Photo by Teemu Paananen on Unsplash

“Cal saved me if I’m honest,” I said, studying the young couple in front of me who was clearly in a hurry to get to the new French restaurant that had opened down the street, “He taught me that we have the numbers to push back. And every little bit helps too. So if you’re looking for a way to be a part of something bigger, New Jacobins is a great place to start. You’ll meet all sorts of people including Cal. Show up tonight. We meet at the Abbey. All you gotta do is give us a chance.” 

The couple stared at the pair of flyers in my outstretched hand. I could see them putting together that I probably wouldn’t leave them alone until they took them, so they acquiesced and were halfway down the street by the time I could say, “You won’t regret it!” I examined the stack of flyers I had stuffed into my jacket. I had made a dent. Looking up, I could see that it was getting late. The sun had disappeared behind a collection of skyscrapers casting a wide net of shade. Satisfied with my progress, I hurried down a couple of blocks and entered through a small nondescript wooden door. Down a long hallway that eventually veered left and opened up into a small reception area with a number of chairs, I saw a desk with a short squat woman manning a computer behind it. 

“Hi, Mrs. Sharice,” I said.

“Hey Bean,” she said, her voice carrying the monotony of someone who had reached the end of the workday and was more than ready to go home.

“Is Cal in?”

“Yeah, he’s in his office. You need anything before I head out?”

“No, I’m good, Mrs. Sharice. You have a good night!”

I passed her desk and continued onwards. The giggling of small children mixed with the buzz of the coffee maker wafted through the workspace behind the receptionist area. I was surprised that the daycare was still going. Looking across the room, I saw the lights still on in classroom B and Antony poking his head out from the adjacent kitchenette to give me a small wave. I nodded back and made my way to a door at the back of the room. 

“Come in,” I heard after knocking three times. Entering, I saw Cal, seated at a modest wooden desk, pouring over a mountain of paperwork. I took a seat in a folding chair opposite of him. 

“What can I do you for, Bean?” Cal said, not looking up from his work. 

“Oh, nothing. Just checking to see how things are going. Hey, are you gonna make it to the Abbey tonight? I made a few promises this afternoon sooo—”

Cal glanced up at me, giving me a raised eyebrow and a smile that said he’d wish I’d stop doing that.

“Yeah, I’ll pop down there once I make a bit more headway,” he said, motioning to two stacks of paperwork on his desk. 

“Permits?”

“Permits, licenses, petitions, candidate research, position papers,” he said, indicating an individual stack of papers, littered around his office that fit each category, “And that doesn’t even include fundraising.”

I glanced around his office, marveling at various framed photos of Cal and other members of the council shaking hands with various representatives, senators, and even a president. My gaze settled on a newspaper clipping of him getting arrested at a protest for affordable housing in Los Angeles back in 1994. Cal followed my gaze to the picture and laughed. 

“Seems like so long ago, right?”

“Yet the problem’s still here,” I said, gesturing to the stacks of papers crowding his desk. Cal eyed the paper with a faraway look like he was trying to remember something that felt hazy in his mind.

“What would you do if you weren’t doing all of this?” I asked.

“I used to paint when I was a kid in school. Mixing all those colors together was so much fun. I saw a picture of the Mona Lisa in a book at the local library when I was real young. I was instantly taken,” he said, not looking up at me. 

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well, my dad was a preacher and he always dreamed of me following in his footsteps, which in a way I kinda did. Plus all my friends were out protesting back then, so I did too. And then I never left.” 

I glanced at my watch. It was getting late.

“Hey, well hope to see you tonight. As I said, I talked you up quite a bit,” I said, offering a smirk in the hopes of breaking Cal out of his thoughts.

“You got it, man. See ya, Bean.”

The crowd tonight was larger than normal. I was skeptical it had anything to do with my flyer outreach, but yet rows that had sat empty for many weeks were filled. I looked around The Abbey, taking it in. Once a modest Lutheran chapel, now repurposed for more paganistic tendencies, though, the idea of God was certainly not off-limits. Many New Jacobins had beliefs concerning the divine and were unafraid to share them. I positioned myself towards the back as I usually did, surveying the gathered assembly, an amalgam of the area’s poorer residents. I wondered what had all brought them here. I assumed most were either here because they were angry or bored. This forum provided some sort of outlet. The real test would be if any of these faces showed up next week. 

