A Solution to Fire

The leaders of the pioneers gathered one morning to decide the best way to destroy the new and strange thing they did not understand.

The new and strange thing was a gray spire at the edge of their settlement.  It was so tall they could not see where it ended.

It appeared near a clearing on the far side of a small pond, possibly the night before.  No one knew for sure.  None had seen it until morning.

The leaders of the pioneers who gathered in the morning near the gray spire were known as the sextons.  The other pioneers had asked them to find the cause of the new and strange thing.

The sextons had wrapped themselves in blankets and walked out through the snow to where they could see the spire a bit more clearly.  Now gathered, the leaders of the pioneers immediately agreed the best way to destroy the new thing would be to set it on fire.

They evaluated the settlement’s resources and drew up a plan.

When they returned, the sextons gathered the other pioneers on a small mount in the middle of the settlement to tell them the first part of what they were to do.  They decided not tell the pioneers the other parts of the plan until they must.

The gray spire, they said, was a much greater danger to the settlement than any had originally thought.  They said the gray spire seemed to sway with anger.  They said it did not at all retreat when they approached it.  They said the gray spire was so large that it reached into the sky.

Here is what must be done, the sextons said.  The bravest pioneer must volunteer.  This pioneer will be given a candle.  This pioneer will then go to the spire and set fire to it.  Then, the gray spire will vanish.

Who will be this brave volunteer? the sextons asked and looked out among the crowd.

One young man who was known for his strength immediately raised his arm.

I will go, he said.

The crowd around him cheered.

The pioneers fed the young man a large meal and gave him a lighted candle.  He walked out of the settlement toward the gray spire.  He held the candle high and was proud.  When he neared the pond, the thing looked larger than he’d imagined it.  He grew afraid.

The young man tried to force himself to move closer to the spire but couldn’t.  He lowered the candle and looked around to see if anyone was watching him.  He felt ashamed of himself.

He threw the candle as hard as he could at the spire and slowly walked back to the settlement.

The young man told the other pioneers he had done what they’d had asked him.

All went to sleep confident the gray spire would be gone in the morning.

II.

But the gray spire was not gone in the morning.  The pioneers were so surprised that they could not eat breakfast and, instead, gathered at the small mount to talk.

The sextons soon arrived.  They smiled and listened to the complaints of the pioneers.

Yes, yes, they said.  We know the gray spire has not completely gone yet.  However, doesn’t it appear much smaller this morning?  We think so.  Please understand that we ourselves will not be satisfied until the gray spire that threatens our settlement is gone altogether.  This is why it is time to tell you about the second part of our plan.

The sextons told the pioneers that instead of one young man to volunteer to put a candle to the spire, they would now need ten young men to volunteer.  These young men would all light the gray spire in unison, which would certainly destroy the new and strange thing.

Who will volunteer? the sextons called out from their small mount in the middle of the settlement.

After a few moments, the same young man along with a group of his friends raised their hands to volunteer.

The young man did not look proud in the same way as he did the time before, but the crowd again gathered around him and encouraged him with their praises.

The young man and his friends were fed larger meals and given larger candles than the young man had received the first time.  They carried the candles at their waists and walked out past the settlement toward the spire.

Each assured the other of his duties as they walked.

We are doing this because we are the few pioneers who can do such a thing, one would say.

We are doing this because we have pride that others do not, another would say.

Only we, of all pioneers, could ever do the thing we are about to do, still another would say.  We are the greatest of pioneers.

Even so, they could not help but slow as they passed the pond and began to approach the spire.  They tried to fight their instincts to run.  They knew they must.  All thought of the ancient pioneer belief that the soul of each man was joined with his reputation during life, merged with his reputation at death and, in this form, carried throughout eternity in the hearts of the living.

We can’t slow, the young man who had went on the first mission whispered to the others.  We are so close.  We must go on.

We know this, the other young men replied.  We are not cowards.  This spire is a new and strange thing that we will destroy.

The young men continued to talk like this until they heard a noise like they had never heard before.  They thought at first it was the sound of a passing storm, but it was not that exactly.  It sounded like the breath of an enormous animal.

The first young man tried to get them to continue.  They could not.  Insulting them was of no use and they stayed still.

And so, the first young man made them all agree to a promise. They had to promise to throw their candles at the spire, run to the settlement, say they had done exactly as told, and never speak of this day again.

The young men agreed.  They then threw their candles and turned to go.  They moved together quickly across the open field shoulder to shoulder.

A few shouted with excitement, fear, or joy.

But the smallest of them, who was really a boy, tripped and fell onto the ice as they rounded the pond.  He yelled so softly the young men almost did not know he had left them.

The boy slid into the middle of the pond and was still for what seemed a long while.

The young men called to him until he finally rose.  He had no expression on his face at all.

Come, we must return to the settlement, they said.  You will be safe but we cannot wait for you.

They yelled and yelled until the boy took a step toward them.  The others cheered.

With that, the young men heard a crack like a tree torn by its roots.  They saw an open pool of water part and realized the boy had disappeared into it.

The water was still again before any of them could speak.

It was as if the boy had never been there at all.

III.

The pioneers decided that night they must all now act with great force against the gray spire if they were to be safe from the new and strange danger that had so mercilessly taken one of their children.

After they returned, the young men had told them how someone or something in the gray spire had eaten the boy.  They had tried to set fire to the thing the best they could but not even with all their courage could they hurt it.

The sextons sat atop the small mount in the middle of the settlement.  They listened to suggestions and talked among themselves.  They then told the pioneers of a new plan.

