“What happened next?” inquired the presiding chair.
Rafirre signaled to Puddeck, who was to take over that portion of the discussion.
“Some people had to pay dearly for what occurred,” opened Puddeck. “This was somewhat of a predicament as the entire outfit involved with the attack on American soil numbered but a few hundred Kalashnikov-wielding Al-Qaeda militants. Even killing all of them would not have been enough of a payback; under one pretext or another more people had to be killed. This aside, the generals and politicians wanted to make such a display of wrath that no one will ever again dare to afflict mass harm on their civilians and otherwise threaten the American way of life.
“As I just stated, more enemies had to be proclaimed and dealt with. Hence, the Taliban government, which provided a haven for Al-Qaeda, was to be toppled and its people hunted down like dogs. Additionally, the United States declared they will hunt down not only all the group members associated with the attack but also those of all other Jihadist groups on the planet. In perpetuity. Granted, in those days, there may not have been many groups around, but that’s not anything US forces could not fix in due time.
“Within a few months of the invasion, the Taliban ceased to exist; its forces surrendered. Nothing to fight; no one to kill. It was all over. This was a problem. The invading troops had to draw people back into the fight.” Puddeck grinned for a moment. “Consider the situation. Australia shipped its Special Air Service Regiment troops; Albania sent its Special Operations Battalion; Canada flew in their Joint Task Force 2; the Czech Republic sent in its 601st Special Forces Group; Denmark flew in its Jaeger Corps; and the United States dominated the all-star field with its assortment of special ops units such as the Army Rangers and Delta Force. Afghanistan became this giant badass rally. They all came to kill bad guys and otherwise see their hard training put to use. But the Afghans were not playing.”
Puddeck paced about and shook his head regretfully.
“Something had to be done, Your Graces, and the Americans rose to the challenge. They established a network of black sites in Thailand, Morocco, Poland, and Romania. There and elsewhere, they imprisoned thousands of ex-Taliban—ex-government employees and foot soldiers—and hanged them by their wrists from ceilings and subjected them to prolonged sleep deprivation and to mock executions. That did it. The widespread torture turned defeated opponents into mortal enemies, who could serve as proper target practice. The game was back on.
“In fact, soon, supply exceeded demand as various Afghan warlords who wished to settle old scores pointed fingers in exchange for wads of dollar bills from the clueless or perhaps indifferent Americans. Personal feuds and old enemies were repackaged as counterterrorism.” Puddeck winked. “As the ancient proverb goes, ‘The enemy of my Afghan allied warlord is the enemy of the United States.’ Old grudges, large bounties, and wild rumors were enough to get people arrested, tortured, and killed.”
Puddeck nodded soberly. “With the occupation came the inevitable, heartfelt desire to transform Afghanistan into a modern Western society with a vibrant democracy. Like Iraq.
“Billions upon billions of US taxpayers’ dollars started to fall from the sky, and American contractors and NGOs rushed in to capture most of the rainfall. Then they set to work: Erecting a school building with no electricity or plumbing in the middle of nowhere for ghost students who either never existed or were too far away to attend. Providing refurbished cargo planes without spare parts. Cultivating soybean, which could not grow in the colder regions and no one wanted to eat in the first place. Constructing a courthouse overseen by an American plumber. Building a large power plant that was entirely redundant. And other projects whose upkeep was cost prohibitive for the Afghans. As one official confided in us, the decision-makers back home didn’t really care what the administrators did with the US taxpayers’ money in Afghanistan—as long as they spent it.
“The contractors were making money hand over fist. Well-placed Afghan officials got to build luxurious villas in Dubai. And the American politicians back home bolstered their credentials by being tough on terror and bringing democracy to the world. Granted, the Afghan population may not have been pleased with the US-propped government, but let’s get real: you can’t make everyone happy.
“From about 2004, the Taliban regained popularity, as many came to prefer their rule to the corrupt warlords the United States had foisted on the country in their place. Their judicial verdicts deemed fair and impartial, unlike those of the US propped courts, where people were expected to pay bribes they could not afford.
“Without the US military presence and the continuous infusion of US taxpayer dollars, the factions that currently make up the state organ are likely to turn on each other, and the government in Kabul will collapse. This brings us to the situation at present.”
One of the commissioners said, “We have here in our notes that in January 2006, the head of Al-Qaeda offered a long-term truce and an effective end to Islamist militant activities. ‘Both sides would be able to enjoy security and stability under this truce.…If you Americans are sincere in your desire for peace and security, so here it is—we have answered you.’”
“Perish the thought, perish the thought,” said Puddeck with some heat.
“Like the War for Drugs, the War for Terror has been a success story that just keeps on giving. It matters not if one cultivates a fruit tree or war,” he said. “Either way, one needs to prune to invigorate new growth. So you kill would-be terrorists, terrorize others, who in turn will raise a new crop of terrorists, which allow you to expand the anti-terrorist campaign or at least keep it viable. It is said one drone strike yields between forty and sixty new enemies. One cannot overstate the importance of building sustainability into the terror vision. Without this, you risk running the war operation into the ground within a few years. At which point, American defense firms’ stock prices slump; American people are getting laid off; and the American public is left feeling vulnerable.