I made a mental note that this was my twenty-eighth week showing up to these gatherings. It wasn’t like I was a troubled youth yearning for purpose when I first showed up on these doorsteps. I was mainly curious—a little bored too, I must admit—about what everyone was talking about. There was the killing of a high-profile city representative downtown and the New Jacobins led a series of massive protests in the wake of it. There were many confrontations with PSA. It felt like a whole new generation wondered collectively if all these people making noise outside courthouses and capitol buildings had a point. 

I saw the lights dim a bit giving the signal that the show was about to begin. Dante Wright, another young enigmatic soul who joined up soon after I did, took the stage. He was tall with a bright smile, one of those people who could crack a joke at a funeral and everyone would find it funny. He began with the usual “Thank you for coming. To all the newcomers, welcome! We’re so glad to have you here, and that you’ve taken an interest in what we have to say. We have a great lineup of speakers here tonight.”

I perused through the names. There were a few I recognized: Dr. Helene Coburn from the Equal Pay Initiative; George Peck, a renowned historian and published author; and Gene Saint-James, a representative from the Fair Housing Collective. I noticed a name at the bottom that caught my eye, Justice Matthews from Future Worlds. As the first speaker took the stage, I ducked outside to have a smoke, giving a nod to our security Rolf as I went out. The night was brisk, and the street was quiet save for a dull rustling of the breeze. The Abbey was located far enough from downtown that after a certain time, things usually settled down a bit. I noticed another person duck outside moments after me. 

“Excuse me, you have a lighter I could borrow by chance?” I said, taking stock of the figure before me, a tall thin-haired gentleman, donned in a coat and scarf. He nodded and offered a plastic green lighter for me to use.

“So what brings you to The Abbey?” I asked. 

“My wife and kids are out of town,” the man said, giving a slight chuckle to himself, “Y’all have been popping up on the news a lot so I figured I’d check it out.”

“What have you seen on the news? Hopefully good things.”

“Well, you all blocked that highway a week ago. The news was all over that.”

“Yeah, I was there. That was a fun one. Especially when a few cars tried to ram their way through. Unbelievable some people,” I said, hoping to draw out some sort of opinion from this guy. 

“Well, I mean if you’re driving home from a long day of work I’m sure creating even more traffic will convince them to hear what you have to say.”

“It convinced you,” I said, with an eyebrow raised. I could see the gears turning as he decided that I had actually made a good point. 

Our smokes were out by this point so I decided to head inside rather than push the point any further. I made a mental note to relay the conversation to Cal later. He’s always interested in these types of anecdotes. Any info he can glean that might make more people turn out he logs away in the hopes he can use it later. When I returned to my spot in the back, Justice Matthews was wrapping up. 

“So I know I’ve thrown a lot at all of you tonight. I’ll be at a table in the back with more information if any of you are interested. I want to give a special shoutout to Cal and the New Jacobins for inviting me to speak. Before I go, I will leave you all with this: the things you are mad at in your life often aren’t the things that are making you mad. Rage and anger are powerful tools. It’s important we direct them in the right direction. Only then can we build the future world we want. Thank you!” 

Justice gave a few waves to the crowd before exiting the stage with Dante taking her place. 

“Well, that’s it for our speakers tonight. They will be sticking around for a bit to answer any questions you might have. Additionally, if you have any comments or questions for us, leave them with either me or one of our other comrades in the back. Make sure to include your contact info too so we can get in touch and help you with whatever it is you need help with.”

I scanned the room for Cal. I couldn’t see him.

The air felt crisp this morning like it was trying to seep into my bones. We hadn’t done that much outreach leading up to this march towards city hall, but there were likely a couple of hundred people here already according to my estimates. We had stacked a couple of wooden pallets on top of each other to make a makeshift stage. I hopped on top, careful to make sure the pallets were steady. Dante handed me a bullhorn. 

“Good morning everyone! You all ready to march today!” I said, pausing for the inevitable cheers, “Glad to hear it! As you know we’re heading to city hall to give Councilmen Rollos a piece of our mind. He’s been the sole holdout on our county resolution to allocate just two percent of the PSA budget towards mental health and social services. Just two percent! Can you believe that? It’s chump change to a department that sucks up forty-three percent of the county budget. It’s unbelievable, and we are here to let him know that we’re not happy. We know he’s getting donations from the PSA unions.  He’s going to be up for reelection soon. So we need to show him we mean business.