First, the pioneers would gather all the excess hay in the settlement.  They would then build a giant catapult, set the hay on fire, and hurl the burning hay at the spire until it burnt down.

This would surely work.  If it did not, they would do the same thing using excess cloths and garments.

The pioneers knew they did not have anything in excess but they did not object.  They were still exhausted from the work of building the settlement.  They had decided to stop at the site until winter passed.  The first frost had just broken out across the plain.  They were cold and very afraid.

And so, the pioneers gathered as much hay from each other as each would give.  They decided that nearby they would find clear pastures, so their supply of hay for the winter could be thought of as excess.

The few in charge of building the catapult searched for a few days but could not find any wood suitable for construction.  They asked the sextons, and the sextons directed them to use up to two of the four walls around the settlement.

The sextons became cross when one of the builders asked them if this was wise.

Your concern would be valuable at a time of tranquility, said one of the sextons, Claremont, who was blind and wore a uniform without insignias.  But this is not such a time.  This is a time when we must do what we must do and we must give what we must give.  Pioneers, more than any other people, understand that.  This is what makes us pioneers.  I trust you feel the same.

The builders nodded and that day tore down two of the four walls around the settlement.  When the other pioneers saw them do this, they understood what the builders were doing and did not question them.

IV.

Within the week, the pioneers were ready for their first attack on the spire.

The hay was gathered and the catapult was cocked.

The pioneers wore their finest clothes despite the cold.  They sang songs about who they were and things they had done.  Pioneers known for their great accomplishments were remembered in speeches and said, if alive, to be strong supporters of the attack.

The builders loaded the hay onto the catapult, set it on fire, and shot it at the gray spire.  The pioneers could not tell exactly where it landed.  It seemed to land near the spire and they agreed it did.  The builders repeated the shots until the hay was gone.

The pioneers retired inside their public hall for a lunch.  Many had made cakes and some had brought whiskey.  All shared what they had and spoke more openly than usual about their fears and hopes.

I know this winter will be long, one woman said to a neighbor, but just think of how we will live in the new city within a year.  The new city will have so many things of importance we did not have in the old city.  I will be happy in the new city as I could never be before.  Our travels and troubles in this settlement are necessary.  There can be no other way about it.

I cannot even remember what life was like in the old city, the neighbor said.  Can you?

No, the woman said.  I cannot.  And I am glad.

After the pioneers were full and content from lunch, they went back outside to see what had happened to the spire.

They refused to believe at first what they saw.  They knew what they saw was impossible but it was before them.

The gray spire was now a monstrous gray castle.  It seemed even darker and to reach even higher than the gray spire had been.

Before the pioneers could run, a message went around the settlement.  All should now help in carrying out the second step of the plan.  The enemy is near defeat and is pretending to show its strength with this hastily constructed building.  This, more than anything, shows the desperation of the enemy in the face of our legitimate use of self-defense.

The pioneers agreed that all could keep one set of winter clothes and one thick blanket for their beds.  All other garments and rags, curtains and rugs, heirlooms and decorations must be used against the new enemy.

Some hid a few items, but the pioneers collected most of what was demanded.

The builders loaded the catapult as before, set fire to the items, and hurled them at the castle until all the piles of garments and cloths were gone.

The sextons then called a meeting at the small mount in the middle of the summit.  They told the pioneers they should go inside to their cabins for their own safety and wait there until the next day for further instructions.

The young men who participated in the last mission, however, would be required to go monitor the status of the enemy.  The pioneers must know for certain of the death of the thing when it happened.

A few of the mothers let out a cry but were hushed by the other pioneers.  The young men themselves stood still and said nothing.

As the pioneers turned to return to their cabins, they stopped when they heard one of the young men ask the sextons where they thought the castle had come from originally.

The sextons sighed and looked at each other.  They apparently did not agree on this point, but decided to share their thoughts anyway.

A few of the sextons said the foundation for the castle had been built long ago by one evil man.  If he would not have built the foundation, they said, this castle and no castles like it would ever exist. This man was the cause of all their troubles.

Others said the spire had really always existed and something like it would always exist.  They said fate, for good or bad, had determined castles should appear before pioneers and pioneers should set fire to castles.  If they did not attack, pioneers everywhere would be replaced by castles.

The blind sexton, Claremont, who wore a uniform with no insignias, waited to speak until all the others were silent.

All listened.  The pioneers loved Claremont.  He told them that all the unkind things they did were not unkind, but glorious and destined to be.

Gentlemen, Claremont said and coughed into his shoulder.  I have listened to your discussions and have thought very deeply about the relevant issues.  Because I have the upmost reverence for you and for all pioneers, what I am about to say is without loyalty to anything but the truth.  Please do not take offense to what I am about to say.  It is this: What do we as pioneers care of where this castle – a gray castle at that – came from or for what reason it came?  It is difficult to say, gentlemen. It is certainly difficult to say.  Truly, we will never know anything for sure except that this castle is near us and that, at any moment, it could be among us.  It must be that it is our fate to set fire to this gray spire.  It must be that to do so will be good for our people and pleasing to our creator.  We can wonder aloud all day until the castle is at our doorsteps, or we can act in a way we all acknowledge is best.  You all know who I am.  You are all familiar with my character.  I do not claim to be wise, only loyal to my people.  No one among you will question whether I am loyal.  I feel I could, however, bring that question to a small but unfortunate number of you.  I will not unless forced.  I love our people too much.

All the pioneers cheered and returned to their cabins.

V.

