2041 The Peoples' United States

by T W Powell

  2041

  The Peoples’ United States

  It’s April 1, 2041, 16 years after The Great Pacific War and 15 years since the Peoples’ Revolution brought The Collective to power. The future of America hangs in the balance as the American Resistance wages a life and death struggle to defeat The Collective and its’ Communist Chinese puppet masters.

  Patriots from the hills of Eastern Kentucky, the swamps of Georgia, the Falls of the Ohio, the San Francisco Bay Area, and the high desert of Nevada answer the call.

  Americans can no longer sit on the sidelines. It’s all hands on deck to save the Last Best Hope of Mankind.

  Sunday Morning

  This Sunday began as any other Sunday at Youth Academy #7 in the Old Louisville neighborhood of Louisville, Kentucky. Member Natasha Brown stood at attention in front of her Level 4 class waiting patiently as the wall clock clicked over to 8:30 a.m. Then the Peoples’ Anthem was broadcast throughout the Academy.

  Her 45 students mimicked Natasha as she stood perfectly erect in her khaki uniform and sang along with the PA. Natasha projected a carefully crafted image, short ginger hair, no makeup, steel blue eyes, 5’9”, thin and athletic. As the Anthem concluded, the entire class took a knee, held their right fist into the air, and saluted the Peoples’ flag with its’ 48 green stars on a field of red.

  “I pledge solidarity with the liberated peoples of the world. One People, without borders, united against the forces of Zionism, Capitalism, and Racism, with equality and enlightenment for all.”

  Each of the 45 students then stood and with one voice said, “Good Sunday morning Member Brown.”

  Natasha then responded, “Good Morning to you Young Members. Today is Sunday, April 1, 2041. Today marks the fifteenth year of liberation for the Peoples’ United States. Young Members, please share with the class examples of the evils that once afflicted the People before the liberation.”

  Maria, a cute 9-year-old Hispanic girl with pigtails, promptly stood and was recognized by Natasha.

  “Before the liberation, the People were enslaved by the rich Capitalists, most of whom were Whites or Jews, who had all the money and power and controlled the People with a cruel, vicious police force.”

  “Correct Member Maria, the People are now equal and The Collective supplies everyone’s needs.”

  Natasha next recognized a bright, young black boy, “Member Brown, before the liberation, the evil police killed Black people just for fun.”

  “Yes, Member Maurice, that’s called racism when one group of people are treated badly by another group of people just because of the way they look, or because of the way they talk, or because of their place of origin, or because of their sexual orientation.”

  A small, bright-eyed girl of Asian descent then stood, “Member Brown, I have a question.”

  “Member Yasmin, please ask your question.”

  “Member Brown, you are White, is this not so?”

  “Yes, Member Yasmin, I am White. Every morning I must get up and face my Whiteness in the mirror. Every day I do my best to repay my debt to The Collective for the crimes of my ancestors. Every day spent with my fellow Young Members strengthens me to continue my struggle against this disease of Whiteness. Thank you, Member Yasmin, for your brave question and thanks to the entire class for accepting me despite my Whiteness.”

  Natasha then seated the class and began the Civics lesson that usually comprised the first two hours of the day.

  “Young Members, our first subject is civil discourse. When addressing another person in The Collective, we use the term ‘Member’. This term is all inclusive and is neither racist, sexist, nor nationalistic. While many socialist countries use the term ‘Comrade’, we are all Members of the Collective, which is more perfect socialist terminology. It is still perfectly acceptable to refer to persons from the People’s Republic of China and the Unified Korean People’s Republic as Comrades.”

  Politically correct language was very important in the PUS. The way something was said could be more important than what was actually being said. Natasha’s class was one of two English speaking Level 4 classes at the Academy. There was also a Spanish speaking class. Special arrangements were made for the growing number of children speaking a wide variety of African and Middle Eastern languages. Forcing children to learn English was considered racist and symptomatic of Whiteness.

  The primary lesson of the day’s Civics class was Zionism. Natasha carefully and emphatically hit each and every point in the course syllabus.