“We’ll be heading out shortly. We brought some extra water if anyone needs it, and if at any point you need help or have any questions, don’t hesitate to find anyone with a New Jacobins shirt. They’d be happy to help you with anything you need. Thankfully, it’s a beautiful day for a march, and our route is easy. So stay put for five minutes, and then we’ll head out.” 

I surveyed the crowd and was surprised by how many adults had brought their kids. It was an odd sight that confused me. When had we become so family-friendly? I noticed Cal hadn’t come out either. I decided to have a meeting with him. His absence at these events didn’t go unnoticed. I already had a few people come up and ask if he was coming today. If the founder of the whole organization, couldn’t bother to show up then why should anyone else? I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Dante eyeing me with a grin.

“You ready, Bean?”

“I was born ready. Can you believe the crowd?” That’s when Dante leaned a bit closer and said, “I’m pretty sure a few people brought their toddlers, can you believe that?”

“Right? Well, we’re not expecting anything today, so it should hopefully be a quiet one,” I shot back, trying to reassure myself as much as I was Dante. I hopped up on the pile of pallets once more and shouted, “Y'all ready to get this party started?”

I received the obligatory explosion of excitement from the crowd that meant “yes” and we started our march. Dante and I were stationed at the front while other comrades intermingled with the crowd and brought up the rear. Nature had smiled upon us today bringing in clear, blue skies and a balmy seventy-two-degree temperature. A familiar rhythm came over us: marching in unison, the popular protest songs, chanting together, waving flags, holding signs, all of it punctuated by the electricity that comes when groups of people engage in a single objective. In some ways a sort of hivemind takes over, directing the combined energy this way and that like the conductor of the orchestra. 

We made it two-thirds of the way there when the rhythm broke. Before us, about three hundred feet ahead, a handful of PSA cruisers emblazoned with the words “Protect and Serve” ensconced within a line of barricades blocked our path to the Councilmen’s office just another three blocks ahead. Several dozen heavily armed officers eyed us as well, standing menacingly in a half-moon shape in front of us. Our pace slowed down as confusion and uncertainty flowed through the ranks. 

“Don’t worry. We are still marching ahead. They are just here to scare us. We are going to let Congressman Rollo know we mean business!” I said, bullhorn in hand. 

The crowd inched forward getting as close to the barricades as possible, jostling back and forth like water about to boil over. I could see first timer’s raising their fists and shouting like something at come over them. I noticed kids hoisted onto their parent’s shoulders to see above the fray. It was like a switch had gone off, a once benign crowd turned ready for anything; people, whose lives were lived in relative comfort were now ready to draw blood. That’s when I heard it. 

“Attention citizens! Turn back now. This is an unauthorized protest. If you refuse, you will be arrested,” a voice said. 

It was hard to tell exactly where the voice had come from. All the PSA officers were dressed the same, and they all wore voice modulators to conceal their identities. I looked up to see one of them perched atop the roof of one of their cruisers. I assumed he was the leader. Without warning the line of officers began to advance, each one unsheathing a baton from their belt. Time seemed to slow down. A set of instincts that had been ingrained in me since my first days at the New Jacobins kicked in. 

The crowd went wild. I grabbed a nearby bullhorn to try and regain some order. Several smoke bombs landed amongst the gathered group, blanketing the street in smoke. I tied a bandana I was wearing across my mouth and face so that only my eyes were visible. Shouts and screams punctuated the sounds of people running or being beaten by officers. Every few feet, a protestor would be pinned to the ground in the process of being hauled into a nearby cruiser. I noticed a little boy perched on the sidewalk curb, screaming. 

I maneuvered as fast I could over to him, but before I could make it, I felt a thwack to my ribs, knocking the wind out of me. As I plummeted to the ground with a thump, I saw two officers standing over me. One put their hand on the other and said, “Throw him in with the others.” That officer left, and the other one knelt down. They tried to flip me over when I quickly brought one of my knees up to bash them in the head. 

“You little runt,” the officer said, shaking his head, dazed.

I froze my eyes wide. 

“Say that again.” 

“You slimy little fu—“ 

The officer stopped mid-sentence, realizing his voice modulator is broken. I look at him, knowing that I’d heard that voice before.  

