no one
Banned
oh and we were talking about their reaction to the Internet. I wonder what AHcom would look like ITTL.
Rumsfeldia: Fear and Loathing in the Decade of Tears
- Thread starter Drew
- Start date
- Status
So, it will be loosely equivalent to the 1920's and 1930's Soviet Union. Shattered, isolated, riven by fanaticism, and yet still immensely dangerous. American technical skills and competence, trained people, engineers, technologists, bureaucrats and businessmen are all still there. The infrastructure and physical plant is all still there. The factories are there. The country still has plentiful raw materials, including oil and coal, iron and steel, copper and uranium, plentiful water, solid natural and constructed transportation infrastructure. The 1920's Soviet Union was an agrarian, post-feudal, disorganized state facing insurmountable challenges. The CV are starting off with orders of magnitude more advantages and on a much higher level. Assuming a sufficiently brutal and ruthless command economy ruled by fiat, they could be more dangerous than Nazi Germany.
In reality a lot of trained and skilled people had gone in Europe and Canada and a sizeble numbers of who remained in the USA of them will have been killed by the war or by the CV for ideological reason, plus who had suffered 'nervous breakdown' during Rumsfy. Infrastructure will be shattered not only by the war but by the lack of mantenaince and the once proud technological prowness of America has already declined in such manner that their product are years behind the competition in any market. Not counting the ecological damage due to the previous mismanagement and the use of WMD.
At all this you must add a civil war that will rain such destruction that will make the damage done in Russia by WW1 and the civil war look like the 'Lasagna festival of Bologna'...so no, they will be in a worse position of the URSS
Bookmark1995
Banned
As I've written, most nations have terminated their economic ties with the US. Denton himself couldn't get a loan, due to the economic situation and his own dirty laundry. The rest of the world would have no more interest in trading with the CV, then they did with Rumsfeldia.
Not to mention that, despite the obvious ideological opposition many Western nations had to the USSR, they still felt obligated to provide aid to the starving Russian people. Herbert Hoover, despite his opposition to communism said ,"Twenty million people are starving. Whatever their politics, they shall be fed".
The CV have proven themselves to be far, far worse than the Soviets in 1921. They haven't just killed millions: they've decided they can play God and would bring Armageddon onto the world if given the chance. Trading with them means funding their apocalyptic schemes.
Even if they did "win", it would be worse then a Pyrrhic victory.
If (and when) the Internet comes online, I can imagine it will be full of TLs, discussions, and chats about the...obvious historical question.
Bookmark1995
Banned
I like the mentions of people ITTL writing Alternate History. Because alternate history isn't just fiction-at least to me. It isn't just a source of imagination and incredible research. To me, it also argues that free will and human agency are the most important things in the world.
People who write alternate history believe that many great actions come from minor decisions that end up snowballing. The choices we make will end on our own end up shaping our future, for good or ill.
People feared we would have a nuclear war (but with Trump in power, some of that fear may return) and in the end, it was avoided-largely because of seemingly minor people making very important decisions.
People thought that the Nazis were unstoppable-but it turned out they were a bunch of lucky imbeciles who shot themselves in the foot from day one.
The other is how history itself can shape the mindset of an alternate history, that there things that can be considered impossible in real life.
One of the biggest historical debates people will have ITTL are: was the Second American Civil War an inevitability? Were we destined to tear ourselves apart over a century after the first civil war? Was it the actions of Donald Rumsfeld and the GOP alone, or would a different president have prevented? Could John McKeithen have saved America?
There are the intentionalists (who blame the civil war on specific people) and the structuralists (who believe that cultural and political trends made it inevitable).
Newt Gingrich ITTL seems to be an intentionalist: he writes that Reagan alone could have prevented Rumsfeldia. I can also imagine others writing books saying that Reagan could've done conservative the right way, or that McKeithen could've brought the country to order.
But I can imagine someone concluding that Rumsfeldia and a civil war was also an inevitability.
They point out that Rumsfeldia and the CV was a process decades in the making, and that millions of working people were prepared to, in the words of Gore Vidal, sacrifice their material prosperity to follow the natural laws of the market place.
They could point out that Reagan, Nixon, Wallace, and all these other figures were simply part of this reactionary wave, and that it became something that fell out of their control.
They could point to the increasingly partisan political environment (the Republicans not letting Wallace nominate a VP).
They could point to the rapidly expanding security state, and the willingness of American government to stick its fingers in third-world nations on behalf of rich people, as a sign that America would be consumed by its military-industrial complex.
Hell, 1948 was an early election that saw two politicians (one far-left and one far-right person) defect and form their own third parties.
Our TL, where the Soviet Union collapsed and Eastern Europe became democratic, might appear incredibly laughable to some. But such ideas reflect that human agency is the deciding factor of history: that ultimately the civil war could have been avoided, but was the result of the choices of many people.
People who write alternate history believe that many great actions come from minor decisions that end up snowballing. The choices we make will end on our own end up shaping our future, for good or ill.
People feared we would have a nuclear war (but with Trump in power, some of that fear may return) and in the end, it was avoided-largely because of seemingly minor people making very important decisions.
People thought that the Nazis were unstoppable-but it turned out they were a bunch of lucky imbeciles who shot themselves in the foot from day one.
The other is how history itself can shape the mindset of an alternate history, that there things that can be considered impossible in real life.
One of the biggest historical debates people will have ITTL are: was the Second American Civil War an inevitability? Were we destined to tear ourselves apart over a century after the first civil war? Was it the actions of Donald Rumsfeld and the GOP alone, or would a different president have prevented? Could John McKeithen have saved America?
There are the intentionalists (who blame the civil war on specific people) and the structuralists (who believe that cultural and political trends made it inevitable).
Newt Gingrich ITTL seems to be an intentionalist: he writes that Reagan alone could have prevented Rumsfeldia. I can also imagine others writing books saying that Reagan could've done conservative the right way, or that McKeithen could've brought the country to order.
But I can imagine someone concluding that Rumsfeldia and a civil war was also an inevitability.
