“Two years after we arrived,” said Hagar, “someone stumbled on a mountain filled with shiny metal—silver—in what is now the middle of Bolivia. Tens of thousands hastened there from all over Europe. Potosi was the largest boomtown in the world, sporting dozens of gambling houses, dancing halls, and street fighting. It had a population bigger than that of London, Venice, or Seville. People strutted around the streets, while the bulk of the mining and refining work was relegated to hapless local people, whose carcasses kept piling up faster than they mined the shiny metal.”
“What did they want with all that silver? Were they using it for power lines?”
Hagar shook her head. “Back then, the Earth people had not established an electrical grid as yet. Much of the demand for the metal was fueled by China. They used it as a currency.”
“Did they not have paper, state-issued fiat currency?” inquired one of the commissioners.
“They did,” responded Aratta. “But earlier, the Chinese government had delighted itself in printing the paper notes, generating more and more money out of thin air, and with this came the inevitable inflation. Chaos and distrust ensued. Rather than instituting a responsible fiscal policy henceforward, they sought something that held innately high value in the eyes of the public: silver.”
Puddeck commented, “What transpired in South America was the opening salvo. Ever since, transnational corporations have been scouring the planet. Neither pristine wilderness nor human dignity nor heat nor gloom of night has been staying them from getting cheap goods and natural resources. The world has been their oyster, the ecological systems theirs for the taking.”
“This is not restricted to the transnationals.” Hagar shrugged. “Why, locals have been coming down from the Andes Mountains and wiping out significant swathes of primary rainforest in the Amazon in their pursuit of another shiny metal, gold. And then they go home, leaving behind mercury-laced ponds and a landscape barren of trees and vegetation. This has been going on for decades now.”
“We thank you for this testimony,” said the presiding chair. The three of them bowed in return. The chief commissioner glanced over at the ever-present group of aides in white-and-silver livery. “What’s next on the agenda?”
“War, presiding chair,” said the senior-most aide.
Chapter 32
Undisclosed Location, Off-World, the Commission Building
“Democracies mutate and end up as something dysfunctional, where no course correction is possible. Everyone is pulling and tugging every which way, and oftentimes policymakers are simply the best money can buy,” declared Wang Lei. He looked handsome in the dark suit and white shirt opened at the collar. He would have looked handsome in any shirt. A gleaming-red, expensive Chunghwa pack of cigarettes protruded from his jacket’s breast pocket.
“Contrast this with situations where leaders have the leeway to actually do something,” Wang Lei went on. “Paul Kagami, the president-in-chief of Rwanda, transformed his country in twenty years from an impoverished place reeling from the aftermath of an internal genocide to one with a solid economy and gender equality second to none. He is not the only one. Under the leadership of Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani, Qatar had the foresight to invest in liquefied natural gas technology and has transformed itself from a backwater peninsula to a prosperous country with real estate holdings around the world.”
A small group of Terraneans gathered in one of the brick-veneered alcoves in the lobby, comfortably seated on button-tufted velvet armchairs. On the circular table in front of them, an attendant was setting down some glasses and a carafe with water and lime. The hearing on war was to convene by the commissioners within the hour. However, the large engraved brass doors leading to the deliberation chamber were still closed.
“Do I really need to spell it out?” responded Konsta, a plump, blond man with a single stainless steel earring stud. “The leader Pol Pot took Cambodia and utterly ruined it within a few years. The leader Hugo Chávez brought Venezuela to economic ruin. Idi Amin in Uganda, Noriega in Panama, and Mugabe in Zimbabwe…you are playing Russian roulette with non-democratically elected rulers.”
The one hundred Earth people who had been invited and were interested in attending the hearing proceedings had arrived as a group three days earlier—and spent the first two talking about little else other than the hearing and the realization that the people on Earth were not alone; there were other humans on parallel planets. A sense of unreality hung over everything during the first day. A small but vocal group was convinced all of this was somehow an elaborate hoax or an experiment by a government agency or a cabal of influential people. Opinions varied among the Earth people and changed seemingly by the hour.
The Terraneans in attendance had also analyzed in detail their own teleportation to the Commission Building, the brief stasis they were placed in while undergoing a security inspection, and the infamous ten minutes when all generators were powered down by Fat Frank and the world was plunged into a blackout. Opinions about how these things could be made possible were numerous. However, no one could offer a compelling explanation within the framework of technology as they had known it.
But most of all, they speculated ad nauseam what the eventual ruling could mean to the people on Earth. Views ranged from the joyous to the bleak. In fact, there was not much in between. Some maintained they will all be exterminated, bringing the failed human experiment on Earth to an end; it was judgment time, and the verdict was all but preordained. Others held to the notion of benign despotic overlords, ushering in a golden age. A third, smaller camp argued that the “off-worlders,” as they quickly have come to be called, would send in advisors and disseminate technology that would uplift humanity and the world as a whole. Quite a few were resentful of the prospect of interference, any interference.
By the third day, they had seemingly exhausted all avenues of speculation and analysis, and those discussions petered out. As the Earth people became acclimated after a fashion to their surroundings and circumstances, more mundane subjects gained prominence: from the environment to religion to politics. Morale improved, as once again, they interacted from within familiar frames of reference. It served to push away the darkness.
