The Corruption In Power
It’s been two years since the war started. The war isn’t with other countries, it’s within this country. Or at least it was back when this was a country. They don’t even call it war, in fact, they don’t really call it anything except for, “progress”. Whatever that means. To us it doesn’t feel like progress, it feels like waiting, it feels like walking on the left-over cracked shells of our freedom. It feels like holding your breath when you walk outside and see officials lining the streets you used to see children play on. It feels like never being able to take in enough air before being sucker-punched again.
It started so slowly that we barely noticed. We as a society should have noticed, should have paid more attention, shouldn’t have been distracted so easily. We don’t have the privilege of being distracted now, not anymore. It was simple things, long standing laws being overturned, new bills being introduced one by one. There was so much division that we didn’t have a chance of seeing the only way through was together. A new order was rising out of seemingly nowhere, a relatively underground political party that most people dismissed as illegitimate. Until they convinced us otherwise, and when they finally had the leverage, they were happy to take down anyone who stood in their way.
Funds had already been allocated to new prisons and holding centers that had popped up all over the country. Another thing we didn’t notice until it was too late. They didn’t seem bad at first, sure there were little red flags here and there, but they painted our screens pink with promises, and we were blind to red. They played on our division and talked about a unity that we hadn’t had in years, and how it was all possible if we just followed them. They played small roles in existing governing bodies, so when they managed to make their way onto a platform, it just seemed like another political party joining the rat race. They said vote, and we did.
Of course, things changed when they won. There were protests but those didn’t last very long. You can be arrested for almost anything that opposes the New Order now. When the protests started, they weren’t afraid to show that they were the ones in power, and were quick to skip the tear gas, moving straight to rubber bullets and handcuffs. They would nail pictures to bulletin boards around the town, the faces of those they had taken into custody. We wouldn’t see them again. It wasn’t long before the faces of our local and federal governing officials started appearing on those boards too.
The officials would occasionally reappear, given that they were compliant and willing to endorse that transition of power that was occurring. They would be broadcast across televisions everywhere, their suits perfectly pressed, with a smile that didn’t reach their eyes plastered on their face as they pushed the people to welcome our new leaders. I don’t think we were scared yet, but only because we didn’t realize what that really meant. Unless you had a front seat at a protest, we relied on what we were able to see. I remember seeing a bead of sweat roll down our governor’s face as he made his speech. I chalked it up to the lighting.
When I look at where our old television used to be, and see the one they replaced it with, I can’t help but wonder how this happened. How could they just take over like they did? I play the process over and over in my head, wondering how our leaders could have stopped it before it started, wondering how they felt when they were arrested. I wonder about how having that kind of power works, if there were people already so strong in their support they made those arrests without question, or if they made those arrest because the New Order now had power behind them. It’s one of those questions that gets under your skin, like the chicken and the egg. Which came first?
Not that it really matters now, I can wonder all day long but it’s not like it changes that they’re here now, it doesn’t change that they are the ones in charge. If I turn on the television, there won’t be shows to watch, it’ll be a recorded video of them standing on the steps of the Whitehouse that’s on replay until they have news to display. The news usually only consists of talking about when they’ve put new laws in place, or when they’ve conquered a rebellion. They really like to make sure we see when they’ve taken down the rebels. They don’t really say what they do to them, just that it’s a victory for our united nation. A protest dismantled, a leader caught, a group imprisoned for treason.
A quick check in the mirror shows that I’m in compliance with the outing code. The rich are still the rich, and you can tell by the purple accents they’re allowed to wear with their neutral clothes, but there is no more impoverished or middle class. We are all given light blue accents, with the New Order saying that it was to dismantle prejudice among us. It’s supposed to feel like a choice, choosing whether to wear a blue scarf, or blue ring, or blue badges. It doesn’t matter what it is, so long as you’re wearing it when you go for an outing. Today I chose a blue ring. It’s the most subtle, I think. Looking in the mirror, I feel that all too familiar rage threatening to boil over in my stomach. I turn away and walk out the door, pushing it down as I go.
The sun feels warm on my face, and If I focus on that feeling it helps distract from the militant signs on each corner. Always reminding us of the rules. But they can’t control the weather, and that brings me joy. I’m making my way into the city for groceries, but also just to get some air. I’m relieved to see there’s a market out today, because I don’t like the harsh lights on the grocery store, or the broadcast of our governor telling us over and over again how wonderful it is to be part of this society. He looks more and more like a chess piece each time I see his face. I think it supposed to help to see someone familiar, but all I see is a pawn in a game that he’s already lost. Today though, I can just grab some fruit from the market and ignore what I don’t have to look at.
The peaches look lovely today, so I present my identification card, and they take note of my address and my ring. It’ll be billed to my residence at the end of the month. Banks became a liability for the economy, and it was thought that each household should just report directly to the New Order, eliminating the need for any messy tax forms or worries about savings. They keep track of it for you now and you’ll see it on your statement at the end of the month. The general hope is that one day a box with purple accents will arrive with your statement, giving you the opportunity to move and be with a different status. I don’t see the point, so I don’t really try. It’s just the illusion of having more power in a society where you start with none.
I try to just focus on the smell of the fruits and flowers around me.
I’m still trying to soothe myself, closing my eyes, feeling the warmth on my skin and taking in the scent of the market, when the sharp screams of a woman force me back to the present. I look to find the source, but it’s not a woman, it’s just a girl maybe a few years younger than me. One guard is holding back her jacket to reveal the red pin beneath, a symbol of the rebellion. They don’t waste any time putting her in cuffs and attempting to drag her away. She doesn’t make it easy. She’s kicking and screaming and throwing her body weight however she can. I feel the anger I’ve neatly tucked away slithering back out as the scene unfolds. There’s rage in her scream that resonates with me. Her pin dislodges and falls to the ground before she’s finally dragged out of sight.
The governors face is projected on the face of a building, telling us to remain calm. I wonder if they dangle handcuffs behind the camera to remind him of his place. I wonder if he ever fights back, if he ever feels angry, if he feels lied to. Ignoring his scripted message, I pick up the pin from the dirt. This is my chance for power, fighting for our freedom.