  “Zionism was a political system that stole land from Muslim Peoples in the Middle East, much like Whites stole the lands of Indigenous Peoples in the old United States. The Zionists were mostly Jews who, throughout history, profited from the misery of the masses. In fact, many Jews were Capitalists. Capitalism was the main tool of the Zionists.”

  The Civics class continued smoothly for the next couple of hours culminating in an idealized account of how the epicenter of Zionism, the criminal state of Israel, was defeated in 2030. The account was idealized in the sense that there were no pictures of the thousands of Tel Aviv refugees suffering from extensive radiation burns, nor did the children see the replays of the cable newscasts of the systematic public beheadings of thousands of Israeli survivors.

  The school day concluded with a final bell at 4:30 p.m. Before the end of the school day, usually about 4:00 p.m. on the first Sunday of each month, actions were taken to correct any problems in the classroom Collective. There were usually no major problems, but today was an atypical day.

  At precisely 4:00 p.m., Member Brown rose and addressed the class, “Young Members, we must now learn today’s most important lesson. Today is the first Sunday of April. It is the duty of all Members of The Collective to constantly monitor the health of The Collective. The diseases of Racism, Capitalism, Religion, Whiteness, and Zionism must be purged from The Collective.”

  Natasha then pointed her finger at a chubby Asian boy seated in the left rear corner of the classroom, “Akeno, step forward and face the Young Members!”

  Akeno sheepishly rose from his desk and shuffled toward the front of the classroom with his head hung low and silently faced the other Young Members. Natasha walked over to Akeno’s cubby along the wall and removed his backpack. Natasha then emptied the contents of Akeno’s backpack at his feet. A nice stash of candies, a few toys, school supplies, and a yellowed old Captain America comic book fell to the floor.

  “Akeno, you have engaged in Capitalist activities and are in possession of subversive materials. I do not call you Member Akeno because you are clearly not a Member. You have profited at the expense of The Collective. You have routinely bartered goods for profit and have even performed errands in return for payment in goods. Furthermore, you have done this on your own initiative with no direction from The Collective.”

  Member Brown then held up the comic book for the class to see, “This disgusting propaganda piece from a dead and discredited evil culture is a symptom and symbol of your disease Akeno. It is hereby confiscated! The Collective will now act to cleanse itself.”

  With that the class Collective rose from their desks and gathered in a circle around Akeno.

  Member Brown deftly stuffed the comic into her backpack as she walked towards the classroom door. “Young Members, I will return in 10 minutes. By then The Collective will have resolved this issue.”

  With that, Natasha left the classroom and headed to the Faculty Lounge. Exactly 10 minutes later she returned.

  The scene in the classroom was a microcosm of the justice system in the Peoples’ United States. Akeno lay crumbled on the floor surrounded by his classmates. There was a cut over his right eye and a goose
egg sized bruise was rising over his left eye. A steady stream of blood was flowing from his nose and he had a fat lip. Akeno was curled into the fetal position from the repeated kicks to his groin, his glasses were broken, and his uniform ripped in several places.

  “Member Akeno, you will now rise and distribute these items stolen from The Collective to their rightful owners, your classmates! You will also apologize to each of the Young Members and beg their forgiveness”.

  While Akeno was apologizing to his classmates and distributing the contraband, Member Brown was at her keyboard entering the details of this episode into Akeno’s Social Database. The Captain America comic book detail was purposefully omitted from Natasha’s report. Each Member’s Social Database was periodically examined and, based on that record, a numerical Social Quotient was assigned to every Member of The Collective. That information was linked to a subcutaneous RFID chip implanted in the webbing between the right thumb and index finger of each Member. Racial information, political leanings, sexual preference, medical information, and all other conceivable personal information were included in the Database. This one incident as a 9-year-old would undoubtably lower Akeno’s Social Quotient for the rest of his life.

  The Akeno issue was resolved by the 4:30 p.m. bell. By 5:00 p.m. Natasha was bicycling her way home. Her apartment was only a few blocks from the Academy, and, with the light motor vehicle traffic, she could be home in ten minutes.

