“You need to get a life and stop getting involved in mine,” said Deni.
“Look, don’t get so hot. I’m sorry. I was thinking a lot about you, us, the family,” said Mikail.
Deni could sense something was wrong. “You want to come up?”
“Yeah, thanks,” said Mikail.
Mikail followed Deni up to his dorm room and looked around. It looked just like the dormitory room he imagined—small, cluttered and messy. It was hard to tell where Deni’s mess ended and his roommate’s began.
“How can you live in all this disorder?” asked Mikail and then sat on Deni’s roommate’s bed.
“I’m not here that much. I’m usually at class or studying somewhere,” said Deni.
“Lot of girls visit?” asked Mikail.
Deni couldn’t lie. “A few.” He sat down on his bed across from his brother. “What’s going on Mik?”
Mikail reached in his jacket, pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Deni. Curiously, Deni unfolded the paper. His face showed the horror of its contents.
“Those are children mutilated and maimed in the illegal US war in Iraq,” said Mikail and then took the paper from Deni. “Every time I see it, I think of Elena.” He looked up at Deni. “I think of you. Remember those nights in Grozny. Remember how scared you were?”
“I wasn’t scared,” said Deni.
“Is that why you crawled into bed with me every night?” Mikail asked. “Pop used to come home covered in blood from helping recover victims in the streets. He never said a word, but I could see it in his eyes. He would look at me, fearing one day it would be me, or you, or Lulii or Eliiza. Ma used to get so mad how he’d lock us up in the apartment. He wouldn’t allow her to leave. He gave strict instructions not to let anyone inside.”
“I don’t remember much,” replied Deni.
“You wouldn’t; you just wanted to play with your toy trucks. That’s all you ever wanted to do, was play. It used to make me so mad, so much violence in the streets and all you wanted to do was play.” Mikail grunted. “You haven’t changed, you know. There is so much chaos in the world and all you want to do is play.”
Deni sat forward and gazed down at his sneakers. He didn’t realize they were untied, so he leaned over and tied them. Looking up at Mikail he said, “I’m sorry.”
Mikail stood and walked around the room. He inspected both Deni and his roommate’s photographs and flipped open text and notebooks. “Don’t be. I wish I could be like you, so careless and carefree. How can you party and pretend innocent people are not dying around the world? They are people like you and me, but they weren’t fortunate to be able to move here.”
“I am not blind, deaf and dumb, Mik. I know what’s going on,” said Deni.
“And yet you sit around smoking dope and doing whatever else you do,” said Mikail.
“What can I do? What can anyone do?” asked Deni.
“Sitting around doing nothing is worse than those who commit the atrocities. You are just as guilty,” said Mikail.
Deni stood from his bed and stared at Mikail. “You drove all the way down here to have a philosophic, political discussion with me?”
“I came here to ask for your help.”
“Help with what?”
Mikail stopped pacing Deni’s room and turned to face him. “Protesters carry signs, but who really reads them? It’s just a waste of paper and ink. Peaceful protesters are arrested and sprayed with tear gas. Fearing more police brutality the protesters stop. People are being massacred in the streets simply for speaking their mind and for wanting their freedom, yet who bothers to care and notice? Many here criticized the revolution in Egypt, fearing how it will affect American lives—selfish! They mock those who lost their lives in the struggle, saying they deserved it. It’s futile you see. No one pays any attention, everyone is caught up in their own little lives of lies,” said Mikail.
“So, what’s your plan? What do you intend to do?” repeated Deni.
“I want to make a point. I want to get people’s attention. I know people who can offer help, but I need you to carry it through,” replied Mikail. “Will you help me?”
Deni knew he didn’t have a choice; Mikail would hound him until he agreed. He had been bonded to Mikail since he was a child and now even more so as a young man. His fate was sealed and he knew his time on earth would be short. Soon, he would be called back to God. “Okay, whatever.”
