Liberty's Hammer

by Reed Hill

  Morales gestured for the waiter to come over and removed his dark sunglasses setting them on the table. “I’m glad you agreed to come, Don Carerra,” he crossed his legs and adjusted the crease in the slacks. “It means a lot that you came in person.”

  “Not at all, not at all.”

  “I agree with Don Morales,” Vasquez interjected. “We’re very pleased to have you here.”

  “Don Encarcion sends his best and has asked me speak on his behalf,” Morales said.

  “Good, good,” said Carerra. “I’m glad you two have…” he paused for a moment, shifting in his seat, “come to an understanding.”

  Vasquez placed one hand on the table, and paused as the waiter arrived. Carrera looked at him and then said to the waiter, “Tres Ospinas, por favor, fuertes, muy fuertes.” The waiter dashed off with a quick nod and Carrera looked over at Vasquez, “Have you been able to work out your differences with Don Montoya?”

  Vasquez leaned forward and brought his hands together as if he were about to pray, “We have only the most minor disagreements at this point, Don Carerra.” He glanced up at the old man, “Trivialities really, I assure you.”

  “Are you all resolved to work together now?” the old man asked.

  Both men glanced at each other and nodded their assent.

  “This foolishness in the Middle East is going to provide us the opportunity we need, but only if there is…” the old man wriggled subtly in his chair, “cooperation, shall we say?”

  He looked at the two men across from him and leaned in slightly. “This is about things other than money, gentlemen. We all have far more of that than we could ever spend in twenty lifetimes.” He grabbed his walking stick and studied the wolf’s head for a moment, “This is about honor and justice.”

  *****

  Central Intelligence Agency – Latin American Section

  Langley, VA – February 20th, 2017

  The young analyst saw his boss walking in the aisle between the vast banks of cubicles, so he adjusted his glasses and stood up. His boss didn’t seem to notice him as he paced rapidly toward his office, so he took a quick sip from his coffee cup and grabbed the two binders and file folder and headed that way.

  His boss sighed as he stared at the stack of files on his desk was just reaching for the phone when the analyst came to the doorway and knocked quietly. The black plastic sliding nameplate read ‘Bill Wosniak’ and the affixed one below carried the office designation in neat block letters Director, Research and Analysis – Latin America. “Can I have a minute?” he asked bringing up the file folder and setting it on top of the binders and paperwork. “I have something out of San José that I think you may be interested in. Just came in overnight.”

  Wosniak motioned the analyst in, “What have you got?” He plopped down in his high backed faux-leather chair, looked at the flashing light on his desk phone and closed his eyes. “Let’s make this quick – Martinez is riding my ass over Juarez situation, and I need to make some progress on it.”

  “Got it,” the analyst said, laying down the file folder in front of Wosniak. “These were taken yesterday by our man in San José.” Wosniak flipped open the file and, seeing the top photo, quickly rifled through the other six freshly printed copies.

  The black-and-white paper printouts showed a succession of photographs taken from street level of an outdoor cafe.

  Two Latinos, Morales and Vasquez, shaking hands.

  The two greeting a third man, also Latino, this one much older, perhaps mid seventies

  The three sitting at the table, smoking cigars

  The three sipping espressos

  The three shaking hands

  The old man getting into a late model Lexus

  License plate shot of the Lexus

  “Apparently, they only met for about ten minutes.” The analyst pointed to the taller man in the first photo, “The tall one is Xavier Morales, head of the Sinoloa cartel.”

  “I know who Morales is. I sat across a table from him in 2011 for crissakes.” Wosniak looked up at the analyst, “What’s he doing in Costa Rica meeting with Enrique Vasquez head of the Zeta cartel? Those guys are in a blood war over the north central territory, based on the last monthly report.” His eyes studied the ceiling as he sat back in his chair, “Ten minutes means it was all business. What the hell’s going on?”

  “That’s the thing. There’s no audio with the pictures. We don’t know what they’re doing there.” The young analyst pointed to the old man in the photos, “And I asked around the desk – nobody knows who this guy is.”

  “Who got us these? Why no audio?” Wosniak glared at the analyst, “forget it.” He shook his head and glanced at the desk phone as it rang. “I need to get this – it’s probably Martinez.”

  “What do I do about this?” the analyst said, picking up the photos and putting the file back in order.

  “Track down the plate of the old guy, and see if you can make contact with any of our CIs inside Sinoloa and Zeta,” he said hurriedly as the phone continued to ring. “Start working the phones and get some theories going and email me a summary. Copy Beck and Tobard on it.” He grabbed the phone, “One sec,” and put the handset to his chest, motioning the analyst out the door. “And tell our guy in San José to keep an eye on things and get some damn audio.”

  *****

  Outside Brenham, Texas

  March 1st, 2017

  The crowd in the old abandoned factory was bigger than expected. Much bigger. The old man in the coveralls and sport coat looked out over the nearly thousand-man gathering and approached the rail of the platform ten feet above the crowd. With a shaky hand, he stroked his long gray beard and steadied himself at the rail.