  Natasha pedaled past drab, deteriorating buildings. Their brick facades were plastered with political posters. The most numerous and prominent poster was a wanted poster for Peoples’ Enemy #1. Every so often, she would see “RAMBRO” spray painted in black across one of the posters.

  As Natasha peddled on, she thought to herself, “What complete bullshit.”

  Peoples’ Enemy #1

  Darius Johnson Jr. lay motionless looking up through the large hole in the roof of the dilapidated bunkhouse. The old Boy Scout Camp had been abandoned since the 2026 Revolution.

  The Boy Scouts of America was an anathema to the new order. Even the use of the word “America” was racist as it paid tribute to Amerigo Vespucci, an old, White, European male responsible for the death and enslavement of millions of Indigenous Peoples.

  The abandoned scout camp was a good operating base for the 3rd Kentucky Volunteers. Lexington was about an hour’s drive to the west, with Louisville another couple of hours west of Lexington. Cincinnati was only a couple of hours to the north.

  The large lake at the camp was full of bass, catfish, crappie, and bluegill. Even the lake’s carp were fair game when the Volunteers got hungry. For the Third’s skilled hunters, and most were, the rugged Appalachian foothills to the east offered abundant game, deer, turkey and even some wild hogs. For the more daring, the collective farms of the Bluegrass region that lay to the west were ripe for plunder. But the collective farms were usually guarded by Peoples’ Militia; not much reason to “poke the bear”.

  The weather was warm for the first of April and the night sky was clear. Darius chuckled as he spied “RAMBRO” spray painted in red, white, and blue on the rafters overhead. In his 41 years, Darius had lived enough to fill several lifetimes, and in this rare quiet time, he reflected on those lives.

  As he relaxed and his mind drifted, half awake and half asleep, he thought about his Pops, Darius Sr., and his grandpa, Isaiah, aka: Pop-Pop. Junior loved, respected, and feared his father, but he loved his Pop-Pop with a purple passion.

  Pop-Pop spent countless hours with Junior while Darius Sr. was on duty as a Louisville fireman, working 24 on and 48 off. Pop-Pop was Junior’s babysitter and mentor and kept Junior entertained for hours on end. He was a master storyteller and had that certain knack, peculiar to certain grandpas, who can tell the perfect story at just the right time.

  Unlike Pop-Pop, Pops didn’t say much, but when he did, Junior snapped to attention. Both Pops and Pop-Pop were solidly built men standing about 6”2” and Junior was cut from the same mold. You could compare pictures of all three taken at age 18 and be hard pressed to tell the difference. That solid build helped Junior win some notoriety as a star linebacker for his not-so-great high school football team and helped him excel as a United States Marine.

  As a shooting star raced across the clear Kentucky sky, Junior’s mind continued to drift. Sixteen-year-old images of hypersonic Red Chinese anti-ship ballistic and cruise missiles blazed across Junior’s mind. Those images were followed by horrific scenes of three American supercarriers, and their escorts, sinking and on fire.

  Even more horrifically seared into Junior’s memory was the television footage of the carnage and destruction wrought by North Korean nuclear strikes targeted on US Naval facilities at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii and Bremerton, Washington. Sixteen years had not begun to dim those terrible images.

  Junior’s half dream/half nightmare was rudely interrupted by that familiar pain in his left leg courtesy of Korean People’s Army shrapnel that almost cost him that leg during the Wonsan campaign. The shredded leg was a small price to pay for the lives of 23 wounded Japanese and Taiwanese soldiers and a dozen US medical staff saved by Lance Corporal Darius Johnson, Jr.

  Junior once again glanced at “RAMBRO” painted on the rafters. The media hung that moniker on Darius as they milked his Okinawa story for every available rating point and, as always, they played the race card.

  It had been a long day, Junior was tired, and tomorrow would be another busy day. Junior gradually drifted off into a deep sleep and dreamed of Pop-Pop, football, hamburgers, summertime, and all the good things that had once made America great.

