Gugilstan

Gugilstan[1]

Ghaniyah[2] brushed her long, luxurious dark hair out of her face, and grimaced as the torchlight hit her stunning amber eyes. It was way too early for anyone to be up, even the sun. The only reason she was up this early was because she had to prepare for the trihonvil[3] rituals being held that day. She shouldn’t have to do this; she was almost royalty, the next in line for the position of High Priestess, and yet here she was being treated as a lowly servant girl. Rupinder[4], the High Priestess, still hadn’t convinced Ghaniyah exactly why she needed to go through this training for all levels of life; she was good and smart enough for the job. Personally, she thought the trihonvil rituals were some of the least important rituals practiced by the convent, where all the priestesses and female servants gathered to beat their chests to honor the priests, but one had to satisfy the males of their power somehow.
She abruptly stopped her current train of thought and focused on getting washed and dressed with the assistance of Zita, her friend and personal servant. Setting up the bagato[5] would take forever, and she was cutting it close as it was; there’d be no way she’d be able to get back to her rooms in time to change and shower before the ceremonies began. She’d just have to wear her ritual dress and hope she didn’t get it too noticeably dirty.
“We must be going now, come on,” Zita said softly, tugging at her sleeve. Her light blue eyes were clouded with worry. She was personally responsible for getting Ghaniyah there on time, even if the whole point of the exercise for Ghaniyah was to learn responsibility. If Zita and Ghaniyah didn’t finish lighting the incense and candles in time for the ceremony, they would both be severely punished, but Zita more so because she was supposed to know better. Ghaniyah looked at her friend calmly, understanding exactly what was going through her mind “Don’t worry, we can do it! If worse comes to worse, I can distract them outside for a bit while you finish up.” And so, giggling, the girls quietly raced to the bagato in the darkness.
Gasping, Zita arrived first at the entrance to the orange tent-like building with Ghaniyah close behind her. She had gone slower, lugged down with the elaborate ceremonial dress that she was trying to keep clean and failing miserably. Ghaniyah studied the damage done to the garb briefly, and, deeming it a lost cause, stepped forward to open the doors to the shrine. Zita leaned over her shoulder eagerly; servants were rarely allowed to go inside the main bagato except on a couple of special ritual days a year, and that was always when it was crowded. She had never been able to study the intricate designs in the floors, on the walls, and on the cloth-like ceilings. The doors swung open and Zita gasped. She had known it was exquisite, but she had never realized how exquisite. Ghaniyah glanced at her, amused. “It’s not as great as it looks, you know.”
Zita just smiled and nodded at her friend’s ignorance and stepped inside.
“Well, I guess we should start with lighting the candles. They’re already in position, all we have to do is strike the matches and light the wick. Technically, we’re supposed to do them in some order, but I can’t remember it now, and, anyway, we’re short on time. Hopefully the gods won’t get angry with us! Whoo,” Ghaniyah said laughingly, wagging her fingers.
“Don’t say that! We don’t want to anger them! Maybe I should run back to your rooms and get the notes you were given on this…” Zita whispered worriedly.
Ghaniyah’s eyes widened, “Uh… no, that’s okay, I think I can remember it. Just light them in order the way they’re set up, starting here and moving counter-clockwise.” She lied quickly, and without any qualms. She couldn’t mess this up, it was an easy task, even a baby could do it, and if something did go wrong Rupinder wouldn’t trust her with anything. She pointed to the first candle near the door, a green one, and went to get the matches and incense.
As she came back, she handed the incense and a pack of matches to Zita. “Here, you can start the incense while I do the candles. Just put those in incense holders after you light them.” Zita worked quickly, and was finished with the incense before Ghaniyah got to the sixth candle. “Good job. You can keep watch outside for others while I finish up here. Warn me if you see anyone coming, then go back outside to distract them.” Zita nodded and reluctantly exited the sanctuary. The doors let in a gust of wind as they closed, and the candles already lit flickered in the breeze. Alone now, Ghaniyah slowly inhaled the incense, calming herself with the scent of lavender.
Suddenly, she felt another presence in the darkened room with her. Her pupils turned white, and she was whisked away into a blank world. She had fallen onto an empty ground, empty of color, texture, life. She slowly got up and looked around. She was a priestess-in-training, and experiences such as this were not unheard of for the High Priestess. But never before had a priestess spoken of getting a vision before her training was over. Was this a vision? She didn’t know for sure, but had a strong feeling that it was. Suddenly, another figure appeared at the other end of the…room. It wasn’t really a room, but that was the best word to describe it. It was rather like…a limited existence, if that. As she edged closer to the being, it began to speak. “Brought up as you have been to believe…with the other waifs…in a merciful… [Long laugh]… God… [Good laugh]… first thought was… oh long after… sudden flash… you are being punished… for her sins…” With these words, Ghaniyah felt extreme, piercing pain in her stomach and chest. Screaming, she fell to the floor, writhing in pain. The other figure looked shocked for a moment, and the figure’s bright green eyes bolted open. She stared at Ghaniyah curiously, wondering who this girl was and why she was in pain.
Abruptly, the pain stopped. The figure stopped crying, even though Ghaniyah hadn’t noticed the figure had been crying until it stopped. Ghaniyah looked into the figure’s eyes, and saw a quick succession of images and colors. Green. The beginning. A gathering of priests scheming. A group of ladies, speaking and dressing freely. Red. Anger, a struggle. The ladies rising to power. The priests becoming angry. Black. The change of power. Priests commanding, taking down pictures, burning books. Ladies boxed in homes, churches. Yellow. Realization, a split between sisters. Some ladies regained man’s power. Another group remained closed in, but kept the up the struggle for liberation. Purple. For the Greater Good. And Darkness, quickly followed by the emptiness of the foreign world.
Ghaniyah fell back from her approach of the figure, shocked. This being has just told her that her whole life, her destiny, was worthless, no worse than worthless, existence. It was a harmful existence. And Rupinder. She probably knew. She had gotten a sense of time from the images and Rupinder was that old, old enough to know of the happenings. But as Ghaniyah studied the figure, she realized the answer was staring her in the face, the reason why the priests got so worried in the first place. A women’s sexuality. The women in the images were so much more open and connected with their sexuality before it had been taken away from them. Before they were shoved into the convents, and into heavy clothes that removed all semblance of beauty from them. And then Ghaniyah blinked. And was sent spinning back into bagato in the convent in Gugilstan.
Ghaniyah came stumbling back into real existence, into the main room in which all the candles were lit, and the scent of lavender was strong. Zita came back into the room, her face red with excitement. “They’ve arrived. Is it ready?” Zita glanced around. “Good.” Satisfied. “Come here; let me clean you up a bit before they get here.” Ghaniyah jerked away, a look of disgust on her face which she quickly settled back into a look resembling normality. She had to serve the High Priestess until it was her time. And she would forever refer to her as the High Priestess now; she no longer had a name or a face. She was merely a dark overlord, who would eventually be overthrown in Ghaniyah’s time. And with this change of power would come a change for women everywhere. All this went through Ghaniyah’s head in a short amount of time, during which Zita had finished dusting her off and the party of priests and priestesses arrived.

[1] Combination of “Guy” and “Girl”, with “-stan”, meaning “people” added to the end. (Wulfweardswearth, an English male name for World guardian, was also a contender for the name of the world)
[2] Arabic name meaning beautiful woman.
[3] Word made by me, taken from tribute, honor, and civil.
[4] Means "greatest beauty" from Sanskrit "beauty" combined with the name of the Hindu god INDRA, used here to mean "greatest"
[5] The giant temple in which the rituals were to be performed.





