Hemlock said with a big smile. “Buffalo will take care of herself, and I’m here to take care of you.”
Entry 62
“I get that you’re angry, I get that you want to lash out,” Johnny would tell our audiences. “But you got to get past that, you have to forgive your enemies – that’s the one path to true peace. I don’t mean what they used to call a kumbya peace, a false peace, I mean when you don’t stay up at night with a tummy ache because you hate your enemies so much.”
“What if they’ve killed your brother?” the skeptical would ask, and before the question could even echo off the wall, John would bark back: “Every man is your brother. It’s a family dispute.”
But then that huge face would soften into a whimsical smile. “If you’re having trouble with the forgiveness part, think of this: If you return hate and violence with love and generosity, it’ll drive them nuts. It’ll make them crazy if they think they can’t make you angry. It’ll be as good as dumping hot coals on their head, their brains will explode.” That would usually get people laughing a little, and then he’d add: “The really sweet part is that if you do that often enough and long enough, there really will come a day when they can’t make you angry. It’ll be second nature for you to give love and generosity to everyone, even the people who think they’re your enemies. You’re not treating them with love because it drives them crazy, you’re treating them with love because you love them. At first forgiveness doesn’t change anything except what’s inside you – but if you can stick it out and forgive and forgive and respond with love every time, eventually no one will even want to be your enemy in the first place.”
We made a good one-two punch, John and I, if I may make an analogy that involves a fighting image. He would come on and talk about loving your neighbors in a practical but theoretical sense, and I would extend the theory to the realities of the present day. I knew if we could convince people that nonviolence is the core of a stable but dynamic way of life, we could change the world.
That was why Buffalo’s choice to wage the war in the old-fashioned way – killing Earthians – shook me to the core: Because nonviolence is my core. If I couldn’t convince the woman closest to me that my tenets of common wealth would lead us to a better place, literally a common wealth, how would I convince anyone? I knew the question was silly, I knew my ideas were catching on with people, but I wanted more than anything for her to embrace the concept.
“You’re the one who says we’re each and every one of us unique, and that means we’re not going to see everything the same,” John reminded me. “She’ll come around in her own way, her own time. You guys are soulmates. Half of a soul can’t go one way and the other half completely the other forever.”
“I’m talking about realizing that even Earthians are our neighbors, and she’s off to kill them. That’s pretty much opposite directions,” I said.
“She’ll come around,” he repeated. “You both have this passion for freedom. You’re both absolutely real and unique – like everyone else is, that’s what you say, right? The passion’s taking you different ways now, but you’re going to end up on the same page, I know that. You need to be together, there’s like an aura that surrounds the two of you when you’re together.”
“An aura.”
“Don’t you give me that look, Raymond, I’m telling you I see an aura. It lights you both up. You’re what you call ‘made for each other.’”
“That won’t help much if she gets herself killed,” I said ruefully.
“Hey, seems to me you’re both committed to dying for this cause if that’s what it takes,” John Hemlock said with a big smile. “Buffalo will take care of herself, and I’m here to take care of you.”
Entry 62
Friday, September 7, 2012
Entry 60. Off to the war
“My father is descended from a famous singer around 400 years ago, near the middle of Earth’s 20th century,” Buffalo smiled at me over a glass of Beaujolais Ptolémée.
“I’ve heard of him,” I said. “Didn’t he write that old folk song, ‘If I Should Fall Behind’?”
“It’s possible. I probably should know more about him than I do, family ties and all, but I really don’t, it was so long ago,” she admitted. “And then my mother can trace her family back to another singer from around the same time, who once belonged to an ensemble called Buffalo Springfield.”
“What was his name?”
“You’d think I would remember. I’d have to ask Mom.”
“So your name is a 400-year-old musical pun,” I said, and she giggled shyly, which was completely out of character but made her adorable. “With a pedigree like that, I can see why you don’t want to shorten it.”
And that sort of chilled the moment. “No. I don’t want to shorten it.” As in, we’re not going to discuss that nickname any further.
“Have you ever heard any of the music your ancestors recorded?” I steered the conversation back on track.
“A little, not much,” she said. “It’s pretty dated, it’s quaint, but you know, it’s ancient music. And Earthian – hard to relate to.”
We finished the wine over laughter and more discussion of Earth music from centuries ago. And now, a few weeks later, she was standing at the door to my home with a rifle slung over her shoulder.