In a town not far away, a pastor and his wife sat in the large dining room of a businessman.  Coffee and desserts were on the table.  A large fireplace warmed the house.  The heavy curtains were pulled open in front of a wide viewing window.

All this seemed nice to the pastor, but he was incredibly bored.  The businessman had so many questions about the faith that he hadn’t even had time to ask for the businessman’s final signature on a deed that would donate a parcel of land for his new church.

His new church would be wonderful and much bigger than any of even the newest churches in town.

The businessman paused to go to a cupboard and get a book from a drawer.  He opened it and sat beside the pastor.

You see, the businessman said, it really seems like I am being told here I am going about much of my life wrong.  I understand the logic of the argument, but I don’t know what to think of it.  I suppose I don’t feel like I’m doing anything wrong, and no one in society seems to judge me so.  What do you think, pastor?

Well, the pastor said, that is a very difficult passage to understand if you have not read it in the original untranslated text.  I could see why you would read it that way, but that is not necessarily the way it should be read.  I wouldn’t read it that way and I’ve read it in the original many times.  Do you understand?

The businessman agreed but pointed to more parts in the book and continued to ask questions.  He asked about one part of the book and then another.  He would then focus on one point and raise every imaginable objection concerning it.

The pastor wanted to sigh, but knew he could not.  He looked around the room.  He wondered where that lamp had been imported from and what kind of stain was used for the wood on that chair.

He noticed his wife take yet another dessert and resented her.  Why was she even along if she wasn’t going to help?

The pastor felt the deed in his pocket.  He could see it in his mind.  He could see the land, the grand entrance to the church, and the tall steeple reaching into the heavens.

He withdrew the piece of paper and held it between his knees.  After a moment, he put it back in his pocket.  He didn’t want to offend the businessman.

And what would you say we must do, the businessman asked suddenly, with the pioneers on the outskirts of the territory?

The pioneers? the pastor said.  Oh yes, the new religion people.  What do you mean?

I mean it would seem that we must rescue the children of those people, the businessman said.  If the pioneers want to build a bonfire large enough to engulf their entire settlement, that is their business.  However, the children are innocent and worthy of our attention.

The pastor could not restrain himself any longer and sighed.  He had already had this conversation several times with various parishioners that day.

I understand what you are saying and I know you and others like you mean well, he said.  But let us look at the facts of the situation.  These people came into our territory uninvited, yes?  They built an establishment, attacked a campsite of one of our people, and now seem determined to build a fire so large that it consumes them all.

Yes, but –

– But we cannot try to interact rationally with those who are determined to act irrationally.  I suppose you may say the children of such people are innocent.  I suppose you can assume that.  But are they really?  I am sorry to say we don’t know that for sure.

The businessman nodded.  He took a drink of coffee and closed his book.

Pastor, I think I must accept your point, he said.

VI.

The pioneers waited in their cabins that night for the great gray castle to die.

Most didn’t talk much, but when they did talk, they talked about the new city.

The pioneers believed the new city was a city completely unlike their old city.  It would be a city where everyone knew each other and each person would have greater standing than they did in the old city.

They didn’t talk or remember very much about the old city.  They didn’t like to think about it.  They would rather do anything besides go back to the old city.

The only people who were completely quiet that night were the families of the young men sent to monitor the death of the gray castle.  They had tried to speak to the sextons earlier, but the sextons would not listen to them.

The young men sent to monitor the castle noticed almost immediately that it was growing.  Still, they stayed until one of them began to cough and then fainted.

The others carried the young man back to the settlement.  They knocked on the door of a doctor, but no one answered.  They knocked on the doors of the sextons, but no one answered.  They knocked on the doors of their families, but no one answered.

The sextons had told the pioneers after the young men left not to, under any circumstance, open their doors that night.  It might be an agent of the enemy ready to strike.

The young men waited into the night until the gray castle spread to the establishment.  They had heard of the town, and they ran there for help.

When the townspeople heard the young men talk, it confirmed what the pastor and others had told them.  These people cannot think rationally and must be dealt with accordingly.

A bar owner eventually called the police on the boys for disturbing his customers.  The police tried to arrest the young men, but the young men struggled when the police tried to handcuff them.  They startled the officers when they did this and the officers shot and killed them.

In the morning, a few curious people went to see what had happened to the pioneers.  Smoke lingered in the air where the settlement had been.

The townspeople, bored, returned home for lunch.

A fable of American elections

I.

All The People thought the same thought when they woke together on Autumn’s Day.

“The Emperor will don a different cloak at noon,” they thought. “Surely, this will mean a thing most great or terrible.”

Everyone had decided long ago what kind of cloak The Emperor should wear. They held one of two thoughts about this. They knew no others.

Some of The People thought he should wear a cloak with buttons. Some of The People thought he should wear a cloak with claps.

The two sides often quarreled about what The Emperor should wear on his cloak. Each side in private cursed the other.

The supporters of a cloak with buttons said an emperor must always wear buttons. The supporters of a cloak with claps said they could not imagine a true emperor would wear anything but a cloak with clasps.

“The very idea,” one side would say of the other’s thought.

“Simply foolish,” the other would say when asked of the one.

The supporters of a cloak with buttons called themselves The Buttonians. They said they alone wanted The Land to be the greatest of all the lands. The Land could only be great, however, once everyone truly believed The Emperor should wear buttons.

The leader of The Buttonians spoke often in the town square. Those of The People who did not want The Emperor to wear buttons wanted The Land to be the lowest of all the lands, he said. Far too many now thought this thought, he cried.

