Democracy Is Falling

Democracy is falling.

The sky is blood red as streaks of gold shriek into the evening night and explode with a fury. The man knows he’s being sent to his death, and that there will be no fight, no revolution, no final words that will grace silk-screened t-shirts for generations to come. He knows it even as incendiary bombs explode above and around him, even as the half-broken displays waylaid by the road cheerily state the weather forecast for the coming week, even as he sees one of the soldiers accompanying his block get blown sky-high by a landmine. Millions have died, and millions more will around him in the brief span of time that he is still breathing.

He knows that the State doesn’t care. Perhaps the majority of it doesn’t even know. Like a worm, poisonous, eating through layers of bureaucracy and rotting each from the inside, upending the balance long-held within the government even as crisply dressed officials in blue suits stand on podiums and exult the accomplishments of the Administration. Officially, this isn’t any sort of genocide, they say, this is a “relocation” program for “dangerous subversives, illegals, and terrorists”. Words branded by a fiery iron of patriotism on the eyes of easy targets, blaming the economy, the homelessness, the hunger on the population that had the least resources to defend it. Oh sure, there may be a few real criminals in the mix, the ones who have killed-and may kill again. But he’s mostly seen the keen eyes of lawyers and judges, the raised fists of protesters, quick fingers of journalists, and the multicolored tones of immigrants drawn by a web of lies to the land of opportunity. They will all die together soon, harassed by slurs used now to judge the worth of a human being.

The man sees that the Administration has done an excellent job of removing the presence of media from their machinations. There will be no reporting of any activities carried out by the Federals on this day.

But he knows better. He’s seen the graphic videos of these same Federals, wearing green uniforms and crisp silver badges, angrily beat down bone-thin men with fear written on their eyes to death, the gradual backsliding of the Program from deporting to killing, from immigrants to residents to citizens. He noticed the unfurling banners of blue and white slowly grow in numbers. He learned in history class, back when there was still an education to be had, about the holocaust. Hitler had done such a thing, to the Jews with national socialism. Of course, in this age of media, there will be no popular comparisons drawn with him, no Edelweiss to fight against this disappearing, for the broadcasts say the Administration loves all. There had been such a misnomering, such a great twisting of truth, and the people ate it up hook, line and sinker. Now that the mere notion of reconciliation has been imploded, he knew that some of these supporters would in turn suffer the consequences come a few months. But he won’t be there to laugh and say he was right.

I never thought it would be so bad, the man thinks. He remembers reading the news, laughing with his friends on the floor of their house at the “Projects” and “Initiatives” for a greater nation touted by rich, god-revering Caucasian men with too much money. Ridiculous, his band of friends thought. Surely nobody would actually take a second notice to the sheer implausibility and absurdity, the racism and sexism baked in every typed letter that their eyes gazed on. Then suddenly, it was a reality imposed by an education system that failed to clear the eyes of generations from sane-washed media, from the smear campaigns used to bring down the hammer of justice on innocents, the insurrection that had torn the very fabric of justice, then the dreadful ascension to office that spelled out the letters of doom. The politicized wars of red and blue, fascism versus communism, two polar extremes, normally significant of a country at the brink of shattering. But naturally, not wishing to believe such a thing to be true, he held faith in the scales of justice long laden-down with piles of cash to somehow still be upright, and told himself and his friends that it would all blow over within a few months and that life would go on as normal. But only now as he trudges along this worn dirt path and sees the AA guns burst fire towards a tracer-crossed sky, does he dare to wish that he had been more proactive.

As he marches, he suddenly recalls to when he was a young boy, dutifully pledging his allegiance to this flag, these now-traitorous waving bands of red-white-blue dancing among the winds, proudly waving those same flags every year, watching the band parade through his small-town world singing of that grand old star spangled banner, of patriotism and Columbus. In school, he learned of generations past that had died at Saratoga, Gettysburg, Flanders, Berlin, Okinawa, Seoul, Hanoi, Tehran, and Jabul, fighting for the delicious taste of democracy and paying the ultimate price. And yet as he grew older, his eyes were opened to the horrors that had been committed and justified in that name, and he could no longer regard those three colors with such childish innocence.

And now, as he approaches the Yard, he sees with a flourish of irony that they will accompany him to his grave, as backdrops pinned to the walls still red with blood, crimson and vermillion that bears witness to the atrocities committed not long ago and soon in the future. The scent of sanitizer still lingers in the air, and the soldiers point their rifles and usher them to enter, yet he stops, takes a final deep breath before he enters that white marble building that stands for the center of a lie three hundred or so years in the making.

There will be no funeral for him after he is lined up on the wall in a few hours. No report that may bring his family, assuming that they still live, peace. No newspaper loudly blaring the injustice that has been served to him. Only the static silence of broken wires and falling stars will remain.