He chose violence that day.
It showed in the man’s bloody crooked nose, his missing tooth, his black eye, his messy hair, and his insolent smile. While he was floating in and out of consciousness, he could tell he was being dragged from behind, with his legs splayed helplessly before him, down the street away from his country’s opulent and impotent capital building. The area was in chaos. Fire and smoke camouflaged whether the bodies lying on the ground all around him were still breathing or not. Despite the haze around him and in his own head, the man managed to spit defiantly at the police officer that was lying motionless on the sidewalk he was being dragged past. He savoured the taste of blood in his mouth as unconsciousness overtook him.
That man was in his late thirties, and before today had been a serious person who tried his best to be intelligent, worldly, funny, kind, and agreeable in his passivity. Despite this he was a person, like most of us, that could not help but make mistakes, and they weighed on him. Everyone in his life would try to comfort him by telling him that everyone makes mistakes, and he should learn from them and do better next time. How could that hollow mantra possibly comfort the man when he kept feeling like those errors were backing him further and further into a corner from which there was no escape?
Light filled the man’s eyes as consciousness lazily came back to him, the noise, chaos, and life all around him wouldn’t let him stay blacked out for long. The man couldn’t muster up the energy to turn all the way around and see who was dragging him away yet, all he knew was that they were going the opposite direction from the monochrome wall of police uniforms and riot shields and that there was yelling all around him. Relaxing slightly, he let his gaze wander to his reflection in a broken bank window, the spiderweb cracks obscured most of his features, but he saw that uncharacteristic smile he just could not wipe off his face and he could tell he was missing a tooth. The man managed a painful yet heartfelt laugh before drifting back into unconsciousness.
That man was average in every sense of the word, in his looks, his voice, what he was told about his intelligence, and the family he came from; yet he could not simply ignore the siren song of the society that peddled greatness and wealth as humankind’s greatest aspiration. The greatness propaganda screamed at him from every corner of his life while whispering in his ear that he could not afford to make mistakes. He had seen too many others who made too many mistakes in their lives. People like the man begging outside the convenience store for food, the woman shooting up in the alley behind his work, the school shooters on TV, and his mother. Eventually the tyranny of the clock catches up to everyone, and the top 40 under 40 headline on the business magazine he passed by that morning on his way to work yelled at him to hurry up; it spoke louder than his boss who was already yelling at him over the phone for some perceived misstep.
While drifting back into consciousness the man caught sight of a boy, someone who should have been studying in school surely, who was squirming on the ground in agony with his shin bone clearly broken and sticking out from his skin like a monument to the violence enacted upon him. There was an older person next to the boy frantically trying to help them through the smoke and chaos, and the man realized upon seeing the crude approximation of a red cross sewn onto their back that they must have been a medic. The medic was frantically trying to remove the wood from a protest sign that said something about water running out so they could create a splint for the injured person. As soon as the medic got the wood free, they were knocked away by an anti- riot water cannon coming from somewhere in that imposing phalanx of police that was now slowly marching towards them like a rising tide.
The world the man lived in was one filled with existential crises like climate collapse, disease, war, poverty, and politicians, and these were made all the worse by the fact everyone was taught to believe in individualism and that they need to become someone great. A person never truly dies if they become important enough to be remembered for all time. Everyone wanted this, but of course there was not enough of it to go around. Over time his dread and worries dug him hollow as a grave, and it showed in the bags under his eyes that hung heavy like tombstones.
The mind of the man was slowly starting to clear, and he began to piece together his situation while trying not to panic. His thoughts were interrupted by a new set of screams. He looked to see a group of news reporters, who were in the middle of covering the riot on a nearby shop’s balcony, just get hit with a teargas canister. The man was taken aback upon the realization that despite everything, he could not bring himself to even try to figure out a way to flee.
He had worked what many considered worthless jobs his entire life, forced to settle for them after graduating with painfully below average grades. More mistakes. With low grades, low funds, and not having rich parents his options were limited, not like the kids with great and wealthy families that had house parties, bullied him, and somehow still got better grades than him. It was fine though, he could learn from his school mistakes, whatever they were, and make something of himself. He grew up hearing so many stories about the wealthy and powerful people in his society starting from nothing and earning their success through their own hard work from his TV, from motivational speakers at his school, and from the friends who slowly withered away from him since they graduated.
The man caught sight of a woman being dragged in the same direction as him and in the same manner, she even looked beat up in the same way as him. Their eyes met for a moment and the man wondered how silly his smile must have looked and marveled how he finally didn’t care for once; he was just entranced by the beautiful intoxicating smile she gave him.
The man had dated before, but none of his relationships ever lasted. He always either got too busy with work or became insecure that he couldn’t afford to give his partners what he thought they deserved. He redoubled his efforts with work while telling himself his loneliness was only temporary, his inevitable success will bring him happiness and love. All his work led to living paycheque to paycheque since he would use any extra money he earned to buy trinkets and entertainment he didn’t care about which did nothing to fill the longing he felt when he looked through the social media of his old friend and celebrities he admired. He saw all the travel and adventure they experienced, and he told himself he would get there soon too, he only needed a raise, or a better job, or maybe he could go back to school. He bottled up those feelings with the others quickly. Sure, his bosses never listened to him and the people around him didn’t respect the work he did, but everyone told him the job market was bad right now, like it has been his entire life. Even if he could, going back to school would be too risky, and he didn’t know if his passions would be profitable enough to lead him to that wealth and greatness anyway; whatever his passions even were at that point. He had a hard time trying to find them at all after he had long ago buried them in that dead-end where he always worked.