Question: Why has the status of women in societies of Middle Eastern cultures been degraded over time? [i]

Answer 1: It hasn’t been degraded over time.[ii]
Women’s rights in Iran are the same now as they ever were. Yes, women have had to defend their rights, “She should start learning to defend her rights as a woman right now!” (Satrapi Vol. 1, 76), but they haven’t changed dramatically. Women will always have to fight for their rights, but so do all people; this will not change over time. Marjane even hoped to break barriers for females as a child, seen with “Before me there had been a few others. (Picture of prophets)” “I am the last prophet.” “A woman?” (Satrapi Vol. 1, 6) But as she grew, she realized that she wasn’t fit for this occupation and decided “I want to be an educated, liberated woman. And if the pursuit of knowledge meant getting cancer, so be it.” (Satrapi Vol. 1, 73) This idea of being educated was a good one, but on being liberated, that was nonsense. She is already liberated, she just doesn’t realize it. “…Our refusal to face facts… leads us to eject the habit from the thought of ourselves and conceive it as an evil power which has somehow overcome us.” (Dewey 18) The habit in this situation would believe oneself to be lacking liberation, but liberation from what? Marjane finally was able to face the standards of being a woman with these words in response to Kia’s “Look at that! You’ve become a real woman.” “Ah well! We all end up having to accept ourselves!” (Satrapi Vol. 2, 108)

Answer 2: Religion extremism has made it easier.
Women’s rights in Persepolis used to be very extensive. A woman was respected for her abilities and opinions, could wear whatever she deemed fashionable, and could even work alongside men. But this changed with the rise of Islam, especially with the Shah’s rise to power. This is immediately seen in Persepolis: Story of a Childhood with “I didn’t really know what to think about the veil. Deep down I was very religious, but as a family we were very modern and avant-garde.” (Satrapi Vol. 1, 6) As Marjane continues to grow up, it becomes easier and easier to tell that females’ rights are being taken from them. At one point, Marjane’s mother even tells her, “If anyone ever asks you what you do during the day, say you pray, you understand??” (Satrapi Vol. 1, 75) Mother does this to protect Marjane, but at the same time she was confirming that their freedom was being stolen from them. It was in this setting of religious extremism and fundamentalism that Marjane, and all the other children of Iran, grew up.
Being brought up under a strict, God (or Allah)-fearing society was also seen in Not I, “…brought up as she had been to believe…with the other waifs…in a merciful… [Brief laugh]…God... [Good laugh]… first thought was…oh long after…sudden flash…she was being punished…for her sins…” (Beckett beginning of Not I).
After being in this society for some time, some women even relinquished their basic rights, or perhaps exchanged them for rights of a different variety, and began to turn on others of their own kind. “They were guardians of the revolution, the women’s branch… Their job was to put us back on the straight and narrow by explaining the duties of Muslim women.”(Satrapi Vol 1, 132-133) This is possibly the scariest aspect of the whole idea, that women could be brainwashed by religion to sacrifice their birthrights and sisters for “For the Greater Good” (J.K. Rowling Deathly Hallows, 357).

Answer 3: “Men are scared of women’s high level of sexuality.” -Brad
Men are scared of a woman’s connectedness with their sexuality, and the power it gives them. In order to disguise this fact, they make women disguise the very things that make them so powerful, such as their hair and intellect. This is seen both in a story told by Uncle Anoosh and by his own opinions. The story was about a girlfriend of a prisoner about to be executed, and what she was willing to do for him, “You know what it’s like to be an unmarried mother in this country. You will be shunned. Life will be hell.” “I don’t care…” (Satrapi Vol. 1, 58) This reflects the power a woman has to reproduce, and how she can change the course of events if she wants it deeply enough, but how the society will shun her for doing so. Anoosh goes on to talk about his Russian ex-wife. “Russians aren’t like us…Its hearts they don’t have. They don’t know how to love…What my wife made me suffer was much worse [than torture].” (Satrapi Vol. 1, 59-60) This shows how powerful women are, and how powerfully they can mentally hurt people. Yet even with all this repression of the female sexuality, it can express itself in the simplest ways; “I watched my grandma undress. Each morning, she picked jasmine flowers to put in her bra so that she would smell nice. When she undressed, you could see the flowers fall from her breasts. It was something to see.” (Satrapi Vol. 1, 150). Even the Iranians still recognize the power women hold; “the husband must pay his wife a dowry.” (Satrapi Vol. 2, 110). In other cases, women aren’t even aware of their power or allure, as seen in “Happiness”. “As for Mother – she thought nothing of running out of the bathroom in her slip…And she booked no criticism on her behavior. “Celibacy was never meant to take all the warmth and homeliness out of their lives,” she said.” (Lavin 31). Yes, Mother and Father Hugh denied anything more than a platonic relationship, but there were rumors about them ‘making free’, and Father Hughes was rather strongly affected by her death; “…his step, like his voice, was the step of a lover.” (Lavin 46) and “…pressing his face close to hers, as close as a kiss, he kept whispering to her…” (Lavin 48). This evidence leads me to believe that even if they did have a simple platonic relationship, she still had power over him in a sensual way. This same relationship was probably reflected in the Middle East, what with religion getting in the way. The Middle Eastern religious man probably realized the hold women had over them because of their comfort with their sexuality and wanted to put a stop on it, so he started taking away their rights.

[i] I did indeed read the second volume, but was able to find more evidence in the first to support my answers, which is why this piece only has two measly quotes from the second. I think this is so because in the first volume Marjane is more optimistic and she lives in Persepolis for the whole of the story, so you are able to see how women are treated there.
[ii] I had to become devil’s advocate for this answer, so that’s why it may not completely make sense.

The Good Terrorist

The God of Small Terrorists by K-Dogg

Phillip K said it’s how kind you are
so don’t stand there wishing on a star
get up off you’re a** and cover some ground
and that don’t mean blowin’ up s*** you found
life is not waiting by the side of the road
it’s there down in the heart of your fellow toad
so pucker up and lay one down on the lips
turn’ em all into princes (and princesses with hips)

we’ve all got gods you know--I do, too
and the god of small terrorists will be there for you
but you’ve got to think large, get out of the box
before you get clautrophobic and short of locks
listen my children now and you will hear
about how to ride at midnight and forget your fear
about how to strike fast and hard and good
and how to clean up the world (or your neighborhood)

step one you’ve got to step up, cut the apron strings
stealing from your moma ain’t no kind of thing
man must earn by the sweat of his brow
(and woman do the same, you all equal now)
step two you’ve got to find the appropriate ring
Ali don’t fight in the alley, he’s a king
find something worth dying for—or preferably worth living
don’t make yourself the turkey at the next Thanksgiving

step three you must take a good look at the world
pull your head out of your orifice, let your spine uncurl
that don’t just mean marching at a protest downtown
sometimes you’ve got to just wrap your fingers around
the neck of the problem and give it a shake
blocking up streets is a good start and take
a lesson from the teachers in Oaxaca, oh man,
their b**** was so big it must have been hard to stand

looking down from heaven like some blessed damozel
or looking up from your coffee break in hell
one thing you don’t want to read on your stone is s***
like you hadn’t really been a part of it.
go . . . go
the god is on your side


Skeleton:
Question: What is a “good” terrorist?

Answer 1: One who is independent of others—which means a big “No” vote for Alice so far as her quality as a terrorist goes. Alice is obviously still dependant on many people. First up is her father. She goes to his office and steals “a thousand pounds” (Lessing 190), a very large sum. In fact, according to my friends at www.measuringworth.com/ , it’s over $3,000 dollars in today’s money. This is not even the first time Alice has taken money from her father . . . and the way that she does it—using her familiarity with the place of business and the people who work there to gain access to the money—is despicable. Outright thievery would be much more honest and admirable . . . not to mention more independent. She shows the same childish dependence on her mother on various occasions, but the one that sticks out most to me is when she reflects on the fact that her mother has moved out of the house Alice grew up in. Her reaction is that of a child: “her heart whimpered and hurt her; she had no real home now. There was no place that knew her, could recognize her and take her in.” (Lessing 214) Needless to say, I hope, for a thirty-six year old woman this is pretty pathetic. (Not to mention the fact that this is seriously exacerbated when we later find out that the reason Dorothy had to move out of her house was because she had given succor to Alice and Jasper.) Alice also depends upon the largesse of the British government—“So we are all on Social Security,” she says to her mates early on in the book, and they continue to live on the Social Security system even as they go about making bombs, etc.

Connection: The most natural point of synthesis here would seem to be Plato’s “Crito,” in which Socrates speaks for the Laws of Athens. He says, “Although we have brought you into the world and reared you and educated you, and given you and all your fellow citizens a share in all the good things at our disposal, nevertheless by the very fact of granting our permission we openly proclaim this principle: that any Athenian, on attaining to manhood and seeing for himself the political organization of the state and us its Laws, is permitted, if he is not satisfied with us, to take his property and go away wherever he likes.” (Plato 62) It’s easy to see the flaws in this argument—for instance, it would seem to make all forms of protest invalid, and to eliminate free speech, which I wouldn’t really be behind—but there is also some obvious truth here. (And Alice won’t even leave the country behind long enough to be trained as an anti-government agent!)

