Invasion
“You don’t feel sad losing Abe and Oops?” I ask.
“Why?” says Louie. “They enjoyed themselves most every second and then died. What’s to feel sad about?”
“But weren’t they your friends?”
“Do you mean will we miss them?” asks Molière.
“I guess that’s what I mean.”
“Abe and Oops each had three kids, each of whom is a chip off the old block.”
“Right down to quoting something from some religious book,” says Louie. “I bet Abe’s last words were ‘I am the Resurrection and the Life.’”
“And Oops’ last words were ‘oops,’” says Molière.
“Although in our language his last words in the last second of his life if translated into English would run to over a hundred thousand words.”
“But ‘oops’ is not a bad, brief English translation,” says Molière.
SIXTY-ONE
(From LUKE’S TRUE UNBELIEVABLE REPORT OF THE INVASION OF THE FFS, pp. 300–306)
Labor Day: now celebrated as the last chance for Americans who still have some money to go to the beach. It had become pretty meaningless. But this year the FFs were going to try to make Labor Day a huge Fun-In, perhaps the largest mass gathering in human history. Americans were amazed that only two weeks after almost a fifth of their earthly population had been nuked, the FFs would want to have fun. In the media, the only ones railing against the monstrosity of what the government had done, whether as a group or because of “rogue” elements, were humans. FFs just kept making jokes and playing. They had no emotions. They were inhuman!
Which, of course, they were. And it soon became clear that their efforts to create a huge, joyful march and Fun-In were going to be successful, at least in terms of attracting huge numbers of people. But a lot of humans were angry at the killing of the FFs and were into protesting rather than fun, but the FFs were working on them to loosen up.
Tens of thousands were joining the march to show their solidarity with the FFs and to protest the government’s use of a nuclear weapon against their ocean block party. And people losing faith in the economic and political system because of workers’ low pay or no pay, their continuing back-breaking medical expenses, and their realization that neither political party seemed able to do anything about anything, began gathering into dozens of groups, some organized, many just linked by common resentment and anger.
The “Tea Party” had originally risen out of anger at the government for wasting money on worthless blacks and Hispanics who won’t work for a living, and being too nice to Mexicans and Latinos who are strolling across wide open borders to steal jobs and welfare from hard-working Americans. But in the last year they’d begun to realize that the government wasted a lot more money on the military and corporations than they did on welfare and food stamps. Lazy Americans might rip off thousands from the stupid government, but oil companies and pharmaceutical companies and military contractors were ripping off billions. Many of the original Tea Party members had become just as angry at the government wasting money with its endless wars in the Middle East as were the progressives and peaceniks.
Actually it’s only progressives. There haven’t been any peaceniks in almost fifty years. They’ve all realized that war is the American way.
Both the established national unions and some maverick Latinos, and a third group of non-union workers who’d organized themselves to march, all welcomed the other marches, even if some of them were normally anti-worker, like the National Tea Party Federation and Republicans for Responsibility. In fact, many of the first groups to sign up for the First National Fun-in were groups not noted for fun: Democrats for Democracy, MoveOn, the National Rifle Association, Americans in Favor of Burning Coal, Oil and Natural Gas Forever, Citizens for a Gluten-Free Diet. The FFs had gotten some of these groups to join the march by telling them that they owed it to the world to march in protest against the FFs and the whole Forthehelluvit movement. By marching they could show where the hearts of Americans really lay: in the barrel of a gun or a better diet. The FFs even had hundreds of signs created for these groups: “Proteans Go Home!” “All Proteans are Muslims in Disguise!” “We Believe in Work, not Play!” “FFs aren’t that Much Fun!”
* * *
However, unbeknownst to these organizations, the FFs had developed plans to infiltrate most of them with human beings a bit more into play and a bit less into preaching.
So that Labor Day more than thirty different marches started from all over the five New York City boroughs, all of them heading toward Central Park in the middle of Manhattan. In Harlem it began when a bunch of Forthehelluvit people doing a “march-in, dance-in, beer-in, music-in” joined the huge group called Justice for Cops: Let them Face Trial that wanted to protest police overkill. Both sides had a lot of posters: “Unarmed Black Men are not for Target Practice,” “If it Ain’t Fun, Don’t Do It,” and “Let Black Kids Live.” These two groups ended up being joined by Justice Now! and Latino Lives Count, which is the group that Carlita marched with. Both those groups had joined together to protest the death of the latest unarmed teenagers. One victim was a Latino boy in Queens shot in the back by a cop defending himself from the threat of being sucked into a vortex by the speed with which the kid was running away. And only three weeks before that a black teen had been shot when he brandished a tennis racket at some nervous cops. For some reason they only wounded him. Some claim that the department later docked the policemen involved a day’s pay for poor shooting.
Gathering on 125th Street, these four groups began marching down Park Avenue. The people on the march were walking and dancing and drinking and playing music and waving posters. Many were dressed in outrageous or corny costumes: everything from Shrek to Captain America to Mickey Mouse. The marchers soon filled Park Avenue. Since the majority of drivers don’t really want to run over other human beings, this street-filling tended to foul traffic.