They point out that Rumsfeldia and the CV was a process decades in the making, and that millions of working people were prepared to, in the words of Gore Vidal, sacrifice their material prosperity to follow the natural laws of the market place.
They could point out that Reagan, Nixon, Wallace, and all these other figures were simply part of this reactionary wave, and that it became something that fell out of their control.
They could point to the increasingly partisan political environment (the Republicans not letting Wallace nominate a VP).
They could point to the rapidly expanding security state, and the willingness of American government to stick its fingers in third-world nations on behalf of rich people, as a sign that America would be consumed by its military-industrial complex.
Hell, 1948 was an early election that saw two politicians (one far-left and one far-right person) defect and form their own third parties.
Our TL, where the Soviet Union collapsed and Eastern Europe became democratic, might appear incredibly laughable to some. But such ideas reflect that human agency is the deciding factor of history: that ultimately the civil war could have been avoided, but was the result of the choices of many people.
Bookmark1995
Banned
I wonder what Presidential Rankings will be like ITTL.
I can already guess who is going to be at the bottom of this list. I based this off the OTL Criteria for Presidential ranking.
The Absolute Worst: The People Who Couldn't Keep the Country Together
42. Donald Rumsfeld: He wins the race for worst president by a landslide. His oppressive policies and the fact that he turned America into an impoverished pariah alone will rank him dead last (this is a man who failed his Presidential Oath HARD), but his actions drove away other states, and left America vulnerable for takeover by the CV. In other words, Rumsfeld's greatest legacy is the permanent dismemberment of the Union, and America falling from grace.
41. James Buchanan: Buchanan, again, hastened the division of the union with his appallingly pro-slavery attitude (which shattered the Democratic Party, making him politically inept), but failed to do anything once the Union began to divide. Again, a man who really didn't do his job.
40. Jeremiah Denton: His failure to rebuild the Union once he came to power, his inability to prevent the rise of the CV, and his own opportunistic alliance with Donald Rumsfeld, will also make him seen as unfavorably as Buchanan. I can imagine more then a few people acknowledging that he ultimately lacked the tools to succeed, but still, it is a very bad record.
Millard Fillmore, Franklin Pierce get 39 and 38 respectively. Ultimately, they are seen as figures who also failed to really prevent the first division of the Union.
The Inept/Corrupt
37. Spiro Agnew: Agnew's open venality, willingness to inflate the currency to fund a war, and disastrous foreign policy and belligerence will put him here. He only avoids being put with the worst because his direct actions didn't lead to a permanent severing of the Union (although there might be some arguments about how his actions would lead to Rummy's rise), and he lead the Northeast into trying to rescue it from madness. But still, a bad President.
36. Andrew Johnson: His resistance to actually reconstructing the South, blatant racism, near impeachment already put him at the bottom.
35. George Wallace: His failure to actually solve the horrific recession ravaging the US, his illegal arms dealing, and contributing to the rise of WTP and the breakdown of the Democratic Party make him less popular or renowned then Jimmy Carter (if it weren't for Rumsfeld, Wallace would be ranked a lot lower on the list).
34. Warren G. Harding: A man who let to many corrupt people in the door.
33 and 32. William Henry Harrison and John Tyler (the former died too early, the latter failed to distinguish himself in any meaningful way).
31. Nixon. He gets some credit for his pragmatic foreign policy, environmentalism, and returning to his country to save it from CSA, but he goes down for his own corrupt acts and making the short-sided decision of appointing Spiro.
30. Herbert Hoover: His failure to do anything to stop the Great Depression puts him in this category. I think he might be seen as less favorably, since Rumsfeld put him on a pedestal for all the wrong reasons. He might even be caricatured as a Rumsfeld like fiend.
I can already guess who is going to be at the bottom of this list. I based this off the OTL Criteria for Presidential ranking.
The Absolute Worst: The People Who Couldn't Keep the Country Together
42. Donald Rumsfeld: He wins the race for worst president by a landslide. His oppressive policies and the fact that he turned America into an impoverished pariah alone will rank him dead last (this is a man who failed his Presidential Oath HARD), but his actions drove away other states, and left America vulnerable for takeover by the CV. In other words, Rumsfeld's greatest legacy is the permanent dismemberment of the Union, and America falling from grace.
41. James Buchanan: Buchanan, again, hastened the division of the union with his appallingly pro-slavery attitude (which shattered the Democratic Party, making him politically inept), but failed to do anything once the Union began to divide. Again, a man who really didn't do his job.
40. Jeremiah Denton: His failure to rebuild the Union once he came to power, his inability to prevent the rise of the CV, and his own opportunistic alliance with Donald Rumsfeld, will also make him seen as unfavorably as Buchanan. I can imagine more then a few people acknowledging that he ultimately lacked the tools to succeed, but still, it is a very bad record.
Millard Fillmore, Franklin Pierce get 39 and 38 respectively. Ultimately, they are seen as figures who also failed to really prevent the first division of the Union.
The Inept/Corrupt
37. Spiro Agnew: Agnew's open venality, willingness to inflate the currency to fund a war, and disastrous foreign policy and belligerence will put him here. He only avoids being put with the worst because his direct actions didn't lead to a permanent severing of the Union (although there might be some arguments about how his actions would lead to Rummy's rise), and he lead the Northeast into trying to rescue it from madness. But still, a bad President.
36. Andrew Johnson: His resistance to actually reconstructing the South, blatant racism, near impeachment already put him at the bottom.
35. George Wallace: His failure to actually solve the horrific recession ravaging the US, his illegal arms dealing, and contributing to the rise of WTP and the breakdown of the Democratic Party make him less popular or renowned then Jimmy Carter (if it weren't for Rumsfeld, Wallace would be ranked a lot lower on the list).
34. Warren G. Harding: A man who let to many corrupt people in the door.
33 and 32. William Henry Harrison and John Tyler (the former died too early, the latter failed to distinguish himself in any meaningful way).
31. Nixon. He gets some credit for his pragmatic foreign policy, environmentalism, and returning to his country to save it from CSA, but he goes down for his own corrupt acts and making the short-sided decision of appointing Spiro.
