Shikasta

by Doris Lessing

  It is clear that the white contingent stood their ground with difficulty, looking straight in front of them, and not at the furious brown, black, and golden faces confronting them, and holding their positions only with an effort of will. There was a long and intense silence. The old white did not move. The two children on either side of his chair deliberately raised their heads and stared up and around the tiers of faces. It seems that Benjamin Sherban maintained a characteristic lounging and almost casual posture.

  The sun was already going, the shadow had engulfed George Sherban’s contingent, and the evening had arrived: a warm, gritty, uncomfortable evening.

  ‘I am now going to call my first witness,’ shouted George Sherban – and these were the last words he was to say for many days. He was never absent from the ‘Trial’ while it was in progress, but he kept himself inconspicuous among the group on the Prosecution side.

  The first witness was brilliantly chosen. (From a certain point of view.) She was a delegate from Shansi Province. A girl of about twenty. She was, of course, well fed and neatly dressed and looked healthy and at once the atmosphere lost tension. We are not popular. This is the penalty we have to pay for our superiority! (I rely on our old understanding of the subtle, and necessary, and often ironic shifts and changes of events.) It is not that our Chinese Youth behave incorrectly. On the contrary, they are at all times enjoined to correct behaviour, wherever they may find themselves. But the fact is that they do enjoy certain advantages from the very nature of our Beneficent Rule, and – in short – it was not easy for the underprivileged Europeans, and the representatives of the Emergent Nations, to identify with her. Our Agent Tsi Kwang commented that she was pleased that the first witness was Chinese, and then ‘disturbed’, for she felt it was ‘impertinent in a way she couldn’t grasp without further analysis’. The comment by the unfortunate Benjamin Sherban was: ‘What a thing a crowd is! A conglomeration of unstable elements, would you say? If the Devil may quote scripture …'

  This witness recited, for no more than fifteen minutes, slowly and clearly – as was the style imposed on everyone – the crimes committed by the white races on China, and ended (this was to prove the conclusion or summing-up of nearly every witness) ‘… and were always guilty of insulting and inhuman contempt, and of stupidity, and of ignorance of the Chinese people and our glorious history.’

  It was by now nearly seven, and the arena was a well of dusk. The tiers were in semi-darkness. Our delegate, having finished, returned to stand with the others in the shadows, as the tiers called applause and clapped. But it was not the tumultuous applause that might have been expected for the first of the ‘witnesses’, and that would have been forthcoming (I say this in a spirit of dispassionate comment) if the first witness had been an American Indian – for instance. No, the emotional temperature had dropped, and this is a conclusion quite inescapable after study of the various agents’ reports. And besides, I am writing as the – I hope not altogether unskilled – organizer of a thousand public events.

  The torches were then lit. It was done like this: from four different aisles through the tiers were seen descending great flaring lit torches, and under them shadowy figures that turned out to be of different colours, gold, brown, black, and white. They ran with these torches across the arena, inevitably evoking associations of the Olympic games, and similar emotional international occasions from the past, and handed the torches to the children who stood waiting to take them. The children were dressed in the various uniforms of their organizations. They reached up on tiptoe – this detail was mentioned by all the agents, so it clearly made an impression – to put fire to the bundles of reeds that stood out from the arena walls. One after another torches flared up, and illuminated the arena. This little ceremony was watched with great attentiveness. There was a murmur of appreciation. What this murmur meant was interpreted differently by the agents.

  The lighting ceremony took some time. Being the first there were snags. One torch fell from its place, the two children retreated, an older girl leaped down from the tier just above and took charge, inserting the torch again in its sconce, and helping the children to light it, skilfully – and dangerously – using the remains of a torch that had been carried down through the tiers: all this was obviously unpremeditated and unorganized, and in tune with the informal atmosphere. Another torch had burned up too bright, and was sending up tongues and wings of flame too close to the people in the rank above, and it had to be brought down, put out, and another put in its place. By the time all this was done, the atmosphere was loose and relaxed, the delegates were chatting to each other, and it was quite dark. It was a hot and dusty dark, and the stars were not strong enough to relieve it. Below, the two opposing groups faced each other. And strong in the wavering and flaring light, was the old white man, sitting quite still, with his two children, white and black, on either side.

  The moon came up from a bank of low cloud. I swear this was stage management! It was a half-moon, but brilliant, and Venus was near it. The setting was quite perfect for a Torch Pageant, or Banner Event, or a Dragon Dance.

  Nothing happened for a few minutes. It is evident that everyone was silenced by the beauty of the scene, the drama of the arena. Then it was observed that the group on the prosecution side was conferring. Informally. That everything was to be kept informal had been indicated from the start, and then confirmed, and confirmed again. People from both groups had already left them and gone to sit in the tiers, and others had replaced them – a continual coming and going. The first ‘witness’ had made her way back to the Chinese Delegation. Which, incidentally, had been put prominently and distinctively in a bloc in the very best position, low down and halfway between the two groups. This was the only national group which was allotted a special position and marked with a banner – the only one, in other words, to which attention was directed throughout the ‘Trial’.

