Our anarchist protagonist takes on authoritarians posing as educators.
So I’m riding in an autonomous mini-transport pod with my teenage nephew. I have the privilege of accompanying him to his forced indoctrination center today. Actually, here in 2038, they’re called Workforce Preparation Centers, and they’re operated by a monolithic violence-backed institution of the state called Ongoing Occupation and Personnel Systems, or OOPS, as I prefer to call it.
But I digress. I’m honored, really, that my nephew chose me. This gives me hope. Ya see, I’m the only person in our family that’s a conscious anarchist. I’m the only one who knows what true liberty is, sadly enough. Everyone else believes that a giant violence cartel called the state produces some vague notion of freedom. Sheesh.
I smile at my nephew, “It’s nice to be in a transport again. I’ve been out of credits for weeks!”
“Why is that?” he asks.
“Cuz I get too many free speech fines.”
We both laugh at my plight. It’s good to be with family. “When was the last time you saw your parents?”
He considers for a moment. “A few months, I guess.”
You see, here in 2038, schools run by the government gang are not just compulsory for a few hours a day like in the old days. Nope. Now children move into the prison camps at age 4 and stay there until they graduate around age 22 or 23. They visit their parents on occasion, but mostly old mom and pops are basically just donors of biological material and financial floatation devices for their offspring.
Our pod stops. We pop out. Our personal, state mandated drones meet us and begin to follow. I take a macro view of this extortion funded prison for children. I gotta hand it to the social engineers, these obedience training centers are very sleek, shiny, aesthetically pleasing prisons.
I try to pay attention to the bit of nature interspersed with the cold, steely structures we’re approaching. But it’s too difficult. I can see the techno-toys of the panopticon. A.I. cameras. Multi-tiered levels of autonomous drones. Ubiquitous biomonitors.
“First stop,” my lanky companion announces, “is the Wellness Emporium.”
So much for the aesthetically pleasing names. The Wellness Emporium is basically a dysgenecist’s candy store. It’s something that would make Orwell and H.G. Wells blush deep purple. Thought scanners, DNA encoders and decoders, nano-you-name-its, blood synthesizers, and tons of other high-tech junk the state uses to keep its human flesh robots functioning at what scientific dictators consider optimal.
And what happens if an individual is deemed to be “beyond repair”? In 2038 parlance, its called “decommissioned”, which is a fuzzy sounding way to say “murdered”.
We step in and a synthetic nurse greets us. While my nephew is being poked and prodded, I ask, “So when someone doesn’t pass the tests, is it you that murders them, or is that someone else’s Satanic task?”
Her face twists, “Oh, such ugly rhetoric. Murder is a crime and we obviously don’t do that.”
I retort, “Well, to decommission and to murder are both to take a life of an individual against the will of that individual.”
A synthetic glare greets me, but she addresses my nephew, “Are you sure this hurtful man is your family? You’re such a good boy.”
A couple minutes later and we’re heading down a long, scantily illuminated corridor. “Where’s our next stop? Wanna get some synthetic vanilla smart ice?”
He shakes his head and laughs. “That’s why I like you the best, you’ve got that knack.”
“Knack?”
“For saying things people don’t expect. Anyway, the next stop is Allegiance Hall.”
I huff, “Sounds like a wonderful place for mind expansion.”
We step into “Allegiance Hall”, which basically looks like a miniature, high-tech version of the Roman Coliseum. There are thousands of blank-faced young victims organized in neat and orderly sections, all waiting obediently.
“So what do we do here?”
Shock envelops his pointy face, “You don’t know what we do in Allegiance Hall?”
“We didn’t have anything like that in school when I was growing up.”
“Well, you’re about to find out.”
A small gang of indoctrination specialists stands at the center of the affair. A puffy-faced, little old bald man takes center stage and greets his victims, “Good morning, workforce trainees.”
A chorus greets back.
“All rise.”
Everyone obeys. Then I find out what the allegiance is all about. In nauseatingly programmed unison, all of the young flesh robots dryly state from memory:
“I pledge allegiance, to the United Americas, and to the collective for which it stands, one people, under Gaia, indivisible, with privilege of survival for all."
Freshly horrified, I follow my young guide to our next torture center. It’s time for Climate Science Class.
The indoctrination specialists are at the center of a giant circle. One humanoid, one flesh robot. All the young victims take their seats in chairs resembling that of Captain Picard’s from Star Trek. Us lowly adults stand behind them.
The humanoid instructor announces, “Class, please plug in and download.”
Yes, that’s why they get those fancy captain’s chairs. They’re the matrix plug-in stations where info is downloaded directly into a cybernetic appendage. It’s not a permanent implant, yet. But a safe bet is that that’s the next step in the psychopathic control freak occultist plot to rule in hell.
I decide to have some fun. “Excuse me, just one question. Shouldn’t learning have more interaction between individuals? Some dialectical arguments? More questions asked than answers and/or theories given? Have you ever heard of The Trivium?”
A stern look from the flesh, “That is an inconsiderate question.”
“Well, could you give me an example of some info that these young minds are downloading?”
Her eyes shoot death beams at me, “Sure. I’d be happy to. For example, they’re learning that Gaia must be kept at an optimum population in order to preserve Gaia for all.”
I shudder. “And what is the proof of that? What are your sources?”
Now she’s really hot, “The International Gaia Foundation, of course! No more questions!”
“The Rothschild Family heavily funds that foundation. Jacob Rothschild the 4th has 8 children!”
“Enough!”
“Hey, in all fairness, that wasn’t a question.”
Fresh from his download, my nephew cracks up.
“No laughing!”
After that torture session and a brief insect-protein-delight break, it’s back to class. I announce, “I might not make it through this whole day.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll get kicked out for sure. That’ll be another proud moment on my anarchist CV.”
“So what’s next?”
“Government.”
That’s it? Just government? I was expecting at least some flowery rhetoric to put on that BS sandwich.
A long-faced, scholarly looking guy sits at the center of the circle this time. He’s got 2 humanoid assistants. Gotta have extra help to teach violent authoritarianism, I guess.
I decide to run my mouth before he even starts. “Excuse me, brainwashing specialist, can you tell me the root, etymological meaning of the word government?”
“Of course! It means to govern the people benevolently!”
“No, no, that is horrifically incorrect. Where does that dark propaganda come from?”
He is taken aback. “Propaganda does not exist. And for your information, that definition comes from UNESCO.”
I smirk, “Ok, first of all, that is pure black propaganda. Second of all, UNESCO is a disgusting group of authoritarians who play a role in social engineering and the prohibition of freedom. Lastly, the definition of government is “mind control.” It’s a word formed from Latin. “Gubernare” means to control, and “mens” means mind. Together, it is mind control. Boom! Truth!" I do an air high-five.
I don’t know if it was my sharing of knowledge, or my brash delivery of that knowledge that got me the boot, but that point is probably moot.
Should I feel guilty for getting kicked out? For cutting short my rare visit with my nephew? It is disappointing, but hey, isn’t spreading truth more important?
Thanks for your time and attention!
Just say "NO" to slavery!
Top image is from publicdomainpictures.net