30. Herbert Hoover: His failure to do anything to stop the Great Depression puts him in this category. I think he might be seen as less favorably, since Rumsfeld put him on a pedestal for all the wrong reasons. He might even be caricatured as a Rumsfeld like fiend.
Probably near the top, given he was called "the last good President" at one point.
Bookmark1995
Banned
An inoffensive, centrist, "middle of the road" figure, like Gerald Ford. Maybe in the 20s.
Of course, I think reputation has to do more with rose-eyed nostalgia for the 1970s (brought about by the horrors of Rumsfeldia-CV) and being directly compared to Spiro and Nixon then with any genuine admiration.
I mean, he did "win" South Vietnam, provide some stimulus during his presidency, and didn't take bribes, but that's about it. He didn't transform America like FDR or Lincoln, and he didn't have the political know how to win the nomination of the GOP.
So, average.
PS: Do you think the ranking is plausible?
According to Rummyhorror, Coe's role is the Great Teacher. I think he is like an Evangelical Iranian Ayatollah: officially, his role is to communicate the will of God to believers, and serve as a spiritual guide. Unofficially, he holds power over temporal affairs and guides them by claiming to be holy.
I think observers will note that by claiming to be speaking God's will that he was essentially making himself into God, and demanding that everybody obey his madness. Other Christians would observe, with bitter irony, that Coe and the CV was basically a harbinger of the apocalypse, even Satan himself.
Coe would put the "cult" of "cult in personality," as the CSA could be considered the world's most successful (in power gained) cult in history.
The CSA is a very, very different entity then the USA (although very similar to Rumsfeldia in some ways). While Rumsfeld was born from a very toxic piece of American fabric, the CV have burned that fabric up, and knit something new (they've destroyed monuments to American Presidents, instead of using them to justify their madness).
So Coe would be taken out out of the category of American Presidents...and put in the same category where you'd find Stalin, both Maos, and Hitler.
We'll be getting to good ol' Pat and the beginning of 1989 soon.
OK, this is the vignette I wrote. Wasn't sure where exactly to put it, but since I got plenty of likes, thought it was worth a go. Unless told otherwise, consider this completely non-canon as a few things might not line up with what Drew and Book have planned or have even written. Did have a few ideas about Hong Kong cinema becoming bigger due to the collapse of Hollywood, hence the comments about Jackie Chan and so on, but they weren't fleshed out in the vignette.
The vignette does contain the n-word, which I thought was best to include to help display the anger one of the characters was feeling, but I'll remove it if it goes over the line.
Hope everyone enjoys anyhow, even if this is no more than bad fanfiction:
May, 1991:
"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers" – Henry VI, Part Two, Act IV, Scene II
It was hard to get a good lawyer in the US these days.
The chaos of the 1970's hadn't helped, the recession making it hard for many to get any kind of attorney for their problems. Then, Rumsfeld had happened and the war on crime making the situation even worse as even defending a suspect was enough for some attorneys to be publicly attacked by Liberty Battalions, claiming that they were no better than criminals themselves. Actually undertaking a career during these times was a risk left to the ideological, foolhardy or both. Smith liked to think himself as being in the former.
At twenty-three, he had a lot to prove as the world had railed against him. His chosen profession made him a target in Rumsfeld's America, as had his race. A young black man was always a favourite target for the Liberty Battalions, but he had persevered, managing to survive to get his law degree. It hadn't been like the old days, actually going through those years of college, most law firms these days were so desperate for people that they had lined up special, speedy courses through colleges just so they could get the staff. The colleges themselves were so hard up on students that their own standards had dropped considerably.
In truth, Smith knew his law degree would have been meaningless fifteen years ago, but the chaos in America now meant that he was one of the most qualified lawyers in Richmond. He had hoped to set up his own firm in his native Philadelphia, but the maniacs in the former Washington DC had blown that place to Hell. Smith had managed to get his family out before the bombing, but he had lost good friends in the attack. He hadn't heard from Jeff since the bombing of the city. He'd given up hope on ever seeing his best friend again.
After the advances that the US Army, greatly aided by European support, had made in the last year, Smith had seen an opportunity to help people in the war torn country. Infrastructure was almost non-existent in a lot of places and the government was desperate to establish some form of law and order over the liberated territories. Those who had abused their powers over the last few years were being hunted down and public lynchings weren't uncommon. The law had to be brought back in, to give everyone a decent chance in the face of the anarchy that was the former United States. The war was still being fought, but the rebuilding had to be done too.
Although there were plenty out there who had to pay for their crime, Smith had refused to turn to prosecution. Too many friends and loved ones had been put on trial, their voices silenced with no one to stand for them. He chose to become a defense attorney, so people would get the help they needed. Never again would he let others fall de to an unjust system without giving all he could to fix it.
Although lacking a formal education in the law, Smith had gained a strong reputation after settling down in Richmond. His lack of knowledge was made up for in charisma, smooth talking and sheer passion in defending his clients. If Smith believed in a client's innocence, it was said there was noting he wouldn't do to help them. An exaggeration, but one that helped his client list grow. Things being what they were, he had to accept payment through goods rather than money, when he took payment at all that was. Things were improving in the city thanks to the steady military occupation, but it was still impoverished and in pain from the war that had torn America to pieces.
It was that pain that had brought him here today, to stand before the Grand Jury and defend his client, one Lucy Simmons, twenty years old and accused of fraternising with Christian Values members while informing them of any 'subversive' activities in the city. There were plenty of others who had done such things, but also people who were being accused for petty and personal reasons as well. Any support for Christian Values was now seen as deserving of the death penalty for many people and a good way to get rid of old grudges or people that were simply disliked for one reason or another. A part of Smith half-expected to see a guillotine to be erected in the street one of these days.