“I can leave it outside if you want,” she said awkwardly, indicating the gun.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” I said, ushering her in with a kiss on the cheek. “Just because I don’t use them on people personally doesn’t mean I object to their presence.”
She had been taking some training as a sniper, and it turned out she was a natural, a simple evolution from her hunting skills. She was anticipating that she would soon be sent out on the field to dispatch Earthians.
“I know you don’t approve,” she said slowly. “But I have to do this.”
I nodded. “You have to do what you think is the right thing, Buffalo. It’s not what I would do, but this is your choice, your life.”
“We’re still, well, we’re still what we are, aren’t we?”
My Lord, the confusion in my soul over this. Everything in my being screamed that we were designed to be two halves of a whole, but how could I make a life with someone who rejected my most deeply held core belief? It felt like a choice between tearing out my heart or cutting off my head.
After a few moments of trying to form something to say, I finally managed, “Let’s get this revolution out of the way, and then we’ll see where we stand.”
That was where we agreed to leave it. A few minutes later she went off to kill Earthians, and I retreated to the darkest loneliness I’ve ever known.
Entry 61
“I’ve heard of him,” I said. “Didn’t he write that old folk song, ‘If I Should Fall Behind’?”
“It’s possible. I probably should know more about him than I do, family ties and all, but I really don’t, it was so long ago,” she admitted. “And then my mother can trace her family back to another singer from around the same time, who once belonged to an ensemble called Buffalo Springfield.”
“What was his name?”
“You’d think I would remember. I’d have to ask Mom.”
“So your name is a 400-year-old musical pun,” I said, and she giggled shyly, which was completely out of character but made her adorable. “With a pedigree like that, I can see why you don’t want to shorten it.”
And that sort of chilled the moment. “No. I don’t want to shorten it.” As in, we’re not going to discuss that nickname any further.
“Have you ever heard any of the music your ancestors recorded?” I steered the conversation back on track.
“A little, not much,” she said. “It’s pretty dated, it’s quaint, but you know, it’s ancient music. And Earthian – hard to relate to.”
We finished the wine over laughter and more discussion of Earth music from centuries ago. And now, a few weeks later, she was standing at the door to my home with a rifle slung over her shoulder.
“I can leave it outside if you want,” she said awkwardly, indicating the gun.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” I said, ushering her in with a kiss on the cheek. “Just because I don’t use them on people personally doesn’t mean I object to their presence.”
She had been taking some training as a sniper, and it turned out she was a natural, a simple evolution from her hunting skills. She was anticipating that she would soon be sent out on the field to dispatch Earthians.
“I know you don’t approve,” she said slowly. “But I have to do this.”
I nodded. “You have to do what you think is the right thing, Buffalo. It’s not what I would do, but this is your choice, your life.”
“We’re still, well, we’re still what we are, aren’t we?”
My Lord, the confusion in my soul over this. Everything in my being screamed that we were designed to be two halves of a whole, but how could I make a life with someone who rejected my most deeply held core belief? It felt like a choice between tearing out my heart or cutting off my head.
After a few moments of trying to form something to say, I finally managed, “Let’s get this revolution out of the way, and then we’ll see where we stand.”
That was where we agreed to leave it. A few minutes later she went off to kill Earthians, and I retreated to the darkest loneliness I’ve ever known.
Entry 61
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Entry 59. Twelve dreams finished
Numbers dehumanize. It is one thing to talk about a dozen Earthian soldiers ambushed and killed; it is quite another to tell each man and woman’s individual story. For that is who died that day – not 12 soldiers but 12 ongoing dreams.
You want numbers? Those 12 people had spent a total of 281 years getting to that day. From the challenge of learning to walk to the joy and heartbreak of their first love, they each had accumulated at least two decades of life experience, working their way toward adulthood painstakingly. Some were married, three had known the joy of making new life but would not know the challenge of raising their children and watching them succeed and stumble.
All of them had ideas about where they wanted their lives to go; some had precise goals, some had a vague vision. Like most people, they wanted to make a difference, and they did make a difference – that was clear to all of the hundreds of people who were affected by their sudden and early deaths.
But they did not make the difference that Lt. Joshua True and his superiors intended. They did not convince the people of Sirius 4 to accept the rule of Earth. Nor did their deaths do anything to convince True that Sirius 4 should remain independent. That was the central disagreement, wasn’t it? Instead the taking of lives made True that much more intransigent, more eager to punish the people of Sirius 4 for daring to breathe free.
