by Bob Brown
ALTERNATIVE TRUTHS
Edited By
Phyllis Irene Radford and Bob Brown
B-Cubed Press
Benton City WA
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2017 Robert L. Brown and B-Cubed Press
All Rights Reserved
Interior Design (ebook): Vonda N. McIntyre
Interior Design (print): Bob Brown
Cover Design: Alexander James Adams
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First Printing: 2017
First Electronic edition: 2017
Electronic ISBN: 978-0-9989634-0-2
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Foreword by Rick Dunham
Editors’ Foreword by Phyllis Irene Radford and Bob Brown
Q & A by Adam-Troy Castro
The Trumperor and the Nightingale by Diana Hauer
President Trump, Gettysburg, November 19, 1863 by Jim Wright
Relics: a fable by Louise Marley
As Prophesied of Old by Susan Murrie Macdonald
Good Citizen by Paula Hammond
The Frame by Bobby Lee Featherston
Altered to Truth by Irene Radford
about_the_change.wav by Joel Ewy
Alt Right for the President’s End by Gregg Chamberlain
Melanoma Americana by Sara Codair
Patti 209 by K.G. Anderson
It’s All Your Fault by Daniel M. Kimmel
Letters from the Heartland by Janka Hobbs
Rage Against The Donald by Bruno Lombardi
Pinwheel Party by Victor D. Phillips
Monkey Cage Rules by Larry Hodges
The Last Ranger (ANPS-1, CE 2053) by Blaze Ward
Raid at 817 Maple Street by Ken Staley
Frozen by Liam Hogan
Duck, Donald: A Trump Exorcism by Marleen S. Barr
Walks Home Alone at Night by Wondra Vanian
The History Book by Voss Foster
We’re Still Here by Rebecca McFarland Kyle
Acknowledgements
About the Authors
FOREWORD
Rick Dunham
“Elections have consequences,” Barack Obama told riled up Republican critics three days after becoming U.S. president in 2009. “And at the end of the day, I won.”
Yes, elections have consequences. Donald Trump’s Electoral College victory in 2016 has had wide-ranging consequences that many Americans had never dreamed likely, from unraveling four decades of environmental regulation to promoting a “Great, Great Wall” along America’s southwestern border. A small but telling consequence of Trump’s triumph is that the Oxford English Dictionary’s 2016 “word of the year” was “post-truth” — an adjective defined as “relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief.”
“This is the problem with the media,” Trump lieutenant Corey Lewandowski told reporters and academics at a post-election seminar at Harvard University. “You guys took everything that Donald Trump said so literally. The American people didn’t. They understood it.”
For many journalists and writers, keepers of the flame of truth, the ascendancy of Trump has been a flickering journey to the first circle of Hell, sort of Kafka meets Dante by way of Orwell. It’s not just that the former reality TV host has labeled journalists “enemies of the people” (a favorite phrase of Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin) or “dishonest” or “the lowest form of life.” It’s that the man who promises to “make America great again” has shown a great disdain for norms of civil discourse and factual decency. The Washington Post’s “Fact Checker” column documented 394 cases of false or misleading claims by Trump during his first 84 days in office, an average of 4.69 presidential untruths each day. “Mendacity has become the norm,” commented New Jersey Senator Cory Booker.
With facts in flux, it is not surprising that “post-truth” was only the beginning of a stream of new words used to describe our new reality. Fake News. Alternative Truth. Alt-Right. Parallel media universes.
Fake news was coined by media analysts to describe false reports planted on social media and the internet by allies of Russian leader Vladimir Putin. But it quickly was adopted by Trump to discredit any news report critical of the new American president. Alternative truth, a term invented by Trump counselor Kellyanne Conway, is an Orwellian concoction describing something that defies reality but that you insist is real. Alt-Right, an alternative to the Republican Right of the Reagan-Bush era, is a polite synonym for “white supremacists,” or neo-Nazi nationalists. Parallel media universes refer to our fractured media world, where conservatives look to Fox News, Breitbart, and talk radio to tell them what to believe, and liberals get their information from the New York Times, National Public Radio, and MSNBC.
In a post-truth world, basic facts are subject to dispute, rather than simply to interpretation. Two-thirds of Trump’s primary election backers believe that Barack Obama is a Muslim, according to a Public Policy Polling survey taken in May 2016, and 59 percent remain convinced he was born outside the United States, the phantasmagorical fiction of the “birther” movement. Neither is true. Esmond K.L. Quek, a business consultant and economist from Singapore, said during a discussion of the post-truth world in December 2016, “The philosopher in me says this is the decline of mankind and human decency.”
Philosophers may be despairing, but fiction writers are not. After all, it’s just one step from Kellyanne Conway’s “alternative truth” to “alternative history,” such as MacKinlay Kantor’s 1961 novel, If the South Had Won the Civil War, or Sinclair Lewis’ 1935 warning of a fascist takeover of America, It Can’t Happen Here. Well, Donald Trump’s election did happen here, and this anthology uses it as a jumping off point to give some of America’s most creative science fiction writers an opportunity to conceive of their own alternative history scenarios.