“Our fathers and mothers and our grandfathers and grandmothers all believed The Emperor should wear buttons on his cloak,” he would say.

The leader of The Buttonians claimed he spoke for all The Buttonians. All The Buttonians agreed he spoke for them.

Likewise, the supporters of a cloak with claps called themselves The Claspians. They said they alone wanted The Land to be the most prosperous of all the lands. But The Land would only be truly prosperous, they said, once everyone could agree The Emperor should wear clasps.

The leader of The Claspians distributed flyers throughout town. Those of The People who did not want The Emperor to wear clasps wanted The Land to be the poorest of all the lands, he said. Everyone in the future will think the thought of The Claspians, he insisted.

“What our fathers and mothers and our grandfathers and grandmothers all dreamed The Emperor would one day wear clasps on his cloak,” he wrote in a flyer.

The leader of The Claspians said he wrote for each and every one of The Claspians. Each of The Claspians said they knew he wrote from them.

II.

None but the oldest of The People could remember the last time The Emperor donned his cloak. The People talked of the time often and they celebrated it each year on Autumn’s Day.

The People held feasts and games, plays and dances. Schools were closed. Stores were decorated. Women wore ornaments on their dresses. Wise men made predictions.

After dinner on Autumn’s Day, the oldest of The People would sometimes tell the story of an Autumn’s Day long ago.

The families of the oldest of The People always demanded to hear the story.

“I was very young at the time,” the oldest of The People would say. “The Land was at peace and all of the families were large. Everyone worked and no one was old. It was a better time. It was the best time that ever was. We loved The Emperor more than we do now. He loved us, too. We knew. I remember going to the town square every week to see what cloak he would wear. We liked to go. We loved to go. But we did not wonder about his cloak. The Emperor showed it to us once a week without failing. Every single one of The People at that time had seen The Emperor’s cloak. It was a beautiful cloak and it looked magnificent on The Emperor. He was such a handsome man, such a tall man, such a wise man, such a strong man. How grand everything was then. The Emperor never failed us then. True, he often had to leave The People’s fight against The Trolls. But he knew he had to. He knew he must show us his cloak.”

The oldest of The People would talk for a few more minutes until their families could not help but interrupt them with the question: Did he wear buttons or clasps on his cloak?

“Buttons or clasps?” The oldest of The People would say and tilt their heads. “I do not remember. I do not remember.”

Their families would try to get them to answer even though no one had ever remembered. While the oldest of The People thought, their families would explain why The Land would be better if The Emperor had worn either buttons or claps on the last day The Emperor had been seen.

“This fact will why we still have The Land,” the families would say. “This will explain what it is we should do with The Land in the future.”

The oldest of The People would, for a moment, agree with the thought of their families.

“Buttons,” they would say. “Yes, it was certainly buttons.” Or, “Clasps. Yes, it could not have been anything but claps.”

But the oldest of The People would always later withdraw their statements.

“Of course that is what he might have worn,” the oldest of The People would say, “but no one remembers.”

III.

The People didn’t have to ask the oldest of The People or anyone else why The Emperor had not shown his cloak for so many years. They did not have ask, “Why has The Emperor not come out onto the open balcony at The Fortress even once and shown us what we long to see?”

All The People as children had learned from their parents the basic fact of the story. It was a sadness that bound The Land together. They learned The Emperor was a prisoner in The Other Land. Even children knew The Other Land was the country of The Trolls. They did not ask any more questions of their parents. They saw the distress in their eyes.

As the children grew older, they learned more pieces of the story, piece by piece, until they knew what their parents knew.

This was the rest of the story. The Emperor for many years had fought The Trolls in the War of Peace Times. Battles in the war took place in the far off wilderness of The Other Land. The war started after The Emperor had learned of a plot by The Trolls to invade The Land. He raised an army and attacked. He had no choice.

The Emperor first led armies into The Other Land even before the oldest of The People were born. Historians told The People that during the war news of great victories came from those who lived on the ends of The Land.

“Hundreds of The Trolls died in a forest battle today,” those people might report. Or, “Thousands of The Trolls were killed in a sea battle not more than a month ago.”

But the terrible day eventually came. It was day in autumn when the oldest of The People were very young. It was the day The Emperor ceased to show his cloak.

News of what was happening in the War of Peace Times stopped. No one wanted to believe the truth, but The People soon realized what had happened. The Emperor was now a prisoner of The Trolls.

And so it was since then. The People each day felt the sadness of The Land. The Emperor was a prisoner and his cloak was likely stolen. The only thing that kept their sadness from becoming too great was the knowledge that the armies continued to hold back the legions of The Trolls.

No one knew exactly how the armies continued to do this. Most believed that anyone who fought for The Land would stop aging. The Emperor and the armies should be no older than the day they had left to fight The Trolls.

Not until a few weeks before this Autumn’s Day had The People allowed themselves to feel hope.

On that afternoon, a wife who lived at the ends of The Land had come to the town square with the first new reports of the War of Peace Times most had ever heard. She raised her hands to the sky and shook them.

“Rejoice!” she called. “All who can hear must listen and rejoice! I have learned something I am unable to deny. People, The Emperor has broken free from his prison and will soon return! He is now fighting the very last of The Trolls and will for certain show us his cloak at noon on this next Autumn’s Day. Tell all you see and rejoice!”

This Autumn’s Day would not only the greatest of all Autumn’s Days, but the greatest day anyone in The Land could remember.

IV.

The morning of the great day all The People waited in the town square below the balcony of The Fortress.

Most were too excited to eat their breakfasts at home and brought picnics to the square instead. No one worked or went to school that day.