That was a concern for another time though, as the prosecutor rose to his feet to give his final summary. While appearing cool, Smith inwardly smirked at how badly the prosecutor had misread his 'audience'. The man was well dressed, smartly attired and fat. No one in Richmond had seen any of those three for at least three years and it instantly marked him out as an outsider. He carried himself with an air of smugness that had already put the jury on edge. He had only just arrived from California, some kind of speech writer who now wanted to make name for himself as the Liberal Kelsey Grammer. Smith waited for him to finish talking and then he would bury the fat jackass.
“The crimes of the Coe government are many.” Prosecutor Moore started “They are crimes against people from all walks of life in America and beyond. But, he could not have committed them without the aid of those hungry for power.”
Motioning towards Lucy Simmons, Moore gave her a contemptible look, playing to the audience in all the wrong ways “People like Lucy Simmons. She took to the bed of Angus Dearson, Captain of the Holy Battalions and gave him her body in return for a extra comforts out of the reach of other people. She also took this opportunity to inform him of any dissent in Richmond, causing the deaths of dozens, if not hundreds of people! Because of her, the so called Holy Battalions managed to murder those who could have stood against them and liberated this city much sooner!”
Turning towards Simmons, Moore walked towards her, his greater bulk causing her to shrink back in her chair “Lucy Simmons is no better than a traitor to her nation, her family and friends. When she is placed on trial with everyone like her, I will make sure she is rightly punished for her crimes. For two years, she sold out people like you for her own good. Let me bring her to justice. Let me be the one to help start the healing in this city.”
Moore then turned back and sat down at his bench, pristine and clean amid the dusty and broken down courtroom. Looking at the assembled Grand Jury, Smith knew that the prosecutor had lost them completely, he decided to have a little fun and add to his reputation. He stayed seated for a while, dragging things out until the judge was finally forced to call upon him “Mr. Smith, do you have anything to say?”
Smith saw Lucy look at him, the pain clear in her eyes. She'd been through so much. She was starving, much smaller than someone her age and the trauma of the last few years was obvious on her. Smith then looked to Moore, a fat, well fed man who had run to the safety of California and then came back when it was safe to claim glory and power. Oh, he was going to use this chance to not just beat him, but humiliate him.
“Mr. Smith?”
Giving Simmons a reassuring smile, Smith then turned back and looked at the judge “Sorry your honour, I was just trying to figure out what weighs more. All the bullshit the prosecutor just said, or his fat ass.”
The laughter from the Grand Jury drowned out the outraged shout from Moore and it took the judge several moments to bring the proceedings under control, even if he did have to contain a smirk “Mr Smith...” He began.
“I apologise your honour.” Smith replied smoothly “I've had a stressful week, it's been getting to me. Much like the prosecution's attempt at a diet, it won't happen again.”
Another laugh from the jury, another impotent objection from Moore and another quick apology to help smooth things over before he was held in contempt and Smith was back to business. The judge himself gave Smith a stern look, after suppressing a smile anyway. Smith then stood up, revealing his threadbare suit that was fourth-hand at least and was once navy blue, but had long settled into a sort of weak grey. Unlike Moore's tailored outfit, this one was poor, worn and spoke to those in the jury, reminding them that Smith had gone through the same hardships as them, that he knew their pain.
It was also the only suit he could afford, but it still had its use.
“Now it seems my esteemed colleague got some things mixed up. You see, his current job title, the job he now has and not the cushy number in California, is prosecutor, not persecutor. And that's what he's doing right now, persecuting. Lucy Simmons wasn't spending her time in Angus Dearson's bed because she wanted to, but because he threatened to kill her brother if she didn't. This isn't in dispute, Dearson confessed to this in his trial last week, something the prosecution didn't want you to know.”
“The other thing he didn't want you to know, beside his cholesterol account – withdrawn – is that Dearson specifically said that he got his information through torture of captives. To him, Lucy was just a source of pleasure. She is a victim here, the same as us. We all suffered as Lucy has. Douglas Coe and his Holy Battalions chewed us up and spat us back out. Look at Lucy and see yourself in her. A victim of this war, this insanity that infected this country. It was unbearable for almost all of us in this room. We had to deal with threats to our lives on a daily basis. We couldn't hide overseas. We couldn't run to Canada, or England, or California...”
“Enough!” Moore shouted, rising to his feet quickly as he yelled at Smith, the last jibe proving to be the straw that broke the camel's back “You do not get to accuse me of running! I didn't run to California!”
“Well, I can believe that, looks like you've never run anywhere.” Smith retorted, this one causing the jury to laugh at Moore once again. The judge didn't even bother to bang his makeshift gavel to restore order as he was chuckling along with everyone else.
Smith looked at Moore and smirked. He knew he had won and Lucy Simmons would walk out of here a free woman.
* * *
“Heard you got a full dismissal today Mr. Smith.”
Looking up from his desk, Smith gave a smile at Heather Donahue walking into his 'office'. More of a broom closet really. The law firm didn't have the resources to hire out a big building, nor did they want too. Most were badly damaged due to abandonment or vandalism so they were making do with an old firehouse which was mostly crammed full of desperately written files as the case loads were soon overwhelming. With most of the paperwork before the war destroyed, it was taking a long time to get things up and running again.
“Shouldn't have even reached the Grand Jury.” Smith replied as he motioned towards the stool that he made do for a second chair in his 'office', there being no room for anything bigger “Fat idiot was looking for a quick victory to build p his name and thought he could push around a teenage girl to get it.”
Giving Smith a smile, Heather gave him a thumbs up. Despite being one of the many people thrown around the US because of Rumsfeld and the chaos that had come from afterwards, Heather managed to retain a cheerful disposition that probably had something to do with the notable fragrance she carried around with her and would have gotten her arrested a few years ago “What's she going to do now?” She asked, bringing Smith out of his thoughts.
“Pointed her towards the army. Hopefully Lucy and her brother can get some food there and rebuild something that almost looks like a life.” Once again, Smith was forced to think about others who weren't so lucky and he looked at the files on his desk, the caseloads seemingly too much right now.
“Well in that case, you deserve the usual reward.” Heather said, leaning towards the desk with a grin.
Ah, now this was one of the reasons why he wanted Heather as his assistant. Nineteen and already knew how to work out some tricks “OK, what is it tonight then?” Smith asked eagerly.