As a journalist for 35 years and a journalism professor for four more, I feel that truth and fairness are our twin missions. Like many journalists, I feel uncomfortable being placed in a position of referee, writing that something a public figure has said is true or false. But in our “post-truth” world, it is my moral obligation to separate reality from “alternative truth.” If I do anything less, I am becoming a propaganda tool of the prevaricators. “I hope those who want to devalue journalism, especially investigative journalism, get the message: a world without facts can’t function,” said Jim Asher, who won the 2017 Pulitzer Prize for his role in the Panama Papers project detailing the ways wealthy and powerful individuals around the world hide their assets.
There is some good news for truth-tellers. According to a March 2017 poll by Quinnipiac University, 89 percent of American voters say it is “very important” or “somewhat important” that the news media hold public officials accountable. The International Center for Journalists, with the support of the Craig Newmark Foundation, has created “TruthBuzz,” a global fact-checking challenge to develop new methods for truth to reach the widest possible audience. And some major news outlets are demonstrating an aggressive commitment to speaking truth to the powerful. “Stand up for what you believe in,” Martin Baron, editor of the Washington Post, said at Ohio University in September 2016. “Don’t do it
on impulse . . . You’re not just entitled to do that, but you are obligated.”
EDITORS’ FOREWORD
Phyllis Irene Radford and Bob Brown
Editors, Alternative Truths
The Alternate Truths Anthology was formed, when on February 23, 2017, I, and many of my friends, asked what we could do to resist the taking of our country.
We were not rich, we were not famous, we didn’t even have our own TV network. But we could write. So we did, we joined together in that noble tradition of Menken, Twain, and Swift to use our pens to poke the powerful.
So was born, B Cubed Press and our first anthology, Alternative Truths. We committed to an insane deadline to have this out to the public by Day 100, a designated date of assessment of any new President of the United States.
And we must give thanks, where thanks is due. Kellyanne Conway was not the first political operative to apply flexibility to truth, but she gave us strength and purpose when she coined the phrase, “Alternative Facts,” in describing what George Orwell had, for all previous generations, labeled as New Speak.
Truth, like beauty, especially political truth, is in the eye of the beholder, and for years Americans have tolerated the common elements of exaggeration and rhetoric from their politicians. But not since the early days of the nation has such a mockery of truth been made in the name of politics. And in that vein we present to you, Alternative Truths.
Alternative Truths is a look at the post-election America that is, or will be, or could be. We attach no manacles to the word truth to bind it to our visions. Instead we free it to find its own way through the minds of the two dozen writers who have shared their vision of the future in either sensitively written allegorical tales such as Relics by Louise Marley, a woman who grew up bucking hay in Montana and moved on to a talented musical performer and successful novelist; or the raw humor of Adam Troy-Castro in his Q & A, which takes on the verbal veracity of Donald J. Trump.
Whomever or whatever you like, you will find here with an absolute appreciation for the fact that we live in a great country where you can still publish a book like this. This is due in part to the continued efforts of the American Civil Liberties Union. To paraphrase Thomas Jefferson, the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the ink of patriots.
And patriots these writers are, for they speak truth to power, and do so in the public square. And they do so because of the Constitution of these United States, and the vigilance of groups like the ACLU. Because of this, we are treating the ACLU as a part of this work and a writer’s share of the royalties will be donated to their unending quest for the freedom of the American People to express themselves. We hope you enjoy the read.
DEDICATION
In loving memory of Victoria E. Mitchell 1954-2017, a fabulous writer of science fiction and fantasy. She wrote a story for this anthology which we wanted to buy. Unfortunately she passed away before she could respond to the acceptance. We will miss her charm and her wit.
For more information about Vicki: http://www.v-e-mitchell.com/ or https://www.fantasticfiction.com/m/v-e-mitchell/
Q & A
Adam-Troy Castro
Question: President Trump, do you have any comments on the recently discovered snuff footage of you strangling a small child to death with your bare hands?
Answer: Well, first of all, I thank you all for coming here.
I, really, coming off the greatest electoral college win of all time, there’s never been a more popular President ever, children are good.
Absolutely!
Fabulous!
But the country is a big mess, a total disaster, murder in the streets, entire neighborhoods in flames, boroughs in New York being swallowed up by flaming cracks in the Earth.
Chicago, very bad!
Awful!
Obama didn’t do a damn thing to stop it. This is why nobody, literally nobody anywhere, voted for Hillary.
Children: you have to ask who’s paying the people who took the footage.
I have children, myself. Ivanka, look at her. I would have sex with her right now, on this podium, if I wasn’t her father.
I think children, children, you know, with my success in business, a model for the things that make this country great, and people who say otherwise are a big joke, a bunch of losers.