“You look like shit,” Cal said, as the officer led me out of the holding cell into the lobby of the station. I didn’t say anything. My ribs ached, and my throat felt dry, a dull pain emanating from the back of my head. I took one of the seats scattered around the reception area while Cal chatted with the officer at the front desk. I assumed he was paying whatever the fine was for my release. 

Voices sounded muffled to my ears and the room seemed to swirl slightly. I blinked several times to clear my vision and hopefully restore some order to my senses. Before long I felt a hand on my shoulder. 

“Come on,” Cal said, not waiting for me to get up. We ambled out to the parking lot. It was empty, save for Cal’s old pickup parked at the very back of the lot. We both got in. Cal stuck the key in the ignition but didn’t turn to start the car. He paused. I could tell he was gearing up for one of his talks, the ones he’d save for comrades who got a little too unruly or belligerent.  

“Was that you?” I finally said, my voice almost a low whisper. 

“What do you mean?”

“At the march, there was a police officer who pinned me to the ground. I kneed him in the head, and then he spoke and the voice sounded an awful lot like you,” I said, replaying the events in my head, again and again, to make sure I wasn’t going crazy. 

Cal said nothing, though, the truth of the matter was painted all over his face.

“Cal, what the fuck?” I could feel the adrenaline flowing through my veins. My hands began to shake, nostrils flared, eyes wide.

“Look, I can explain. Just keep your voice down.”

“Yes, please do. Explain to me why I don’t go down to the Abbey right now and expose you for the fraud you have become.” 

I closed my eyes, the pain in the back of my head intensifying. 

“Promise me you won’t say anything.”

“No.”

Cal looked at me for a long second and then sunk back in his chair deflated.

“It was part of a deal I made with PSA.”

“A deal? What deal? What fucking deal? First, you stop showing up to our meetings, and then the marches, and now you’re making deals with the PSA?”

“Look, we’ve been growing like never before right? Why do you think that is? It’s because of what happened yesterday. The only way to make people care is by exposing the violence of the state. You do that enough times and the dam breaks,” Cal said, not looking at me, “Lately, it’s been getting harder and harder to find those moments.”

“So you sold your soul to them? And agreed to lead our people into a trap again and again? For what? For a little extra money and people? Cal, you have fallen so much since the old—“

“I don’t expect you to understand, but because of this, New Jacobins have been as strong as ever. Our numbers are way up compared to even last month. The politicians are actually scared of us, and people get a real taste of what we face.”

“So what? We’re just the PSA’s guinea pigs now. Is this like a once-a-week deal? Once a month?”

“There’s no set amount. All this deal consists of is an agreement to coordinate.”

“Cal, you were literally at the march, dressed as an officer, beating the shit out our people,” I said, my head swimming.

“It was never supposed to get that bad.”

“And what does PSA get out of this? Why would they agree to look like the bad guys?”

“They get to look good for their people.”

“And more money from terrified politicians,” I added, “Cal, I don’t think you know what you’ve unleashed here. This is an arms race.”

Cal was silent for a long moment. He looked pale, more shaken than I’d ever seen him. This wasn’t the courageous activist who had inspired me all those years ago, the man sitting next to me was something else. 

“Part of the deal is that I go to these marches as one of them.”

“Who else knows about this?” 

“The whole Council.”

“Jesus…” I sat back, hand on my head massaging my temples to dull the pain exuding from the bruise on the back of my head. 

“When I first started all this, I couldn’t imagine where it would all lead. There was a hunger back then, but Bean, don’t you ever get tired of fighting the same battles over and over and over again? Fifteen years later and we’re still fighting for the basics. Something’s got to change.” 

I said nothing in response. 

“If you want to expose the whole thing right now, I can’t stop you. Our Council meeting is happening right now as we speak at the Abbey. I’ll drive you there myself. But know something like this will bring the whole thing down. All of our work will go up in smoke: the daycare, the medical facilities, all the classes, all the progress we’ve made, everything.”

Cal looked at me, his eyes wide. I didn’t return his gaze, still focused on the pain in my head. 

“Bean?” he asked again. 

“Take me home. And I quit.”

Hey everyone,

Thank you for reading this week’s story. I hope you liked it. And to all the new people who subscribed recently, welcome. I’m so thankful you chose to keep up with my writing. If you haven’t subscribed yet, you can do so easily below. Have a good week everyone!

Cheers,

Robert

P.S. So I just had a piece of microfiction published here on Friday Flash Fiction. Check it out if you’re interested!