A handful of people—like Galecki, Susan, and Brandon—were personally invited by Aratta, and they jumped at the opportunity to witness what surely was the most momentous event in their lifetime, if not beyond. Other attendees hailed from throughout Earth and represented a wide assortment of backgrounds and professional pursuits. They were all thrown together, people who otherwise would not have been likely to cross paths or interact.
This was how Galecki and Susan, two Americans, found themselves seated with an entrepreneur from mainland China, Wang Lei; an automotive engineer from Finland, Konsta; and a devout Muslim from the United Kingdom with a background rooted somewhere in Asia, Nayef al-Jabouri.
“I agree with Konsta on democracy,” said Galecki, pouring himself a glass of water. “At least one with a restricted voting base.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Susan.
Galecki privately thought she looked really good in the pantsuit of wine-red color she wore. She must have been close to his age, mid-seventies, but unlike him, she carried her years with grace. “Why should a renter have a say in the decision whether to upgrade the clubhouse or add a pool in the housing community?” he asked rhetorically. “Of course he will vote for ever more upgrades; it’s not his money he’s playing with. He has no skin in the game! Being a citizen cannot be a spectator sport. At least when it comes to matters of wealth redistribution, such as when building highways, constructing schools, and providing medical care, those who actually have to foot the bill—pay into the system in equal amount to or in excess of services received—ought to have more say.”
Wang Lei laughed. “That’s hard-nosed. I like it. But if you have to go with democracy, do give all citizens an opportunity to
have a say. But ahead of time, require them to pass a civics test that demonstrates they possess both a measure of thoughtfulness and are versed in the political issues of the day.”
“Myself,” announced Konsta, “I am for direct democracy. Finally, within reach.” For a moment, the tiny stud earring gleamed as he leaned forward and poured himself some water.
Galecki raised an eyebrow. “With hundreds of millions of citizens?”
“You should get out of the fifties and visit us sometimes.” Konsta kept the amusement out of his voice. “People are voting en masse on everything and anything online. We now also have solid security and privacy protocols in place, or else online banking would not have been feasible.” He regarded the faces around him. “Let’s put these technologies to use and have people vote away on a myriad of topics and shape national policies. There you have it: government by the people for the people.”
The two towering doors swung soundlessly outward, and a half dozen men in green and black livery marched out. The small group of awaiting Earth people got up, but then sat down again as the doors closed with a boom. Apparently, it was not time yet.
“You people worship success and progress,” Nayef al-Jabouri responded a bit later to a comment Susan had made, stroking his salt-and-pepper, trimmed beard. “Did you ever stop to think how you construe success and what are you progressing toward?” He gestured dismissively. “Your culture is broad as a flood plain. And just as shallow.” He spoke with a British accent with hints of something else. Susan had noticed him yesterday and the day before. Always the same dark, knit kufi cap, the same white shirt buttoned all the way up, and the same white three-quarter pants, revealing muscular brown calves.
“It is the progress of being able to have this kind of conversation,” snapped Susan, irritated. “In the United States, we can voice our opinions without fear of persecution—no matter how contrarian the view may be.”
“Oh yes, the vaunted right of Americans to piss against the wind unfettered.” Nayef looked down at his leather sandals to hide the glimmer of laughter lurking in his eyes. “It is not like your late-night talk shows and public yapping threaten the powers that be in your country. Or really change anything fundamental. It is more of a theater of free speech than anything. Your regime is so entrenched and woven into the identity of Americans, it can indulge venting. This is not a sign of genuine freedom, but of supreme control. The United States may be the last place on the planet where a revolution is likely to occur.”
“And why would we want to overthrow our governing institutions?” demanded Susan. “We are free to pursue any belief and speak our mind.”
“On this, I have to disagree some,” countered Mr. Galecki. “True, our government is largely out of the censorship business.” At least the direct kind. “All the same, the freedom-of-speech culture is sorely lacking where it matters most: universities.” He took a sip from his glass reflectively. “All progress depends upon providing a venue—a crucible—for intellectual tension, debate, and ambiguity. Iron sharpens iron. Alas, the perpetually-offended woketariat class has set barricade lights around several academic subfields and swapped discourse with sloganeering, teaching with political advocacy, intellectual fluidity with dogma, merit-based hirings with gonads and melanin quotas.”
Susan narrowed her eyes.
Galecki ignored her and mused aloud, “Disapproved speech is frowned upon, counterrevolutionary speakers are disinvited or shut down. Untenured academicians are reluctant to defend certain well-established scientific positions lest they will be unmasked and purged. Lest their heretical thoughts will bring down the wrath of those who ‘speak truth to power,’ that is to say, those in power who decide on what is the truth of the day and who is in and who is out. Open letters of denouncement by academics, campaigns of intimidation by student activists, and hearings conducted by diversity compliance officers …in short, it is best to self-censor. And for those who just don’t get it, the Bias Response Team is in place: a venue to anonymously report those who say things on campus that the informers consider biased or insensitive.