  “My friends, thank you for coming. The response has been overwhelming. It’s evident how concerned people are about the real state of our country and our wonderful republic of Texas. Five years ago, there were maybe two dozen of us gathered around a hog pit out at Somerville Lake and that grew to a hundred the next year. Then last year we had close to three hundred friends join us for our little annual ‘Barbeque for Freedom.’ Now look at us. As many of you know, it’s tradition for me to open our weekend together with a few words. This year, I’m moved to speak to you with trepidation and anguish in my heart over what I see in our world.

  “It’s obvious to us and to anyone who isn’t asleep or deranged that this great republic we call the United States is under assault. It’s hard to point to the exact time when the government stopped serving ‘We the People’ and became our masters. You could make a case that it happened 2008, when we as a nation trusted our hopes and dreams to someone we knew nothing about, who inspired us to actually believe in the foggy vision of a hoped for utopia. He was a charlatan of the highest order, whose goons goose-stepped us onto a train in the night, handing us tickets to a dystopian nightmare. I would say it goes further back than that though.

  “You could argue that it happened in 1964, when in a tall Texas powerbroker abandoned all principles and sold out his country for the applause of history. A strong case can be made that it happened in 1932, when we elected the first savior of America, a reprobate liberal who became a tyrant of unmitigated proportion. An even stronger case could be made that it happened in 1910 on Jekyll Island when a sadistic group of seven bankers and politicians hunted duck by day and concocted the Federal Reserve over drinks by night. Under the ploy of a duck-shooting outing, these geniuses were really hunting for a way to take over America's banking system and ultimately its means of prosperity. But you could argue it goes further back still.

  “I think most of you-all would probably say it goes back to 1861, when an awkward, tall northerner put a gun to the head of the southern states and indicated that he wanted to have a civil discussion about slavery and states’ authority. While history tells us plainly that the momentum of slavery had at most three decades of life remaining before the rise of industrial age, the fatal blow that he dealt in saving the union was the as
sassination of the sovereignty of the states.

  “But, I would argue that it goes back further still to 1789 when, in the grand chess match of the Constitutional Convention, the forces of a powerful national government checkmated the forces of state sovereignty. Those early Federalists won the match by creating the federal government as the supreme entity, in perpetual autonomic authority over any consideration of the states’ individual interests. I hear discussion of a “separation of powers” of the “branches of government” working with checks and balances. It should be clear now that the three branches of government are actually distinct strangling vines coming from the same tree of federalism with a single unified intent: enslaving us.

  “The progressive, more accurately the regressive, movement in the country, as you can see, has a long, long history. As they have devolved into what they are today, they believe in the complete control of the masses by the state at the expense of personal, inalienable liberties. Simply put, these people are Statists, collectivists in the fine tradition of Stalin, Mao, and Castro. This ideology is their religion. This beast knows no political party boundaries, as both Republicans and Democrats are adherents. They uphold and obey the laws that suit their own political ends and trample the Bill of Rights under foot without a thought. Their worldview is secular and stands against anything bearing Judeo-Christian values, morals, or standards of behavior. They ridicule limited government and scorn the Constitution with its restrictions and enumerated powers.

  “In the few times that these evangelists are out of power they spin, lie, and act like spoiled children. They have their own propaganda division parading across all manner of print and electronic media, who use their influence to protect and advance the progressive agenda and badger the opposition into submission and silence. The Leftists who control the mainstream media openly whitewash the problems of the country and feed us distractions in the form of teen moms, New Jersey morons, tattooed idiots and nipple-pierced cross-dressers. And then, they have the nerve to tell us not to shove our morality down their throats. The uncommon honorable conservatives who believe in limited government and the original intent of the Constitution get hammered down because of their anxiety over upsetting the Leftists and their sycophants in mainstream media.

  “Now, after one hundred years of varying degrees of oppressive rule by Statists, America has sealed its own fate. There have been a few moments of respite under a wonderful war hero who warned us about the coming military-industrial complex, and three decades later, with a patriotic visionary whose dream and legacy created fifteen years of prosperity and defeated the Soviet Union. But overall, the progressive train has rolled forward from its beginning many decades ago. We are fast approaching a time in which the federal government is free to do anything it desires, and where the citizens may act only by permission – an era that will be marked by the dark days of tyranny, of rule by brute force.

  “So I ask you, men interested in honor, truth and liberty; what can God-fearing, law-abiding people to do survive and resist the forces of these usurpers, these Marxist radicals hell-bent on propelling us down into a dystopian Abyss? What happens when citizens are disarmed and helpless before foes committed to replacing Christian values and principles with a secular totalitarian rule? America as we know it is beyond repair, and the dirty little secret is that every branch of the federal government knows it. Unfortunately, those who still have ethics and morals don't dare voice their concerns. The economic and infrastructure collapse of the government is imminent. The can has been kicked to the end of the road. The system has become a circus elephant sitting on a tiny wooden box.