“Ghostsmashers!”
“... What?” Smith asked in surprise before frowning “I'm pretty sure that isn't even a real term.”
“You did say you wanted more comedy movies.” Heather replied before pulling a sheet of paper from her too small and worn jacket pocket, showing to to be the film's poster “This one's a joint production. Canada, England and France!”
Taking the poster, Smith held his judgement for the time being. He wanted Heather as his assistant for her ability to do the job, sure. But he also wanted her because she was a movie buff who could rattle off trivia and somehow managed to wrangle an ability to get access to the army and their supply of movies that were used to help raise morale. It was something that Smith enjoyed taking full advantage of.
Looking down the paper, Smith saw the symbol of a ghost covered by a censor symbol and then looked down the cast list “Dan Akyroyd, Harold Ramis, Adrian Lester, Jean... Reno?” He questioned, not sure if he was getting that right.
“He's French.”
“Ah, of course. No Jackie Chan in this one?”
Heather snorted “Nope, you know he only goes for the big budget stuff these days. Last I heard, the Soviets were trying to get him to do a movie for the Russian market. They're going to have a fight. Guy might be huge in England, but he's a God in Hong Kong. They'll want to keep him away from there alright.”
Before the conversation could continue, Smith glanced up to see an unwelcome figure in the door. The richly suited and red faced Moore was glaring down at him. Before the prosecutor could speak however, Smith got the first jab in “Ah, prosecutor. Sorry, my office is a bit cramped for you right now. How about we go somewhere that'll better fit your size. The Grand Canyon, perhaps?”
Heather quickly covered her mouth as Moore seethed, gritting his teeth before he spoke “Listen here you son of a bitch. I don't know what the Hell it is you're doing, protecting that little Christian Values slut, but it stops here!”
Smith waited for a few second before replying, making sure he was speaking clearly and with a level tone. If anyone was listening in, he wanted to make sure they'd hear everything correctly “I was defending a womoan who had been repeatedly raped from the worst prosecution I have ever seen. It was malicious, incompetently presented and petty. Lucy Simmons needed help, not you breathing down her neck.”
“So, you're one of them, are you?” Moore demanded “Protecting the people who destroyed this country. People who used their religion to allow them to do whatever they wanted! The moment we let any of those monsters escape, they win!”
“You seem to forget that Lucy wasn't a monster, she was a victim!” Smith replied, getting fed up of this man's wilful blindness “If you lump her in with the likes of Coe and Roberston, then you're not doing your damn job! Lucy is one of those we need to protect, she isn't a monster and the moment we see people like her as the enemy is the moment we cross the line that Rumsfeld did!”
Moore didn't reply for a few moments, looking as if he couldn't think of anything to answer that before he finally spoke “Just remember who it is you're dealing with here Smith. It's going to be a new order once the CSA is finally killed off and I'm going to be part of it. I have many friends in high places. So you best not protect anymore people like Simmons, if you don't want to spend the rest of your life chasing ambulances in some incest ridden hickstown outside Indiana.”
“Oh, but Indiana is so nice this time of year.” A new voice said from behind Moore. Smith could see who it was and his eyebrows raised as Moore turned, looked into the face of the man behind him and paled in fear. The shaved head, the goatee, the rich, black skin and the scar that stretched from cheek to a stub that was all that remained of his ear was well known to many who looked at wanted posters. Avery Brooks, wanted by the Rumsfeld Administration for treason against the state and who had made a name for himself by turning the President's little white men into little dead men.
Brooks was smiling, but it was an unsettling one. The teeth were showing and the eyes were bright, but in the same manner that a knife in the moonlight was. He gripped Moore's shoulder and pushed him away from the doorframe “If you would now end your meeting, I have an appointment with Mr. Smith. Please, don't let me keep you for... any reason.”
It was unsettling how a man could sound so cordial and yet so threatening at the same time. Without another word, Moore turned and quickly scuttled away while Brooks turned to Heather “I would prefer this to be a private meeting.”
Glancing towards Smith, who nodded, Heather quickly left the room, relief evident in her body language as Brooks sat down “I trust that introductions aren't needed?” He asked, that same pleasant, unsettling tone making Smith nervous.
“I heard what you did to Rumsfeld's men in Kansas City, that's all the introduction I need.” Smith said, thinking that he had no idea that Brooks was coming. But he wasn't going to risk angering the man behind the Kansas City Incident when all he had for protection were two armfuls of legal files.
Brooks chuckled, rubbing the remains of his right ear absent mindedly “Well, Kansas City was one of them. One of these days, I hope everyone knows what happened in Boise, but I'm not here to talk about that. I'm here to talk about the future. My future. Your future. Our people's future.”
Smith knew enough of Brooks' politics to know exactly what he was getting at “I've never gotten into the Black Panther stuff. Never had a chance in Philly.”
“Well, I'm giving you that chance Mr. Smith. Moore was right about one thing, there is a new order coming, but do we want to be a part of it? Every administration of the US has beaten down black people. They have stolen our pride, our dignity and our lives. Rumsfeld was no different, he just let the dogs off the leash. Our brothers have been fighting the CSA not for the rich, white man in the north, but for ourselves. We are carving our own destiny from now on Mr. Smith and we want you to be a part of it.”
Choosing his words carefully, Smith spoke “You want me to be the one at your side in the courtroom?”
“You have a reputation Mr. Smith. You are popular among our people, but you need to look more at defending them. We need people like you to further our cause, that of our liberty and security. Take a look around you Mr. Smith. Can you tell me you believe that things will get better for us? Look at the south, who took the chance to raise the CSA onto a pedestal while casting our brothers and sisters back into chains. They waited for the first chance they got to put the hoods right back on and started burning the crosses!”
Brooks stood up, leaning over the desk and Smith saw into his eyes, seeing the anger, the sheer rage that he knew all too well “Look around you Mr Smith. Tell me, give me your honest answer. Do you think our people will ever get a fair chance in any kind of America? Or are we damned in their eyes to forever be a bunch of niggers?”
