It’s morning and a crowd of people is in the street. I have a conflict: I work for the state and the state has claimed these crowds, these people, illegal, and I work for the state and must enforce its declarations. But I’m also a human being and these people in the streets are human beings and they are shouting, “Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.”
I carry a shield, a baton. I work for the state who has declared these people illegal. There in the crowd is my brother and my sister. My neighbor’s brother and sister are nearby. But at my back is the state in which we all live, which has provided me work, education, and safety from our powerful enemies. The state claims that these crowds are bringers of chaos, and chaos is the enemy’s sword. Order, according to the state, is more important than any one life or twenty lives of even maybe a thousand. Order is the mother of the future. Order is the father of the past. I hold order in my baton. The state and order are at my back.
But what about my brother and my sister and my neighbor’s brother and sister who stand before me? What about them? Do they hate order? Do they hate the state? Do they want chaos or just another kind of order, another kind of mother and father, who speak and act differently? We ate last night without speaking. They know I work for the state. They understand I am a human being. They don;t know what I think of them. My sister would not look at me.
I have a baton, a shield, and I hear orders. My leader says these are the enemy. My brother and mister are agents of chaos. I and my baton will teach them the truth. The sun is strong and the voices of my brother and sister come at me. They don’t sound like they did when we played as children.
The state shoves at my back and my brother and sister call to me. I want to live. I want the state to live. I want my brother and my sister to live. I want them to look at me when we eat. I want to eat and laugh with them.
I hear orders coming from behind. My brother and my sister and the crowds are singing now in the street. We approach each other, one side armed, the other holding signs. We are singing the same song, the police and the crowd. It’s a beautiful song. We all used to sing it in school.