Answer 2: One who possesses a set of ideals. This one is a bit trickier when it’s applied to Alice. On the one hand, she clearly does have some true zeal when it comes to the communist agenda: “ . . . when we have abolished fascist imperialism, there won’t be people like that.” (Lessing 53) Oddly enough, though, she thinks this when she looks at the ripped wires in the kitchen early in the novel. Undoubtedly the men who did this were common workingmen. For a communist, Alice seems to have a great deal of aversion to the common man, though. She is contemptuous of her father’s secretary and she at one point refers to a maid in a very derogatory fashion. Her convictions seem to run towards the abstract (one day we will create a better world) and the violent (throwing a rock through her father’s window, attacking used clothing in the attic, saying she wants the people of the middle class to be destroyed). It’s also easy to see where her ideology goes wrong. For instance, almost from the start of the book—at least as early as page 48, and perhaps earlier—she refers to 45 Old Mill Road as “her house” (Lessing 48). Even worse, she uses money to make improvements to the house even after Jasper tells her, “While you play house and gardens, pouring money away on rubbish, the Cause has to suffer, do without.” (Lessing 150) Alice just seems to be playing at this business most of the time. She likes to go out and spray-paint graffiti (Lessing 232), for instance. This is minor vandalism—of the sort usually practiced by children, I might add—not revolution. I think Alice’s mom, Dorothy, summed it all up best when she said, “ . . . people picketing, or marching or demonstrating, they are having a marvelous time. And if they are beaten up by the police, so much the better.” (Lessing 339) She then delivers the coup de grace: “To the people who really run this world, you are a joke. They watch you at it and think: Good, that’s keeping them busy.” (Lessing 340) When you get right down to it, it seems that Alice has absorbed all of the values of her (upper) middle class upbringing, and all she really wants is a nice home in the suburbs where she can make soup and take care of her brood. She won’t let herself accept this because she feels that she was mistreated as a child and because of her love for Jasper, who is the true communist here.

Connection: I see this in Prisons We Choose to Live Inside in many spots. For one, “Adults who hold on to all kinds of cosy illusions and comforting notions remain immature.” (Lessing, Prisons 19) It may seem a bit odd to refer to wanting to destroy the fascist imperial middle class regime as a cosy illusion . . . but that’s just what it is. It’s an illusion in that neither Alice nor anyone else in the group ever does anything to bring the idea into (or even closer to) reality, and it’s cosy in that the fire of this thought is used to bring the group together; they warm their hands on this anger. We could also talk for a page or two about brainwashing and individuality (or the lack thereof) in Alice, but let’s leave it with this: “But more subtle and demanding—more dangerous—are the pressures from inside, which demand that you should conform, and it is these that are the hardest to watch and to control.” (Lessing, Prisons 55) This line could be the foundation stone of The Good Terrorist.

Answer 3: One who acts upon his/her ideals. As John Fletcher (1579 – 1625) said, “Deeds, not words shall speak me.” (I’ll bet you thought it was Chuck Norris, didn’t you?) This is where Alice most obviously fails in terms of being a good terrorist. She only does useless things in the political arena: the aforementioned graffiti spraying, marching at rallies, and blowing up a concrete post in the center square (Lessing 311). When Comrade Andrew asks Alice to take part in his plan, her reaction is, “It’s no good, Comrade Andrew. I couldn’t do it. . . . I couldn’t live like that. I would go mad.” (Lessing 167) We must keep in mind that Alice saw Comrade Andrew as the real thing so far as communists were concerned, yet not only does she refuse to take part in this plan, she even refuses to passively cooperate when she will not allow the packages Andrew has agreed to accept to be lodged at 45 Old Mill Road.

Connection: Alice is a good girl. She is not a good terrorist. By dint of the fact that she lives amongst, knows the actions of, and participates to some degree in the acts of terrorists, I would have to say that she is a terrorist, though—even though she wants to deny this at the end of the novel. The big problem here seems to be that Alice is unaware of the powerful riptides that rule her life. In “Habits and Will,” John Dewey discusses bad habits. He says, “It makes us do things we are ashamed of, things which we tell ourselves we prefer not to do. It overrides our formal resolutions, our conscious decisions. When we are honest with ourselves we acknowledge that a habit has this power because it is so intimately a part of ourselves. It has a hold upon us because we are the habit.” (Dewey 17) Alice can’t see this . . . can’t look into herself and understand that she truly wants a “normal” life . . . and so she constantly contradicts herself. Oddly enough, she becomes as translucent to us as other characters are to her—which may be the purpose of this book. “Does everything always have to be so predictable? Do people really have to be such sheep?” (Lessing, Prisons 53) The answer, of course, is no. Jasper and Faye, for instance, are fierce individualists. For the most part they refuse to even walk with the herd. They are both caught in the bomb explosion at the end of the book because they actually are involved in the business of terrorism. (They may not be good terrorists, but at least they’re trying . . . and there’s still room for one of them to improve.)

In the end, all you can say of Alice is that “she hadn’t really been a part of it.” (Lessing 371) That is one sad epithet, isn’t it?

The Interview and To Alice

The Interview (God of Small Things paper - option A)

I called God to request an interview. I’ve never been a very religious person, I just never really felt the “spirit” or something, but my editor, Truman, gave me the assignment. I called, but God didn’t answer. I got a voicemail.

“Thank you for calling God. We’re sorry no one is available to take your call. To leave a prayer for health, press one; for safety, press two; for prosperity, press three; for charity, press four;” I stopped paying attention and instead stared at the wall of my cubical, imagining the swirls of color into shapes and stories. “For homework or test assistance, press 2-star-5; for material possessions under $500, press 2-star-6; for material possessions over…” the voice trailed away again. How many different prayer request hotlines can there be?

I waited on the phone for over two hours, until the voice finally said “For options not listed, please stay on the line.” Followed by elevator music. I thought God would have something slightly more sophisticated, apparently not.

Maybe this is why no little kid gets a pony for their birthday: they didn’t call the hotline.

“Please leave your request after the tone. Thank you for contacting God.” Beep.

“Um, hello, this is Shannon Bryer, with the Weekly Sun. I’m calling to request an interview with God. Please call me back at 482-5938. Thank you.” I hung up the phone.

Of all the pointless assignments to be given. “Conduct an interview with God.” What am I supposed to say? “Hi God, how’re you today? Thanks a lot for the global warming. Why don’t you care about children being forced into war in Uganda? The genocide in Darfur? The whole situation in Myanmar? How do you feel about the countless millions starving to death? Or those being exploited and tricked into near-slavery in sweatshops?”

I can’t imagine that going well.

God’s secretary called me back the next morning to schedule the meeting. Either skeptics are given equal opportunity to talk with God, or he’s not omniscient after all. God could see me that afternoon for a two-hour interview. I suppose not many people try to meet with him in person.

I couldn’t decide if I was nervous. On one hand, I wouldn’t want to offend God, even if I’m not sure I believe in him. On the other hand, since God knows all my thoughts and acts anyway, why be nervous? It’s not like anything I do will be a surprise.

God’s building was downtown, in the heart of the hustle and bustle. I took the subway instead of driving; it’s not too bad to drive from the suburbs to the outskirts of the city, but getting downtown, parking, and getting back to the station would have been a nightmare.

I didn’t have much trouble finding the building. It’s one of those monstrous skyscrapers with reflective windows, and on a corner.

Finding God, though, was a different story. I asked the receptionist in the lobby to show me up, or page God, or somehow get me to where I was going. She gave me a small smile, and then held out her hand. I shook it, only trying to be polite, and repeated myself. “Hi, I’m Shannon Bryer, with the Weekly Sun. I have an appointment this afternoon to speak with God, would you mind showing me to his office?”

The woman laughed. “You’re already there. I’m God, very pleased to meet you.”

“No, ma’am,” I stammered. “I don’t think you’ve quite understood me. I really have an appointment to speak with God, and need to get to his office soon. I’d rather not wait long; I don’t want to be late. Would it be possible for you to page him?” I was certain by her smiling that this woman was insane. That, or she didn’t really know who she worked for, and thought that I was crazy.

“No, Shannon, I don’t think you’ve quite understood me. I’m who you came to see. I’m God.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but there must be some mistake,” I stepped toward the elevators. “I’ll just go try to find him myself. I’m sure somebody will be able to help me.” I pressed the call button.

“Well, alright, if you want to go about it the hard way. I’ll wait here for you.”

The elevator light lit, a sharp ding pierced my ears. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I choked before stepping on.

Inside the elevator, I stared at the panel of buttons. Which floor is God most likely to have his office on? I closed my eyes and jabbed at the panel; twelve, the floor twelve button glowed, and the elevator moved almost painfully slowly.

The doors finally opened onto a small corridor, facing a glass wall. A woman, the receptionist I assumed, smiled and greeted me as I walked through the door.

“Good afternoon. How may I help you today?”

“Hi, I’m Shannon Bryer. I’m scheduled for a meeting this afternoon with God. Would you happen to know where his office is?” She laughed, which I couldn’t help but take as a bad sign.

“I don’t know how you could have missed her. She was waiting for you at the desk downstairs.”

“What?”

“You’ve already met God. Partly, at least.”

“Partly? I’ve partly met God?”

“Well, yes. Go back downstairs, she’ll explain everything.”

By this point I was getting angry. The last thing I felt up for today was a wild goose chase. How hard could it be to find God? “Look, I have a very important meeting scheduled with God. Would you please just show me to his office?” I snapped.

The woman gave me a blank look. “She’s downstairs waiting for you. You can run around this building all day, but it’s not going to get you anywhere. Why are you so reluctant to believe it’s her?”