  After a few more minutes of starlight, the rising moon, the ambiguous arena, and, of course, the charming children who were bravely and earnestly attending to the flaring torches – one of the group, but not George Sherban, strolled forward to confer with the accused, and then this person, a girl, shouted up that it was felt by the contenders that the proceedings had been opened, everyone knew how things stood, and people must be tired and hungry, and perhaps it would be a good thing if the Trial should be ended early, just for this one night. Did everybody agree?

  No one disagreed.

  And in that case, she shouted, the meal would be served at nine, for this one evening, and not at twelve, as it would on future nights. She then outlined the plan for sessions, asked for tolerance, since food had not been obtained easily and would be limited, asked for everyone to be vigilant against looters, and to treat the local people with respect, and emphasized that they would have to ‘call on reserves of good will and comradely understanding during the coming month which would tax their endurance and patience to the limit’.

  That this girl was an ordinary delegate, not one of the ‘stars’, and that most people did not know who she was, made a good impression.

  The tiers emptied fast, as the delegates found their way in a half-dark. The camp was minimally lit, with hurricane lamps in the mess tents and at their entrances, and outside the latrines, which were tents over pits.

  Somehow these people got themselves fed in the crammed mess tents.

  That was the first day of the ‘Trial’. I consider it a marvel of crowd handling.

  After that first evening meal, most people slept, exhausted. Many slept where they were in the mess tents, while the servers stepped over them with their trays. Some slept anyhow outside their tents – inside was too hot. It was a scene of apparent disorder. But even so, the whites removed themselves to their self-created ghetto, and posted guards.

  Next morning, at four, when the two contending groups stood in the arena under the newly lit torches with their yawning attendant children, the tiers were half-filled, and during that session rem
ained half-full, for many of the delegates were too tired to rouse themselves.

  So that dramatic early morning session was at half pressure, and when at eight o’clock the laggards staggered up to meet those who had been for four hours on the stone seats, with the dawn coming up red, dusty, and very warm, again to repair to the mess tents for their bread and fruit, it was to hear at secondhand a report of the proceedings. There had been two ‘witnesses’, both much looked forward to, and of prime emotional importance. First, the representative of the Indian tribes of North America, and then the witness from India.

  A young man from the Hopi tribe of the Southwest of the United States stood alone in the centre of the arena calling up into the half-empty tiers, turning around slowly so that all could hear and see, holding out his palms in front of him as if ‘he was offering himself and his case to us in his outstretched hands, poor fellow.’ (Benjamin Sherban). When he started it was full night with thick stars. They dimmed as he, went on.

  Europe had been crammed with miserable starving people because of the greed of its ruling classes. When these downtrodden ones protested, they were persecuted, hanged for stealing even an egg or a piece of bread, flogged, thrown into prison … they were encouraged to leave and go to North America, where they systematically stole everything from the Indian tribes who lived there in harmony with the earth and with nature. There was no trick, or cruelty or brutality these white thieves did not practise. When they had filled the land from coast to coast, and killed off the animals and destroyed trees and the soil, they confined the Indians in prison areas and mistreated them. These people, whose very existence in this great land of the Indians was because of the greed and cruelty of their own kind, now forgot their recent history and became the same themselves. Very soon, the white thieves had divided themselves into rich and poor, and the rich were as cruel and oppressive and uncaring of their fellow humans as any in history. Due to the exploitation of the labour of the poor, the new rulers became very powerful, and exploited not only North America but other parts of the world. They imported slaves from Africa, again in the most cruel and brutal way, to do their work and be their servants. This great country, which once was inhabited by peoples who did not know the words for rich, poor, owning, possessing, who lived their lives through in communion with, and obedience to, the Great Spirit who rules the world (I am of course quoting from the agents’ reports), this rich and beautiful country was despoiled, poisoned, made an arsenal of weapons. And from coast to coast, from North to South, every person in it was made to worship not the Great Spirit who was the soul of every person of mankind, but the accumulation of wealth. Money. Goods. Objects. Eating. Power. The poorest of the whites was rich compared with the subject Indians. The most deprived and exploited of the poor were privileged in law compared with the people whose real home this was. This United States – a term which he used with contempt, spitting it out – was a place of shame, wickedness, corruption, evil. And all these crimes had been committed in the name of ‘progress’ – spitting it out. All, in a spirit of self-congratulation and self-approval.

  And then, the summing up, the indictment:

  ‘At the root of this criminal behaviour was contempt, the despising of others not like yourself, an arrogance that prevented you from ever even enquiring into the real nature of the peoples you dispossessed and treated as inferiors, a lack of humility and the curiosity that is based on humility. The indictment against you is arrogance, ignorance, stupidity. And God will punish you. The Great Spirit is punishing you, and soon you will be no more than a memory, and a shameful ugly memory.’

  These words were called up, or half shouted, phrase by phrase, very slowly, and the young man had his face to the sky, and his hands always held open and out – by the time he had ended, the sky was paling. The old white man sat there unmoving, and silent.

  Complete silence. No one moved.