Smith thought about it. He thought about his friends in Philadelphia, one who was beaten to death for crossing the street in front of a cop car. He thought about his mother, having to flee from her home as it burned because of the madness of the CSA. And he thought about what Moore said, that no matter what, people would continue making the same damned mistakes that had sent this country to Hell in the first place.
Son of a bitch, Brooks was right.
“What do you want?” Smith asked, an edge in his voice that he hadn't felt before.
“For now? To carry on as normal.” Brooks said, the smile on his face mirroring that of a Priest talking to a fresh convert “When the time comes, and it will, we'll need you to put forward a case, our case. You'll broadcast it to every brother and sister from sea to shining sea. And then, it'll be the start of something new. Liberty Mr. Smith. Our liberty.”
After Brooks had left, Heather quickly returned, checking to see if Smith was alright. He made a few comments that nothing had happened, maybe a new case for him to take on, but nothing beyond that. When she had gone, Smith found he couldn't focus and was soon staring at the wall. He thought about what Brooks had said and what they were aiming for. The liberty of all those who had been enslaved by the USA throughout its history. There had been anger when Brooks had spoken, but there was something else, something that had been missing for a long time and something that Smith wanted to give to his people.
He would help them find hope.
The vignette does contain the n-word, which I thought was best to include to help display the anger one of the characters was feeling, but I'll remove it if it goes over the line.
Hope everyone enjoys anyhow, even if this is no more than bad fanfiction:
May, 1991:
"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers" – Henry VI, Part Two, Act IV, Scene II
It was hard to get a good lawyer in the US these days.
The chaos of the 1970's hadn't helped, the recession making it hard for many to get any kind of attorney for their problems. Then, Rumsfeld had happened and the war on crime making the situation even worse as even defending a suspect was enough for some attorneys to be publicly attacked by Liberty Battalions, claiming that they were no better than criminals themselves. Actually undertaking a career during these times was a risk left to the ideological, foolhardy or both. Smith liked to think himself as being in the former.
At twenty-three, he had a lot to prove as the world had railed against him. His chosen profession made him a target in Rumsfeld's America, as had his race. A young black man was always a favourite target for the Liberty Battalions, but he had persevered, managing to survive to get his law degree. It hadn't been like the old days, actually going through those years of college, most law firms these days were so desperate for people that they had lined up special, speedy courses through colleges just so they could get the staff. The colleges themselves were so hard up on students that their own standards had dropped considerably.
In truth, Smith knew his law degree would have been meaningless fifteen years ago, but the chaos in America now meant that he was one of the most qualified lawyers in Richmond. He had hoped to set up his own firm in his native Philadelphia, but the maniacs in the former Washington DC had blown that place to Hell. Smith had managed to get his family out before the bombing, but he had lost good friends in the attack. He hadn't heard from Jeff since the bombing of the city. He'd given up hope on ever seeing his best friend again.
After the advances that the US Army, greatly aided by European support, had made in the last year, Smith had seen an opportunity to help people in the war torn country. Infrastructure was almost non-existent in a lot of places and the government was desperate to establish some form of law and order over the liberated territories. Those who had abused their powers over the last few years were being hunted down and public lynchings weren't uncommon. The law had to be brought back in, to give everyone a decent chance in the face of the anarchy that was the former United States. The war was still being fought, but the rebuilding had to be done too.
Although there were plenty out there who had to pay for their crime, Smith had refused to turn to prosecution. Too many friends and loved ones had been put on trial, their voices silenced with no one to stand for them. He chose to become a defense attorney, so people would get the help they needed. Never again would he let others fall de to an unjust system without giving all he could to fix it.
Although lacking a formal education in the law, Smith had gained a strong reputation after settling down in Richmond. His lack of knowledge was made up for in charisma, smooth talking and sheer passion in defending his clients. If Smith believed in a client's innocence, it was said there was noting he wouldn't do to help them. An exaggeration, but one that helped his client list grow. Things being what they were, he had to accept payment through goods rather than money, when he took payment at all that was. Things were improving in the city thanks to the steady military occupation, but it was still impoverished and in pain from the war that had torn America to pieces.
It was that pain that had brought him here today, to stand before the Grand Jury and defend his client, one Lucy Simmons, twenty years old and accused of fraternising with Christian Values members while informing them of any 'subversive' activities in the city. There were plenty of others who had done such things, but also people who were being accused for petty and personal reasons as well. Any support for Christian Values was now seen as deserving of the death penalty for many people and a good way to get rid of old grudges or people that were simply disliked for one reason or another. A part of Smith half-expected to see a guillotine to be erected in the street one of these days.
That was a concern for another time though, as the prosecutor rose to his feet to give his final summary. While appearing cool, Smith inwardly smirked at how badly the prosecutor had misread his 'audience'. The man was well dressed, smartly attired and fat. No one in Richmond had seen any of those three for at least three years and it instantly marked him out as an outsider. He carried himself with an air of smugness that had already put the jury on edge. He had only just arrived from California, some kind of speech writer who now wanted to make name for himself as the Liberal Kelsey Grammer. Smith waited for him to finish talking and then he would bury the fat jackass.
“The crimes of the Coe government are many.” Prosecutor Moore started “They are crimes against people from all walks of life in America and beyond. But, he could not have committed them without the aid of those hungry for power.”
Motioning towards Lucy Simmons, Moore gave her a contemptible look, playing to the audience in all the wrong ways “People like Lucy Simmons. She took to the bed of Angus Dearson, Captain of the Holy Battalions and gave him her body in return for a extra comforts out of the reach of other people. She also took this opportunity to inform him of any dissent in Richmond, causing the deaths of dozens, if not hundreds of people! Because of her, the so called Holy Battalions managed to murder those who could have stood against them and liberated this city much sooner!”
Turning towards Simmons, Moore walked towards her, his greater bulk causing her to shrink back in her chair “Lucy Simmons is no better than a traitor to her nation, her family and friends. When she is placed on trial with everyone like her, I will make sure she is rightly punished for her crimes. For two years, she sold out people like you for her own good. Let me bring her to justice. Let me be the one to help start the healing in this city.”