“For instance, in 2009, the US-led coalition markedly intensified the number of nighttime raids, killing and capturing men in their bedrooms, in plain sight of their wives and children, and shooting any snooping neighbors. This motivated more people to join those actively opposing the occupying forces. There you have it, pruning and seeding at the same time.
“Put another way, thanks to the diligence of the United States, Rebel Alliance bases have sprung throughout: from Jemaah Islamiyah in Indonesia, to ISIL in Syria, to Boko Haram in Nigeria, to Al-Qaeda in India, to Ansar al-Sharia in Yemen, to al-Mourabitoun in Mali, to al-Shabaab in Somalia. US Imperial troops have been leading assaults out of Gabon, South Sudan, Algeria, Morocco, Senegal, Saudi Arabia, India, and Turkmenistan. Assassin drones are blowing up people who are on the American kill list in Libya, Somalia, Yemen, Jordan, Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, and Pakistan. By our most recent count, the American-led War for Terror has engulfed eighty countries—from the Philippines, in the Pacific Ocean, to Niger, in the heart of Africa.
“All of this suggests that the Forever War will remain robust and viable for the foreseeable future,” said Puddeck. He was about to bow but then stopped. “Oh, I do wish to point out that the worldwide deployment of special ops forces, digital surveillance, combat drones, black sites, and hundreds of military bases is a plug-and-play setup. All one has to do in years or decades to come is insert the enemy-of the-state du jour.”
There was a quiet discussion among the commissioners.
“Is the United States some sort of a global empire?” inquired one of them.
“There is no real historical precedence for what it is. For each region of the world, the Americans have a general in command. They have close to one thousand bases spread throughout the planet. Over the decades, American administrations have been overthrowing governments, crushing popular movements, interfering with elections, and propping pro-American strongmen. From Libya and Ir
aq to Guatemala and Cambodia, at various times and places Americans have been a major destabilizing force.”
Silence. For a long time, no one said anything.
One commissioner rubbed his hands over his face. Finally, he sighed and looked at the seated people in the hall. “It seems that from a trigger event, government countermeasures and programs are a seismic wave of breakdowns that gradually amplifies into calamities as the wave cascades wider and deeper. And something tells me that the drug war you briefly alluded to is not any different.”
“Now that you mention it.…” Puddeck’s face split into a wide grin.
“An instructive little story from Afghanistan is in order,” he said after pondering the matter. “Back in the day, the Taliban decreed that opium was un-Islamic, and that was that; virtually all farmers stopped growing the poppies. However, when the US-led forces invaded and toppled the Taliban, the farmers promptly resumed cultivation. In fact, soon thereafter opium production went through the roof.” Puddeck smirked. “You see, about a year after the takeover, the British pledged to give small fortunes to farmers who were willing to destroy their poppy crops. Naturally, this whipped up a poppy-growing frenzy. Farmers planted as many poppies as they were able to, presenting a portion of their harvest to the British in exchange for the promised money, while selling the remainder on the open market.” A few of the commissioners smiled at that.
One of them asked, “In broader terms, what can you tell us about the drug war across the globe?”
“Madam Commissioner, the War for Drugs serves to thin the herd, culling out the dumb and the noncommitted. It assures that only the most ruthless and entrepreneurial stay in the game. The War selects and breeds for those who don’t get deterred, willing to go the distance, and risk incarceration or a shoot-out. Ineptitude by the government allows the illicit drug business to thrive. But in the long run, effective government operations are even better: they send signals to the cartels, forcing them to up their game and bring about a more resilient, agile system. This is how you cultivate first class, top-notch transnational drug distribution networks.
“I am happy to say things are looking bright.” Puddeck smacked his lips happily. “There are thousands of thriving criminal undertakings across the globe, which run the gamut from small outfits to far-flung bureaucratic organizations akin to transnational corporations.
“In the last couple of decades, organized crime has gone global, moving into weak states, conflict zones, and lawless regions—where it is easier to operate. The drug cartels have forged alliances with insurgent forces, simultaneously corrupting elements of national governments and using the power and influence they gain from capturing state institutions to further their criminal activities.
“Drug money not only serves as the financial lifeline that sustains insurgencies, but it also spreads fear and insecurity, frustrating efforts to establish the rule of law, limiting the emergence of a healthy, commercial economy.”
Puddeck paused.
“God bless America!” he proclaimed.
And the session came to an end.
Chapter 35
Foothills of the Organ Mountains, New Mexico, Earth
Lee stood on the hillside by the shade of a small tree, her house within sight. Hagar and Aratta were standing next to her. She was leaving Earth.
“So this is a goodbye,” Lee said, a tremor in her voice.
“We’ll visit,” Hagar told her. “This is a promise.” Her eyes were wet.
“It is,” agreed Aratta, and he opened his arms. The two hugged fiercely and then kissed. Her eyes swimming with tears, Lee turned to Hagar, and the two women embraced for a long time, Hagar whispering something in her ear.
For a moment, Aratta and Hagar stood there smiling, regarding Lee. “Go on, kid,” said Aratta. “Go and live it up.” He winked. Hagar waved. And they were gone in a rush of air.
