“If the Civic Circle secures control of China and eliminates the West as a rival to their power, the Civic Circle will be much more difficult to overcome,” I pointed out.
“True,” Ding Li confirmed, “we remain opposed to the Civic Circle. We, not they, are the rightful heirs to the Celestial Kingdom. While we oppose the Civic Circle and seek their overthrow, we will not stand in the way if the Civic Circle serves our ends and acts to the benefit of China.
“If your nation seeks to dissipate its strength in foreign adventures and open the walls of your country to as many foreign invaders as will come, you only hasten your own downfall. On that point, we share the goal of the ancient enemy. The Civic Circle aims to weaken your nation to impose their own global dominion using the Celestial Kingdom as their instrument. We would see the Celestial Kingdom first among the powers of the Earth. In either case, your nation stands in the way.”
Just then, our waiter returned with some assistants. He placed the hot pots on the table. Ding Li dismissed him in Chinese. He gave me a look of disappointment and left us.
“What did you tell him?”
“I explained his services would not be needed. He is young. He was looking forward to a chance to serve.” Ding Li selectively swept the raw materials from the platters into the three pots.
“I wish to be very clear with you,” I explained, the aromas of bubbling broths and cooking meat teasing at my nose. “I will not see my country weakened, if I can help it.”
“Understandable,” Ding Li acknowledged, “but entirely beyond your control. Xueshu Quan has aligned his forces and made his plans. At the G-8 Summit in two weeks, the leaders of the world will join to endorse his plan as their own, and your nation will move into Iraq and dissipate itself trying to play policeman to the Middle East. The resulting chaos will unleash a hoard of migrants and refugees into Europe, destabilizing and weakening them as well – all to the benefit of the future Celestial Kingdom. It cannot be stopped.”
“I intend to stop it, nevertheless.”
Ding Li smiled at my naïveté. “You do not have that power, and you should not waste your strength in the attempt. Not many have access to the Thirteen. That is an asset not to be squandered. We will not stand in your way. We do not have to. You cannot stop the war. Save your strength to fight a battle you can win on ground of your choosing.”
“You have agreed to not to stand in my way,” I replied. “That is all I ask. I understand we may sometimes work at cross-purposes, but I would not have you and your Brotherhood as my enemies nor would it be to your advantage to make an enemy of me.”
Ding Li smiled indulgently. “Yes, I did agree, and when a Brother speaks, it is a vow. As I represent the Brotherhood of the Red Flower Tong to you, I bind them as well in this matter. I tell you though, as friend and ally, you must avoid what is strong and strike at what is weak. The ancient enemy is strong. You cannot defeat him in direct combat. You defeat him where he is weak: by thwarting his plans and disrupting his alliances. That is what we have done this day. We removed his piece, Gomulka, from the board without loss to our own side. Take your victory and depart from the field. Do not risk further action.”
It was my turn to smile indulgently at Ding. “We must each fight the ancient enemy as we think best.”
Ding Li gave up trying to dissuade me. “Try this.” She picked up a morsel with her chopsticks and fed it to me. She smiled seductively at the pleasure I found in the delicious morsel. “Help yourself,” she gestured at the simmering pots of broth.
I sampled from each pot.
“Speaking of the ancient enemy,” she changed the subject, “what was your impression of Xueshu Quan?”
“What?”
“You met him,” Ding Li insisted. “He is the Worshipful Master of the Civic Circle, Chairman of the Thirteen, Scourge of the Ming.”
“That was him?”
Ding Li smiled again. “Yes. I have never met him, myself. Those who have tell me they can feel he is… wrong. They say they can sense his unnatural evil. I think that is superstition. I think he is a man, a man chosen from among the Thirteen, not some ancient god or demon. You met him. What do you think?”
I replayed the meeting in my mind. “There was something definitely wrong about him. Something… off.” I thought how I could explain it. “There is a concept in robotics called the ‘uncanny valley.’ You’ve heard of it?”
Ding Li shook her head, no. “I know of robots, but not of this ‘uncanny valley.’”
“As robots look more and more human, people become more comfortable with them… to a point. When robots strongly resemble humans, but have noticeable flaws or imperfections, people feel a sense of revulsion, a distaste for them. Then, as they perfectly match humans, people like them again. That distaste, that sense of wrongness at what is a close, but not perfect representation of the human face or form, that is what is called the uncanny valley.”
“Of course,” Ding Li acknowledged. “We are programmed by our genes to be very sensitive to the imperfections of others. We have to be, to select a healthy mate.” She was looking suggestively at me again.
What was I saying? Right. Uncanny valley. “There is a sense of wrongness about the Worshipful Master. He doesn’t quite move as he should. Maybe it’s a neurological disorder? I can see why people think he is not quite human.”
“I had not thought of it that way. That is a potential weakness.” She nodded and smiled. “See, there is much we can do together. We can reward you handsomely for your information and insights. Have you not wondered about the Eight Ways of Pleasure?”
I suppressed a guilty smile. “Yes, I have speculated on what they might entail.”