An explosion happened in the bank he had been dragged past before, decimating the ATMs which caused fresh paper bills to rain onto the street between him and the encroaching police line. The man noticed many of the police, made anonymous by their conforming helmets, turned to look at the money, but none of them ran out to collect any. Unknown to the man this was not out of a sense of duty but instead their fear of reprimand and a sense of superiority to those they were approaching, and they did not want to show weakness. He also noticed none of the protestors and rioters ran to collect the money, despite the fact most could easily run into that no man’s land, collect some cash, and run out before they were caught. With his mind clearing, the man started moving his body slowly, but not wanting to interrupt the people dragging him to assumed safety. He never once considered rushing to collect that money himself.
He did eventually go to college and entered a program in something that seemed like it would lead to an easy to find job; he didn’t want to make the mistake of going to school for the wrong thing. He applied himself to his course and passed with decent marks for once. Finally, he had something to be proud of, even if his family yelled at him for it not being good enough. He rushed off to find opportunity, and eventually found a job instead. It wasn’t glamorous and only paid a little more than his previous work, but he was promised there would be opportunity and growth eventually, which just meant he had to be a little more patient and work even harder. He tried not to think of his student debt as he continued to live paycheque to paycheque even in his new and exciting career where he was the new guy that his peers unloaded their work onto, and the boss used as a scapegoat for their boss. Thoughts about asking for raises and promotions flew from his mind every time he was yelled at for something he had little control over, but he tried not to dwell on how much he wanted to quit, after all the job was what he went to school for, so it was just a matter of time before he found that wealth and greatness he was supposed to be striving for. He just had to keep being patient, work hard, and be accommodating like he was raised to be.
The heat of anger filled the man once more, but it did not scare him, instead it warmed him and danced comfortably next to the other emotions he had been experiencing with the full intensity of life for the first time since as long he could remember. Noticing he was fully conscious and recovering, the two protesters that were dragging him to safety stopped and helped him to his feet so they could get away faster from the police that were now mere meters away. He saw the capital building behind that gang of police and noticed a hunger for violence in their eyes and greasy smirks.
He had tried not to pay much attention to the protests previously but knew what sparked them and what they were about. The movement originally started to protest the corruption of the government and the institutional racism that destroyed futures, then grew to include demand to do something about the pending ecological collapse that was making the politicians and their friends rich, and it grew again when those who could not stand their working conditions and the wealth gap joined in. The rallies grew every day and took in more and more elements with their own concerns and intersections. The situation remained peaceful, despite being a little loud and with fringe parts that acted a little bizarre at times. The media latched on to the clamour right away and from various angles, whether it was to highlight the issues, highlight the troublemakers, or make fun of what the media thought their viewers would find shocking; however, the major news outlets never covered the demonstrations honestly, and they quickly got less and less coverage despite their growth; the peacefulness of the events were not good for ratings. However, the politicians were bothered by so many of their citizens protesting their status quo, and they wanted the clamour to end. The protest reached critical mass when its leaders started disappearing mysteriously, and riot police were called in to begin using violent tactics to drive them all off. A leaked report that live ammunition was going to be distributed to some of the riot police was released, but instead of scaring off the protestors it enraged them.
The phone in the man’s tattered suit jacket vibrated, he looked at it to see it was his boss calling him again. He screamed into the air and threw the phone at the coming shield wall which it bounced off and shattered. The man lost his balance and leaned back onto the protestors that were trying to help him back to safety and peace.
No, he couldn’t go back, not yet. He got into this mess when he rounded the corner on his way to work after being yelled at by his boss yet again to find the crackdown on the protest in full swing, with the vanguard of the police beating, arresting, and killing protesters that couldn’t get away fast enough from their initial assault. With the oppressive violence of the state in full force and exposed to the light of day; he could not turn a blind eye. One of the police approached the man, telling him that if he knew what was good for him, he would mind his own business. A protestor in the distance behind the officer, who was old enough to be the man’s parent cried out for help before another policeman silenced him with a decisive hit to his temple with his nightstick. Everything the man had patiently bottled-up burst at once. He hadn’t been in a fight since elementary school, but he pushed past the officer threatening him, grabbed the other one’s nightstick, and fought like a man possessed. Perhaps he was, as it finally took half a dozen officers to finally beat him bloody and leave him for dead before he was rescued by those pair of protestors.
He was in too deep now, and for the first time in a long time he felt alive, and like he could achieve his own personal greatness. He could be free.
Rise up, death is not the end. The past fades away as the man breaks free from those trying to drag him to safety, and a new path he can take rushes clearly into his view as regrets melt away. What once was will ever come back again, the past was like an old dream, and the man chose violence again that day. He grabbed the first solid heavy thing his hand touched and rushed the marching wall of shields that filled his vision, he caught the woman from earlier in his peripheral vision and looked quickly to see that same silly smile he surely had as she rushed forward like him. Unseen and unheard by the man and woman, and damaged and bloody like them, the crowd surges. Hundreds charge into the future right behind them. Defying that monochrome wall of shields, uniforms, and oppression.
They all chose violence that day.
