964 - Part 3 & Epilogue

How a name came to be, and a note on my reaction.

Almost twenty years ago, in your young friend's country, there was a Civil War. A lunatic general had been running the economy into the ground for almost a decade, and the drop in living standards of the people living in the towns and cities was swifter and more ruthless than anyone could have imagined. The people got angry, and several armies were formed to overthrow the government. Unfortunately, all of those armies disagreed on how the country should be run after the revolution. What should have been one side against another became every group fighting every other; what you could call 'every man for himself'.

However, the central belt of the country was and still is farmland. Smaller communities - many of which were almost entirely self-sufficient - had seen very little change for decades. Many of the farmers meet and talk when the Civil War begins, but none of the warring armies have any interest in or knowledge of what the farmers want or need. Most of the farmers struggle to understand why there is a war in the first place. As a group, they decide to sit out the war. They decide to stay home and take care of their families, their land, their crops and their animals. They all agree that this is not their war.

All is well for the first few months. The sun shines and rain falls, and the harvest is good. Everyone will have enough to eat this winter.

However. A rebel army from the South are marching North to battle the government forces in the capital, when their Commander enters the valley and sees the open farmland before him. He spots strong, lean men bringing in the harvest in every field, and he thinks. Intelligence from rebels surrounding the capital suggest that this army will be outnumbered even when their full force arrives, maybe by as many as 600 soldiers. He scans the fields, and calls his officers over. He issues his orders; that every man who can walk and hold a gun is to be gathered from the fields and placed in front of the church in the nearest village at sunset.

At sunset, the Commander stands on the top step to the church, and asks his Lieutenant for the count. He is told that there are 1006 men in total, so he tells his soldiers to put them in ten rows of one, and one row of six. When this is done, he orders his men to form a barrier around the rows with their guns cocked and ready. Behind the wall of weapons and uniforms stand the families of the men now kneeling down in neat rows; the men's hands behind their heads, elbows in the air. All of the women, and the boys too young and the men too old, they stand and look and chatter until the Commander raises his hand to order silence. 

The Commander tells the people not to fear. He tells them the time for fear is over. His army are the one true voice of the people, and when they win the war and rule the country the people of this valley will be greatly rewarded. All they need to do is help the army now, march with them and - in three days -  fight the tyrants are win their freedom. He smiles and asks who will join him? Let any man who will fight stand now, and declare his allegiance by doing so.

The farmers look from one to another. No-one speaks, and no-one stands. 

The Commander smiles, and addresses the men kneeling before him. He reiterates that they have no need to fear, and says that with their help, the battle and the war will be won and over. He asks them again to stand and join him.

The air is tense and silent. No sound, and no movement.

The Commander smiles a final time, and asks why they will not stand.

A large, bearded man breaks the silence. He says simply that they are already free in their own heads. They will not fight because it is not their war. They will stand at their own doors and protect what is theirs.

At this, the Commander's smile fades quickly away.

"This is how you all feel?"

He does not wait for an answer.

"Then I will make this simple."

He marches forward to the first farmer at the front of the first row and orders a nearby officer to hand over his side-arm. He c***s the revolver and points it at the first man's temple.

"Number 1, will you fight for me?"

The man answers quickly, "No."

The Commander pulls the trigger. He takes a step forward and re-c***s the revolver. He aims.

"Number 2, will you fight for me?"

"No."

The Commander pulls the triggers. And repeats.

"Number 3..." "No." *Bang*

"Number 4..." "No." *Bang."

This continues until the revolver is empty. Before the last bullet leaves the chamber, another officer is stepping forward presenting another revolver with another six bullets, and the Commander continues.

In total, 300 of the men spared their immediate lives and agreed to fight. Their families shouted and screamed at them and called them cowards. They made it clear that those who had said yes were no longer welcome here if they lived long enough to return.

The remaining 700 men were shot point-blank in the head and died instantly. The sons took their father's number in memory of them.

Epilogue

Ore and I sat in silence for what seemed like hours. The story, and it's power has remained with me for days, months, and years. But there, on that day, in that place, all that the words left was a sense of nothingness. It was a hollow feeling that ate away at was was left.

Wordlessly, I finished my drink. Soundlessly, I poured two more - heavier measures this time.

Ore had to be home for dinner he said. I let him go.

Then, I sat myself back down on the sofa and did what I always do whenever I hear this story now - though I now almost exclusively hear it from my own lips. I rolled a strong joint, sat down outside and smoked it. I took long, deep tokes and held them in, staring out at what was mine and what wasn't, and I thought about what I had heard.

I suggest you do your equivalent now.