Why don’t you ask Rosie O’Donnell that? Another loser.
Next question . . .
END
THE TRUMPEROR AND THE NIGHTINGALE
Diana Hauer
Based on The Nightingale by Hans Christian Andersen.
Once upon a time, in the Northeast Kingdom, there was a shining city of towers that touched the sky. The city had all the tallest and oldest and most beautiful towers in the world, built by men of vision and wealth. The greatest among those men was Emperor Trump, the Trumperor. His towers were the tallest and finest. The insides had all the best furnishings, with cushions of velvet and plating of gold. All envied him and his wealth.
The Trumperor wore the finest suits and bought all the finest things. His hands only held pens and forks plated in gold. Even his hair was golden, though it had a way of refusing to be styled. Perhaps it reflected the personality of the one whose head it rested upon. His skin held a tinge of orange-gold that spoke to his royal heritage.
As the Trumperor’s power grew, the common people clamored for a powerful leader. There was a grand debate; it took over a year to settle. More than twenty men and women vied for the affection and attention of the populace. In the end, while more people liked the wife of a former leader named Clinton, more provinces favored the Trumperor. And so it was that the Trumperor came to rule over many kingdoms. He was given a fine, white house, but most nights he stayed in one of his many beautiful towers so that he could properly look down upon all that he ruled.
One day in the spring, after a long afternoon of signing papers that boring people who talked too much lay in front of him, the Trumperor sat in front of his talking picture box to relax. The picture box showed him news from many foreign lands, and it showed him people to tell him how he should feel about the news. It also had shows to entertain, to excite, and inform. On one such show, the Trumperor heard of the nightingale. The nightingale was said to be the singer of the most beautiful songs in all the lands. The Trumperor was seized with a desire to hear the nightingale sing.
“Trumpress!” he yelled. “Attend me!”
A slender, brown-haired beauty, many years his junior rushed into the room. Her name was once Melania, but it had long ago been eclipsed by her role as the Trumperor’s wife. The Trumperor bought her as a slave, raising her from a life of poverty to one of luxury as his concubine. She was his third wife by his choice and could be easily replaced. Never did he let her forget it.
She bowed her head and curtsied when she entered the room. “What is your wish?” she asked.
“Bring me this ‘nightingale’ that I heard about on the picture box,” he said. “I want it to sing to me after dinner.”
“I have never heard of the nightingale,” said the Trumpress. “How am I supposed to find it?”
“I don’t care,” snapped the Trumperor. “It better be here tonight, or after dinner, you’re fired!”
The Trumpress turned pale as a winter lily and retreated from the room, bowing and murmuring apologies.
In the corner, pale and silent, stood Little Barron. The youngest child of the Trumperor, and only child born of Trumpress Melania, he was the lowest of the royal children. His skin had barely a hint of the royal orange, though his hair was the same spun-gold as his father’s. As he watched the scene unfold, he shrank further into the corner and hoped that he wouldn’t be noticed.
He need not have worried. The Trumperor had eyes only for his magic picture box and the device that tweeted messages out to his adoring followers. Little else mattered to him when he was in such a mood.
~o0o~
The Trumpress had few friends of her own in the tower. In desperation, she
turned to her husband’s courtiers and sycophants for help.
“Nightingale? Never heard of it,” said Conway Goldenhair, chief speaker for the Trumperor. “It sounds boring.”
“Is that the name of a band of musicians?” asked Preice Reinbus, chief strategist for the Trumperor. “It would be a great name for a solo act.”
“I can tell you,” said Bannon the White, chief adviser to the Trumperor. “It will only cost you your soul.” The Trumpress ran from the room without answering. Bannon’s oily laughter followed her down the hallway.
The Trumpress wept in fear and desperation. Her husband had a fearsome temper, and if he turned her out, she would have nothing. And what would become of Little Barron without her? When she could cry no more, the Trumpress’s hair and makeup were ruined from her tears and frantic running around. She summoned her stylist to put her face and hair aright. The stylist was one of many pretty, young women who served the royal family. She coaxed the story out of the Trumpress, either because she had a kind soul or with an eye to selling the story to the other courtiers.
“The nightingale?” asked the stylist, raising her perfectly plucked eyebrows so high that they vanished beneath her bangs. “I know her quite well. She sings in the central forest that I walk through to get home every night. If you give me a raise and a promotion, then I will happily lead you to her.”
Gratefully, the Trumpress accepted the deal. She put on a nice walking dress, had the servants dress Little Barron in a suit and tie, and followed the stylist into the woods.
Naturally, half the court followed along. They were not about to pass up drama like this.
~o0o~
Little Barron held his mother’s hand and stared about with wide eyes. He did not often get to leave the tower, let alone go anywhere as dirty and disorganized as the forest. The Trumpress had eyes only for the stylist and her goal. Off in the distance, a dog howled.