None of us has 281 years to live the life we desire. Divide that number by 12, and it’s not near enough time.
Entry 60
You want numbers? Those 12 people had spent a total of 281 years getting to that day. From the challenge of learning to walk to the joy and heartbreak of their first love, they each had accumulated at least two decades of life experience, working their way toward adulthood painstakingly. Some were married, three had known the joy of making new life but would not know the challenge of raising their children and watching them succeed and stumble.
All of them had ideas about where they wanted their lives to go; some had precise goals, some had a vague vision. Like most people, they wanted to make a difference, and they did make a difference – that was clear to all of the hundreds of people who were affected by their sudden and early deaths.
But they did not make the difference that Lt. Joshua True and his superiors intended. They did not convince the people of Sirius 4 to accept the rule of Earth. Nor did their deaths do anything to convince True that Sirius 4 should remain independent. That was the central disagreement, wasn’t it? Instead the taking of lives made True that much more intransigent, more eager to punish the people of Sirius 4 for daring to breathe free.
None of us has 281 years to live the life we desire. Divide that number by 12, and it’s not near enough time.
Entry 60
Monday, August 13, 2012
Entry 54. The assassin comes calling
Mahatma Gandhi, who freed his nation with nonviolent civil disobedience, died Jan. 30, 1948, shortly after being shot in the chest while walking onto the prayer grounds at his home in New Delhi.
A few days before his death, the 78-year-old Gandhi said, “Should I die by the bullet of a madman, I have to do so with a smile. There must be no anger in me. God must be in my heart and on my lips, and you must promise me one thing: Should such a thing happen, do not shed a tear. I have done my deeds for humanity not requested by any human and I cannot stop on request of anybody. I am like God wanted me and I do as he advises me to do. Let him do with me as he pleases. If he wants to, he may kill me. I believe that I do as he orders.”
Martin Luther King, who used Gandhi as a model in his efforts to free his people, died April 4, 1968, shortly after being shot as he stood on the balcony of a hotel in Memphis.
The night before he died, King concluded his last speech by saying, “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”
Ramsey Sardonicus was shot by a sniper during the inaugural ball marking his second term as president of the free nation of Colorado; he was 41 years old. Jesus was crucified at age 33. Real life is not so gentle with those of us who seek to lead nonviolent revolution.
It gave me little comfort to know Henry David Thoreau died at home in bed, seeing as Thoreau first contracted tuberculosis when he was 18 years old in 1835 and spent the next 27 years suffering from it on and off before the damn bug finally killed him at age 44. I figured I had a four-out-of-five chance of dying a violent death and a four-out-of-five chance of dying before I hit 45.
And since Thoreau was not an especially public figure until years after he died, I figured the main reason old Henry David wasn’t shot was because he wasn’t famous enough to kill. It was only a matter of time, I figured, before some nutbag came calling at the door. I only hoped I had a chance to talk to the guy before he pulled the trigger.
So, yes, it’s true that when Frederick Miles Masterson stepped in front of me that day as John Hemlock and I strolled along my familiar beach on Lake Ptolemy, I raised my eyebrows and told the stranger with a smile and just the slightest gasp of recognition, “Oh! It’s you.”
Oh, dear, I think I’ve gotten ahead of myself again.
Entry 55
A few days before his death, the 78-year-old Gandhi said, “Should I die by the bullet of a madman, I have to do so with a smile. There must be no anger in me. God must be in my heart and on my lips, and you must promise me one thing: Should such a thing happen, do not shed a tear. I have done my deeds for humanity not requested by any human and I cannot stop on request of anybody. I am like God wanted me and I do as he advises me to do. Let him do with me as he pleases. If he wants to, he may kill me. I believe that I do as he orders.”
Martin Luther King, who used Gandhi as a model in his efforts to free his people, died April 4, 1968, shortly after being shot as he stood on the balcony of a hotel in Memphis.
The night before he died, King concluded his last speech by saying, “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”
Ramsey Sardonicus was shot by a sniper during the inaugural ball marking his second term as president of the free nation of Colorado; he was 41 years old. Jesus was crucified at age 33. Real life is not so gentle with those of us who seek to lead nonviolent revolution.