They felt talkative and called to all they passed.

“I trust you are on your way to the town square?” one man might ask.

“Am I a man who lives in The Land or am I not?” the other would laugh.

The two men might then discuss the rumors that most had recently heard. All secretly believed these rumors to be true.

Some, so the rumors said, who had only recently arrived in The Land might not want to see The Emperor’s cloak. These newcomers only cared that The Emperor wore buttons or clasps on his cloak, but they did not care which it was.

The People who shared the rumors confessed to the others walking to the town square that they were not surprised the newcomers had these thoughts. Buttonians and Claspians disagreed on most things, but many on both sides promised that at the first opportunity, they would present a joint declaration demanding The Emperor banish the newcomers.

“Let them live with The Trolls,” some of the meaner Buttonians said.

The town square roared in waves of gladness by late morning. The People sang old songs and ate everything in their picnic baskets. They talked with strangers and danced with people they had never danced with. Cheers popped through the crowd like a ball of fireworks.

As noon approached, the crowd began to quiet and The People lifted their faces to the balcony. Stories of The Emperor’s cloak now formed a picture in their minds clearer than they had ever imagined before.

V.

The assistant troll paced back and forth in front of the viewing window on the top floor of The Fortress. He knew the chief troll would be furious if he bothered him, but he knew he might lose his post if he kept a secret.

He drew back the curtain of the viewing window and looked down into the town square again. Nearly all The People in the town were gathered. A rare person the chief troll had not yet spotted might be among them. The chief troll would never forgive him if he learned the assistant had not told him of the best people-spotting opportunity in years.

The assistant troll paced for a long while before he decided he must tell the chief troll. He walked slowly from the viewing window to deep inside The Fortress.

“Excuse me,” the assistant troll said, knocking on the open door of the chief troll’s office. “I know you said I must not bother you today, but I feel you would wish me to.”

The chief troll did not reply. His hideous green head lay on a stack of manuscripts on his desk. He was in a deep sleep.

“Excuse me,” the assistant troll said again, this time poking the chief troll on his arm. The poke rattled several medals pinned to the cloak the chief troll had won for leadership in the troll army. “I know you said –“

“What is this!” the chief troll erupted as if he’d been pretending to be asleep the whole time. “Did I not specifically order you not to bother me for any reason whatsoever today?”

“Yes, you did, sir,” the assistant troll said, already beginning to shake. “You did. I just thought I had something I must tell you.”

The chief troll took a drink from the bowl on his desk. He thought for a moment, spit the drink on the floor and sat back down. He was suddenly calm.

“You know, I had the best roast I have ever had at that ball last night,” the chief troll said. “My wings are sore from the long return this morning, but I am pleased we went.”

The assistant troll sighed and tried to smile. He agreed with the chief troll and recounted some events of the ball. Both said that while they liked many of the city trolls, they knew those trolls would report them to the council if they ever learned what little the two trolls did at the tiny military outpost.

They alone knew that the only work they did was to write a report for the council of trolls once every twelve centuries. It was on the topic of “the growing problem of The People.”

During the time of their three reports, however, the “problem” had not changed. The handful of people that wondered into a troll city so many thousands of years ago had been devoured on the spot. No troll since had seen a person outside the tiny village known as The Land.

And so, the two trolls at this most unimportant outpost created a reason for their jobs at The Fortress through flattery and deceit. They used these gifts in their reports to convince the council not to assign them the ordinary and difficult tasks shared by most others in the army.

In their first report, the two trolls concluded: “All The People’s armies will be able to reach our cities if we do not continue defenses.”

In their second report, the two trolls warned: “The People will have enough weapons to overtake us soon if we do not act quickly.”

For their third report, they need a new kind of lie. The decided on this: “The People now have strange beliefs completely alien to ours. These beliefs make them insane. These beliefs make them willing to kill for no reason besides hate.”

The chief troll laughed to himself about the last statement as he took another drink from his bowl.

“Now,” he said to his assistant, “what is it you wanted to show me?”

The assistant troll led him to the viewing window. He knew the chief troll enjoyed people-watching more than anything else, especially if The People he saw were rare people.

He was right. The chief troll laughed and pointed. He seemed happy as a child troll.

“How have I not seen all these rare and stupid people before?” the chief troll howled.

“Yes, I have not seen many of them, either,” the assistant troll said. “And yes, they all look very stupid.”

The chief troll went to the cellar of The Fortress and brought up two bottles of cider to share with his assistant. He called their pet hog into the room so they could feed and pet it.

The assistant troll finally relaxed. He knew that at least for the rest of the day the chief troll would not beat him.

After they had finished the first bottle, he decided he could even share an idea.

“Do you remember the joke we played on The People some time ago?” the assistant troll said, opening the second bottle. “Remember how we scared The People so terribly they fell to their knees?”

The chief troll thought for a moment.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

The chief troll stood and removed his cloak.

VI.

The People of The Land tried to calm each other as they waited outside The Fortress. Noon had come and passed and no one had seen The Emperor.

No one they admitted they were nervous. Instead, they made up excuses in their minds for his delay.

“He’s probably very hungry and needed to eat,” one woman thought.

“I’m sure he has many important meetings to attend,” one man thought.

“He probably needs a bath,” thought a child.

A bang from The Fortress silenced the crowd in the town square. All faces turned to the balcony. A moment passed. A shadow crossed the threshold to the outside. All The People fell to their knees.

A shape above covered with a cloak trotted to the edge of the balcony. It stopped, sniffed the ground, and went back inside.