  “So, I urge you, men of freedom – spend the next two days not only enjoying great beer and great Texas barbeque, but also spend time discussing what remedies there might be for this insane patient who has managed to wriggle free from his straightjacket. I would offer one such avenue for restoring the balance, and it begins with hitting the looters where it hurts most. Rather than succumb to having your unalienable rights to life, liberty, and property stolen and confiscated by the moochers and robbers, consider a silent separation from society economically. Some of you, I know, have beaten me to the party on this initiative and for that I applaud you. A ‘tax strike’ is a great means for us to reject the illegitimate and oppressive control demonstrated by government today. It can range from a conscious reduction in self-employment or semi-retirement to a flat refusal to fund the unlawful leviathan by not filing tax returns until the criminal regime is thrown off. I know some of you may think this act of civil disobedience extreme, but it’s not nearly far enough in my view. Isn’t it time to stop feeding the beast that preys upon our good nature and willing spirit?

  “There may be even more forceful avenues of pursuit that come from the discussions you hold this weekend, and I encourage you to exercise your creativity in engaging in this important work of solving our problems. Your thoughts and discussions may even turn towards how those of us who believe in the founding principles and seek to hold the country together based on their genius and wisdom can withstand so forceful an opposition seeking to push the boundaries of their progressivism. It may be that so strong is the might and fervor of the Left that no number of right-minded brothers could stave off the oppression.

  “I offer you sincere thanks for endeavoring to undertake this defense of liberty, and I ask you to pray that we can find ways to defend ourselves. America hangs in the balance. We should not stand idly by while it tips beyond the point of righting. So I urge you – men of liberty – let no stone become a stumbling block to your ideas or to the vigorous pursuit of the goal toward which we all strive.

  “We can take this country back. And we will with God’s strength and blessing.

  “Now go enjoy the weekend and solve America’s problems.”

  The crowd erupted in thunderous applause as the long-bearded speaker stepped back from the rail and waved to the rowdy throng. A young man, pale and with a long orange goatee, clicked off his cell phone video-cam, stuck it in his pocket and started clapping like one of those toy monkeys. His fat buddy in the leather vest leaned over to him, “That was a helluva speech, huh Danny? I only got about half of it, but I sure as hell liked it.”

  “Yep, a damn fine one,” the young red-head scratched the side of his neck where he had a tattoo of a snake’s head. Danny Haslett was damn impressed by the old guy. “He’s dead-ass on, every damn bit of it. I’m glad we came. Not what I was expecting when I snatched that flyer off the flagpole outside the bar, but I’m happy we’re here that’s for damn sure.”

  *****

  National Conference – National Council of La Raza

  Denver, CO – July 1st, 2017

  Carlos Gutierrez basked in the thunder of the sixteen thousand-plus crowd as he strode to the podium, his chest puffed out, projecting greater presence than his five-foot eight inch height truly allowed. He artfully adjusted the microphone and waved with outstretched arms for the attendees to sit.

  “Thank you. Gracias, mi amigos. Muchas Gracias. Thank you very much.

  “It’s a great honor to be with you tonight. Thank you to the National Council for having me. President Consuelas, you’ve been so kind. I’m deeply honored to be here and I’m here to honor the tireless workers of the cause.

  “I come to you tonight with fear in my heart, brothers and sisters. We are a proud people, with a glorious heritage in this hemisphere. Despite periods of despotism and oppression, we have survived the rampant colonialism of the past and move forward today, charting a new path toward freedom and equality on this continent. Our ancestors would be pleased with our struggle for honor under such dishonorable conditions, our fight in the face of such unlikely odds. We know that the game is rigged, and yet we still keep on playing, trying our best to negotiate a noble way through the corrupt systems and structures of this country.

  “On the surface, it appears as if we have made strides in the past few years. We were told we had friends acting in our be
st interests. Some of you may say, “Carlos, we have the DREAM Act and so many of us have been able to step forward out of the secret lives we have been living. But like more than 175 years ago, our trust has been shattered. We’ve been lied to, abused, dehumanized and jailed. Rounded up and shipped about like cattle.

  “My friends, we find ourselves at a crossroads as a race. We’re the dominant culture, and yet we remain a hunted people in our own lands, lands that have been ours for twenty thousand years. And yet, with the passage of one law – the stroke of a pen – millions of us face ten or more years on the glorified “path to citizenship” that the so-called DREAM Act gave us. Brothers and sisters, the DREAM Act was and is a nightmare. That path is a new trail of tears for so many who will never make it to the end. It’s not a highway to some celebrated future; rather, it’s a treadmill of servitude and suffering, with a carrot of freedom and the full rights of citizenship dangling out of our grasp, seemingly so close and yet in reality, so very far away.

  “While it is true that we no longer huddle in fear in the darkness – fear of being handcuffed and thrown in a van under the cover of night and dumped across the border – we are forced to live in the complex, ambiguous world of non-citizens. While not illegal, we cannot stand tall and grasp the fruit of liberty as free and full citizens.

  “This cannot stand!

  “This is our homeland. We cannot, we must not, and we WILL not be made to be second class people in our own homeland.

  “The Anglos in power want us to grovel and feel grateful for the crumbs of freedom they have brushed to us from the grand table of the United States. I tell you we will not!