It gave me little comfort to know Henry David Thoreau died at home in bed, seeing as Thoreau first contracted tuberculosis when he was 18 years old in 1835 and spent the next 27 years suffering from it on and off before the damn bug finally killed him at age 44. I figured I had a four-out-of-five chance of dying a violent death and a four-out-of-five chance of dying before I hit 45.
And since Thoreau was not an especially public figure until years after he died, I figured the main reason old Henry David wasn’t shot was because he wasn’t famous enough to kill. It was only a matter of time, I figured, before some nutbag came calling at the door. I only hoped I had a chance to talk to the guy before he pulled the trigger.
So, yes, it’s true that when Frederick Miles Masterson stepped in front of me that day as John Hemlock and I strolled along my familiar beach on Lake Ptolemy, I raised my eyebrows and told the stranger with a smile and just the slightest gasp of recognition, “Oh! It’s you.”
Oh, dear, I think I’ve gotten ahead of myself again.
Entry 55
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Entry 49. Like hell
Two years later, Jim Simmons’ terse response to the inspector became a planetary battle cry.
Earth sent troops to forcefully quell what until then had been a peaceful transition to independence. Lt. Joshua True announced that Earth was back in charge of Sirius 4.
“Like hell,” the people muttered, echoing the stiff-necked farmer from small-town Fillmore.
True closed the Imaginary Structures plant at Ganges Pass and reversed President Sinclair’s declaration that ImagCorp licenses need not be paid. Companies that use imaginary technology must reimburse the corporation that had created the technology two centuries earlier, plus the concomitant taxes that applied, True announced.
“Like hell,” the people said out loud.
The president of Sirius 4 was the president of the Earthian government, and Badiah Sinclair may perhaps be the leader of the Sirian Senate, but he was a senator, not a president, True declared.
“Like hell!” the people shouted.
I continued my call for passive-aggressive resistance. I said the employees of Imaginary Structures should simply show up for work as if True’s pronouncement had never been made. If troops ordered them to cease and desist from their daily tasks, they should carry on as if they didn’t hear the order. If the troops moved to arrest or remove them, they should keep working until literally dragged from their stations.
“With absolute noncooperation, their power is nil,” I argued. “What are they going to do, arrest all of us?”
In their anger, people had the same answer for me that they had for Lt. Rodney True.
Counter the attempt to halt Sirius 4’s march to independence by force with nonviolent civil disobedience?
“Like hell!” the people screamed.
One morning about a dozen troopers were driving along a quiet street in Ganges Pass, not far from the Imaginary Structures plant, when their vehicle drove over a homemade bomb. Three people were killed instantly; those who survived were dismembered by laser fire when they climbed out of the wreckage.
As the vehicle burned and the troopers died in the street, someone took the time to paint a brief message on the wall of a nearby building.
“LIKE HELL”
Entry 50
Earth sent troops to forcefully quell what until then had been a peaceful transition to independence. Lt. Joshua True announced that Earth was back in charge of Sirius 4.
“Like hell,” the people muttered, echoing the stiff-necked farmer from small-town Fillmore.
True closed the Imaginary Structures plant at Ganges Pass and reversed President Sinclair’s declaration that ImagCorp licenses need not be paid. Companies that use imaginary technology must reimburse the corporation that had created the technology two centuries earlier, plus the concomitant taxes that applied, True announced.
“Like hell,” the people said out loud.
The president of Sirius 4 was the president of the Earthian government, and Badiah Sinclair may perhaps be the leader of the Sirian Senate, but he was a senator, not a president, True declared.
“Like hell!” the people shouted.
I continued my call for passive-aggressive resistance. I said the employees of Imaginary Structures should simply show up for work as if True’s pronouncement had never been made. If troops ordered them to cease and desist from their daily tasks, they should carry on as if they didn’t hear the order. If the troops moved to arrest or remove them, they should keep working until literally dragged from their stations.
“With absolute noncooperation, their power is nil,” I argued. “What are they going to do, arrest all of us?”
In their anger, people had the same answer for me that they had for Lt. Rodney True.
Counter the attempt to halt Sirius 4’s march to independence by force with nonviolent civil disobedience?
“Like hell!” the people screamed.
One morning about a dozen troopers were driving along a quiet street in Ganges Pass, not far from the Imaginary Structures plant, when their vehicle drove over a homemade bomb. Three people were killed instantly; those who survived were dismembered by laser fire when they climbed out of the wreckage.