I didn’t know what to say. “Because God would not be sitting at a receptionist’s desk.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He just wouldn’t. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go find him myself.”

“You’re welcome to try, but she’s waiting for you downstairs so that would be pointless.” I stopped. If she were right, I’d be wasting my time looking for God, but how could God be that woman at the front desk? She was small and pale, looked like she could use a good meal and a trip to the spa. Certainly that couldn’t be God. He must have been somewhere else; they must have been trying to trick me.

I took the woman’s advice, though. I went back to the lobby, to find the same small woman sitting there. As I approached her, she gave me the same look an adult might give a little child who has made the very mistake they had just been warned about.

“Hello again,” she greeted me. “I see you took her advice and came back?”

I stopped short. “How did you know about that?”

She laughed and pointed to a monitor on her desk, showing scenes from each floor. “I watched,” she said.

I regained my composure and looked her in the eye. “So, why should I believe that you’re God? You don’t look like God. I doubt God would have a job as a receptionist. And now I really am late for my appointment, so please, either take me to God’s office or prove to me that I’m already there.”

“I don’t have an office,” she replied, still smiling.

“Fine. But you are God, right?” I was certain that this was going to be the worst two hours of my life. The most irritating, if nothing else.

“Yes, in a sense.”

“In a sense? In a sense!” I was ready to leave. Truman could write the piece himself; I wasn’t putting up with this.

“Hey, relax for a minute. You’re supposed to be interviewing me. Go ahead, ask a question.”

“Why should I believe that you’re God?”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“Because you’re a receptionist. Why would God be his own receptionist?

She shrugged. “I’m the managing receptionist. Does that make it better? I’m the head of something, do you believe me now?”

“No. Where do you live?”

“In an apartment across town, why?”

“Why not a mansion? Why wouldn’t God live in a mansion?”

“I don’t know. I’m happy with the small things; I’m not concerned about where I live. There are memories and little things in and around that apartment that make me happy.”

“Well, maybe you’re God in your own little universe, but I certainly don’t think you are.”

“I’m sure some people would agree with you, but some people would call me God.”

“Like who?”

“My little kids, probably. Or the girls across the hall who I baby-sit every weekend.”

“Having little kids think you’re great doesn’t mean you’re God.”

She just shrugged again, unfazed by any of my questions. “Maybe it doesn’t to you. That’s fine.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. For a moment I just stared at her in silence. “Would you please tell me where I can find God? I really need to get to this meeting.”

She laughed. “I don’t think you’re going to find who you’re looking for here. I’m sorry.”

I was furious, but there was nothing I could do. So I simply left.

Question: What makes Velutha the God of Small Things?

Answer One: Of all the small things, he is the biggest. Velutha has an enormous amount of impact and influence for an untouchable; despite the caste system, Velutha is given some authority and respect in the Paradise Pickles company. “Mammachi rehired Velutha as the factory carpenter and put him in charge of general maintenance. It caused a great deal of resentment among the other Touchable factory workers because, according to them, Paravans were not meant to be carpenters. And certainly, prodigal Paravans were not meant to be rehired.” (Roy 74). He makes more money than a Paravan would, and was even put through a school for untouchables by Mammachi. “Mammachi persuaded Vellya Paapen to send him [Velutha] to the Untouchables School that her father-in-law Punnyan Kunju had founded.” (Roy 72). Education and success, however, are seen as negatives in an untouchable, making them unsafe. “Unlike Velutha, Kuttappen [his brother] was a good, safe Paravan. He could neither read nor write.” (Roy 197). It was hinted at throughout the book that Velutha’s confidence, skill, and education caused him problems, even with his father. “Perhaps it was just a lack of hesitation. An unwarranted assurance. … While these were qualities that were perfectly acceptable, perhaps even desirable, in Touchables, Vellya Paapen thought that in a Paravan they could (and would, and indeed, should) be construed as insolence.” (Roy 73). Velutha is given a remarkably high status for his caste, and, though it causes him a great deal of trouble, it makes him the biggest, or the God, of the small things (those in society within a low caste, specifically, the untouchables).

Connection: Perhaps Velutha is the biggest of small things, the most highly thought-of untouchable, because he has fulfilled his proper function. “In speaking of the proper function of a given individual we mean that it is the same in kind as the function of an individual who sets high standards for himself.” (Aristotle 8). Velutha, despite his low caste, has received an education, is an accomplished carpenter, has a relatively well-paying job in the Paradise Pickles factory, and is loved by many people. It would be hard to say that he had not attained his proper function, since he is quite successful (as much as he could be, at least, given his low status in society). Maybe then he is the god of small things because, since he has “made something of himself,” so to say, he has fulfilled his proper function (and may be, therefore, happy).

Answer Two: He appreciates, and shows others (especially Ammu), to appreciate the small things. Being an untouchable, Velutha obviously has none of the “big things,” such as a house, or even less concrete ideas such as social respect (outside of the Paradise Pickles company) or equality. He does, however, seem to be happy with the small things, and teaches Ammu to do the same. “Instinctively they stuck to the Small Things. The Big Things ever lurked inside. They knew that there was nowhere for them to go. They had nothing. No future. So they stuck to the small things.” (Roy 320). Ammu and Velutha’s relationship can go nowhere, they can’t dream of a future together, marriage, or even have a true courtship. They only have the small things, their nights together, small jokes, but nothing more to dream of or wait for. “They laughed at ant-bites on each other’s bottoms, at clumsy caterpillars…at the minute spider who lived in a crack in the wall of the back verandah of the History House and camouflaged himself by covering his body with bits of rubbish.” (Roy 320). Throughout their brief affair, Velutha and Ammu have only the small things to look forward to, and Velutha shows Ammu to appreciate simply that.

Connections: “The poor man’s farthing is worth more/Than all the gold on Afric’s shore.” (Blake, Auguries of Innocence). Like Velutha and Ammu’s relationship and subsequent appreciation for the small things, Blake suggests that, when you have little (either by being monetarily/physically poor, or simply having no future to look to), whatever pleasures or joys you do have (“the poor man’s farthing,” a relationship based on momentary bliss and small lighthearted jokes because a future, any lasting love, is not possible within the society) become infinitely important. The spider in the History House, “Choppu Thamburan, Velutha called him. Lord Rubbish,” (Roy 320) becomes very important to Velutha and Ammu for that reason; it is a small thing, which like their love may not last long because of external hardships, but means the world to them. When you don’t have much, the small things you do have are immensely important.

This is also supported by Velutha’s genuine appreciation for the small things. Instead of convincing himself that he “can sleep naked on the ground and eat grass,” (Chekhov 76) and still be happy, Velutha truly appreciates what he has and wants no more. He doesn’t revel in his poverty, he finds happiness in small wonders despite it.

Answer Three: The children adore him. I’m not being facetious; Velutha is loved by Estha and Rahel, who are the small things of this book (in size, of course, and also in impact and relevance to the other characters—they’re regarded as just children by much of the family, not very important or influential) (except, of course, by their mother and Velutha). “‘Who’s Velutha?’ Sophie Mol wanted to know. ‘A man we love,’ Rahel said.” (Roy 144). Several times throughout the book, the twins refer to Velutha as someone that they love, and are obviously very close to him. “They visited him in saris, clumping gracelessly through red mud and long grass …It is only now, these years later, that Rahel with adult hindsight recognized the sweetness of that gesture. A grown man entertaining three raccoons, treating them like real ladies.” (Roy 181). He plays with the twins, helping them fix the boat they found (and teaching them to do so themselves, “he showed them how to follow the grain of the wood. He started them off with the sandpapering.” [Roy 203]). Velutha loves, helps, and plays with the children when no one else will (everyone is doting on Sophie Mol and Margaret Kochamma, etc.), making him the god of small things (children and children’s emotional needs, in this case).

To Alice (Good Terrorist paper - option A)

If, like a child, you go on denying
Those basic parts of life, then who
Is to stop you?
Perpetually nine years old, disgusted
With reality and grit and grime,
Throwing your tantrums still and
Never learning to self-sooth or self-rely,
You’ll go on, for who is to stop you?
And if you’re not a child, but a lover
Why try convincing yourself otherwise?
Yet nothing would change, so I suppose
Denial is the easier route
(we all want that juicy steak once in a while).
But as nothing more than a friend
To your love, wouldn’t you search
For another after all these years?
(After all, you’re older now,
If you want children don’t hesitate any longer).
You think you gain purity in your lie
But try so hard to convince yourself
That we all see through your deception.
Or, still, do you see your denial noble,
As an ascetic denies her comfort?
After all, you wouldn’t want to shame
Your profession.
You’d destroy your purpose with
Such a realization, so go on.
Tell yourself (and all of us),
Allow yourself to be disgusted
If doing so should let you
Reach some higher purpose.