Moore then turned back and sat down at his bench, pristine and clean amid the dusty and broken down courtroom. Looking at the assembled Grand Jury, Smith knew that the prosecutor had lost them completely, he decided to have a little fun and add to his reputation. He stayed seated for a while, dragging things out until the judge was finally forced to call upon him “Mr. Smith, do you have anything to say?”
Smith saw Lucy look at him, the pain clear in her eyes. She'd been through so much. She was starving, much smaller than someone her age and the trauma of the last few years was obvious on her. Smith then looked to Moore, a fat, well fed man who had run to the safety of California and then came back when it was safe to claim glory and power. Oh, he was going to use this chance to not just beat him, but humiliate him.
“Mr. Smith?”
Giving Simmons a reassuring smile, Smith then turned back and looked at the judge “Sorry your honour, I was just trying to figure out what weighs more. All the bullshit the prosecutor just said, or his fat ass.”
The laughter from the Grand Jury drowned out the outraged shout from Moore and it took the judge several moments to bring the proceedings under control, even if he did have to contain a smirk “Mr Smith...” He began.
“I apologise your honour.” Smith replied smoothly “I've had a stressful week, it's been getting to me. Much like the prosecution's attempt at a diet, it won't happen again.”
Another laugh from the jury, another impotent objection from Moore and another quick apology to help smooth things over before he was held in contempt and Smith was back to business. The judge himself gave Smith a stern look, after suppressing a smile anyway. Smith then stood up, revealing his threadbare suit that was fourth-hand at least and was once navy blue, but had long settled into a sort of weak grey. Unlike Moore's tailored outfit, this one was poor, worn and spoke to those in the jury, reminding them that Smith had gone through the same hardships as them, that he knew their pain.
It was also the only suit he could afford, but it still had its use.
“Now it seems my esteemed colleague got some things mixed up. You see, his current job title, the job he now has and not the cushy number in California, is prosecutor, not persecutor. And that's what he's doing right now, persecuting. Lucy Simmons wasn't spending her time in Angus Dearson's bed because she wanted to, but because he threatened to kill her brother if she didn't. This isn't in dispute, Dearson confessed to this in his trial last week, something the prosecution didn't want you to know.”
“The other thing he didn't want you to know, beside his cholesterol account – withdrawn – is that Dearson specifically said that he got his information through torture of captives. To him, Lucy was just a source of pleasure. She is a victim here, the same as us. We all suffered as Lucy has. Douglas Coe and his Holy Battalions chewed us up and spat us back out. Look at Lucy and see yourself in her. A victim of this war, this insanity that infected this country. It was unbearable for almost all of us in this room. We had to deal with threats to our lives on a daily basis. We couldn't hide overseas. We couldn't run to Canada, or England, or California...”
“Enough!” Moore shouted, rising to his feet quickly as he yelled at Smith, the last jibe proving to be the straw that broke the camel's back “You do not get to accuse me of running! I didn't run to California!”
“Well, I can believe that, looks like you've never run anywhere.” Smith retorted, this one causing the jury to laugh at Moore once again. The judge didn't even bother to bang his makeshift gavel to restore order as he was chuckling along with everyone else.
Smith looked at Moore and smirked. He knew he had won and Lucy Simmons would walk out of here a free woman.
* * *
“Heard you got a full dismissal today Mr. Smith.”
Looking up from his desk, Smith gave a smile at Heather Donahue walking into his 'office'. More of a broom closet really. The law firm didn't have the resources to hire out a big building, nor did they want too. Most were badly damaged due to abandonment or vandalism so they were making do with an old firehouse which was mostly crammed full of desperately written files as the case loads were soon overwhelming. With most of the paperwork before the war destroyed, it was taking a long time to get things up and running again.
“Shouldn't have even reached the Grand Jury.” Smith replied as he motioned towards the stool that he made do for a second chair in his 'office', there being no room for anything bigger “Fat idiot was looking for a quick victory to build p his name and thought he could push around a teenage girl to get it.”
Giving Smith a smile, Heather gave him a thumbs up. Despite being one of the many people thrown around the US because of Rumsfeld and the chaos that had come from afterwards, Heather managed to retain a cheerful disposition that probably had something to do with the notable fragrance she carried around with her and would have gotten her arrested a few years ago “What's she going to do now?” She asked, bringing Smith out of his thoughts.
“Pointed her towards the army. Hopefully Lucy and her brother can get some food there and rebuild something that almost looks like a life.” Once again, Smith was forced to think about others who weren't so lucky and he looked at the files on his desk, the caseloads seemingly too much right now.
“Well in that case, you deserve the usual reward.” Heather said, leaning towards the desk with a grin.
Ah, now this was one of the reasons why he wanted Heather as his assistant. Nineteen and already knew how to work out some tricks “OK, what is it tonight then?” Smith asked eagerly.
“Ghostsmashers!”
“... What?” Smith asked in surprise before frowning “I'm pretty sure that isn't even a real term.”
“You did say you wanted more comedy movies.” Heather replied before pulling a sheet of paper from her too small and worn jacket pocket, showing to to be the film's poster “This one's a joint production. Canada, England and France!”
Taking the poster, Smith held his judgement for the time being. He wanted Heather as his assistant for her ability to do the job, sure. But he also wanted her because she was a movie buff who could rattle off trivia and somehow managed to wrangle an ability to get access to the army and their supply of movies that were used to help raise morale. It was something that Smith enjoyed taking full advantage of.
Looking down the paper, Smith saw the symbol of a ghost covered by a censor symbol and then looked down the cast list “Dan Akyroyd, Harold Ramis, Adrian Lester, Jean... Reno?” He questioned, not sure if he was getting that right.
“He's French.”
“Ah, of course. No Jackie Chan in this one?”
Heather snorted “Nope, you know he only goes for the big budget stuff these days. Last I heard, the Soviets were trying to get him to do a movie for the Russian market. They're going to have a fight. Guy might be huge in England, but he's a God in Hong Kong. They'll want to keep him away from there alright.”
