Civilization Challenged
Last night, I dreamt a dream of war. It ended in my death, and was one of the most beautiful dreams I can remember.
A conflict had broken out in America. There were those citizens who felt that there was only one right way to live. Civilization had come to a point, they believed, where an orthodox manner would have to be set. If you did not adhere to the established creed, you were a criminal, an enemy of the state. A crime punishable by no less than deportation.
No one thought it was a big deal at first. When the first American citizens were denied their Constitutional rights, no one batted an eye. Things like “emergency” and “post-9/11” and “if you’ve done nothing wrong, you’ve nothing to worry about” were being said. Unprecedented powers were given to the Executive Branch of the federal government. “Necessary,” they said.
More and more Americans were being spirited away to secret prisons, some not even on American soil. At first, they were being nabbed while on business trips or vacations in foreign countries. “We have no knowledge of his whereabouts. He is suspected to be in the custody of a well-known Palestinian splinter group.” If an American, posing as a foreign terrorist, kidnaps an American citizen, under orders from the White House, on foreign soil, is he in violation of American law? How do we know?
Then men and women were being taken from their homes. “Against freedom,” they said. Men and women who were using their freedom to speak out against the activities of a state that increasingly resembled a fascist state.
Historians, teenagers fresh from their Basic American History classes, intellectuals, radicals, and many others knew that this was a mistake, that this would lead to fascism. However, those who owned homes, cars, the landed nobles of the American Aristocracy said, “Yes. We finally have a government that isn’t afraid to do what needs to be done to keep American great.”
The National Rifle Association believed that the final step before revolution would be when the federal government began disarming the citizenry of America. World history is full of instances when such a step was simply the first step toward dictatorship. If only America were afraid of guns.
The government did not take the tools of war. They aimed higher.
The first was the Library of Congress. Every book ever printed in America has at least one copy collected in the Library of Congress. The National Guard opened the front doors and let citizens come with lighters, blowtorches, gasoline, and they let them burn the entire thing to the ground. “Don’t worry,” the Re-Education Tsar said. “We removed the good books first, so you can burn whatever you want.”
After that, the Army didn’t have to do a thing. Good American Citizens began independently setting fire to all collections of books and other print media they could find, enthusiastically. Libraries, newsstands, bookstores. Even the Christian Science Reading Rooms were up for destruction. After all the Bibles were saved, of course.
I dreamt that there was a mob of men and women, marching east on Congress Parkway, brandishing their implements of destruction. I dreamt that there were men and women holding onto kitchen lighters and boxes of matches, carrying their cheering children on their shoulders to keep their hands free.
In my dream, I ran downtown. I ran to their destination: the Harold Washington branch of the Chicago Public Library. When I arrived, I was horrified and proud and struck dumb by what I saw.
The defenders were already there. And they were very well organized. Inside the doorways were healthy men and women, armed with fire extinguishers.
In front of them stood strong men and women, armed pathetically with chair legs and two-by-fours.
In front of them were the kneelers. Older folks who were weaker in the arms and the back than those carrying clubs. They carried rifles. A motley assortment of period pieces and modern assault weapons. The steely look in their eyes suggested that, between the death of a rioter and the death of a novel, their choice would be obvious.
And, standing on the front steps, in lines three deep and stretching across the front door, was a sight that made me want to cry.
Elderly men and women, too weak to swing a club, too arthritic to fire a gun. Men and women who’d seen war on three continents. Men and women who could have gone home and relaxed knowing that if society crumbled, they wouldn’t be around very long to suffer it.
These elderly men and women stood at the front entrance, and they linked their arms together. They looked determine, they wouldn’t move. Some had tears in their eyes, but none would give an inch while their hearts had even a single beat left.
In my dream, I knew that standing there, fighting against the onslaught of this… this horde, I knew that every last one of these defenders of civilization would die. I knew that their efforts would be rewarded with a fiery end.
In my dream, I walked into the building and grabbed a chair. As I raised it above my head, ready to die, I wept, knowing my fate and the fate of the world.