Inside, the two trolls laughed so hard they fell to the floor.

Outside, the square was quiet except for the wind. No one spoke for what seemed like a long time. Then the first person rose. It was a young man.

“Did you see that?” he shouted. “It was The Emperor! The Emperor has returned!”

The rest of the crowd rose. Strangers hugged each other. Lovers kissed. All cheered.

“The Emperor is here!” they sang. “The Emperor is here!”

Not long after, however, a circle formed around two men from the crowd. They were fighting and screaming insults at each other.

No one knew what to do until a judge forced his way into the circle. He demanded the men explain themselves.

“This fool,” one of the men said, spitting, “insists that The Emperor was wearing buttons on his cloak. Obviously, though, he was wearing clasps. Clasps!”

The judge cleared his throat. His eyes hardened.

“I’m afraid I don’t see what the trouble is,” he said. “The Emperor was indeed wearing buttons on his cloak. I think any reasonable man would tell you the same.”

The judge removed hit hat and entered the fight.

A moment later, the mayor of The Land broke into the circle.

“I must interrupt,” he said. “I simply cannot believe what I have heard from the others. How could anyone with any sense at all believe The Emperor was wearing buttons on his cloak? We all saw what he was wearing. It was not buttons at all, but clasps.”

Before the mayor could finish, an insult about The Claspians came from the crowd.

All The People in the town square turned against each other. Inside, The Trolls could not control their laughter.

“The emperor had donned a different cloak that day,” historians of The Land later wrote. “Surely, it must have meant a thing most great or terrible

Love,

Dave

(AP Photo/Seth Wenig)

Bigots opposing the Cordoba House really want any non-bigot to know their bigoted views have nothing to do with bigotry.

The protest is unconvincing. Opponents seem to realize this. It may be why they argue with the same formula in the same way every time they fly against the planned New York City mosque and community center near a 9/11 attack site.

The bigots argument against the mosque is a three-step formula.

Step 1: I am not a bigot (or) Maybe you are the bigot

Step 2: Let me make an extremely vague point, preferably in Chaucerian English

Step 3: Think about the children/victims!

Dan Senor of the Wall Street Journal presents a good example of this. He may feel his background as an Iraq War organizer gives him particular credibility among Muslims.

Step 1 of his “open letter” to the mosque:

We write with an unshakable commitment to religious freedom, and to your right to exercise it in meaningful and concrete ways. We have great appreciation for the progressive and inclusive interpretation of Islam to which you speak…

Nice. Clearly not a bigot. Senor supports religious freedom. He supports the expression of religious freedom. He supports progressive ideas. He appreciates things. No bigots in sight.

Step 2:

However, while we will continue to stand with you and your right to proceed with this project, we see no reason why it must necessarily be located so close to the site of the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks.

Someone who rejects the link between Islam and the brand of radicalism and violence espoused by al Qaeda and like-minded groups should be wary of helping to further, even inadvertently, the rhetoric and propaganda of those groups … (as well as) any measure or message that might be seized upon by those whom he considers to be the blasphemers of his own faith.

They understandably see the area as sacred ground.

The second step of Senor’s argument meets the formula’s standard of utterly grave fucking nonsense. Cordoba House organizers support peace and interfaith dialogue, something al Qaeda to this point has not had at the heart of its outreach. I’m not sure how it would use global harmony to recruit suicide bombers in the future either.

Senor also fulfills the second standard in the second step of the formula through the use of words like “espoused,” “blasphemers” and “sacred.” He does this to make himself seem courageous and to show that he has recently watched the 1998 television miniseries Merlin.

Part 3:

[M]any believe that Ground Zero should be reserved for memorials to the event itself and to its victims. They do not understand why of all possible locations in the city, Cordoba House must be sited so near to there.

This argument would be more convincing if “many” had not already started to build a huge memorial somewhere else in the city. Also, the “many” who now openly oppose the planned mosque might not be people who are as artful with their bigotry as you, Dan.

The Anti-Defamation League (ADL) at lease recognizes most opponents of the mosque are bigots. It unsuccessfully tries to dissociate itself from them in its attack on the mosque.

Step 1 from a press release:

We categorically reject appeals to bigotry on the basis of religion, and condemn those whose opposition to this proposed Islamic Center is a manifestation of such bigotry.

Step 2:

The controversy which has emerged regarding the building of an Islamic Center at this location is counterproductive to the healing process.  Therefore, under these unique circumstances, we believe the City of New York would be better served if an alternative location could be found.

Step 3:

In our judgment, building an Islamic Center in the shadow of the World Trade Center will cause some victims more pain – unnecessarily – and that is not right.

The ADL seems uncomfortable throughout and for good reasons. It condemns bigots but supports their position. It calls for the mosque to move simply because bigots complain. It confuses the emotions of bigots with the views of victims and makes a self-righteous moral declaration based on that.

But, as far as bigots, the ADL has nothing to do with them.

Other users of the bigot three-step formula include Newt Gingrich, Sarah Palin, Rudy Giuliani, the National Review and, of course, Fox News.

I’m not sure why cultural supremacists and political opportunists chose this issue to rally around but they did. Supporters should know the fight will be over soon. The mosque will be built, bigots will still be bigots and those people will eventually have to explain to someone what side of the issue they were on back in 2010.

Fort Wayne may ban K2 tonight on the complaints of a few teenagers. Here is my letter to the city council. The vote is tonight.

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen of the Fort Wayne City Council:

I urge you to vote against the proposed K2 prohibition ordinance tonight.

Such an ordinance will hurt Fort Wayne and do nothing to address substance abuse.