As the marchers passed businesses and offices, some of the workers decided to take the afternoon off and join the parade. Some businesses decided to close early. A liquor store owner, probably after sampling too much of his own inventory, had one of his kids send out a case of wine and some six-packs of beer to the marchers. Much cheering and thanks, and the liquor store closed, its owner and employees and customers joining the parade.
And all over the city, similar groups were soon marching north from Brooklyn and west from Queens, each heading toward midtown Manhattan and Central Park. And at two P.M., hundreds hanging out in Washington Park in Greenwich Village decided to march uptown and join the fun. Tea Party and NRA groups more than three thousand strong were heading south on Second Avenue just three blocks east of the Harlem group. The NRA members, true to their cause, were all armed: shotguns, hunting rifles, pistols, automatic rifles, and one blunderbuss. Among all the sixty or seventy groups marching the NRA members maintained the most serious and sober expressions throughout. Many times Forthehelluvit people tried to join them with beer, music, flowers, and dancing but they soberly marched on. One doesn’t mess with the NRA.
Over on the West Side MoveOn, Beer-Lovers of America, Free Hispanics from Statelessness, and Revolutionaries for Gradual Change had begun a march down Columbus Avenue starting at Columbia University. They were joined after ten blocks by one of the many FFs Go Home groups, and People For People—some sort of radical group that believed in friendliness. All of these groups were tweeting or texting to bring in more of their friends. Primitive types even used landline phones. More primitive types tried shouting.
All over the city people began getting off buses and joining in. Subway passengers burst up out of the ground to join various actions in the street.
By four that afternoon there were half a million people spread out among many groups all heading for Central Park. Citizens Concerned about Climate Change started in Chelsea, the American Nursing Association from Belleview Hospital, Gays Against Marriage in General from the Village, and so on.
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nbsp; And thousands of children from every part of the city, who were normally lined up by their parents on sidewalks to watch a parade, began not to watch the parade, but to join it.
The mood of the crowds was happy. Even those who wanted to blow up the Pentagon or assassinate various elite members of the Powers That Be were swept up into the good mood and flipped the safeties on their weapons. Since people were drinking, some got drunk. Since some were smoking pot, some got stoned. Since some were thieves, some stole. Some liked to dance and danced. Some loved to play and hear music, and so you could hardly join any march at any point without hearing some band or someone blasting away. A gay time was being had by all—well, mostly all, since there were a lot of purposeful people who were simply trapped by the crowd and couldn’t get where they seriously felt they ought to be.
The city, state, and national authorities were not having a good time. When they began to realize how many different marches were being organized and that they were all heading for Central Park, they tried to break up the various groups as they were getting started. That seemed like a pretty easy thing to do. Until they tried to do it.
From the first they were undermanned. They managed to break up various groups as planned, but no sooner had they radioed in their success than they received reports that the group had reformed three or four blocks away and was bigger than ever. It was like squashing a bug and, when they took their foot off, there were suddenly three bugs. It didn’t help matters that people were coming in from every direction to join the various marches. The Forthehelluvit people didn’t seem to care if they joined a march of the Police Benevolent Association or Gun Owners For Self-Defense or Flower Growers of Eastern Long Island. When confronting a huge mass of marchers, the cops realized that they could either tear gas them all or shoot them all. Tear gassing, they knew, would only make people run faster to wherever they were going. Shooting them all might have worked, but would have involved an incredible amount of paperwork. Eventually the cops ended up standing aside. It is rumored that some joined the various marches, a rumor vehemently denied by all responsible media.
But this was chaos. The authorities realized that their initial efforts to stop marches from even starting were failing. They felt they had to take a major stand. When the Powers That Be decide to crack down on somebody, the first people they look for are blacks, then Hispanics, then intellectuals. So the march they decided to stop by whatever means necessary was the one coming down Park Avenue from Harlem, some carrying nasty posters like “Let Kids Live,” and the ones giving everyone the middle finger.
ITEM IN THE NEWS
LOUIE-TWOIE’S THOUGHTS
(Published in the National High School Weekly Journal, August 7th edition)
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”
Only if you throw it at him.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
For humans that is a vast overpayment.
“A rising tide lifts all boats.”
Not the sunken ones.
“To those who hath, more shall be given.”
Spoken like a CEO.
“Sing before breakfast, cry before noon.”
Still, one sang.
“The meek shall inherit the earth.”
What’s left of it.
“It is better to give than to receive.”
Unless you’re the receiver.
Human beings are fools.
A few, holy fools.
The past keeps you enslaved. Kill it.
Personal history keeps you enslaved. Kill it.
The self keeps you enslaved. Kill it.
Every day is a new dawn. You ignore it and grow old.
SIXTY-TWO
(From Billy Morton’s MY FRIEND LOUIE, pp. 408–412)
That Saturday morning Althea had arranged that our entire office—all twenty-five of us—would march under our own banner: “APEs for a Better World.” Our union guys said they were marching under “Workers Take Over!”
When I watched on Althea’s iPhone the dozens of different marches starting all over the city I was both exhilarated and depressed. Marching involves walking, and these days I’m not much of a walker. If they had a motorized rocking chair I would have been blissful, but without one I felt old.
