A Squire's Trial

by Alisher Mukhitdinov

  A Squire's Trial

  by

  Alisher Mukhitdinov

  2015

  A Squire's Trial

  Copyright © 2015 Alisher Mukhitdinov

  by Alexander Slavros and Charles Chapel

  Language: English

  Publisher: IronMarch

  Published: February 25th, 2016

  Version: 1.2

  Cover art by Jose Antonio Garcia Moreno

  Borrowed from

  ~ Radical Militant Library ~

  Support Your Librarian.

  An Iron March Original short novel done in the format of a Greek Dialogue that unveils what National-Socialism and Fascism is all about.

  Contents

  A Squire’s Trial

  To the reader of this book we pose the question:

  “Would you truly consider him mad,

  one who’d want to revive chivalry?”

  Chivalry – a community of those who “show up everywhere a conflict erupts, in order to spread the terror that their weapons evoke in defense of honor and justice.”

  (Pope Urban II)

  A Squire’s Trial

  “Ahoy, there!”

  I turned around at the strange greeting, and saw a man briskly walk toward me off the highway road and down the path to the storage house. It wasn't rare that we got visitors all the way out here; customers from the city would often come by to check in on their goods, or deal with the boss when his job demanded he stay here. But they all arrived by personal vehicles, whereas this stranger that approached me was traveling by foot. Moreover, he wasn't approaching from the direction of the city – exactly how long has he been walking? As he grew closer, I realized that he may have traveled quite the distance.

  He was clad in black, military-looking clothes, dust and dirt from the road covering his boots and pants up to his knees, a severely scraped and scratched knee-guard on the right leg. A sizable back-pack, a jacket with rolled up sleeves, a loosely tied scarf on his neck, and everything had pockets full of something. The more he approached, the more the little details began to spring up – like some custom patches over his clothes, marks on his knuckles and some scars. What was the most striking element of this peculiar traveler, however, was his face. Sharp features, blond hair combed back with a scruffy beard; certainly not a native to our country, as this was not a common appearance here. He had the face of someone weathered or hardened by experience, and yet his eyes... the man was most likely well into his 40s, but in his eyes was the mirth of youth. Overall, he gave an impression of someone with stories to tell.

  “Could you please tell me if that's the capitol there?” he asked me, pointing towards the city on the horizon. Rather curious how he didn't know this, nevertheless I told him that it was. “Ah, grand! You don't suppose you could share some water with me? My camelback is almost empty.” “Camelback?” I inquired, never having heard of such a thing. He explained to me that his backpack had a reservoir for water, and a tube through which he could drink it straight out of the backpack. I‘ve certainly seen tourists and backpackers before, but none like this man, and certainly not with such equipment, though he insisted it wasn't so uncommon. I pointed him to our well — and this time around I got to surprise him, as it wasn't often that he was offered water from a well; he was used to everyone only ever having bottled water.

  As he was filling up his camelback, I asked if he wanted a ride to the city; my shift was already over, and I needed to run some errands in the capitol myself. He declined, saying “I walked this far on foot, I may as well finish on foot.” This, again, piqued my curiosity, and I had to prod further: “Exactly where from have you been walking to the capitol?” His reply brought more questions than answers as he tried to describe, in some uncertain terms, what I barely managed to piece together as being the port city that was some 350 or more kilometers away! Surely he doesn't mean that he walked the entire way, that would take days! But to my amazement, he insisted that he had, indeed, walked the whole way here, which baffled me completely — who in this day and age would bother walking so far, and moreover, allow himself to lose so much time? Maybe if I knew why he was traveling to the capitol, I could figure out some answers.

  - So why, exactly, are you going to the city?

  - I'm heading to hook up with the Toreros for a while.

  At first I didn't quite realize what he meant, until I looked him over once again and it clicked: he meant the notorious, self-proclaimed fascist gang that gained infamy for practically wiping out the entire antifascist movement in a series of attacks that the media described as “provoking demonstrators into confrontation and leading them to violent ambushes”.

  - You're a fascist?

  - Indeed I am.

  This certainly explained the black military clothes, but it was still a bit hard to take in. The man definitely fit the “blond hair and blue eyes” German Nazi myth that is so prized by fascists. In fact, with his face, one could imagine that he had stepped straight out of a Third Reich propaganda poster; yet his calm and friendly demeanor, as well as that odd youthful fire behind his eyes was nothing like what I'd expect from a fascist. He had a charm about him that was completely disarming, and this was only furthering my confusion. He had obviously noted this, and his expression changed to a very subtle and hard to pinpoint almost-smile or smirk — which wasn't demeaning, but rather one that conveyed his understanding of why I was at a loss. This only annoyed me, and I spoke out again:

  - So what, you're going to join those Torero hoodlums and attack innocent people?

  - Well, I suppose we have a different view of what constitutes an innocent person.

  - Why... why are you even trying to get in contact with them?

  You're obviously not a local, they'll treat you just like they would any other foreigner!

  - Oh, they know I'm coming. They invited me.

