Nizhoni

Nizhoni sat in the middle of the small living room, her eyes glued to the TV screen. A war raged within her, between horror at the violence and exhilaration fueled by hope that this all may lead to a series of serious government reforms.  

The protest was spurred by yet another case where police brutality was excused and innocent people died. These events had always happened, but with the ability to share anything with the world while it was still happening, they became part of the public awareness much more quickly.

'I have always been painfully polite to police officers', her mother had warned her. 'Don't make them angry, and never ever give one cause to be afraid. They have guns and no compunction about taking the life of another indigenous child.' 

Her father chimed in, 'I watched my family stand in solidarity at the riverside in Flint, Michigan. I watched them sing and dance, beseeching to the Great Spirit that the poison be removed from their drinking water. I watched as armed men in riot gear turned fire hoses on them in the freezing air. I was only eight years old, they wouldn't let me stand with them because they were afraid that they would be killed and didn't want to risk my life.' 

'This has been coming for a very long time,' Nizhoni's Great Grandfather joined the conversation. 'I, myself, was taken to an English School when I was just a boy about your age. They beat us for speaking in our own language, and they shaved our hair off to eliminate our power.' His skin was almost translucent, stretched over his skull in such a thin layer that Nizhoni was often afraid that he might crackle and blow away like a dry leaf.  

His sister, Tia Lia come and sat beside him and took his hand, patting it gently. 'My mother was born while our people were being herded like cattle onto a reservation. Reservations were ugly, unusable pieces of land that the American government couldn't make money from, so they allowed us to live there. They gathered up all of the people, women and children included, and marched them hundreds of miles across the country. They called this the 'Trail of Tears'. Even after we'd been 'contained' by these European invaders, they continued to mistreat us. Like Grandpoppy, my own childhood was spent in a place where oil had poisoned our water supply. For the sake of imaginary numbers filling imaginary accounts in imaginary banks, our people were allowed to suffer and die.'  

Mama said, 'The revolution that began in the year 2020 changed some things for us. We were no longer invisible or unheard. The government raced to repair our water supplies and to make reparations for generations of systematic abuse. But, it didn't last. Soon, the old corrupt system rose once again by filling the pockets of anyone who would fight for them. Capitalism once again vied against the democratic ideal. The money machine gathered its steam back up and it began to grind forward again. These people', she gestured at the TV, 'Are only the most recent uprising against the tyrrany that has been crippling democracy since the rise of big industry.' 

Nizhoni turned back to the news broadcast. With a mixture of pride, hope, and apprehension, she watched as groups of people of every color joined arms and marched together up to the capital buildings in every city, every state, of the US. There were armed soldiers surrounding the white house, but the crowd in DC was nonplussed, and continued their relentless march forward.  

The people were taking the country back.  

But it wasn't only happening in America. The news flicked from city to city, globally. Every 'capital building' in every country was being advanced upon. Globally, the citizens were united in overthrowing the governments that had been abusing their power for generations. Even in normally placid places, the citizens of 'democratic nations' had been through enough. They were Done. Forever. 

In socialist countries where people had long ago been granted rights to housing and health care, they were cheering this march against 'democracy'. People had flown in from all corners of the globe to support their families that suffered indignity and discrimination at the hands of their local and federal 'authorities'.  

Like ants that spent their lives gathering food for grasshoppers, the citizens of capitalist democracies were undervalued and mistreated. They had finally come together to realize that they vastly outnumbered the criminals that they had signed their lives away to. They were taking their lives back. They were taking back their futures. They were taking back the futures of their children and subsequent generations.  

They gathered under the wheels of the money machine, and instead of being ground into paste, they were dismantling the machine.  

Nizhoni was old enough to recognize the monumental nature of this day. And, her elders made sure that she understood fully the possible outcomes of this day's events. She knew that a single shot fired, anywhere on earth, in response to this protest would turn the world into a bitter, bloody place for generations to come. She knew that any resistance on behalf of the leaders that were being forcefully removed would lead to civil war in her country, in her lifetime. 

Nizhoni watched, transfixed, as all across the world, police and soldiers stood aside. Many of them tossed their weapons on the ground and knelt down on one knee with their head bowed. Many others simply stepped back.  

The people marched, relentless as the tides. And, the capitalist machine was dismantled, one city at a time. Mayors and governors and senators allowed themselves to be herded into the open, where they were given a chance to speak. Many of them cried, moved by the justice of the whole thing. Some of them threatened and blustered. These were contained peacefully. None of them were injured.   

In the weeks that followed, the world collectively heaved a sigh of relief. Minimum wage was raised to a living wage, healthcare was granted to all citizens, colleges and universities became free for all human beings. The borders melted. A unified world government arose.  

The protections that had long been granted to crooks to prevent them from having to pay taxes were abolished. Every person in the world moved forward in their lives with the singular goal of making the world a better place. 

At least, in Nizhoni's mind, this is how things would work out. But, such hopes were like pipe dreams, brief and sweet. The eight year old was filled with a righteous fire, and a desire to enact real change in the world. She was not the only one. Peacemakers and Lightbringers of the world had already begun to unite in earnest. The world was changing before her very eyes. But, nobody could know in advance how history would see events.  

A single crack, a single shot fired. That would be all that it would take to begin a truly global world war.  

Nizhoni watched for hours, barely breathing, as the dynamic between government and society morphed and changed into something unrecognizeable.