Deni stared at Dr. Sodhi. “I really didn’t know much at the time about his plan, only that it was so important to him. To see Mik with a purpose and a goal was a good thing. He had been such a miserable wretch for years; suddenly there was a twinkle in his eyes. I thought it was my duty as his brother to get his spark back.”
Dr. Sodhi nodded, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. She heard it from Deni before, sacrificing his own needs, desires and goals for others. He was remarkably absent from his own exceptional life.
Later that evening, Deni went through the motions of solitary hygiene rituals—he showered, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and changed into a clean pair of underwear. He sat on the corner of his bed and thought of his life in contrast to all those around the world living in war zones and hardship areas.
He couldn’t imagine waking up and not knowing if you’re going to eat or die that day. Even in prison, I am guaranteed a meal and place to sleep. I am safer and more secure here in solitary than in some parts of the world.
After seeing Mikail’s pictures of atrocities, Deni did his own research. As a journalism major, he had a selection of international sources to review and study. Everything he read had to be taken with some skepticism; every nation had their propaganda. Russian papers liked to highlight the misdeeds of the United States, yet not being as forth coming with news from the Russian government. Middle Eastern news was pretty much completely anti-American with total praise of the regimes in power. Journalism was all propaganda; the only difference was the perspective from which a person views the truth.
Deni stretched back in his chair and contemplated the truth. The truth, if there is such a thing, is entangled in the minds of men, cultures and countries. To unravel it, would be the work of a madman, he thought and then sat forward in his seat toward the computer screen. “Perhaps I am that mad,” he said.
Chapter 23
Mikail’s darkness shrouded Deni quickly. It didn’t take much; there was a field of seeds planted and the harvest of anger and isolation was already growing inside. Whether the hate and prejudice was directed at him or not, Deni saw it. He saw the hypocrisy in America. Everyone applauded themselves as being for peace and freedom, but only if it suited them and theirs, but not one of difference and dissidence.
It happened at all levels, from the politicians, to the local authorities, and to the citizens. No one cared for any injustice of another as long as they felt safe and secure. Most Americans sat in their bubble, pointing their fingers and saying, “Glad it’s not me; glad it’s them.”
The ultimate struggle for Deni was that he straddled both sides. He was an immigrant Russian Muslim raised on the streets of Reading, PA. That gave him a significant disadvantage for making it in America. He had the promise, the opportunities and the American social network. He walked the thin line of having it all to having nothing and no one cared either way. To some, he was a fortunate one, to others, a lowlife.
It was his brother who tipped him over the edge, who made him see how fragile his circumstances really were. Would I have a real shot at success? Would people really ever accept me? Would a girl like Heather ever really consider being my wife? Probably not. It is all just a big joke.
The irony was that just six months prior, he became an American citizen. It wasn’t that he really truly believed in the American dream. He saw the American dream crumble around his brother’s feet. His parents weren’t even afforded the opportunity to dream; they just crept around in quiet slumber while everyone else lived. His sisters had the best shot at the
American dream; they could marry well. How much easier would it be if I were a woman? No one would try to confront me, intimidate me, compete with me and try to be better than me.
There were benefits to dual citizenship. When the going got tough in one country, he always had a way out. He would always have another option. Now stuck in the American judicial system, he wondered if it were better if he weren’t a citizen. Sure, I’d be tortured in Gitmo, but would that be any worse fate than spending the rest of my life in a six by eight foot box, he thought.
The time spent with his brother as they pursued their plans, gave Deni even more perspective and more purpose. He was no longer some drone sitting in a classroom listening to an American professor lecture American propaganda. Only his economic professor had the guts to say to the class on the first day that he wanted to teach socialism, but was denied by the school’s administration. Kudos Professor Shultz for wanting to actually teach and enlighten students and not create mere zombies, Deni thought.
