The Boogaboo, A Story

September 13, 2009

The Boogaboo, a story by Adrian Perez

You could hear the troops as they marched through the first floor. Bumps and thuds proliferated through the floorboards below Emily’s feet. Men and women, intent on more than preserving furniture, lunged forward on their mission up the stairs.

In history, there are many long transitions. And often enough, you can not percieve totally how things are changing. That’s why Emily felt it was best to be in the fray. If you’re making the fray, you get the satisfaction of seeing the state-change. Still she had no idea that it would be so scary.

As the world came together financially, conversationally, and and occassionally physically, Emily had known that the time for justice was now. In her country, the military was still tremendously large. It was a behometh sitting on the back of every citizen.

To quell her sense of injustice to the state of things, in her afternoons she studied Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr. compulsively. It seemed their stories housed the weapon she wished to wield against the world. She was especially enamored by Gandhi’s Satyagraha (“holding firm to the truth that is love”). She also studied Klauswitz and Sun Tzu. The men of war mixed in with the men of peace.

Emily had to have empathy for each side in the fight she intended to win, for she was intending nothing less than the abolition of the military. The majority of her friends discounted her and it proved too devestating at the beginning, so she took herself towards other forms of social justice, practicing as a lawyer, while maintaining her ethical commitment. Most of her job was guiding people into mediated arbitration and away from courts and her office.

Her reputation blossomed as a fair person, and Emily discovered how valuable fairness was. By operating on her strengths in communion over the pursuit of the good and beautiful, she began to defy her weakness. She still lacked bravery, and yet she spoke for truth and fairness. She lacked leadership, and yet she had a growing organization. Weakness was processed by the habit of greatness into unimagined assetts.

So from her personal development came the experiments that led to revolution. Slowly but surely, in a conversation, in a tweet, in a blog post, she changed people’s minds by documenting the strategic acts of suffering that she designed to demonstrate her point about injustice. She lifted not a hand against anyone, and yet, she demanded a just world unswervingly.

People listened as her bones cracked in civil disobediences designed to wake our love. And on the day of a national strike that had been inconceivable ten years earlier, people listened as she was ripped off a podium by a group of coordinated men with the intent of cutting the head from the beast known as peace, but that they called horror.

These pro-military forces were not even composed of the military. As the military grew into a bureacracy of non-fighters, it realized it had to change towards being a force of civilization building as well as destroying. So it was the 800 pound gorilla in the room with so many opinions it had no opinion.

The success of the national strike had so terrorized this abduction group, that they did not kill Emily as planned. They brought her to a house nearby. But in moments the house was stormed.

Emily, blind-folded on the floor heard two helicopters land. A blast as the door was rammed down. Then men and women in body armor burst through the door. Emily kicked her bound feet into the nearest guard. The abductors fired their guns into the oncoming troops. But the troops did not fight back, they simply kept coming. Some were knocked to the floor and some were killed. The mobbing troops crashed into Emily’s room. The first went down, shot in the face. But when her abductors saw that the oncoming troops were merely disarming them as they crashed forward, they set down their guns without knowing why.


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