As the vehicle burned and the troopers died in the street, someone took the time to paint a brief message on the wall of a nearby building.
“LIKE HELL”
Entry 50
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
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Entry 44. Closing time
I just remembered how our night of beer and philosophy ended – how could I have forgotten to write down how I won the argument?
As we stood to leave, Nate Maples – like all of us comfortably numb after parching and reparching our thirst for hours – balled his hands into a fist, grinned, said, “OK, Mr. Pacifist, give me an answer for this,” and lunged forward intending to give me a hard poke to the jaw.
I stepped into his attack, grabbed his arm and used his momentum to carry him over my body and onto the floor, where I held my foot to his throat.
“A belief in non-aggression does not rule out self-defense,” I said, also grinning, and, moving my foot aside when I saw he was still smiling himself, “I’m just not going to kill you.”
Did I say I won the argument? Not so, sadly; as I’ve always said, violence only begets violence, it does not change the beliefs of the victim. Nate Maples was one of the most fearsome warriors of what we now call the imaginary revolution, and he did not live to see Earth concede our right to exist free.
Entry 45. Coffee and memories at the watershed
As we stood to leave, Nate Maples – like all of us comfortably numb after parching and reparching our thirst for hours – balled his hands into a fist, grinned, said, “OK, Mr. Pacifist, give me an answer for this,” and lunged forward intending to give me a hard poke to the jaw.
I stepped into his attack, grabbed his arm and used his momentum to carry him over my body and onto the floor, where I held my foot to his throat.
“A belief in non-aggression does not rule out self-defense,” I said, also grinning, and, moving my foot aside when I saw he was still smiling himself, “I’m just not going to kill you.”
Did I say I won the argument? Not so, sadly; as I’ve always said, violence only begets violence, it does not change the beliefs of the victim. Nate Maples was one of the most fearsome warriors of what we now call the imaginary revolution, and he did not live to see Earth concede our right to exist free.
Entry 45. Coffee and memories at the watershed
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Guest commentary
EDITORS' NOTE: We apologize for the lack of a new blog entry today. Even these years later, Ray Kaliber occasionally still suffers from some medical issues related to his wound, and as a result he was unable to prepare a blog entry for today. It is his hope to be well enough to continue his memoirs tomorrow. In the meantime here is an excerpt from a possible preface to the book that we have been preparing.
Hundreds of years ago American presidents named Garfield and McKinley were assassinated by violent men who called themselves anarchists and wanted to throw the government into chaos. Another of these violent men killed an arch-duke and started a World War. It’s a bit ironic that we’ve come to a point where an assassin aimed to kill a man who replaced chaos caused by government with a nonviolent state of what some people might call anarchy.
Let’s get one thing straight from the start: Despite everything that’s been written about him — and most of it is true — Raymond Douglas Kaliber was not a saint. He probably would be the first one to tell you that. But what he managed to show about the need for bosses probably qualified him for sainthood in half the religions in the galaxy, and the other half are the religions for people who are clueless to begin with, if you don’t mind my saying so.
Who am I to say so? That’s a great question. You should never take my word for it. Everything in this book is the truth as Ray and other people told me, but it’s filtered by their point of view and then filtered again by mine.
See, that’s just the beauty of what Ray had to show us. What I’m going to tell you about in this book is my educated opinion. And you’re not going to get the complete picture of Raymond Kaliber from one darn book, so go educate yourself fully about the man and draw your own conclusions.
“I think I’m onto something,” Kaliber would tell anyone willing to listen, “but never take one guy’s word for anything. Check it out yourself.” The good news for Sirius 4 is eventually, enough people listened to him and checked it out to make a difference in the long run.
Hundreds of years ago American presidents named Garfield and McKinley were assassinated by violent men who called themselves anarchists and wanted to throw the government into chaos. Another of these violent men killed an arch-duke and started a World War. It’s a bit ironic that we’ve come to a point where an assassin aimed to kill a man who replaced chaos caused by government with a nonviolent state of what some people might call anarchy.
Let’s get one thing straight from the start: Despite everything that’s been written about him — and most of it is true — Raymond Douglas Kaliber was not a saint. He probably would be the first one to tell you that. But what he managed to show about the need for bosses probably qualified him for sainthood in half the religions in the galaxy, and the other half are the religions for people who are clueless to begin with, if you don’t mind my saying so.