  Secrets

  Almost everyone in the Peoples’ United States carried some sort of secret that could result in their denouncement and summary execution at the hands of The Collective. Natasha carried more than her share. Her entire life was a fabrication concocted with the aid of her best friend, Beth Andrews, designed to raise her Social Quotient and counteract her Whiteness.

  Natasha locked her bike in the foyer and climbed the single flight of stairs to her two room, second floor apartment in a Victorian home in Old Louisville. These homes typified Old Louisville. Opulent, single-family residences built in the late 19th Century were transformed into apartment houses after World War II as young families fled to the suburbs. The Old Louisville neighborhood gradually fell into disrepair until the 1970’s when a restoration movement began.

  Natasha was fortunate as her building had been updated around 2005, then seized by The Collective and subdivided back into five apartments in 2026. Having apartments both above and below, Natasha’s apartment was warm in winter and cool in summer. The solid three brick thick construction of the exterior walls also contributed to this insulating effect.

  Beth Andrews was already cooking supper when Tasha arrived. Beth was not as tall as Tasha, but neither was she short. She wasn’t fat, but she had nice curves and tried her best to conceal them with her clothing. Beth’s dark hair, brown eyes and ruddy complexion mitigated some of her Whiteness.

  Beth shared many of Natasha’s secrets, but Beth had some even greater secrets. Beth was a Christian and she was the real deal. She even kept a Bible hidden under the floorboards of their apartment. Another advantage offered by the sturdy construction of these Victorian homes was the soundproofing provided by the thick walls and those heavy plank subfloors. This muffled the occasional heated arguments between Beth and Natasha concerning that hidden Bible.

  As she entered the apartment, Natasha pulled a thick cotton sock from the dresser drawer and placed her Peoples’ Phone in that sock, then placed the sock back in the dresser drawer right next to Beth’s socked phone. Each Member was issued a Peoples’ Cellular Device that was linked to their implanted RFID chip. Even when ostensibly turned off, a Peoples’ Phone could act as a listening and location tracking device.

  Tasha pulled the Captain America comic book from her backpack and tossed it to Beth, “Here ya go, keep this with that damned Bible.”

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sp; Beth caught the comic book and replied, “Where in the world did you get this and why did you bring it here?”

  “I confiscated it today from an Asian kid and thought that maybe we could get a nice trade for it on the market. You know there’s a good market for pre-Revolution stuff.”

  Beth was skeptical, “We’ll see. I hope we can trade it for something better than these beans. Now come sit and eat.”

  Beth paused while she handed Natasha a bowl of pinto beans and a slice of corn bread, then completed her train of thought, “I’d trade that comic in a minute for a couple of Big Macs.”

  Beth then filled a third bowl with beans and cut another slice of cornbread and headed toward the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going with that?” Natasha just had to ask, although she already knew the answer.

  “I’m going next door to see Ms. Warner, I’m sure she’s hungry.”

  “Why don’t you let that old woman die in peace? I mean she’s 66 and White. Her contribution to The Collective is zero. Giving her food could be considered counter-revolutionary, and besides, we could use the food.”

  “That’s exactly why I’m taking her this food. She’s old and alone and her food allotment has been cut off.” With that, Beth went down the hall, knocked on Miss Warner’s door, and handed her the food.

  When Beth returned, Tasha continued, “You do know that kind of shit, if reported, could really knock your Social Quotient and both of us need every point we can get.”

  Beth didn’t respond.

  Beth and Tasha had plotted and schemed their entire adult lives to increase their Social Quotients. This effort started in 2026 when Beth and Natasha were Juniors in high school. They were BFFs and two very smart young ladies. Unlike many high school Juniors, both Beth and Tasha were focused on their futures and kept up with current events.

  Louisville would seem to most to be a most unlikely hotbed of revolutionary fervor, but civil strife erupted in 2020 due to what was viewed by many as racist and unnecessarily violent police behavior. So, a medium sized city, usually thought of as a Southern city, and best known for horse racing, bourbon, college basketball, and baseball bats, gradually and unexpectedly lead the country into revolution.