It’s the main problem with the world; everyone wants to see what they want to see. They don’t want to have to see anything that is unpleasant or doesn’t meet with their fantasies of what the world is really like. Who spends the time trying to understand another nation’s politics and history? Who spends the time trying to understand another person’s faith? Who really empathizes with other communities’ pain and hardship? If no one understands, how can the world possibly change for the better? How do you get people to want to understand when they have closed themselves off from the rest of the world? How do you make people see all the injustices?
Deni lunged forward in prayer and felt the cool tile floor of the Reading Islamic Center. Alongside him was his brother, who prayed earnestly to Allah. Before God, Deni felt unsure, more unsure than normal. Murder was a sin and would sentence his brother to damnation. Is he praying for forgiveness or does he feel justified for Hector’s murder?
While in prayer position, Jihad—the struggle within oneself—came to Deni’s mind. Mikail’s inner struggle has surfaced to his exterior; he was deflecting his inner demons on the world and on Deni. Violence was only acceptable when there is no other means to overcome oppression. Was there other means to overcome Hector’s influence on me? Does it really take a violent attack for Americans to see the atrocities in the Middle East? Deni thought and then he heard Mikail utter a prayer.
“Our Lord! Therefore forgive us our sins, and remit from us our evil deeds, and make us die the death of the righteous,” said Mikail.
The death of the righteous? Is there such a thing? Deni thought. He had no prayer memorized that he could offer God, only that he prayed to find some peace and a way out from under his brother’s heavy wings.
Deni paced in his prison cell, contemplating and recalling the events that led up to that fateful day. It was the question that would surely be asked and he would have to answer, yet no one really wanted to know. Why have a cause, if no one cares? Why try to speak to it, if people will only shut them down? Most of America has their hands over their ears, screaming like little children having a tantrum.
Mikail and Deni had a late breakfast at Elmer’s diner off Perkiomen Avenue in Reading. Deni sat across from Mikail in a booth with Elena placed in a high chair at the end of the booth. A waitress came by with her pad in her hand, ready to take their order. She leaned over to admire Elena. “Oh, she’s adorable.”
“I’m married,” replied Mikail.
The waitress stared at her pad. “Okay, what can I get you fellas?”
“I’ll have green tea, scrambled egg whites,” said Mikail and then glanced at the waitress. “Is your fruit fresh or is it that crap in a can?”
“It’s seasonal fresh,” she said.
“Seasonal fresh?” Mikail asked.
“Berries, bananas, kiwi,” replied the waitress.
“Bananas and kiwi are not indigenous to Pennsylvania. How can they be fresh?” questioned Mikail.
“Perhaps you would like a salad?” the waitress suggested.
“I’ll have the seasonal fruit and my daughter will have a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of apple juice.”
The waitress turned to Deni. He was hungry and wanted a huge helping of pancakes, eggs and even bacon, but he didn’t want any controversial discussion over diet with his brother. “I’ll have the same—egg whites and fruit.”
Deni tapped his fingers on the table, watching the waitress walk away. He looked at the morning crowd, mostly elderly people chatting with friends, a few businessmen, and sad looking unemployed desperately searching the classifieds for work. This is America—the old, the on-the-go, and the outcasts. Everyone in America falls into one of these three classifications and it is obvious which one Mik and I fall into.
The waitress placed a cup of tea before Mikail and a glass of water before Deni. Mikail seeped his tea bag and then said to Deni. “Have you given any more thought to my idea?”
“Yes,” replied Deni shortly.
“And?”
“I get it Mik. I see the injustices. I’ve been seeing them my entire life, but what you’re proposing won’t solve the problem, only create more,” said Deni and then took a sip of water.
“Remember our Partisan ancestors? They didn’t win the war; they didn’t turn back the Nazis, but they gave the Nazis something to think about as they crossed the plains. The Partisans filled their minds with doubt and apprehension. It’s not about the act, what we’d be doing is creating a mindset. Knock them down off their elitist pedestal. They are not invincible,” explained Mikail.