Before the conversation could continue, Smith glanced up to see an unwelcome figure in the door. The richly suited and red faced Moore was glaring down at him. Before the prosecutor could speak however, Smith got the first jab in “Ah, prosecutor. Sorry, my office is a bit cramped for you right now. How about we go somewhere that'll better fit your size. The Grand Canyon, perhaps?”
Heather quickly covered her mouth as Moore seethed, gritting his teeth before he spoke “Listen here you son of a bitch. I don't know what the Hell it is you're doing, protecting that little Christian Values slut, but it stops here!”
Smith waited for a few second before replying, making sure he was speaking clearly and with a level tone. If anyone was listening in, he wanted to make sure they'd hear everything correctly “I was defending a womoan who had been repeatedly raped from the worst prosecution I have ever seen. It was malicious, incompetently presented and petty. Lucy Simmons needed help, not you breathing down her neck.”
“So, you're one of them, are you?” Moore demanded “Protecting the people who destroyed this country. People who used their religion to allow them to do whatever they wanted! The moment we let any of those monsters escape, they win!”
“You seem to forget that Lucy wasn't a monster, she was a victim!” Smith replied, getting fed up of this man's wilful blindness “If you lump her in with the likes of Coe and Roberston, then you're not doing your damn job! Lucy is one of those we need to protect, she isn't a monster and the moment we see people like her as the enemy is the moment we cross the line that Rumsfeld did!”
Moore didn't reply for a few moments, looking as if he couldn't think of anything to answer that before he finally spoke “Just remember who it is you're dealing with here Smith. It's going to be a new order once the CSA is finally killed off and I'm going to be part of it. I have many friends in high places. So you best not protect anymore people like Simmons, if you don't want to spend the rest of your life chasing ambulances in some incest ridden hickstown outside Indiana.”
“Oh, but Indiana is so nice this time of year.” A new voice said from behind Moore. Smith could see who it was and his eyebrows raised as Moore turned, looked into the face of the man behind him and paled in fear. The shaved head, the goatee, the rich, black skin and the scar that stretched from cheek to a stub that was all that remained of his ear was well known to many who looked at wanted posters. Avery Brooks, wanted by the Rumsfeld Administration for treason against the state and who had made a name for himself by turning the President's little white men into little dead men.
Brooks was smiling, but it was an unsettling one. The teeth were showing and the eyes were bright, but in the same manner that a knife in the moonlight was. He gripped Moore's shoulder and pushed him away from the doorframe “If you would now end your meeting, I have an appointment with Mr. Smith. Please, don't let me keep you for... any reason.”
It was unsettling how a man could sound so cordial and yet so threatening at the same time. Without another word, Moore turned and quickly scuttled away while Brooks turned to Heather “I would prefer this to be a private meeting.”
Glancing towards Smith, who nodded, Heather quickly left the room, relief evident in her body language as Brooks sat down “I trust that introductions aren't needed?” He asked, that same pleasant, unsettling tone making Smith nervous.
“I heard what you did to Rumsfeld's men in Kansas City, that's all the introduction I need.” Smith said, thinking that he had no idea that Brooks was coming. But he wasn't going to risk angering the man behind the Kansas City Incident when all he had for protection were two armfuls of legal files.
Brooks chuckled, rubbing the remains of his right ear absent mindedly “Well, Kansas City was one of them. One of these days, I hope everyone knows what happened in Boise, but I'm not here to talk about that. I'm here to talk about the future. My future. Your future. Our people's future.”
Smith knew enough of Brooks' politics to know exactly what he was getting at “I've never gotten into the Black Panther stuff. Never had a chance in Philly.”
“Well, I'm giving you that chance Mr. Smith. Moore was right about one thing, there is a new order coming, but do we want to be a part of it? Every administration of the US has beaten down black people. They have stolen our pride, our dignity and our lives. Rumsfeld was no different, he just let the dogs off the leash. Our brothers have been fighting the CSA not for the rich, white man in the north, but for ourselves. We are carving our own destiny from now on Mr. Smith and we want you to be a part of it.”
Choosing his words carefully, Smith spoke “You want me to be the one at your side in the courtroom?”
“You have a reputation Mr. Smith. You are popular among our people, but you need to look more at defending them. We need people like you to further our cause, that of our liberty and security. Take a look around you Mr. Smith. Can you tell me you believe that things will get better for us? Look at the south, who took the chance to raise the CSA onto a pedestal while casting our brothers and sisters back into chains. They waited for the first chance they got to put the hoods right back on and started burning the crosses!”
Brooks stood up, leaning over the desk and Smith saw into his eyes, seeing the anger, the sheer rage that he knew all too well “Look around you Mr Smith. Tell me, give me your honest answer. Do you think our people will ever get a fair chance in any kind of America? Or are we damned in their eyes to forever be a bunch of niggers?”
Smith thought about it. He thought about his friends in Philadelphia, one who was beaten to death for crossing the street in front of a cop car. He thought about his mother, having to flee from her home as it burned because of the madness of the CSA. And he thought about what Moore said, that no matter what, people would continue making the same damned mistakes that had sent this country to Hell in the first place.
Son of a bitch, Brooks was right.
“What do you want?” Smith asked, an edge in his voice that he hadn't felt before.
“For now? To carry on as normal.” Brooks said, the smile on his face mirroring that of a Priest talking to a fresh convert “When the time comes, and it will, we'll need you to put forward a case, our case. You'll broadcast it to every brother and sister from sea to shining sea. And then, it'll be the start of something new. Liberty Mr. Smith. Our liberty.”
After Brooks had left, Heather quickly returned, checking to see if Smith was alright. He made a few comments that nothing had happened, maybe a new case for him to take on, but nothing beyond that. When she had gone, Smith found he couldn't focus and was soon staring at the wall. He thought about what Brooks had said and what they were aiming for. The liberty of all those who had been enslaved by the USA throughout its history. There had been anger when Brooks had spoken, but there was something else, something that had been missing for a long time and something that Smith wanted to give to his people.
He would help them find hope.
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