Who am I to say so? That’s a great question. You should never take my word for it. Everything in this book is the truth as Ray and other people told me, but it’s filtered by their point of view and then filtered again by mine.
See, that’s just the beauty of what Ray had to show us. What I’m going to tell you about in this book is my educated opinion. And you’re not going to get the complete picture of Raymond Kaliber from one darn book, so go educate yourself fully about the man and draw your own conclusions.
“I think I’m onto something,” Kaliber would tell anyone willing to listen, “but never take one guy’s word for anything. Check it out yourself.” The good news for Sirius 4 is eventually, enough people listened to him and checked it out to make a difference in the long run.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Entry 38. The Nazarene
John Hemlock had a somewhat non-evangelistic approach to evangelical Christianity: He wasn’t as concerned about convincing you to accept Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior as he was about recommending the resulting lifestyle.
And by lifestyle, he didn’t mean the traditional taboos like not getting drunk or not cheating on your spouse or not using colorful language – he was more focused on the idea of “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
John also completely ignored the stuff about “I am the way and the truth and the light – no one can come to the Father except through me.”
“Hey look, this what works for me; you can go ahead and try any other way of getting to the Father if you’d like, or no way at all if that’s your choice,” Hemlock said. “I’m just tellin’ ya that this seems to be the only one that really works in my life. And the most important thing is dealing with each other with an attitude of love.”
His best example of that attitude was the life of Jesus – a guy who was held up as the savior who was going to lead the revolution that freed his hometown of Nazareth and the surrounding countryside from an empire based 1,400 miles away. They wanted him to be some sort of military hero, but he had something else in mind: “Love your neighbor.”
When the empire came to arrest Jesus, his buddies grabbed their swords and went after the officers – lopped off an ear or two – but he told them to stop and went quietly.
Then he went through a kangaroo court and was executed brutally, all the while talking about forgiveness. There’s some disagreement about what happened after the execution (John insists in literally believing the resurrection story – “otherwise he’s just some historical guy and not still alive, which of course he is”), but there’s no question that he started a movement that’s still going strong two and a half millennia later.
Had he led a military coup and forced his way to freedom, he would have just been another long-forgotten imaginary revolutionist. By concentrating on an internal revolution, Jesus made a lasting change.
“A lot of people have been killed over the years in the name of Christ,” I said to John Hemlock one day.
“Oh, don’t get me started,” he laughed. “The guy laid down a pretty tough foundation when he said ‘Love your enemies.’ A lot of people decided he couldn’t have been serious about that. But he was. And if the guy in front of you is not some damn Earthian who’d just as soon kill ya – if he’s an individual just as deserving of your love as the guy in the mirror – that kind of changes your attitude.”
That internal attitude struck me as a much better – and effective – way to regulate my behavior than an external government. I began to believe a peaceful everyday life could exist without the amorphous, threatening entity we call The State, if we were just willing to try treating each other with love and respect. “Love your neighbor as yourself” became the first of my three Tenets of Common Wealth and the basis of the “real” revolution on Sirius 4.
Entry 39. Give more than you receive
And by lifestyle, he didn’t mean the traditional taboos like not getting drunk or not cheating on your spouse or not using colorful language – he was more focused on the idea of “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
John also completely ignored the stuff about “I am the way and the truth and the light – no one can come to the Father except through me.”
“Hey look, this what works for me; you can go ahead and try any other way of getting to the Father if you’d like, or no way at all if that’s your choice,” Hemlock said. “I’m just tellin’ ya that this seems to be the only one that really works in my life. And the most important thing is dealing with each other with an attitude of love.”
His best example of that attitude was the life of Jesus – a guy who was held up as the savior who was going to lead the revolution that freed his hometown of Nazareth and the surrounding countryside from an empire based 1,400 miles away. They wanted him to be some sort of military hero, but he had something else in mind: “Love your neighbor.”
When the empire came to arrest Jesus, his buddies grabbed their swords and went after the officers – lopped off an ear or two – but he told them to stop and went quietly.
Then he went through a kangaroo court and was executed brutally, all the while talking about forgiveness. There’s some disagreement about what happened after the execution (John insists in literally believing the resurrection story – “otherwise he’s just some historical guy and not still alive, which of course he is”), but there’s no question that he started a movement that’s still going strong two and a half millennia later.