  Nationalists friendly with foreign nationalists? Shouldn't they all hate each other in defense of their own or something like that?

  - How did you even come to this country?

  - I traveled by sea, with a band of fascist pirates.

  “Fascist Pirates?” - This was getting absurd. He went on to explain to me that there were fascists calling themselves ‘The Poets’, who traveled in a couple of small ships and apparently raided anyone they wanted, somehow managing to avoid capture, or even much coverage by the media. He had traveled across the continent to the shores of their native land, and they took him aboard — they made their way to the port city, from which he traveled here. During his time with them, he partook in their activities: raided some rich yachts, covertly stole goods from commercial ships and sunk makeshift boats and rafts that immigrants from another continent used to cross the sea. He shared more of his travels with me, which were a very weird mix of expected fascist savagery, inspiring adventures, and stories of truly good deeds. It was also the way he told his tales, although in some cases he described atrocious things like sinking “sand niggers”, he told of these things like he was sharing a particularly humorous anecdote that demanded some theatrical flair on his part to make truly come alive. Never before had I felt so unsettled, and yet truly engaged and interested — had someone observed this from the side, they would've mistaken our exchange for nothing more than a lifelong friend sharing some good-humored stories with someone whom he hadn't seen in years.

  For me, the whole thing was a wild roller-coaster that somehow combined exciting, thrilling banter of a worldly traveler with the unsettling comprehension of the horrid actions this man had taken — and with not a single shred of remorse. It was almost like he was from another planet and our customs were too different to really reconcile, even though we both experienced joy, fun and excitement the s
ame way.

  This man was like no other that I have met, or even heard of before. Sure, we all know of pirates and adventurers; the movies are over-saturated with such characters, but I never imagined that such people could ever be real. There are, of course, historical pirates and travelers, but these things are of a distant past, so this man appeared as something from the history books, or straight out of a movie... and yet he was also a fascist. His visit was an unexpected intrusion into my day, or rather, my life, as I had never encountered anything even remotely like this, possibly making this a once in a lifetime experience: like a bright flash of light in an otherwise monotonous and dull-by-comparison existence. I was sure I’d never meet a man like him again. I felt a burning desire to know more about him, to figure out what made him tick.

  - I don't get it. Hearing you, it feels like you can do anything you want. Why walk around like a vagabond and hang out with bums, calling yourself a ‘fascist’? I bet a man of your ability could lead a successful life.

  - A successful life, you say? Yes, perhaps I could be a lawyer, or an executive... or even a politician? Ha!

  He let out a hearty laugh, more of a bark, really. I didn’t quite understand such an attitude; I myself have always been a rather simple man and didn’t aspire for too much, just enough to get by and lead an alright life — but who would be so dismissive of success and prestige in society? Especially when it’s right within their grasp, as it seems to be with this man. I wouldn’t deny a raise or promotion, so I must admit that his laughter stung me a little. Here he was, laughing at what others, and maybe myself at one point aspired to: as if mocking anyone ever even trying to follow this path that is so common. Instead, he purposely chose to be something that is universally rejected, an idea that could never triumph in this world.

  - What's funny? Why cling to fascism, of all things? Isn't just some failed ideology from the past? What relevance does that have today?

  - Fascism isn't from the past, my friend, it is eternal. Fascism predates humanity! Failed, you say? Does nature ever fail? No, though we might fail her — and that would be the end of us.

  - You're exaggerating, man, talking about this as if it were the one true religion. When I was in college, everyone was preaching their own ideology, and they were all sure that truth was on their side. Fascism is just the same, an ideology like any other.

  - Hah, I've heard that before. Let me ask you, can there be more than one truth?

  - Er... well, everyone's got their own opinion of what the truth is, and-

  - No, I'm not talking about opinions, I'm talking about TRUTH. Could two contradictory opinions be true at the same time?

  - I guess not, if you say it like that.

  - Good. And what, would you say, is the opposite of truth?

  - Falsehood, lies, illusion.

  - On any given topic, can there be more than one falsehood, more than one lie?

  - There could be any number of falsehoods, you could make up anything you want, really.

  - And all those lies, or as you said, all those “made up” ideas, they could be quite different from each other, couldn't they? But what do all of these false notions have in common?

  - Hmm, I don't know... let me think. I guess none of them line up with reality.

  - Indeed, but that's a given, since if they did, they would be truths. But they have something else in common, something more basic. Let me help you: when a liar tells you falsehood, what is he trying to achieve?

  - He's trying to deceive me, to convince me that what he is saying is true...

  - Exactly. Does he warn you that he's lying?

  - No, of course not, then it wouldn't be a falsehood, would it? Oh, I see. All lies are the same in that they pretend to be true.

  - I see you understand now, well done. So would you agree that in this world, while there's one truth, countless lies are scrambling to usurp it and pretend to be the real deal?

  - Yeah, that's the problem, isn't it? What makes you so sure that fascism is the only truth, that all the other ideologies are falsehoods?

  - You misunderstand. I've never claimed that fascism was some fixed doctrine, and that it embodied the whole truth. You have it backwards, it's the other way around!

