Even with all that, I wasn’t convinced that things were so bad that they required a response from Mauru and me in San Diego. Food still found its way onto supermarket shelves, mail was still delivered, schools remained open, the government functioned, and the utilities all worked. The only thing that was different was the amount of dust in the air, which got in your eyes, ears, and nostrils. You were always sneezing, coughing, and putting some ointment or other into your eyes, but you learned to adapt. That’s it. You adapted, and some days were much better than others.
The year of Eleena’s execution, 2037, was the year the countries of the Nile went to war over that river’s waters, and though that war was “short-lived” in that it lasted about eight or so months, millions suffered, and they continue to do so. In San Diego, you saw both the California flag, previously unseen on anything but state buildings, and the US flag, raised in people’s yards.
People talked with pride about being “Californian, born and raised.” Hollywood picked up on this and made a dramedy called Born & Raised, which was followed by the movie of the same name. We heard Verdi’s “Four Seasons” on almost every environmental program on TV, and I got sick of it.
As a parent, there are things I ask myself as I think about that time. Did I really bring my children into that world with all of its problems? Mauru and I concluded that we hadn’t brought anyone anywhere. We didn’t plan to have kids when we did. We just got pregnant. I don’t recall a conversation in which we said, “We must bring kids into this world. We will start bringing kids into this world on this date because it’s by far the best time to do so.”
2037 brought some terrible beauty with it.
In Alaska, there is a village called Shishmaref. The California Homeland Channel ran a seven-part documentary on the village, on how winter now came later, the ice was thinner, animals were scarcer, homes fell into the ocean as the snows withdrew and the ocean encroached, storms became more insatiable, and winds more hostile.
At the end of each episode, “Eulogy for Shishmaref,” composed for the series, played.
I can’t forget the haunting image of an elderly woman standing on bare ground, calling out, summoning something as around her abandoned homes surrendered to the landscape, which appeared desolate. Animal skeletons from years gone by, now the only proof that life once thrived there, lay on the ground while the seas thrashed against a coastline that had greatly succumbed to it and that offered no further resistance.
Like photos from a sullen family album now immortalized only in sepia tones, faces of the inhabitants who once lived there were shown on the screen, evoking stories swallowed by Time, which cared about nothing more than making this village face the consequences of actions taken by others in other places, who had no thought for them. And now Time had shown up at the doors of their village, not with demands for payment, but with its ultimate condemnation of humanity: expulsion from their homes on the periphery of civilization before Time began its slow march to the centers of human civilization, where it threatened to do much the same or worse.
“Eulogy for Shishmaref” gave way to “Eulogy for Kiribati,” which gave way to “Eulogy for Palau,” and then “Eulogy for Tuvalu.” All were hauntingly beautiful, sometimes in the most frightening ways.
One of them, I cannot recall which, showed caskets disinterred by rising waters being swept away by powerful currents. It was as if some of the most sacred reminders of our humanity, which we had believed forever entombed beneath us, were now being spewed back at us. Our planet had finally refused to have anything to do with us, especially at the end of our lives when many of us imagined being eternally enveloped by a canopy of peace.
On TV, the nine justices of the Southern African Federation Court of Appeals now appeared, seated on a large dais opposite the scaffold. They wore flowing blue-and-green robes and great yellow bouffant wigs that were colonial holdovers. Their wigs, at which I marveled for their height and elaborate rows of curls, fluttered in the wind like wildflowers. The crawl said they were known locally as “The Plantain” because from a distance they resembled rows of plantains placed alongside each other.
Jeremiah and his contingent from the CWP walked up to the justices, shook their hands, and sat beside them. I wondered if the president and first lady would attend, but a commentator said that they were “unavailable and fully supported the decision of the Court of Appeals. They congratulated their honors, the justices, on upholding the rule of law.”
Seeing those large crowds, I wondered how lonely, terrified, and betrayed Eleena must feel. Her friends, Anton and Jeremiah, were sitting alongside those who had condemned her to death. Perhaps I had been harsh in my appraisal of her, a little too hasty in my assessment, thinking only of how she’d made my family look as immigrants and not about her story from her own perspective and how she’d actually lived it.
As everyone stood at attention, the Federation Police Band played the Southern African Federation anthem, “God Bless Africa and All Humanity.” What came next was striking not only because it was unusual, but also because it made it clear that this was not solely about punishing Eleena; it was about putting on a show—just as someone was about to die.
Drum majorettes, young women dressed in dazzling green-and-blue uniforms, held large Southern African Federation flags and marched in formation. In sequence, they threw large maces, batons, and flags into the air, and caught them as they descended in time with the music.
Yet another colonial holdover, the crawl said, were their imitation bearskin hats, which would have been more at home on the Royal Guard in London than on high school girls in the Southern African Federation. The girls performed wonderfully. And yet it was tone-deaf to have a display of youth and vitality at an execution.