And then I woke up.
A conflict had broken out in America. There were those citizens who felt that there was only one right way to live. Civilization had come to a point, they believed, where an orthodox manner would have to be set. If you did not adhere to the established creed, you were a criminal, an enemy of the state. A crime punishable by no less than deportation.
No one thought it was a big deal at first. When the first American citizens were denied their Constitutional rights, no one batted an eye. Things like “emergency” and “post-9/11” and “if you’ve done nothing wrong, you’ve nothing to worry about” were being said. Unprecedented powers were given to the Executive Branch of the federal government. “Necessary,” they said.
More and more Americans were being spirited away to secret prisons, some not even on American soil. At first, they were being nabbed while on business trips or vacations in foreign countries. “We have no knowledge of his whereabouts. He is suspected to be in the custody of a well-known Palestinian splinter group.” If an American, posing as a foreign terrorist, kidnaps an American citizen, under orders from the White House, on foreign soil, is he in violation of American law? How do we know?
Then men and women were being taken from their homes. “Against freedom,” they said. Men and women who were using their freedom to speak out against the activities of a state that increasingly resembled a fascist state.
Historians, teenagers fresh from their Basic American History classes, intellectuals, radicals, and many others knew that this was a mistake, that this would lead to fascism. However, those who owned homes, cars, the landed nobles of the American Aristocracy said, “Yes. We finally have a government that isn’t afraid to do what needs to be done to keep American great.”
The National Rifle Association believed that the final step before revolution would be when the federal government began disarming the citizenry of America. World history is full of instances when such a step was simply the first step toward dictatorship. If only America were afraid of guns.
The government did not take the tools of war. They aimed higher.
The first was the Library of Congress. Every book ever printed in America has at least one copy collected in the Library of Congress. The National Guard opened the front doors and let citizens come with lighters, blowtorches, gasoline, and they let them burn the entire thing to the ground. “Don’t worry,” the Re-Education Tsar said. “We removed the good books first, so you can burn whatever you want.”
After that, the Army didn’t have to do a thing. Good American Citizens began independently setting fire to all collections of books and other print media they could find, enthusiastically. Libraries, newsstands, bookstores. Even the Christian Science Reading Rooms were up for destruction. After all the Bibles were saved, of course.
I dreamt that there was a mob of men and women, marching east on Congress Parkway, brandishing their implements of destruction. I dreamt that there were men and women holding onto kitchen lighters and boxes of matches, carrying their cheering children on their shoulders to keep their hands free.
In my dream, I ran downtown. I ran to their destination: the Harold Washington branch of the Chicago Public Library. When I arrived, I was horrified and proud and struck dumb by what I saw.
The defenders were already there. And they were very well organized. Inside the doorways were healthy men and women, armed with fire extinguishers.
In front of them stood strong men and women, armed pathetically with chair legs and two-by-fours.
In front of them were the kneelers. Older folks who were weaker in the arms and the back than those carrying clubs. They carried rifles. A motley assortment of period pieces and modern assault weapons. The steely look in their eyes suggested that, between the death of a rioter and the death of a novel, their choice would be obvious.
And, standing on the front steps, in lines three deep and stretching across the front door, was a sight that made me want to cry.
Elderly men and women, too weak to swing a club, too arthritic to fire a gun. Men and women who’d seen war on three continents. Men and women who could have gone home and relaxed knowing that if society crumbled, they wouldn’t be around very long to suffer it.
These elderly men and women stood at the front entrance, and they linked their arms together. They looked determine, they wouldn’t move. Some had tears in their eyes, but none would give an inch while their hearts had even a single beat left.
In my dream, I knew that standing there, fighting against the onslaught of this… this horde, I knew that every last one of these defenders of civilization would die. I knew that their efforts would be rewarded with a fiery end.
In my dream, I walked into the building and grabbed a chair. As I raised it above my head, ready to die, I wept, knowing my fate and the fate of the world.
And then I woke up.