“Those who have set their sights on tenure or otherwise on a job within the ivy-covered walls are often required to craft and sign a Diversity, Equity, and Purity loyalty oath, demonstrating their allegiance to the revolution. To score high enough on the rubric to be considered for employment in some universities, candidates are expected to have a history of promoting, in their professional capacity, favored identity groups.”
Wang Lei had a grin on his face. In China, they’d coined a word for those far-left whites Galecki was referring to: baizuo.
Galecki was going to say more but then decided not to. It was a brave new world all right; a Möbius strip, where some things got twisted to mean their reverse. Peace was war; freedom was slavery; and diversity was uniformity—that is, when it came to views.
Academia may have been ground zero, Galecki mused, but it had bled outward, engulfing the entire media-academia-Hollywood complex—and beyond, permeating the social media giants, the self-appointed monitors of the virtual public square.
Seated across from Galecki, Susan was looking at him, decidedly unhappy.
“But it is true,” he felt compel to add with a nod to Susan, “that in the United States we do have a separation of state and religion.”
Al-Jabouri made a derisive gesture. “What do you think is the real reason some of your states forbid gambling or until recently prohibited anal sex?” He pondered some more what Galecki had said. “Yet, I grant that nowadays you mostly separate religion and state. You’ve clamored for the legalization of sodomites, alcohol, fornication, and think oppression is something that denies you the freedom to pursue obscenities, atheism, and hedonism.”
“I forgot,” exclaimed Susan, “you guys are so Dark Ages.” She looked at Nayef al-Jabouri archly. “Isn’t it true that in Saudi Arabia, they may flog those who drink, riot, or pester women?”
“So what of it? The law is so strict that a person will think ten times before committing a crime.” His voice was guarded.
Susan did not let the matter drop. “Such a punishment is so…barbaric.”
Al-Jabouri looked at her sharply. “One out of twenty-three adult men in your country is either under probation, parole, or in prison. Your country is the prison capital of the world. You are the last people to lecture others about jurisprudence.”
“Oh yes, Americans,” Wang Lei sneered. “These days all their manufacturing is done by people in other countries. The remaining bastions of American industry are the manufacture of military equipment, to keep the world safe for democracy, and the construction of new prisons, to keep their streets safe from their citizens.”
“You talk to me about incarceration?” Galecki hissed in a barely audible voice, suddenly furious. “For many years, your government has been apprehending Falun Gong practitioners and other undesirables, and cutting up each year tens of thousands of them alive when the need has arisen, harvesting their livers and hearts for transplants.”
Wang Lei reddened. It is not something he cared to dwell on. Or admit to anyone what he thought of it: a national disgrace.
Oblivious to this brief exchange, al-Jabouri and Susan continued their argument. “At least we don’t cut people’s hands off!” Susan retorted in response to something al-Jabouri had said.
“No, you don’t.” Nayef al-Jabouri was biting off each word, his hand absently flicking his ever-present string of wood beads. “You simply throw people in with cruel deviants who violate them for years on end, along with renting out their sexual services to other inmates.” He was staring coldly at Susan. His fingers moved over the wooden beads, pushing them to-and-fro. Flick, flick, flick. “Later on, you put the mark of Cain on those released from prison, effectively foiling their chances to find worthy employment. You are violent, barbarous people.”
Susan seemed to have tuned
out what he had just said. “In countries like Iran or Saudi Arabia,” she said, “Islamic religious police may detain a woman if she walks in public with a miniskirt or jogs dressed in a sport bra and leggings. In our society, we can wear whatever we want.”
“Rubbish,” said al-Jabouri without missing a beat. “A middle-aged man wearing nothing but an open trench coat and a cowboy hat will be arrested—and for the same reasons people are arrested in Saudi Arabia or Sudan. You enforce your notions of decent attire as much as we do. The particulars may differ; the principle does not.”
Susan blinked, taken aback.
Konsta was unimpressed with al-Jabouri’s argument; as far as he was concerned, there was no symmetry. “What a horrible implication of propriety,” he exclaimed, “to expect women to walk in mobile tents, in mobile sensory deprivation cells. They are never able to feel the wind on their faces; they are denied a basic medium of communication, they are unplugged from the broader physical world. Those women are featureless ghosts in black walking among the living.”
Al-Jabouri turned to him. “In India, an exposed midriff is modest; in the United States, it is somewhat risqué. Different societies, different notions. So I ask you, who is better to decide on the standard than the Lord of mankind? It is written in the Book of God that in public all the woman’s body should be covered except for the hands and wrists.” Anger clouded his features. “In your society, you use the beauty and allure of females to sell products. This is degrading. We in Islamic lands protect women.”
Susan fixed the bearded man in white with a cold stare. “Women are not songbirds to be put in gilded cages. Where is the true respect and freedom of choice? In your native country, a female is nothing but a nuisance for the parents and chattel of the husband.”
“Men have authority over women,” al-Jabouri countered. “For Allah has made the one superior to the other.” Susan snorted in derision, but he remained patient. “In the West, more and more females go against basic human nature and abandon motherhood, wifehood, chastity, and femininity.”
The Earth Hearing Page 35