A rush to legislation may seem attractive at the moment. It is. A small group wants you to ban a suspicious incense. They insist it is bad. They protest against it.

However, you must do what is best for the city. No studies show that K2 is dangerous. No studies show it is comparable to cannabis. No comprehensive studies on the topic exist at all. Claims made about the precise potency of the incense are hearsay.

You have the responsibility to at minimum delay a vote until you can be informed about the issue. The speeches of a few prohibitionists cannot substitute for this requirement.

Fort Wayne is not outside the general nationwide consensus on K2. It is with a vast majority of American cities and states that do not, and likely will not, place a prohibition on the incense.

This is how it should remain. No one knows the possible risks of K2. No one knows its possible benefits. But the effect of a ban is easily foreseeable. A ban is not the miraculous disappearance of that which is banned. It is the policing and prosecution of those found in violation of the ban. This enforcement would fall disproportionately on the poor, the disadvantaged, and the minorities in our city.

A ordinance against K2 would have only a few outcomes for certain: More arrests, more prosecutions, more imprisonment, more broken families, and more costs to the city itself.

Please take a stand for sensibility and VOTE NO ON THE BAN.

Thank you,

David W. Frank

Raytheon laser program

Raytheon is an international company that makes missiles and outfits armies for slaughter. Not one person, however, who saw articles this week in the newspapers of my hometown of Fort Wayne, Indiana, would know that.

Readers of the Journal Gazette and News Sentinel would see a profile of a charitable technology company that wants to help children learn. They would feel the compassion of a business that cares for humanity and wants to create jobs. They would understand that Raytheon only wants what is best for everyone, especially those in the great city of Fort Wayne.

The newspapers tell you that, yes, Raytheon of Fort Wayne has already done more than enough for the city as a leading employer and creator of 1,200 well-paying jobs. But it wants to do more. Much more.

The Journal Gazette, in its article “Defense companies give teachers real-life lessons,” shows local educators as the beneficiaries of Raytheon’s altruistic largesse. Teachers know about math and science, but Raytheon wants to show them how to present the material in a way students will see as applicable.

Raytheon is “allowing” them to see “how the building blocks they teach students are used to create sophisticated systems,” the newspaper said.

And later:

“The teachers – representing five schools in Allen County and seven from other counties – will tour operations and participate in hands-on lab assignments. Each session will focus on ‘teachable nuggets’ of information they can use in the classroom.”

Nowhere does the article even allude to the fact that Raytheon is a powerful international corporation and actually the largest supplier of missiles in the entire fucking world. Nowhere does it say that Raytheon recently had to recall a pain gun it supplied the U.S. in Afghanistan. Nowhere does it mention the Wall Street Journal just showed Raytheon has been working with the government to set up secretive government spy program.

These are things that happened only this month. These things are not old news.

The News Sentinel, on a lighter note, saw the brainwashing of children by a ruthless murder-for-hire syndicate as a chance to be playful.

“On a Monday morning during summer vacation, 15 area educators headed back to the classroom, with notebooks in hand,” the article begins. “All eyes were on Jeff Marraha, Raytheon hardware center manager, who would deliver the first lesson of the day — educating them about the design work his engineering company does.”

While that sounds delightful, Raytheon is an engineering company like an assassin is a concierge. Raytheon itself explicitly says it in the “warfare business.”

And the newspaper should at least care about public finances even if it doesn’t give two shits about the military industrial complex. Raytheon, as part of that complex, operates through millions and millions and millions of dollars in earmarks and military contracts.

But the News Sentinel would prefer to continue with its tone of hope and summertime fun. It quotes Raytheon employee Dale Anglin saying: “We not only want to attract the best and brightest for future employment. Having those from the area return after completing their secondary education not only saves money in hiring and talent acquisition, but also improves our community.”

Well said, Dale. I can think of no better way to raise the standard of living in Fort Wayne than through the promotion of mass casualties and ceaseless war. It’s what education is about.

My letter to Shell Oil regarding the sticker above:

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen of the Shell Oil Company:

I wanted to take a moment to write you to thank you for an excellent product I recently purchased from one of your gas stations. I also have a question in relation to the product. I will get to the said question shortly.

You see, I was recently traveling across our great and majestic country. I enjoyed much of what I saw — the mountains, the oceans, the American flags (and American chicks – yowza!) — but one thing bothered me. I couldn’t get this thing out of my head.

Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but sometimes I would see non-white people. I mean, people who were not white at all. A few times, actually, I even saw Mexicans. Mexicans! YUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I tried to avoid them whenever I could, but that’s impossible to do in towns that are poor and dirty.

This is where your courageous company “comes into the picture.” At this point, I just had to find a way to express my rage over being forced to see Mexicans in America. Remember, these are Mexicans not in Mexico, but in MY own g-d country. Thankfully, many of YOUR gas stations along Interstate 80 sold bumper stickers from Graphic Design Marketing Inc. with the following message:

“USA Illegal Alien Hunting Permit. No Bag Limit. Tagging Not Required.”

When I saw that sticker for the first time in Kearney, Nebraska, I had to buy it. “Right f-ing on!” I thought. “Love it or leave it, wetbacks!”

So, to you, Shell Oil Company, I would like to give one giant Abe Lincoln-sized “thanks.” I’m sure as heck glad to see that I am not the only “gringo” who gets “loco” in “la cabeza” when he catches the smell of a job-snatchin’ anchor baby.