“There are things a woman can do to a man,” she reached out and with a single finger she stroked my forearm. “There are things a man can do to a woman.” She repeated the process on my other arm with two fingers. “And, there are things a man and a woman can do together.” With three fingers she touched my nose and ran her fingers across my lips and chin. She looked expectantly at me. “They are not individual techniques, but rather describe an entire family within the arts of pleasure.”
“That’s three,” I noted.
“You are engineer. You understand math,” she smiled. “Do you know permutations?”
I wasn’t following her.
“They are not mutually exclusive,” she explained. “The three can be done in any combination, and the eighth way of pleasure is when you mix techniques from all three together…” She licked her lips again. “…simultaneously.”
I felt myself getting way too interested in what she had to say. I took a deep breath and distracted myself by thinking through the permutations. It was easiest to think in terms of binary numbers with one bit assigned to each way: 001, 010, 011, 100, 101, 110, 111. “That makes only seven,” I pointed out.
She smiled. “Before you progress to combinations of the three, there is the initial stage of attraction, the building of interest, the flirtation.”
Ah. I was forgetting 000. “You seem to really enjoy your work.” I distracted myself with another serving.
“What is not to like?” She smiled again. “I serve in the company of heroes playing a part in the Brotherhood’s noble cause. I reward other heroes who have served our cause. I inspire them to greatness.”
“That is how you will spend your whole life?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “Soon I will find a hero. He will take me as his. I will bear him a son, and I will be wife and mother to heroes.”
What? I froze. Did she think that I was going to…?
“Not you,” Ding Li giggled happily at my look of consternation. “You are too young to be my husband. I am the favored of Honorable Shan Zhu, but he is too old. Soon though, he will find a hero for me, or I will find a hero of my own, and he will approve the match.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be upset or relieved that she didn’t regard me as husband material. I compromised by savoring
the last bite of lunch as I thought how to broach the final subject I needed to discuss with her. “The people you smuggled in the cargo container. Why?”
“You have an expression, do you not?” Ding Li looked at me “Waste not, want not? The container was coming anyway. They paid handsomely for the privilege of coming to your country. Everyone who came has a story of oppression and persecution that will rend the hearts of your investigators and ensure asylum. Then, our friends will agree to sponsor them, and we will find a place for them within our organization.”
I took a deep breath and decided not to tell her that the Thirteen had similar plans. If both sides were battling it out, maybe that would buy more time for the immigrants.
“I have to be getting back,” I explained. “There’s a session on activism at Georgia Tech, and I need to learn what insanity they’re planning to unleash on my school for next year.”
“Your baizuo,” Ding Li shook her head, “they advocate equality only to satisfy their feeling of moral superiority to everyone else. They call discrimination, ‘affirmative action.’ They call obesity, ‘positive body image.’ They censor those they disagree with in the name of ‘tolerance.’ In the name of ‘equality,’ they make the groups that support them superior to others. They make war and call it ‘peace.’ They point deer, say horse.”
“Point deer, say horse?”
“You don’t know story? Bad schools you have,” she shook her head woefully at the state of American education before continuing.
“Zhao Gao, chancellor to the emperor, brought a deer before the court, telling them it was a horse. The Emperor laughed and said, ‘That is a deer, not a horse.’ Then the Emperor questioned the officials. Some said it was a deer. Some remained silent. Others, hoping to ingratiate themselves with Zhao Gao, agreed that the deer was a horse.”
Ding Li paused, looking into my eyes with an almost creepy intensity. “Zhao Gao arranged the execution of all who said the deer was a deer. Thus, did he sow terror and cement his power in the court. Only an obvious and ridiculous lie serves to show where one’s loyalties lie.”
I understood. “Force people to lie to show their loyalty, and make them complicit in their own bondage.”
“Indeed.” Ding Li rose. “The specific lies they force you to say are irrelevant. It is your submission they want – the fact that they have forced you to deny the truth. That is how they demonstrate their power over you.”
She led me to the door.
“It is a shame you have other plans for the afternoon,” she smiled seductively at me. “Let’s see what your next year at school will bring!”
* * *
The ballroom at the Convention Center was almost as packed as it had been for Governor Bush. Apparently, they hadn’t had time to make signs for the new keynote speaker, Dr. Cindy Ames. Gomulka’s name was crossed out, and hers was written above.
I was a bit surprised to see Amit was the lead speaker. He was clearly being groomed for bigger and better things, as an official “spokes teen” for the Civic Youth.
“I grew up colored in Appalachia,” Amit began with his well-honed tale of victimization, “I came of age alone, amid a sea of white faces, a symbol to the simple Appalachian hill folk of ‘the other’ they saw threatening their way of life after 9/11. I became a lightning rod for their fears and frustrations, a focal point for their resentment of the oppressive economic system that for many had passed them by.”
Amit’s presentation was backed by well-chosen visuals projected on the screen behind him – images of the Appalachians, pictures of poorly dressed folks in front of run-down trailer homes, a school photo of a young Amit and his classmates, the shocking footage of the plane flying into the Capitol building.
“I had hoped to escape the stifling monoculture of my backwoods hometown by embarking on a course of study in the metropolitan community of Atlanta at the diverse Georgia Institute of Technology.”