Question:Why is Alice so averse to sexuality?

Answer One: Alice is immature, and therefore still holds childlike views of sex. Very few children are not disgusted by the idea of sex, and this is typically seen as a natural stage in their life. However, most people grow out of this during their life and become comfortable, if not enthusiastic, with the thought of human sexuality. Alice, however, is 36 years old and still disgusted by it. Throughout the novel, Alice often comes off as quite younger than she truly is. In the end, she is described as “looking this morning like a nine-year-old girl who has had, perhaps, a bad dream…” (Lessing 375). Alice demonstrates very typical childish behavior: honestly believing that her parents have infinite amounts of money, and that it is their obligation to give it to her, and hers to fairly take (“She must get money. She must. … Her father. But he must give it to me. He’s got to!” [Lessing 76]), throwing temper tantrums (“An hour or so ago, she had seen a stone of the right size and shape…and had put it into her pocket. … As she reached her father’s house, she walked straight in at the gate, which she hardly bothered to open quietly, and flung the stone as hard as she could at the glass of the bedroom window…. She heard the shattering glass, a scream, her father’s shout. [Lessing 130-131]), and getting disproportionally upset over rather minor and fixable problems (“There was a dead bird on the floor. It stank. Alice began to cry from pure rage.” [Lessing 5]. Several times throughout the book, Alice cries at something small—dirt in a corner, an overturned bird nest—much like children do. She is unable to put small problems into perspective and deal with them; she is overwhelmed by what most adults would deal with and move on.). Since Alice is already so childish, it is not difficult to believe that she is so disgusted by the notion of sex because of her mental and psychological immaturity.

Answer Two: Alice is very much in love with Jasper, and since a sexual relationship with him is impossible she convinces herself that she doesn’t want sex. When questioned by Theresa about why she doesn’t leave Jasper and find a more “real” relationship, Alice answers “‘I love Jasper….I love him. Why don’t you understand? I don’t care—about what you care about. Love isn’t just sex.’” (Lessing 34-35). She sees and thinks of him as though they were a couple. “Jasper and Alice had been lying tense; now they relaxed and lay companionably silent, and Alice was thinking: We are together. … This is like a marriage: talking together before going to sleep.” (Lessing 83) Throughout the novel, Alice strongly asserts her disdain toward sexuality. If Alice truly isn’t interested in sex, why does she think about it so much? She’d do so less if she were truly uninterested, instead, she is merely trying to convince herself, and those around her, that she wants no part of a sexual relationship (odd, for a thirty-six year old woman). She seems to catch herself almost enjoying slightly sexual situations with Comrade Andrew, which would suggest that she isn’t nearly as disgusted with sex as she would like to be. “Now she lay close beside him, and his hot strong body began to send waves of sensation through her. She was fascinated and disgusted. She kept her eyes straight up at the ceiling, for she knew what she would see if she looked down along his body. She wasn’t going to get involved with that, … they were lying in such a way that his hard protrusion was kept from her, so she didn’t mind it.” (Lessing 231-232). She allows Comrade Andrew to touch her, though she says that she hates being touched. This does seem to say that she isn’t as averse to sexuality as she claims to be, and is merely trying to convince herself.

Connection: This struck me as very similar to Vera’s relationship with Father Hugh in Mary Lavin’s “Happiness.” Both relationships have an odd, almost non-relationship quality to them. Though the members of each non-couple care for and love each other, sexuality is—quite deliberately—left out. The relationships seem more than just friendship (shown by Alice’s professions of love for Jasper and, most notably in “Happiness,” the final scene wherein Father Hugh is described as behaving like a lover, not a friend: “‘Vera!’ he called. ‘Vera!’—sternly, so sternly that, more intimate than an endearment, his tone shocked us.” [Lavin 46]). Perhaps Alice feels that her love for Jasper is made stronger because sex is not an issue between them, as Vera and Father Hugh seem to believe (Father Hugh’s being a priest, and therefore taking a vow of celibacy to keep such perceived impurities from his life and relationships, is a testament to that).

Answer Three: It would be a bad idea to bring children into the cause. Alice doesn’t want sex because, as we all know, having sex can lead to having babies, which could be bad for the cause. I’ve never tried it, but I imagine that it would be difficult to raise a child in a squat and still continue to participate in political activities. When she realizes that some people will probably bring their children to the CCU Congress “reminded of the thorns and snags of the thickets of principle … [she] sent off a second batch of letters in all directions to say that children could not come.” (Lessing 212). Having children around could obviously hinder a revolutionary in their work for the cause, so Alice sees it best to simply leave sex out of her life altogether and not risk it. The CCU is important to Alice; she was one of the originating members. “‘And you started the CCU?’ [asked Reggie]. ‘I was one of them. And Jasper Willis.’” (Lessing 98). Since the CCU means so much to Alice—she helped create it, she watched it turn into a small party, her beliefs and political feelings are shared within the party, etc—it is reasonable to believe that she wouldn’t want to compromise its livelihood by bringing children into the picture.

Connections: The Hunger Artist, too, would not threaten what means so much to him with something most see as an ordinary part of life. “…The initiates knew well enough that during his fast the artist would never in any circumstances, not even under forcible compulsion, swallow the smallest morsel of food; the honor of his profession forbade it. Not every watcher, of course, was capable of understanding this, there were often groups of night watchers who were very lax in carrying out their duties and deliberately huddled together in a retired corner to play cards with great absorption, obviously intending to give the hunger artist the chance of a little refreshment, which they supposed he could draw from some private hoard. Nothing annoyed the hunger artist more than such watchers; they made him miserable; they made his fast seem unendurable;” (Kafka 109). Alice is so disgusted by sexuality, especially when people question why she does not seek a sexual relationship, because she if deeply offended by the suggestion that she would risk her abilities and potentially hamper the cause in such a way, just as the hunger artist is offended by the suggestion that he would dishonor his profession.

This may also play into Alice’s proper function. “In speaking of the proper function of a given individual we mean that it is the same in kind as the function of an individual who sets high standards for himself [or herself].” (Aristotle 8). If Alice’s function is to be a revolutionary, then her proper function is to be a good revolutionary (or a good terrorist, perhaps?). Having a child in tow could greatly hamper her capacity to be a good (revolutionary or terrorist, whichever you prefer). Therefore, her proper function (and, by Aristotle’s reasoning, her ability to attain happiness) excludes the possibility of children (they would drag her down, be the “millstones round [her] neck” [Roy 240], so to say). Alice does not want anything to do with sex because it comes with the possibility of having children, which would destroy her proper function and thus her ability to be truly happy.

Treason

Treason

“Hey you, stop!” A tall, burly officer was shouting from below the platform. A small figure was racing towards them in the distance. The boys looked at each other with confusion, “Is that a Talik, that’s all, I mean, I expected like two hundred of them rushing over the hill top waving guns in the air,” Kaden remarked casually as he spit out his gum.
“Nah, there’s no way that’s one of them. Remember the illustrations from the books? They’re all tall and muscular with jet black eyes and evil grins. Probably because they’re all inbred1.” Blake’s comment had barely escaped his lips when they heard more shouting and then screams coming from below them.
“Boys, get down here!” The officer shouted up at the guard tower to Kaden and Blake.
“Guess we’d better get down there,” Kaden said as they hoisted themselves up off the steel bench and raced to the hatch, Their boots clanked on each ladder rung as they climbed down.
“Come here boys, this’ll be an excellent opportunity to show you what you’re up against. What your enemy is like.” He twisted the arm of the mysterious figure around so that it was facing the boys. The mysterious figure was in fact, a she. Her face was badly bruised and cut. Dark strands of black hair were matted against her face with sweat and blood. Green eyes stared up at the boys with contempt.
“This, is a Talik. An outcast, a murderer, and a thieving pig. She doesn’t look that menacing does she?2 Reach into her left boot.”
Kaden obediently reached his hand down into the boot; his hand hit something sharp and metallic. He pulled out a dagger.
“Now Blake, you take the right boot. Let’s see what she’s hidden in there,” commanded the officer. Blake pulled out a tiny vial of purplish liquid.
“Poison, no doubt,” spat the officer, “I’m telling you boys, they’re treacherous. First they sent their sons to kill us on the battlefields and now they’re sending their daughters to cross the borders, to sneak around like little rats. They must be desperate for a victory now.”
A van pulled up to the edge of the fence to take the girl away. Officers shoved her into the back and cuffed her hands. Who knew where she was to be sent.
“Yep boys, I think they’re getting pretty desperate. If we’re lucky, you’ll be the last generation that has to fight for Sorre. You should be proud, protecting your families and serving your country3,” the officer said as he patted them both on the back.