Anywho, my question is this: Is your sticker an actual hunting permit? I ask because I would like to starting hunting illegal immigrants ASAP, and, when I do, I want to be sure to give the Shell Oil Company full credit for its part in helping me with my rampage against a bunch of no-good Mexicans. If you do not respond, I will assume that your answer to my question is yes.

Thanks you for your time and your patriotism.

Your good buddy, (10-4 LOL!)

Dave Frank
Fort Wayne, IN

——————–

Shell Oil’s contrite reply, assuming full responsibility:

Dear DAVE FRANK:

Thank you for bringing your concerns to our attention.  Please contact Graphic Design Marketing directly for your inquiry. We appreciate the opportunity to serve you in this matter and look forward to providing you with quality Shell branded products and service in the future.

Sincerely,
Shell Customer Care

The press lost its shit today when it heard of the reasonably predictable death of a man whose conniving, bigotry, calculation and violence covered his being like age spots on a pair of hands grasping at morsels of power no one cares to withhold any longer.

Robert C. Byrd, 92, died today distinguished by almost nothing. He bribed and bent his constituents in West Virginia to keep him their senator longer than any other politician has done. He used tricks and intimidation to shut down debate. He wrestled billions of dollars from the citizens to get his name attached to public buildings.

And, for this, the press loved him.

“Surely no one in the Senate was more devoted to its history nor more steeped in it than Robert Byrd,” said NPR, who also seemed to think of Byrd as Cicero, calling him an “Elder Statesman.”

“Among the many things to be noted about this longtime public servant, who earned his first college degree in 1963 was his love of words,” said the now-reliably terrible Christian Science Monitor.

Byrd “expressed a debt of gratitude to the residents of his state for allowing him to serve for so long in the Senate he so loves,” said the publicly funded Voice of America.

Most newspapers mentioned that he was also a member of the KKK. Some mentioned that he was a strong segregationist. Almost all couched any of these facts in a tone that suggested his wrongs were really things that happened to him.

The New York Times, for example:

“Mr. Byrd’s political life could be traced to his early involvement with the Ku Klux Klan, an association that almost thwarted his career and clouded it intermittently for years afterward … His opponents used his Klan membership against him during his first run for the House of Representatives in 1952; Democratic leaders urged him to drop out of the race. But he stayed in and won …”

Very noble, Robert Byrd. Your inability to be shamed inspires us all.

That Robert Byrd had absolutely no accomplishments in his over 50 years as a politician is astonishing. The press didn’ t know how to handle this fact. It wanted to show that the maintenance of power over of an extended period of time is itself an accomplishment, but it wanted to do so surreptitiously.

So, to play up the likability of this horrible man, most articles mentioned that he kept a copy of the Constitution in his pocket or that he played the fiddle or that he had old people problems or — the press’ favorite — that he kind of opposed the Iraq War.

This showed his immense courage, right? How could it not? Well, Byrd actually voted for every single war the United States waged during his interminable career, including the Iraq War. That he, a major defender of the Vietnam War, eventually joined his political party in its criticism of an unpopular war ran by an unpopular president is dead fucking meaningless.

So — Ted Kennedy, Robert Byrd … who else do we have to wait out now?

My e-mail to the CIA, Department of Justice, Department of Defense, White House, State Department and Department of Homeland Security. No response yet.

2.) If that information is not currently public, could you please tell me if I myself am on the targeted killing list? If so, is this information you could provide every American citizen? If not, why not?

I am American citizen and a pacifist. I neither support nor belong to any terrorist organizations. Never have, never will.

I would like to assume that I am not on your target killings list. However, I used to assume that the United States wouldn’t claim the right to assassinate its own citizens. I trust you can understand my concern and confusion.

3.) What actions should I and other American citizens take or refrain from in order not to be added to the targeted killings list?

American citizens would find these instructions very helpful. I’m sure no one wants to give socks and/or ponchos to the wrong person and end up in solitary confinement. Or worse.

David Frank

Every Memorial Day the press takes a moment to let everyone watch it lower its voice, put its hand on your shoulder and tell you how lucky you are that you live in a country that has made people other than you go to war and die.

They paid the ultimate price for your freedom, newspapers tell you. And, I don’t know about you, but that means a whole hell of a lot.

It’s incredibly similar and maybe not altogether unconsciously like the Christian passion story. Before you were born, evil roamed the earth. God’s children were doomed to enslavement and death. Many lost their way. Evil became strong. It overtook even some of the good. The world was about to buckle to the forces of darkness. But one nation said no.

Not today.

Not on our watch.

The press chastises the public on Memorial Day like a preacher does a congregation on Easter. Don’t you know who died for you? Don’t you know who paid the price? You do your duty one or two days a year, yes. But is that enough? And on those days, be honest, your savior doesn’t even get the whole day, does he? No. Your savior is an afterthought. I know most of you are all too ready to run out these doors. You’re already thinking of getting those burgers ready for the barbecue. Shameful.

“On this Memorial Day, let us remember that from Kabul to Kandahar to Helmand in Afghanistan we have soldiers in harm’s way in their role to protect our security here at home,” says the Merced Sun-Star, rehashing the fight-them-over-there-or-we’ll-be-fighting-them-on-our-beaches argument.

“Memorial Day is a great and wonderful way to remember our patriotic heroes who sacrificed their lives to help us breathe the air of freedom,” swoons Paul Vallely of FOX News.

“Can we ever return to a time when we pay proper homage to the service of our warriors, living and dead?” cries E.J. Dionne of the Washington Post, rending his garments.

But war has never been necessary for freedom in America. Peace is violence? The argument sounds illogical for a reason.