The screen showed idyllic images of the Tech Tower and ‘diverse’ collections of smiling students hanging out on campus, straight from the recruiting website.
“Alas, Georgia Tech remains barely a generation removed from the era of Jim Crow, and still harbors deep reservoirs of resentment at those who have overcome prejudice and discrimination. Bigotry exists to pull down the successful in the out group, and to justify the mediocrity of the in group. Bigotry hurts not only its victims, but also its perpetrators. Rather than strive to improve themselves, bigots seek to tear down those who are different and dare to succeed.”
Amit’s words were backed by images of the student protests, the “Engineering for Engineers” protestors facing off against the “Engineering for Everyone” Social Justice Warriors. He had the audience in the palm of his hand with his stirring rhetoric. He’d won admission to the Social Justice Initiative at Georgia Tech on the strength of his narrative, and it had only become more polished in the intervening time.
“I was there this past spring when the fascists said that a woman could never head the College of Engineering. I was there, marching with the students who insisted that ‘Engineering is for Everyone.’ I was there when a physics professor flaunted his toxic masculinity and reduced half of humanity to sexual objects. I was there when his oppressed colleague became complicit in her own oppression by supporting him. And I was there when Madison Grant exposed this toxic masculinity to the world, and the campus rose up to cast out the fascists!”
Amit had a rather creative reinterpretation of what happened, but it sure got the audience fired up. The screen behind him faded to white, making Amit an amorphous silhouette.
“I have seen the enemy,” Amit proclaimed, a fist in the air. “The enemy is not the other. The enemy is he who seeks to divide us!
“As a man, I would not presume to speak to the struggles faced by women. We have among us many heroic women with strong voices, women who have overcome prejudice and discrimination to shine as examples for us all. It’s my honor to introduce one of them, my fellow student and courageous crusader for social justice, Madison Grant.”
Amit waved at the crowd giving him a standing ovation and then gestured toward Madison and began joining in as if the crowd were applauding her arrival. The screen faded to black as Madison came to the podium. The transition was artfully done.
Madison stood awkwardly at the podium waiting for the cheering to die down before beginning.
“Like Amit, I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I started at Georgia Tech. I was overwhelmed by the hatred and negativity. At Georgia Tech, men can do anything and women can only watch them! When they hounded Professor Cindy Ames out and refused to give her a fair hearing as head of the College of Engineering, it was a stinging slap in the face to women at Georgia Tech and around the world – a cruel reminder that no matter how far we’ve come, there’s still a glass ceiling.”
She looked down at her notes.
“That’s not all! The patriarchal hegemony in science and engineering at Georgia Tech provides a breeding ground for misogynistic chauvinism and harassment! Physics Professor Wu Chen tried to normalize the sexual objectification of women!” The screen showed Professor Chen in his garish shirt with sexy women riding motorcycles and wielding firearms. Madison detailed his many sins and spoke tearfully about how the pervasive atmosphere of “toxic masculinity” deterred her from pursuing studies in science at Tech.
Next, she took off after Professor Graf. They’d artfully modified some of the images from the second press conference – made the colors more garish, removed the background of the auditorium, and added smoke effects. It made Marlena look like a model walking down a catwalk – no. Less dignified. They made Marlena look like… a stripper or pole dancer. Madison argued that women like Professor Graf were complicit in their own bondage.
“We must have diversity and tolerance at all costs! If they refuse to break their chains, if they encourage the subjugation of themselves and others to the patriarchy, they cannot be tolerated! We must not res
t until they are gone! There can be no safe space for hate! No safe space for hate!”
She got the crowd fired up and chanting. I joined in enthusiastically, of course. I happened to see Johnny Rice standing off to the side, slack-jawed, shaking his head, not believing the insanity he was witnessing.
“When they told us a woman couldn’t lead the College of Engineering, we said ‘No!’ When the Chinese spy, Professor Wu Chen, and his accomplice Professor Marlena Graf tried to tell us that sexual oppression in physics was OK, we said, ‘No!’ When Graf told us women should just lie back and try to enjoy sexual harassment, we said ‘No!’
The screen showed images of Marlena holding up the shirt she’d made for Professor Chen featuring sexy women scientists. The photo caught Marlena mid-word with her mouth open in a crazy looking expression. Then the screen shifted to a sober and somber looking professional headshot of Cindy Ames.
They tried to silence her,” Madison closed strongly, “but you can’t keep a good woman down! Now she’s back! Ready to fight… and win! I give you, Doctor Cindy Ames!”
Ames rose to the podium amid yet another standing ovation. She held up both hands to silence the crowd, like a conductor preparing to direct an orchestra.
“The toxic masculinity of Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math – in other words ‘STEM’ studies – indoctrinates students in context-free, ethics-free, absolutist thought,” she dove right in. “Traditional STEM studies brainwash students in archaic binary modes of thought, to believe that there are right answers and wrong answers instead of a spectrum of alternate truths. Traditional STEM studies train students to think abstractly, in a detached fashion that encourages them to disregard the contextuality of oppressed groups that may have different but equally valid truths to share.”
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