The day dragged on as Kaden and Blake sat in their guard posts with keen eyes on the border. Who knew when the next one would come racing over the hill? They had better be ready. “That girl didn’t look anything like the pictures in the book, Blake,” Kaden said uncomfortably.
Oh, it’s just because the painting in the book is old, that’s all. I’m sure they exaggerated a little bit, plus, the Talik in the painting is a guy.” Blake shrugged off Kaden’s concerned look, “Nothing to lose sleep over.” For a while there was silence. Only the buzz and the low whine of the electric fence below made a sound. No soldiers’ boots clanked as they passed on patrol. Kaden coughed.
“Do you think they took her to the mines or to the camps?”
“I don’t know, I guess the mines. She looked fine besides the scrapes on her head. Maybe they sent her to the camps though, but I thought they only did that if someone was dangerous,” Blake answered nonchalantly. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon4.


“Boys, wake up!” The officer from yesterday was standing over their cots.
“What’s going on, sir?” Blake rubbed his eyes and squinted at the man.
“You all are going to get your first lesson in dealing with the enemy. You’re going to be put on guard duty for the Talik we caught yesterday. She was supposed to be sent to the camps, but a sandstorm blew in on the Eastern border, and we can’t get her outta here on the trucks until next week. Have fun. Your C.O. will meet you at the barracks and give you the details,” he said with a cheery face. “I’ll see you boys later.” The officers’ boots clanked back down the hall.
“I guess we should get dressed and go, huh?” Kaden asked unsurely.
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Blake. The boys threw on their brown and sand colored fatigues and ran out the door to the end of the barracks. A tall man in a white cap with a blue commander’s stripe was waiting for them there.
“You must be the new trainees for interrogation. Of course, we hope you are, can’t ever be too sure…Please show me your identicards.” The boys slid their cards through the scanner on the door and entered through the threshold. Inside it was dark and dingy. Bright fluorescent bulbs5 lit circles of the floor in the hallway every few feet or so. The commander walked inside.
“So, I guess I’ll show you around. Here’s the first aid office, and here’s the infirmary to your right. You’ve probably heard how treacherous the Taliks are. They can hide a knife anywhere. Oh, and here’s the officers’ quarters for everyone who works here. You guys are in 117 and 118 down that hall and…” Kaden and Blake had both tuned out the commander’s rambling when they saw what lay ahead of them. There was a steel plated door with black and yellow caution signs posted saying, “Interrogation rooms: no admittance unless authorized on identicard. All possessions must be left at the guard station. No outside weapons allowed.”
“That must be where they keep them all, all of the Taliks and traitors from the base,” Kaden said with curiosity.
The commander awoke from his long monologue, “Oh, yes, yes, indeed. They kept them all back there under high security. That’s where you boys will be working. You are very lucky, you know, to get to serve your country this way. Most of you youngsters don’t get promoted until after at least one battle. You two must be quite the patriotic soldiers6.”
“Uhh, yes sir, we are sir, very honored and proud, sir,” said Blake with the utmost importance. They proceeded down the hallway and through the yellow door into the next room. Every surface was white and pristinely clean. There were two tables with what looked like straight jackets on them. There were also several shelves with CDs on them that had labels displaying unknown bands to Blake and Kaden. The guard office was to the left of the door. A man sitting in there waved to the commander.
“Hi, Barty. Guys, this is where you’ll be working for the next few weeks or so. Here’s your beginner’s manual, and Barty here will show you the ropes tomorrow. You know where your rooms are already, so I’ll be off now. See you boys at dinner.” The commander strode down the hallway toward the yellow and black door. The boys glanced down at the heavy paperback book that had been placed in their hands. It read, “The Protocols and Regulations for Humane6.5 Interrogation of the Taliks and of other Individuals Whom Threaten the State of Sorre.”
“Wow, I guess we’d better get reading,” joked Blake. But Kaden wasn’t listening. Instead, his eyes were gazing into the corner of the room designated with a big yellow sign as, “Holding Cells.” There, in cell # 42, was the Talik they had seen captured earlier. She was crying and gazing up hopelessly at the ceiling. Her green eyes caught Kaden’s blue ones. Almost instantly her expression changed from one of despair to one of loathing and determination. She limped out of view to the other side of her cell.
“Hey, Kaden, are you okay, man?” Blake asked as he shook Kaden’s shoulder.

Later in their new dorms, Kaden and Blake were studying their manuals for their new jobs. Something was bothering Kaden though, and Blake had picked up on it. “Hey man, what happened to you back there?”
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s so odd. You don’t imagine your enemy as a weeping girl in the corner of a cell I guess7. Have you read chapter twenty-four yet? The one about metal music and sleep deprivation? I guess that’s why they had so many CDs.”
“Yeah, but my question is, have you even read chapter one? You’re enemy can be anyone, remember? Don’t let it get to you. They’re vicious, they’re like animals. They’ll do anything to get us, to win. Did you read that story in the newspaper last week? That Talik took a baby hostage in the market and then blew the place to smithereens. It was awful. Like twenty people died. You can’t trust them, no matter how innocent or human they look.8”
“Yeah man, you’re right. I can’t let them get to me, that’s what they’d want.”

The sun rose above the horizon, shining beams of light on Blake’s closed eyelids. He begins to stir. “Uggh, I guess it’s time to get up, Kaden.” He turned and looked over at the bed beside him. Kaden is slumped over his manual with his face in the book.
Blake laughs, “Kaden buddy, wake up! It’s time to go to work.”
“Huh, oh yeah…did I fall asleep like this last night? Aww man, I’m gonna be the laughing stock of the barracks.”
Kaden yawns. “Well, let’s hurry and get dressed.” Blake jogs over to his locker and puts on his fatigues.
After dressing and eating breakfast, the boys walk down to the yellow and black striped door for their first day of work. “Hi boys, are you ready to go?” Barty stepped out from behind the guard station to greet them.
“Yes sir,” Blake and Kaden respond in unison.
“All righty then, let’s go.” The boys glance left and right as they walk down the cell block corridors until they reach #42.
“I see you all have met our newest guest. The commander said you guys helped catch her. Well, now she’s gonna be your problem today. Here’s her clipboard. It’s got all her medical information, prisoner number, and all the info we’ve been able to extract from her so far, which hasn’t been much. There’s also a list of interrogation techniques allowed. If you have any questions come and ask me, you get the picture.”
“Yes sir,” the boys responded in unison again.
“Well, have fun. If you have any problems, let me know. We don’t like to use the batons often, but sometimes it’s necessary. They’re in my office drawer if you need them. Oh, and here,” he handed the boys a small, thin silver pager with a green, yellow, and red button on it. “It’s a signaling device if you ever need anything. Green is for medical care, yellow is for help if they’re getting disorderly, and red is a panic button. Nobody has ever needed to use the red one, but like we told you, they can be treacherous. You never know what they’ll do9,” Barty grimaced.
The boys glanced down at the white clipboard as they entered the cell. It read:

Name: unknown at present date Eye color: green
Status: Talik Height: 5’6”
Age: approx. 18-20 years Weight: 125 lbs.
Sex: Female Identification number: 249637

Medical information:
Contusions to the forehead suffered before entry into facility. Blood-work reveals antibodies present for all diseases tested for, indicating current vaccinations. Allergen sensitivity test reveals negative for antibiotics and positive for antigen 21 and 42. Reaction involves mild skin rash and irritation. Antigen 34 was also tested and was found to induce symptoms of anaphylactic shock requiring treatment with epinephrine.

Psychological Evaluation:
Mental state is fairly stable. Breaking point predicted to be at 2 weeks under mild interrogation.