Deni twisted in the vinyl seat of his booth. “I think you’re overestimating the Americans. Their response to terrorism is not to contemplate reasoning; it’s just another excuse to wave the flag and sing the national anthem. They love wallowing in misery and making heroes out of victims.”
“I really don’t care how naive and complacent they are. Change is uncomfortable and sometimes painful.” The waitress served them their breakfasts. Mikail delicately inserted a napkin in Elena’s collar and fed her a spoonful of oatmeal. “Sometimes you just need to shake things up. I don’t want to be a man who just sits around on the sidelines and watches the world fall apart and if a few people need to die in the process, then it’s just fated to be that way.”
Mikail looked earnestly across the table at Deni. “You’ve studied history. Look at how the French and Bolshevik revolution changed the world. There was lots of blood, many lost their heads, but in the end, it was the best thing for society. When all other options fail, the only way to free the oppressed is to act out. Heck, even Gandhi experienced bloodshed when he peacefully fought to liberate India from British Imperialism. There is a price for justice and freedom.”
Deni stared down at his breakfast. He didn’t know if it was the food that was unappetizing or the conversation.
Mikail ate a big forkful of eggs and said to Deni. “This is our chance to really make a difference in the world instead of wandering the straight road like some zombie drone. You don’t want to be a zombie drone do you?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Deni numbly.
Deni stopped pacing in his cell and then the thought came upon him, Maybe it’s not them I’m trying to convince, but me? The thought struck him intensely and he walked over to his bed and sat down. It is so easy to get caught up with a cause. What do you do if it has all the meaning in the world to me, but none for the rest of the world? Is that cause still worthy?
There were just so many questions and hardly any answers. It was enough to drive someone insane if they thought about it too much and Deni was on the verge. He was driving himself crazy with it all, so crazy that rationale fell to the wayside.
His cell door opened. It was his allotted hour of fresh air and daylight. The guard took Deni’s arm and led him down the hallway. The guard opened the steel door to the barbed wire cage. Deni didn’t know what to do with his outdoor time, especially with the guard watching. He felt like a dog let outside to urinate, yet t
here were no trees for Deni to sniff, just an unkempt lawn of dried, dying grass.
Deni stalked the perimeter of the cage, running his fingers across the wire. I wonder how many laps would equal a mile, he thought. As he walked around, he focused on the wire ceiling’s shadow on the ground and became mesmerized by the patterned grid.
Upon his return to his cell, Deni paced back and forth some more. The space reminded him of his dormitory room. Between his furniture and his roommates, there was little space to move. At lease here in his cell he didn’t have to tolerate his roommate’s snores.
After spending a day with Mikail, Deni walked around his cluttered dormitory room that smelled like a locker room. Neither he nor his roommate had done any laundry recently and the only time either one cleaned was when they expected female company.
Instead, Deni pondered the plan with great introspection. Why does a man do what he does? Is it fear, hatred, insecurity, pride, retaliation, entitlement, righteousness? Does the reason make any difference?
History was full of heroes and villains, and yet it was the villains who changed the world. Attila the Hun’s terrorism weakened Rome’s forces, leaving them vulnerable for Alaric’s Visigoth’s to conquer. By ransacking and pillaging villages, Charlemagne united Western Europe. Kings and queens massacred people worldwide and called it renaissance. American colonists exterminated the native people and proclaimed freedom. Yet if a man fights against injustices, the dark secrets of leaders, governments, and corporate institutions of the world, he is a monster. Hero or villain is merely decided by those of wealth, power, and social rank. It is in this instance that man must consider himself a martyr and not care for his own personal circumstances.
Deni gazed at the wall of his dormitory room and thought briefly of his future. What is there for me—a wife of my mother’s choosing, a career in which corporations and governments will control my words and a life living in a glass cage? I can see all the happiness and opportunities, but they will always be outside my reach. Perhaps there is only thing I can control and that is my fate.
The Insurrectionist Page 23