  - What? I don't understand.

  - I'm a follower of truth, first and foremost. Truth is my religion, truth is my guide, my master. And truth doesn't come from any man—made ideology. If it's an idea that someone dreamed up, then it's a definitely a falsehood. Truth comes from nature herself, from the universe. It just is.

  - That all sounds very interesting, but what does it have to do with fascism?

  - My friend, that is fascism.

  I was unsettled at this answer, which I didn't expect. I stayed dumbfounded for a few moments, not knowing what to think. Am I missing something here? Isn't fascism just some racist nationalist ideology that led to World War 2? Why is this guy convinced there's some mystical truth to it?

  - I see my answer confuses you.

  He once again gave me that subtle smile, and looked to the sky.

  - I guess there’s too much of a disconnect between your preconceived notions about fascism and what I'm conveying to you. Mmhhh... I know, let me tell you a little story before we go on!

  - A story? Another of your adventures?

  - No, not this time. This one's a classic.

  “A certain father had three sons, who were always quarreling. Hearing their constant disputes angered him but no matter how he scolded them they wouldn't see reason. Getting worried about their future, he decides to give them a practical lesson. He tells his sons to bring him a bundle of sticks to him. Tying the sticks together, he asks them to break this bundle. Each of them tries, and fails. The father removes the knot, distributes the sticks to his sons. The boys now break them with ease. ‘You see, my sons, when you're apart, you can be destroyed easily. But if you stick to each other, you become unbreakable.’“

  - It's a nice story.

  - Indeed. This story is thousands of years old. It inspired one of the great symbols of western civilization: the bundle of sticks.

  - I've never heard of it.

  - It's also called the fasces. It was used by the Romans in their ceremonies, and can still be found sculpted in the stone of state buildings in many countries today. The fasces is a symbol of unity. This is where the modern term “fascism” comes from. It has roots going back to the remotest antiquity.

  - I think I see where you're going with this. You claim that fascism has existed since antiquity, passed down from Roman times?

  - No, that's not quite what I'm saying. Truth doesn't need to be passed down — truth simply is. What gets passed down is knowledge, and opinions about this or that.

  - I don't see the difference. After all, if two people have conflicting “knowledge” about something, isn't it just like a difference in opinion?

  - Truth is truth regardless of what anyone says, so “opinions” are a result of ignorance, while knowledge comes from nature, from experience. No one has opinionated arguments about gravity.

  - I'm not sure. Can't different people have different opinions about the same experience?

  - When was the last time you heard someone tell you that you should listen to these “other guys” who say that gravity is caused by your shadow gripping you and dragging you back down to earth? After all, “all opinions are equally valid”, aren‘t they?

  His witty example made me laugh, but at the same time, I saw where he was coming from. You don’t really see arguments of opinion in hard sciences and established facts. I don’t imagine anyone would argue that 2 plus 2 equals 4 with just an opinion, especially since we can literally prove it using our fingers. All these arguments of ideals and opinions that I’ve listened to in college or seen on TV never concerned factual information or say, pit a dentist against someone who pulls out their teeth with a bit of string and a door on matters of dental hygiene. He must have taken my laughter and short moment of musings
as confirmation that I agreed with his point, and he carried on.

  - Here’s another universal element of falsehoods — they are all made up by people, which is, again, why there are so many of them. A lie can be either a conscious creation to deceive, or a result of delusion or misinterpretation.

  - While truth, on the other hand, is like fact; such as gravity, in your example? And it always remains the same, regardless of what anyone says or thinks?

  - Precisely! This is indeed why any and all opinions are a result of ignorance. If you knew the truth, you wouldn’t have an opinion, you’d have knowledge. I’m sure you’ll appreciate, however, the irony, that in this way all opinions truly are equal, in the sense that they are all equally wrong: they are all always false.

  - But people are hardly to blame; trying to explain how nature works out of ignorance is what people do. If we don’t know the answer, we strive to discover it.

  - True, but we must be aware that the path towards Truth is beset with falsehoods, and the further down that path we travel, the more dangerous it becomes as we may start to obsess over things that become abstract or entirely material. This is why I, and others like me, look down on philosophy.

  I was almost taken aback once more, but now that I knew where he was coming from, I could see where he was going next as well, and so let him continue without interruption.

  - Philosophy is like a factory for opinions of the worst kind. One of my pirate friends expressed his distaste for it in a witty manner, I think he described it along these line: “Oh let me dabble with some abstract thought disconnected from reality, content with its own little narrative bubble on human life aaand oh dear god why isn’t it working!? It was so perfect on paper, where has it all gone so wrong? People must have done it wrong! Of course! If only everyone were like ME!”

  - So, what he meant is that philosophy isn’t based in reality?

  - Precisely. Philosophers, and their children — ideologues — are all so concerned with their limited models of the world, that they miss how far they’ve trailed away from reality. Even a child can observe the world around itself — without guidance — and gain better knowledge of it than philosophers, with their abstract formulas.