Approved and Recommended Interrogation Techniques:
­ Pre-hypothermia water immersion
­ Sleep deprivation via music
­ Use of antigen 21 and 42
­ Use of antigen 34, but only while under the strict supervision of medical staff.
­ General verbal breaking techniques

Gained information:
None to date


“Whoa, Blake, she’s like the same age as us,” Kaden said in shock10.
“Yeah, and that surprises you because?” Blake asked in a sarcastic tone.
“Oh, it doesn’t surprise me, I mean, they’re brutal. I just thought their soldiers were older, a little more battle hardened, that’s all.”
“All right, I guess we’d better go talk to her and see what info she’ll give us. She must know something; otherwise, they’d have just sent her to the mines in the south. She doesn’t look that dangerous,” said Blake as he opened the door with his identicard.
“Hi,” Kaden said shyly. The girl sat up from her pallet on the floor and glared at them, her wounds had begun to scab over.
“Dude, what’s up with you?” Blake elbowed Kaden.
“First of all, what’s your name?” Blake asked in a stern tone.
“What does it matter to you? I thought this was my name.” She pulled up her pant leg to reveal a number tattooed on her ankle. It read, “24963711.”
“It doesn’t. Just thought you’d like to be called by something other than a six-digit number, that’s all. But have it your way,” Kaden said dismissively.
“You are all so pathetic, acting like you actually care, like you actually give a damn about what I think,” she smiled sardonically, “My name’s Ceren, Kira Ceren. Happy now?”
“Very,” said Blake mockingly as Kaden scribbled her name down on the chart.
“So, umm, Kira, why are you attacking us? Who sent you? Where’s your base?” Kaden asked her with increasing confidence.
“Oh, it’s situated up high in the Azula Mountains in a little cave stashed full of bazooka launchers and hand grenades. We’re attacking you because we hate you, you’re evil, and we want you to die.” She sniggered, “That’s what you wanted to hear, right?”
“No, what I want to hear is the truth. Why are you killing our families and friends? Why do you invade our borders and kill our children? What do you want?” Blake questioned as he stared at the clipboard.
“You want the honest truth?”
“Yes,” Kaden said impatiently.
“Bull, no you don’t,” Kira grinned contemptuously.
“Yes, we do, and if you don’t tell us we’re going to find a less pleasant way to get it out of you,” Blake threatened.
“Okay, does this qualify as the truth for you? We’re starving to death. You’ve cut off our water supplies with dams and our trade routes with military patrols. The states to the north of us won’t even trade with us anymore because they’re so afraid of your army. You kidnap our people all the time, and God knows what you do with them. You took my twin brother away from my mother and I when I was four. You took my father away when you decided to napalm our grain fields. I came to find food and hopefully, my brother. It’s as simple as that.”
“Yeah, that’s the truth12 all right. You all are just the poor, innocent victims who cross our borders to find food and family members. Then what’s the knife and poison for?” Blake asked her with contempt in his voice.
“The knife is for self defense against goons like you. The poison was for me. I didn’t get to use it before I was captured and landed here. We know how you torture people, what happens behind these walls…” Kira said coldly.
“You know what, I hope your brother is dead. Maybe you think you’re so high and mighty, but your people killed my parents. The Taliks orphaned me. This government that you hate so much raised me. They gave me everything. An education, a career, everything. There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for it13.”
“You’re an idiot, a dumb, stubborn, good for nothing robot and I hope you rot in hell,” she spat at him. Saliva sprayed through the air and sprinkled Blake’s face.
Blake furiously jabbed the yellow button on his pager. “Blake, don’t you think that’s over-reacting a little? She’s just upset about her brother, that’s all. Hey, snap outta it!” Kaden shouted at him.
Barty burst through the door panting, “What’s going on here?”
“She spat at me,” Blake answered coolly.
Kira laughed14.
“What? You called me down here for that kinda stuff? Just slap her. Don’t call me again for stupid stuff like this.” Barty slammed the door shut as he left.
Kira laughed again.
“Shut up!” Blake yelled as he slapped her face15.
“Blake! Calm down! You need to cool off dude. Come on, let’s go eat lunch,” Kaden suggested.
“Yeah, all right,” Blake glared at Kira. He exited and Kaden sealed the lock behind them again. Kira sank back into corner and turned her stinging cheek towards the wall.

Kaden and Blake had just sat down to lunch when the overhead speaker in the cafeteria announced, “Will the guards in charge of prisoner number 249637 please report to the main office.”
“Aww man, we didn’t even get to eat,” complained Blake.
“Hey, you stay and finish your lunch and I’ll go. You need to chill out and relax for a bit longer,” Kaden said thoughtfully.
“Thanks,” responded Blake.
Kaden made his way down the fluorescent bulbed hallway to the gray door that read, “Main Office.” He approached the lady at the desk, “Umm, excuse me ma‘am. You paged for prisoner number 249637’s guard?”
“Oh yes, here you go honey.” She handed him a ripped khaki cloth sack.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, it’s what we found of her possessions. She dropped it not too far from the fence before she was captured. We didn’t know if it would be any use to you in the interrogation, but take it anyway.”
“Okay, thank you, ma’am,” Kaden said as he picked up the sack and exited through the gray door. On his way down the hallway, he began rifling through the sack to see what was in it. A toothbrush, a map, an energy bar, flint, and some kind of crumpled paper. Kaden unfolded it to reveal a photograph of four people. All of them had brownish black hair and eyes of varying shades of green and hazel. There was a little boy and a little girl, both probably four or five years old. They were both sitting in their mother’s lap. “That must have been her twin brother,” Kaden thought to himself. He looked closer at the bottom of the picture where names and dates were scribbled. It was from 2037. The names read: James, Laura, Kira (4 yrs.), and Blake (4 yrs.). Kaden took a double take. The closer he looked, the more apparent it became. His friend, Blake, looked just like the little boy in the picture. His eyes were green, his hair a dark brown, and his nose looked just like the one on the little boy. “But that’s impossible,” Kaden thought to himself, “Blake’s family was killed by the Taliks. There’s no way he was one of them.” He tried to push the thought out of his head as he made his way back to the cafeteria, but it was no use. The thought was like a flashing red light in the back of his mind displaying neon letters that read, “Stop and think!16”
Blake was finishing his vanilla pudding when Kaden returned. He greeted him with a grin, “So, what’s the scoop?”
“Oh, nothing. They just found some of her belongings, that’s all. Toothbrush, energy bar, that kind of stuff.”
“Aww, I thought maybe there was something we could’ve used to get more info out of her,” Blake said disappointed.
“Did you ever consider that maybe she did tell us the truth? Maybe we’re the ones who are being lied to?” Kaden suggested feebly.
“No, not for one second. She’s a lying, dirty, rotten animal, and that’s all. You’re starting to sound like one of them. Are you trying to be brought up on treason charges?17” Blake asked aggressively.
“No, just forget it, you’re right,” Kaden submitted.
“Let’s go back now. Barty will be mad if we’re late on our first day.” The boys went back down the hall and entered through the yellow and black striped door. Kaden was still distracted by his thoughts about the photo. He decided to go to the guard station to pull Blake’s file. That way he could see if there was anything about his family that was missing from the story.
“Hey, I’ll catch up with you in a minute. I’ve got to go ask Barty a quick question about protocol,” Kaden said as he slipped through the guard station door.
“Hi Barty. I was wondering if you could pull Blake’s file for me. It’s just that, I’m concerned about his mental state lately, and he won’t talk to me, so I’m hoping to find something in his file that will help before referring him to the psychologist,” Kaden said politely.
“Sure, here, whatever floats your boat,” Barty said as he handed him the file. Kaden glanced down at it. He read to the field that asked for nationality. There it was. In big, bold letters, it read, “Reformed Talik.” That was all he needed to see. He had to tell Blake now. He hurriedly shoved the folder back into Barty’s hands, “Thanks, that ought to do it.”
“No problem,” said Barty as Kaden raced down the hall to cell # 42. Inside, he saw that Blake had already started interrogating her again. The sign on the door said, “Caution, high decibel music exceeding the 20,000 range.” Blake had headphones on and was twisting dials on a black audio system with subwoofer speakers. Kira was glaring at him from the corner again with her hands cupped over her ears. Kaden banged on the door. The walls of the cell stopped vibrating and Blake opened the door.
“Hey man, I need to talk to you now,” Kaden said with urgency.
“What, what is it?”
“You’re not going to believe me, but here.” Kaden handed him the picture.
“What’s this?” Blake asked intrigued.
“It’s the picture of Kira’s family from her rucksack. Look at the little boy. Now look at the name at the bottom.”
“It says, Blake, big deal. So her brother’s name was the same as mine and he had dark hair, big deal. It doesn’t mean anything,” Blake said dismissively.
“Well, there’s something else too…I checked your file earlier, just to see if it could be just some crazy coincidence, and, well, you’re a Talik. I know it sounds crazy, but under nationality, you’re listed as a reformed Talik.”
“There’s no way, I don’t have anything in common with that, that monster in there18.” He pointed to Kira.
“Yes, I think you both have quite a bit in common. Not to mention the same genes. I mean, look at the picture, the name, your file, it all makes sense. Plus, you were supposedly orphaned and her brother was kidnapped. It’s a perfect cover story.”
“No, there’s no way…” Blake repeated, shaken.
“Well, let’s go see what she thinks,” suggested Kaden. They re-entered the cell and handed the photo to Kira.
“Hey, I guess you found my stuff,” she said in a falsely cheery voice.
“Yeah, but do I have news for you,” said Kaden.
“What? You’re going to kill me?”
“No, better. He thinks I’m your brother,” Blake said sarcastically.
“No way. What’s your name anyway? I mean, you do sorta look like him, but my brother would have never become the monster that you are.”
“My name is Blake.”