  The torches were smoking and the children, aided by George Sherban, put them out. The cicadas had begun.

  Throughout this contribution, a few laggards were making their way down to seat themselves. The great amphitheatre remained half-empty as a young woman from North India, the leader of the Youth Armies, Sharma Patel, George Sherban’s reputed mistress, walked forward to the centre.

  She is beautiful, and made an impression at once. Agent Tsi Kwang described her as ‘striking, and with many personal advantages’.

  ‘Europe, mostly Britain, but other countries too, had seen India, as Europe always did, as a place to be conquered, exploited, used. For two and a half centuries India had been drained of its wealth.’ Here followed twenty minutes of statistics. This was not altogether successful: material and delivery appropriate to a seminar were used in this vast setting where it was necessary to strain the ears to hear anything. Before this part of her contribution was done, her audience was restless, if sympathetic. ‘India had been occupied “for her own good”, of course, in the usual hypocritical mode of Europe, by armies and by police, and the continent’s inhabitants, with their intricate ancient history, their many complementary religions, their diverse cultures, were treated by the white invaders as inferior. The rule of Britain over India had been accomplished and maintained by arms, and by the whip. The people who did this were the barbarians. They were …’ and here came the familiar indictment: ‘They were arrogant. Their exploitation of India was done in the name of progress and of their own superiority. Superior! Those ugly clumsy people with their thick minds and bodies! Yet these superior people were incapable of learning even the languages of the people they subjugated. They were ignorant of our customs, our history, our ways of thought. They were never anything but stupid people, stupid, ignorant, and self-satisfied.’

  These two contributions took until eight.

  The late sleepers had to hear about the first two ‘indictments’ from those returning to look for their breakfast. ‘Well, yes, but we know all that’ was the frequent comment. As if they were expecting more, or something different. But what? For this was a consistent emotion from the beginning of the ‘Trial’ to its end. It is something I have pondered on, and still find an enigma.

  Throughout that day, until five and the evening session, it was hot, uncomfortable, and difficult in the camp. Everyone understood that this indeed was going to be no easy time. There were too many of them. There was not enough water. Already sorties were being made in search of new supplies of food and water. The dust was on everything. This was the time they should be sleeping, but where? And the local people had already arrived, were arriving more and more, and stood about, watching the thousands of young people who milled around looking for more food, a little shade, places to sleep. What they did, in a resigned enough spirit, was to settle down in groups, perhaps playing instruments and singing, or talking, or discussing conditions in their respective countries. Such meeting times of the youth have always been – I have consistently maintained – not far-off legislative sessions! In effect, at least. And George Sherban and his brother and the other ‘stars’ were everywhere, taking part in discussions and music making. The old white was there, too, received well enough by everyone, and indeed often finding himself the centre of interested groups.

  The generality of the white delegates – about seven hundred of them, stayed in their enclave of tents that day, and when they emerged for a meal or other purposes, behaved quietly, avoiding eye confrontation, and if challenged, smiled, and were bland and polite. They behaved, in fact, as so many of their subject peoples have always had to do: they were trying to be invisible.

  This day, and after that night’s session, and next day, the whites were in real danger, but after that, the emotions lost force.

  Our agents were assiduous. It is clear that all were misled to some extent by their very proper enthusiasm for justice. They talked of ‘a total victory’ over the white races. But what could they mean? They seemed to imagine not only a ‘verdict in their favour’, but even summary justice of some kind. But to be carried
out how, and on whom? The person of John Brent-Oxford? On their fellow delegates? I can only conclude from these fevered (but of course entirely understandable) reports, that the atmosphere and feelings in the camp must have been running very high, and beyond any reason.

  I was struck then, and am struck again, by the difference in tone between the early reports of our agents and the later ones. Because of what can only be judged by us as their wrong assessment of situations, must we now assume that their assessment of other matters is sometimes faulty?

  For the second evening session, guards escorted the whites, in a body, to the amphitheatre. The guards were appointed by the organizers, and included both Snerbane, Sharma Patel, and other ‘stars’. The white delegates sat together, during that session, and were positioned opposite to the place reserved for our people, the Chinese. This gave the impression of a confrontation, for as I said, no other delegates sat according to national or racial origin.

  It is clear that the confrontation, whites vs. Chinese (which is how it looked) was disapproved of by our delegates, who had felt that an honour (a proper, justified, and appreciated honour offered to our Beneficial Rule) was being denigrated and even mocked, because the hated and despised whites were now being similarly set apart, and immediately opposite themselves. Even if for very different reasons.

  Once again there was the opposition between the ‘accusers’ led by the – silent – George Sherban, and his group, and the ‘accused’, the old white, and his group.

  Once again, the late afternoon fading into dusk, the lighting of the torches, the attractive children, the constant coming and going between floor of arena and tiers and between camp and amphitheatre, which was crammed, packed, jammed with people.

  All of the second night’s session was taken up by representatives from South America, young men and women from the Indian tribes. Thirty of them. Several were wasted with disease. It is hard to imagine how some made the journey at all.