Of course I went. I could no more resist joining people marching in protest than a lemming can resist racing to jump off a cliff. Lucas and Jimmy had come to the city with me and would march with us. Karen too.
We all joined the marchers who were coming down Park Avenue from Harlem. Lita called to say she was ten blocks behind us. We were pretty impressed with the variety of handheld signs around us: “Bury all Nukes,” “FFs Are Not that Smart,” “Citizens for Wider Sidewalks,” “Come home, America,” “Cancel Government.” A lot of the signs were the same: a giant middle finger being raised from a cartoon hand.
Althea, our APE friends, me, Karen, and the boys got in with the group with the “Cancel Government” sign, and I walked the first two blocks like the real stud I always unconsciously think I am. Surprised me as much as Althea and the boys. Nothing like being with a bunch of young people to give an old guy pep—young people being anyone under fifty-five.
We marched down Park Avenue for about fifteen minutes and, just as I was beginning to get so pooped I was looking around for someone to carry me, all of us came to a halt. Something was happening up ahead. Then we began to be able to ease forward again. At 80th Street we saw some of the marchers near 79th Street moving back toward us.
“Cops up ahead!” some guy shouted. Seeing the retreaters, some of our crowd began turning west toward Central Park. There was no panic. Everything still seemed matter-of-fact: we’re blocked up ahead, let’s head toward Central Park now rather than at 72nd Street as we’d planned.
Ever since I got out of ’Nam I’ve been cursed with a terrible flaw: when I know cops and protestors are face to face some place I have to be one of the faces. Karen felt the same way. So I got Althea to help me and the boys through the retreating marchers toward where the action was.
Soon we got close enough to see about a hundred NYPD cops lined up two deep all the way across Park Avenue. The marchers were blocked. A guy with a bullhorn was ordering us to disperse. Dressed in black, the cops looked like characters out of a sci-fi movie. They were armed with shields and guns and batons and tear gas and tar guns and water hoses. They also had a huge armored vehicle, fresh from controlling our friends in the Middle East. It had three guys on top brandishing some sort of automatic rifles. However, I’m sure they’d been ordered not to shoot unless they felt nervous.
The guys and gals in the front row nearest the police didn’t seem upset at being told to shoo. Damned if some of them didn’t begin to sing “Happy Birthday” to the cops. Two or three went up and kissed a cop, or tried to. Getting past shields and glass visors to an actual pair of lips wasn’t easy. A few cops did seem for some reason to adjust their visors upwards.
Another group began singing “God Bless America.” Most of the others happily turned right and began marching toward Central Park on 79th Street. Althea and I stayed to listen to “God Bless America” and were able to get up to about the fifth row in front of the long line of cops. A small rock band of guys and gals in their fifties began playing The Beatles’ “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road” and a lot of people began singing along with them, including Lucas, Jimmy, and Karen. I can’t carry a tune any better than I can carry a hippopotamus, so I spared the other marchers.
People having fun or not, the lead cop was still bullhorning for us to disperse, move, go home. Some of the cops began banging their clubs against their shields. Shock and awe I guess. The guys with automatic weapons in the armored vehicle couldn’t bang their guns on their shields, so to make their own threatening noises they shot a few rounds into the air. Killed two pigeons and knocked out three panes of glass in a nice town house.
But then things began to get hairy. The crowds that had been moving west toward Cen
tral Park were suddenly surging back, and Lita and her crowd were now pushing down Park Avenue behind us from the north. An entirely new group of people, the Tea Partiers and the huge group from the NRA, were now coming in from the east on 78th and 79th Streets. People were crowding in on us from every direction. Those of us near the line of cops couldn’t go home even if we wanted to.
Things might have worked out okay—even in our universe they sometimes do—but Murphy’s Ancient Law is pretty powerful; if something can go wrong, it will.
The Establishment Union marchers had arrived at 64th Street and one or two speeches had been given. They’d been joined along the way by a thousand or so people who weren’t part of the labor movement but just wanted to join the parade and have fun. When all these people began to hear from their smartphones that only a quarter mile north the cops were harassing a huge crowd of marchers coming down from Harlem, they didn’t like it. When one of the labor leaders interrupted a particularly dull speaker and told the crowd that thousands of marchers just a few blocks north of them needed their help, most of the crowd surged northwards.
Back where I was, the cops actually showed great restraint. Although facing a crowd of thousands made it tough for them to relax, they kept blaring away at the crowd to back up, but in fact it was they themselves who finally began to retreat. They moved a block south to 78th Street. They might have moved further south, but at that point the labor crowd was beginning to arrive from the south. More Tea Partiers and NRA guys were pressing in from the east. The cops reformed their long double line, this time with one side facing north against us and the other south against the labor guys.
About this time the NRA guys—some NRA gals too—came into the sight of the long line of cops. The poor cops had been facing thousands of protestors armed with nothing more threatening than posters, songs, and kisses, and now suddenly fifty or sixty guys and gals carrying guns and looking a bit angry show up. With more of them on the way.