Had he led a military coup and forced his way to freedom, he would have just been another long-forgotten imaginary revolutionist. By concentrating on an internal revolution, Jesus made a lasting change.
“A lot of people have been killed over the years in the name of Christ,” I said to John Hemlock one day.
“Oh, don’t get me started,” he laughed. “The guy laid down a pretty tough foundation when he said ‘Love your enemies.’ A lot of people decided he couldn’t have been serious about that. But he was. And if the guy in front of you is not some damn Earthian who’d just as soon kill ya – if he’s an individual just as deserving of your love as the guy in the mirror – that kind of changes your attitude.”
That internal attitude struck me as a much better – and effective – way to regulate my behavior than an external government. I began to believe a peaceful everyday life could exist without the amorphous, threatening entity we call The State, if we were just willing to try treating each other with love and respect. “Love your neighbor as yourself” became the first of my three Tenets of Common Wealth and the basis of the “real” revolution on Sirius 4.
Entry 39. Give more than you receive
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Entry 37. The man from Greeley
The Republic of Texas was an Earthian confederation of a half-dozen regions that had once been part of a much larger alliance. Ramsey Sardonicus, a business owner from a town on the edge of the confederation – Greeley, Colorado – had had enough of sending his proceeds to the capital city nearly 1,000 miles away in the confiscatory system called taxation.
But Sardonicus was a gentle man, and while his employees, friends and colleagues all grumbled about shooting their way to freedom one day, he believed there must be a better way.
His idea was to combine Thoreau’s refusal to pay taxes, King’s direct action to force a tension that leads to negotiation, and Gandhi’s gathering of thousands of supporters simply to ignore the law.
The plan was noncooperation on a massive scale. The people of Colorado – including, eventually, most of its public officials – just stopped cooperating with the central government. They didn’t just stop paying their taxes. Builders built houses without government-issued permits. Couples got married without government licenses. People wouldn’t show up when called to jury duty. Department of Vehicles offices were empty because operators stopped registering their vehicles. They just stopped paying attention to the government.
When the capital city sent troops to enforce the laws and regulations, they were greeted by 150,000 people surrounding the Colorado governor’s mansion, calmly standing with their hands folded. The only way the troops could get inside would be to shoot their way through the crowd.
And the president and legislature of Texas blinked. After a process of negotiation, Colorado was given permission to secede without firing a shot.
Ramsey Sardonicus declined the offer to become the first president of the Republic of Colorado, but he gave me the best example I had to inspire a peaceful separation between Sirius 4 and Earth. I did not convince my president and legislature to follow Colorado’s example, but when the time came to defy our president and legislature, the people of Sirius 4 were ready.
And I had a different thought about life after the revolution. John Hemlock and his Nazarene helped me complete that thought.
Entry 38. The Nazarene
But Sardonicus was a gentle man, and while his employees, friends and colleagues all grumbled about shooting their way to freedom one day, he believed there must be a better way.
His idea was to combine Thoreau’s refusal to pay taxes, King’s direct action to force a tension that leads to negotiation, and Gandhi’s gathering of thousands of supporters simply to ignore the law.
The plan was noncooperation on a massive scale. The people of Colorado – including, eventually, most of its public officials – just stopped cooperating with the central government. They didn’t just stop paying their taxes. Builders built houses without government-issued permits. Couples got married without government licenses. People wouldn’t show up when called to jury duty. Department of Vehicles offices were empty because operators stopped registering their vehicles. They just stopped paying attention to the government.
When the capital city sent troops to enforce the laws and regulations, they were greeted by 150,000 people surrounding the Colorado governor’s mansion, calmly standing with their hands folded. The only way the troops could get inside would be to shoot their way through the crowd.
And the president and legislature of Texas blinked. After a process of negotiation, Colorado was given permission to secede without firing a shot.
Ramsey Sardonicus declined the offer to become the first president of the Republic of Colorado, but he gave me the best example I had to inspire a peaceful separation between Sirius 4 and Earth. I did not convince my president and legislature to follow Colorado’s example, but when the time came to defy our president and legislature, the people of Sirius 4 were ready.
And I had a different thought about life after the revolution. John Hemlock and his Nazarene helped me complete that thought.