“No way. This is just some kind of mind game you all are playing on me. Cut the crap. What’s this all about?”
“I really think he’s your brother. You both have the same color eyes, the same hair, you’re both Taliks…” Kaden was cut off by Kira, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on a sec. There’s no way he’s a Talik. We don’t torture people, we don’t kidnap children19.”
“He’s what they call a reformed Talik. I suspect that means he was kidnapped since he was raised here and told he was an orphan,” Kaden explained.
“Well, there’s one way to know for sure,” said Kira.
“Turn around Blake.”
“Why, are you going to stab me?”
“No. When we were born, both of us had identical birthmarks on the back of our neck next to the spine, see for yourself.” She turned and showed them the small, brown-pigmented blotch of skin on her neck.
“Turn around Blake,” Kaden commanded. Blake obliged grudgingly.
“You do have a birthmark on the back of your neck, one that’s identical to hers. There’s no way you can deny it now,” said Kaden.
“Wow. That changes a lot,” said Kira.
“Or nothing,” said Blake.
“Or nothing,” acknowledged Kira.
“Well, I’ve got a great idea,” Kaden said sarcastically.
“Why don’t we all just bust out of this joint and go back to Talik. It’s apparent that we’ve all been lied to. Let’s just leave. She was actually telling the truth, so why did they make us interrogate her?”
“Because they needed false confessions for propaganda20,” Kira answered. “How else were they supposed to justify attacking us? All they really wanted was our resources. Water mostly.”
“Well, now that I know that my entire life has been based upon a lie, what next?” Blake asked with both sarcasm and curiosity.
“Well, I’m all for the getting out of here part,” laughed Kira.
“Sounds good to me too,” agreed Kaden.
“Fine, but how are we going to get out of here?”
“We’ll figure out something. How about we escape tomorrow when they come to transport her? How far is it to the Talik border from here?”
“A day’s walk, more or less,” Kira answered.
“Well, everybody had better get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow, all hell is gonna break loose, including the truth21,” Kaden said.
Blake and Kira grinned, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I figure the whole country should know about our happy little family reunion. So, I recorded the entire thing. It’s set to launch over Sorre’s telecommunication systems tomorrow. I told you that technology class would come in handy,” chuckled Kaden.
“Yeah, you did tell me that, except that I remember you hacking the computers more than typing,” laughed Blake.
“Well, well, well, I guess we have ourselves some serious treason on our hands,” said Kira. Laughter22 erupted from the group like a volcano and echoed throughout the cell into the corridors. Lucky for them, Barty was asleep.
1 “…The great over simplifiers are very powerful—Communism, fundamentalist Islam. Poor economies breed tyrannies.” (Lessing 66). This is an example of the way many countries portray their enemies. They over simplify and encourage stereotypes to get their people to hate them and feel superior to the other race or nation. This gives them an excuse to persecute and take things from the other race or nation.

2 “Each side had not one good thing to say about the other, each side was lying…and lying with a good conscience, for the end justifies the means.” (Lessing 24). This is another example of how some countries demonize their enemies. They generalize in order to cast a stereotype over the entire group, which they use as an excuse to hurt them, kill them, take lands from them, etc. Kira, in fact, had never stolen anything from them or killed anyone, but since she was a Talik, they automatically assumed she had. This is also the sort of thinking that pervades the society in The God of Small Things when they think of Untouchables. They assume that just because they are of a different and lower caste, that they are dirty, stupid, and unfit to be around others of the higher castes.

3 This is a form of propaganda being used to target especially the young soldiers. The officer is playing on their pride and patriotism. He is also giving them the false promise that they will be the last ones to fight the war. “Passion, loyalty, and subjection to group pressure is what every government relies on.” (Lessing 60). The truth is that the war will never be over so long as their government keeps stealing resources. And that’s a long shot because when will people ever stop being greedy?

4 This is just a quick reference to the Cave Allegory. The setting sun represents the little bit of sunlight that was shining in their conversation, the little bit of truth. Kaden was trying to explore other possibilities by saying that Kira didn’t exactly look like the description in the book. He was suggesting that there might be something that is out of place or wrong. Blake shoots down his ideas, and the “sun” sets.

5 This is yet another Cave Allegory reference. The circles of light on the floor contrasting with the shadows are supposed be like the artificial and fake light in the Cave, the fire.

6 The commander is stuffing the boys full of propaganda again. He’s making them feel proud and justified in what they’re doing so they won’t question it.

6.5 This is just stuck in the title to make the soldiers feel morally better about what they’re doing. If the word humane is in the title, then everything should be fine.

7 The boys are now getting to see that their enemies don’t exactly fit the stereotypes that had been force fed to them for years. Blake dismisses it as just the treachery of the enemy without even giving it a thought. This is a testament to how thoroughly they have been brainwashed and indoctrinated into these ideas of the enemy. Blake didn’t have a single doubt in his mind that she was just trying to trick them. Of course there was no way that she was human and possibly upset.

8 This is an example of how many governments “de-humanize” the enemy. They make their soldiers feel like they have absolutely nothing in common with the enemy. They go so far as to even deny their humanity. Lessing explores this idea when she talks about how soldiers are desensitized before war. “I have read accounts of how soldiers destined for the front line are desensitized by deliberately exposing them to brutality in such a way that they slowly lose their capacity for seeing the people they have to attack, or interrogate, as human. This is a controlled and skilled process…until they can torture or kill without any emotion whatsoever.” (Lessing 40).

9 Reinforcing that barbarian stereotype again. Repetition is a very important aspect in brainwashing. The more someone is exposed to something, the more they gradually come to accept it as the norm.

10 The fact that neither Blake nor Kaden noticed that Kira was similar to them in something so general as age goes to show how well they were brainwashed. They didn’t notice it until her age was in print in front of their faces.

11 Assigning numbers in place of names is another way to de-humanize the enemy. They don’t even have a name. It makes them seem less human and more like an object with a serial number.

12 Again, Kaden and Blake have been lied to and indoctrinated so much that they can’t even distinguish the truth from lies. They automatically assume that she is lying, and that there’s no way their government could have done any of those things.

13 This is due to the intense brainwashing that Blake has incurred over the years. It also echoes of a “Crito,” government reference. Socrates suggests that people should willingly do just about anything for their country in order to defend it and fulfill its needs. I wonder if he ever took brainwashing into account.

14 “It means, and I hope this won’t sound too wild, choosing to laugh…. The researchers of brainwashing and indoctrination discovered that people who knew how to laugh resisted best. The Turks for instance…the soldiers who faced their torturers with laughter sometimes survived when others did not.” (Lessing 44). Kira is laughing at how stupid Blake is acting, and how dumb the entire situation honestly is. She’s resisting the despair and thoughts of what they could end up doing to her.

15 Blake couldn’t take the criticism of laughter. He didn’t understand how absurd and immature it was to call Barty for something like that, and he wouldn’t tolerate Kira’s laughter. “Fanatics don’t laugh at themselves; laughter is by definition heretical…Bigots can’t laugh. True believers don’t laugh. Their idea of laughter is a satirical cartoon pillorying an opposition person or idea. Tyrants and oppressors don’t laugh at themselves, and don’t tolerate laughter at themselves.” (Lessing 44).

16 Kaden is thinking logically, but the years of brainwashing are making him think using the false knowledge that they have given him. This is similar to the inner censorship that Lessing speaks about. Kaden’s mind is trying to suppress the possibility of anything being other than what the accepted norm is. Which is that the Taliks are bad, they are good.

17 Kaden is challenging everything that they had grown up thinking, and it honestly scares Blake. It would scare most people if you woke up one morning and found out that everything you believed in was a lie. This is why people generally reject any belief that puts them out of their comfort zone. “…You will learn that this attitude on the part of the young is perennial, part of a permanent societal process. You do not want to read anything that upsets your view of yourself as a gloriously new and amazing phenomenon…” (Lessing 69).

18 Blake doesn’t want to have to acknowledge the fact that he has something in common with the “monster.” He is actually the one who is becoming the “monster,” and if he does acknowledge that Kira is human, then he must also acknowledge that what they’re doing is wrong.

19 Even Kira has her biases against the people from Sorre. The stereotypes are mutual, although hers are a bit more accurate.

20 The government had to show the people something for all their war efforts so they’d continue to support them. They gain their support by extracting false confessions.

21 “In war-time the first casualty is truth.” (Lessing 32). The truth had been hidden to justify the war, to justify taking resources, to justify the ends.

22 This goes back to the quote about how tyrants can’t laugh at themselves, and how those who are able to resist by laughing have a better chance at surviving. Kira’s, Kaden’s, and Blake’s laughter was freedom. They could laugh, they could see how absurd things were, how they had been deceived. They were going to survive.

*This is just a little interesting fact about the story. The names of Kira and Blake actually have significance. Kira means, “light” and Blake means “dark or black”. It just illustrates the difference between their characters, polar opposites. This also relates back to the Cave Allegory. The name of the state, Sorre, is actually “erros” spelled backwards, which translates from Italian to English as “wrong.” I just added that in because the state was wrong in just about everything that it did in the story.