I found myself wondering, as well, about health concerns. Didn’t those who traveled to the event worry about malaria? Wasn’t the region becoming increasingly uninhabitable, or was it just parts of it? And didn’t people fear The Hatred, or was it the case that boys were banned from attending the execution? Or, on the contrary, was the stadium actually empty, and they had used computers to generate the 90,000 people we saw on TV?
Eleena arrived at the stadium in a police vehicle. By then the sun had fled, floodlights had been turned on the scaffold, and the stadium was lit.
My heart sank as I watched Eleena leave the vehicle, handcuffed.
She held her head high and was crying uncontrollably.
I found myself rooting for Eleena now.
Would someone save her?
Was there anyone in attendance who supported her, cared about her? What about the customers from the store she once had, where she sold dyed cotton cloth?
Did anyone empathize with her? Had anyone come to be a witness for her and not for themselves? Was there at least someone for whom her suffering was not entertainment but an essential element of our shared experience of the planet, which had to be acknowledged and honored?
Eleena was escorted to the gallows, the tears flowing from her even more effortlessly as she muttered something to herself.
The Chief Justice arose from her seat and walked to the microphone on the podium.
She pointed in Eleena’s direction, “Eleena Chiredzi, our great hero, Nehanda, would be ashamed of you! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace!”
The crowd joined in now, tens of thousands of people shouting at a single, lonely, old woman.
“Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace!”
Cheers and roars went up from across the stadium. The Federation Police Band and the drum majorettes exited the stadium.
“Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace!”
Some were whistling, chanting even, “Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!”
Then, something surprising happened, something altogether fantastic, and I sat up on our couch in Rancho San Antonio and applauded when from part of the stadium came even loud
er cries of “Free Eleena! Free Eleena! Free Eleena!” Others were shouting now, “Thank you, Eleena!” Others held banners saying Eleena was their hero, and others said she should have been president.
I smiled for her.
I broke into a loud cheer and wanted so much to embrace Eleena that I sat right in front of the TV.
“Eleena Chiredzi,” the Chief Justice said, “you are a disgrace! Under Section 1(a)(1) of the Federation Criminal Code, you are sentenced to death for treason, murder, and destruction of private property. I am authorized to reveal that were it not for our friends from the California Water Party, we would never have known that it was you who attacked that convoy. We are grateful for their help in resolving this matter. You, Eleena Chiredzi, acting alone, committed treason, murder, and destruction of private property. Disgrace!”
Eleena looked bereft.
Her own friends had betrayed her.
But why?
Why would they do that?
And why hadn’t this come out at trial?
The California Homeland Channel abruptly cut the feed to the execution and said, “Due to technical difficulties, our live feed from Africa is experiencing intermittent transmission problems. We are restoring the connection and will be back momentarily. We apologize for any inconvenience caused. The California Homeland Channel needs your advice and help. Please join us.”
In its moment of panic, what the California Homeland Channel didn’t realize was that other channels were broadcasting the event, which was available online, through international news outlets, and on social media.
Eleena had gone global.
“The Disgrace, Eleena Chiredzi,” the Chief Justice said, “may now give her final statement, which is her final right under our laws. Please let her speak.”
Eleena looked directly at the justices, the members of the California Water Party, and other invited guests. She wiped her eyes as two guards stood beside her, including her executioner, whose face was covered.
Eleena refused to speak English, and she moved effortlessly in her final speech between four of the most beautiful and challenging languages of the Southern African Federation: Ndebele, Shona, Tswana, and Zulu.
I understand a little Shona, the language of seventeen million people in Southern Africa, having grown up in a family that often spoke Shona, mostly to gossip about people we didn’t like in Upstate New York. As I entered adolescence, however, Mom and Dad spoke Shona even less, and I eventually put this down to their desire to assimilate entirely into the American cultural fabric and not seem foreign.
“I have made many errors in my life,” Eleena now told us through interpreters, “but my most significant error was to trust others when they told me to ignore my own intuition. It was never my idea to attack that convoy. Why, after all, would I attack a convoy providing Mable and her family with water? When Anton Cola of the California Water Party suggested that I attack the convoy, I initially refused.” [Gasps went up from the crowds.] “But Anton insisted that I do it because it was what Mr. Trehoviak wanted as payment for all their kindnesses to me over the years.”
Eleena stared defiantly at Trehoviak and Anton.
“The California Water Party,” [she pointed at them] “said the attack on the convoy would draw attention to the terrible state of environmental affairs in our country, especially since they knew in advance that the first lady would be in the Lowveld, and the newspaper outlets would be with her. They told me they wanted a change of government. They provided me with a group of trained mercenaries, six of them, who prepared me, and they attacked the convoy while I watched. I didn’t even know how to hold a gun before I met them. Now I see that I was bait. The California Water Party groomed me, cultivated my trust, used me, and then turned me in.”
[Whistling and shouts of “Kill Her!”]
“I ask myself why,” Eleena wondered. “Why would the California Water Party do this? The only answer I can think of is that they were using me on their California Homeland Channel. Yes, they paid me with money I will never use now, but their election in America is soon, and I’m no longer useful to them now that they have their audience. I’m more useful to them executed live on TV than alive. Everyone’s presence here tonight is evidence of that.”