Entry 38. The Nazarene
Friday, July 13, 2012
Entry 36. March to the sea
Tyranny often manifests itself in silly ways. Laws against dark-skinned people using the same facilities as light-skinned people are somewhat nonsensical, for example. Another silly law prohibited the people of a land called India from making their own salt. Really.
The remote government, based several thousand miles away on a different continent, passed a law that prohibited Indians from collecting or selling salt. The idea was to force people to buy their salt from businesses sanctioned by the government, which also levied a heavy salt tax on the purchases.
Mohandas Gandhi, who had studied Thoreau, reasoned that defying the silly Salt Act would be an ideal way to fight the government in nonviolent fashion. In EY 1930, tens of thousands of people led by Gandhi gathered on the shore of the Arabian Sea to make their own salt from the salty ocean water.
The act of defiance set off a wave of mostly nonviolent demonstrations, and the remote government arrested 60,000 people, including Gandhi – a healthy start on Thoreau’s goal of crowding the jails to the point of jamming the wheels of government.
I said “mostly nonviolent.” The violence, however, was initiated by the government.
Gandhi had feared what eventually happened, warning his followers that they must be prepared for the worst, even death, in their effort to throw off the salt tax – just as Thoreau in his much milder protest was prepared to go to jail for his belief.
While he was in jail, a group of 2,500 peaceful marchers outside a salt factory allowed themselves to be brutally beaten by a group of police officers acting under government instructions.
A reporter who observed the “raid” on the salt factory recorded what happened after the marchers refused to obey a police order to disperse:
But it must be said that India remained independent for many years after that, while violent regimes came and went in surrounding countries. To me it was a demonstration that violence begets violence, while freedom won without violence seemed more lasting.
Entry 37. The man from Greeley
The remote government, based several thousand miles away on a different continent, passed a law that prohibited Indians from collecting or selling salt. The idea was to force people to buy their salt from businesses sanctioned by the government, which also levied a heavy salt tax on the purchases.
Mohandas Gandhi, who had studied Thoreau, reasoned that defying the silly Salt Act would be an ideal way to fight the government in nonviolent fashion. In EY 1930, tens of thousands of people led by Gandhi gathered on the shore of the Arabian Sea to make their own salt from the salty ocean water.
The act of defiance set off a wave of mostly nonviolent demonstrations, and the remote government arrested 60,000 people, including Gandhi – a healthy start on Thoreau’s goal of crowding the jails to the point of jamming the wheels of government.
I said “mostly nonviolent.” The violence, however, was initiated by the government.
Gandhi had feared what eventually happened, warning his followers that they must be prepared for the worst, even death, in their effort to throw off the salt tax – just as Thoreau in his much milder protest was prepared to go to jail for his belief.
While he was in jail, a group of 2,500 peaceful marchers outside a salt factory allowed themselves to be brutally beaten by a group of police officers acting under government instructions.
A reporter who observed the “raid” on the salt factory recorded what happened after the marchers refused to obey a police order to disperse:
Police charged, swinging their clubs and belaboring the raiders on all sides. The volunteers made no resistance. As the police swung hastily with their sticks, the natives simply dropped in their tracks.
Less than 100 yards away I could hear the dull impact of clubs against bodies. The watching crowds gasped, or sometimes cheered as the volunteers crumpled before the police without even raising their arms to ward off the blows. With almost unbelievable meekness they submitted to the clubbing and were carried away by their comrades who had collected a score of stretchers.
As the attacks continued, stretcher bearers were overworked. Other volunteers joined, using blankets as stretchers for the injured who were falling so fast that the volunteers established a clearing station a hundred yards from the pans.
I counted 42 injured lying on the muddy ground and a few others who were unconscious and writhing in pain.
After police had driven the raiders back, leaders altered their tactics and started stretching themselves on the ground or sitting in front of the police as closely as they could press to the entanglements. They were warned repeatedly by police, who then struck the men sitting in front of them. The volunteers who were hit simply reeled over on the ground – without making a cry or an effort to defend themselves.The incident caused a worldwide outcry against the government’s actions, and although it would be more than a decade before India became free, Gandhi showed how effective nonviolent protest could be in shaming the tyrant into ending the tyranny – assuming of course that the tyrant is capable of shame.
But it must be said that India remained independent for many years after that, while violent regimes came and went in surrounding countries. To me it was a demonstration that violence begets violence, while freedom won without violence seemed more lasting.
Entry 37. The man from Greeley
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