Lee rested her hand on the gnarled bark of a juniper tree nearby. She then turned and started toward her house. She could not bring herself to say goodbye to anyone else.
By virtue of freak circumstances, she may have impacted Earth and its people more than any one person. She had wanted to see the hearing through. But once the prospect of going to Qataria became real, her tolerance for the prevailing culture on this planet and its people had quickly waned. Approaching now, for the last time, the only home she had ever known, Lee realized there was an additional reason for her desire to leave Earth. She’d been instrumental in bringing outside attention upon this world and felt she no longer had right to mingle with the Terraneans.
The house looked empty. A few hours earlier, two moving trucks had come by and taken most of the stuff away. She gifted the furniture to her acquaintances. The stasis boxes and other compromising items were long removed off-world by Aratta. Except for one small item.
Lee strolled for the last time through the familiar rooms she had walked through so many times before.
Once again, she entered the hidden space in the basement. Its otherwise empty shelves held a single object: a recording device left by her parents with the express instruction to play it only in the eventuality of Lee’s departure from Earth. Finally, she would get to hear the message. She took it to the living room and sat on the remaining chair, then hit play.
“Lee’chelle,” came a voice that sent a shock wave rushing down her spine. Her father.
“Hi, sweetie,” came a soft feminine voice.
Lee took a shaky breath and pressed a fist to her mouth.
“Daughter.” It was her father again. “If you are listening to this recording, it means we are dead. It also means you are about to depart Earth and go to our home planet, Qataria. You may be too young yet to comprehend what we are about to tell you, but maybe you are already turning into a young lady.”
In the wall mirror, Lee saw a reflection of a woman with shots of gray hair. She looked away.
“Lee’chelle, a few times in people’s lives here, they may be in touch with something within, something that comes from the root. It is an outlook on life. Blazing like a sun, this outlook is outside the spectrum of the existing culture on Earth. It is an unarticulated sense of an immense possibility.
“Down here on this planet, occasional manifestations of this innermost-self occur in spite of the prevailing social reality—not as an extension of it. And they mostly occur in the context of a few, solitary and autonomous forms, as through the arts. At large, there is nothing to express oneself onto, nothing to express oneself through, nothing to express it for. It seems that profound expressions of one’s self have no place to evolve here. On Earth, people do not fully actualize themselves.
“Now and then, an individual articulates that sense of an immense possibility. Later they die, leaving behind fossils. And in some other locale, in some other time, some other individual is in touch with this blaze. Centuries go by. And the status quo is maintained: unlinked, short-lived glowing drops scattered in a dim ocean that is the human civilization on Earth. The glowing drops come and go; the ocean stays dim; and this is the order of things.”
For a few seconds, only a faint hissing sound came from the tiny speaker.
Her father said, “What would it be like to define life and form an identity within a social reality that supports out-and-out expressions of self? Daughter, I hope you are to find out. In Qataria, our home world, you will learn to dance with the unfathomed, with the irrepressible, and with the uncontrollable.
“Along with other young people, you will be coached to focus on the moment; to confront yourself and your deepest fears. You will learn to have a total commitment of self, total intentionality toward a goal. You will learn to put principles before the expediency of the moment. You will cultivate a sense of inner balance. You will delight in the moment and come to have an awareness of the present.”
“We could not be any happier contemplating this pr
ospect,” her mom said. “A few decades before we were out of the timefold, a local boy—probably just a bit older than you are now—left behind some letters. Shortly afterward he disappeared, probably died in one of his journeys in the canyons and buttes of the Southwest.
“His letters included some lines we’d hoped to share with you.” There was the sound of paper rustling, then the voice of her mom, reading out loud, “‘I am drunk with a searing intoxication that liquor could never bring—drunk with the fiery elixir of beauty, and the soul-piercing inevitability of music…I am tortured to think that what I so deeply feel must always remain, for the most part, unshared, uncommunicated….Yet, at least I have felt, I have heard and seen and known beauty that is inconceivable, that no words and no creative medium are able to convey. Such is my cry, such is my plaint. I am condemned to feel the withering fire of beauty pouring into me. I cannot bear to contain these rending flames, and I am helpless to let them out. So I wonder how I can go on living and being casual as one must.’
“Reading the letters he’d left behind,” her mom continued, “we have felt so deeply for this kindred spirit. We wished, time and again, we could have provided for him, what we imagine Hagar is about to provide for you: a chance to be in a culture that is a venue for and an expression of this fiery sense of life.”
Silence. Then the voice of her father came on one last time. “Seize the day, Lee’chelle.”
“I love you, sweetheart,” said her mother.
A soft click as the recorded message came to an end.
For a few minutes, Lee sat on the wing chair in the otherwise empty house until the tears stopped flowing.
“I’m—” She rose from her seat, the recording device in her pocket—“I am ready.”
And she was gone from Earth.
Then rematerialized hundreds of kilometers above Qataria.
The planet filled most of the sky, slowly rotating on its axis. Lee whooped in delight mixed with astonishment.
The Earth Hearing Page 39