[More whistling, some applause, and shouts of “Kill her!” and “We love you, Eleena!” and “We will fight for you!”]
Eleena sneezed.
“I see now that the California Water Party had no intention of overthrowing the government at all,” she said. “If it had happened, they would have taken advantage of it, but if it didn’t happen, they would have gotten the results from their experiment with Section 1(a)(1) of our criminal code, which they helped write. They wanted to see how Section 1(a)(1) played itself out far from their home. They were practicing what they will do to the people of California and elsewhere. Now the experiment is over, which is why they have come to observe the results in person. We are guinea pigs.”
[“Disgrace! Disgrace! Hang her!”]
“Are they bad people? No, no more than I am a bad person. Are they evil people? No, no more than I am evil. They have just found an opportunity in time and have exploited it, me, us, our system, and they will no doubt do the same elsewhere.”
[“Disgrace!” “Kill Her!” “Thank you, Eleena!”]
“To say that they are bad or evil stops us from facing our own part in getting them where they are, on that stage, right beside our lawgivers. I love my country, and I love my family. It is hard to love something that does not love you, but sometimes we must love things in spite of themselves, even when they hate themselves and us for being loved by us. Nations have histories of killing those who are good for them and then honoring them when they are no longer threatened by them: when the world envisaged by those they have killed has finally become a reality.”
[“We love you, Eleena. We’ll fight for you!”]
“The Chief Justice says I’m a disgrace. Well, Chief Justice, I’m a disgrace, and I’m proud of it. Being a disgrace is what it takes to do what is right. Being a disgrace is what it takes to wake up with a clear conscience and go to bed at night at peace with yourself. Being a disgrace is what is required when your leaders are corrupt, violent, and dangerous.”
Eleena stared squarely at the justices of the Court of Appeals.
“Even though the California Water Party used me,” she said, “I have no regrets. I do not hate them. To hate them is to give them the only power I have left: my dignity. I chose to act because it was right to act, and now I bear the consequences. This is my home, and you are my people. So, too, is everyone else in this stadium who calls me a disgrace today. Tomorrow you will all wake up to many ‘disgraces’ throughout the federation, who will draw your attention to the ongoing environmental disaster here.”
[“Disgrace! Disgrace! Disgrace!”]
“My name is Eleena Chiredzi. I was born in the town of Karoi in the Southern African Federation on February 26, 1966. I met my husband, Nirav, in Cape Town on April 18, 1991. We were married in Port Louis on September 12, 1992. Our daughter, Mable, was born in Kisangani on October 5, 1993. Our lawgivers are executing me today, June 6, 2037, in Harare, and they are doing the bidding of the California Water Party. Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani? God bless Africa and all humanity.”
I turned the TV off and found myself crying. These were the same people I worked for. What did that say about me? I called Mauru, and he asked if I wanted him to come home. I told him I was OK. I’d just seen something terrible, and the people I worked for had done it. Mauru told me he loved me, and he could come home right then. I promised that I was OK; he should spend the day with his friends.
The CWP went into damage control mode.
In just a week, their approval rating fell from 53 percent to 42 percent. The California Homeland Channel removed all reruns of Eleena’s Story, and it showcased, instead, interviews with everyone in the CWP’s top six discussing Eleena, Nirav, and even Mable.
The
channel showed outtakes from interviews in which Eleena said she’d lie to protect herself and her family if she had to, and the CWP showed bank records indicating how much money, outside of their contractual obligations, the CWP had given Eleena and her family “to help them in these times.” Of course, the response was that Eleena and her family were in no position to respond on their own behalf.
As a journalist made clear on another channel when interviewing Jeremiah Trehoviak, “There is a saying, you know, about situations like this: Les absents ont toujours tort, which means: ‘she who is absent is always wrong.’ You can say whatever bad thing you want about Eleena because you know that she cannot defend herself.”
I was hoping Eleena’s execution would damage the CWP, destroy it once and for all, but things often must get so much worse before they get any better. Often, terrible human beings and the organizations they found have more lives and luck than all the magicians that ever existed combined.
Eleena’s revelation about the CWP’s complicity in her downfall might have damaged any other party, but for a fortuitous—some said “suspicious”—chain of events.
Just days after Eleena’s execution, the Library of Congress caught fire and half of its collections went up in smoke. Mauru sat staring at the TV screen, and he said to Jon and Nate, “That’s like half of God’s heart going missing for good.”
Assassination attempts were made on Chief Justice Cathay and on the Speaker of the House, Raphael Imaga. Gunmen shot them, hitting both of them in the shoulder.
Hannah was particularly shaken, and she spent the rest of the day in her office, quiet. Amandine shook her head and said she’d “vote accordingly in the next election and make the appropriate campaign contributions beforehand,” and Andy just stared out his window and drank one ginger ale after the other.
Sands Rising Page 15
