Shikasta (56 page)

Our agents all expressed indignation at this turn of events, calling them frivolous and insulting.

Towards dawn it rained: another heavy shower. Just as there was a movement to the amphitheatre to light the torches, it rained again. It was a wet, and even chilly dawn. The word went around that the session was cancelled, to give the amphitheatre time to dry out. A great many went to sleep where they were, because of the easing of the tension due to the drop in temperature – and due also, to the general feeling of anticlimax.

As they woke again, through the morning and early afternoon, the conversations and debates began anew, but on a lower note, more seriously, with less laughter. But the mood
was one of amiability.

It is clear now, reading the reports, that the ‘Trial' had in fact ended. At the time though, there was a certain eagerness to know what would happen next.

It was lucky that it rained, but if it had not, I feel that events would have petered out in much the same way.

By five the amphitheatre was dry, and the delegates crammed the seats.

Everyone was looking towards the old white, with many ironical speculations as to what line he would take, but it was George Sherban who went into the centre, held up his arms for silence and began:

‘Yesterday the accused made a counteraccusation. It is one that I know has been thought about and discussed ever since. But today I want to put forward a self-criticism, which I feel we may agree is not outside the spirit of this gathering of ours.'

This was unexpected. Not a sound from anybody. The woman Sharma Patel came forward to stand beside him.

‘We have heard for many days now, accounts of the ill-treatment by the white-skinned races of the Dark Races – to which, as you know, for purposes of this Trial, I have the honour to belong …'

This was greeted with a great roar of sardonic laughter, and from various places around the vast gathering came singing. ‘I have an Indian grandfather', ‘I have a Jewish grandmother'.

He held up his hand, the noise stopped, and he remarked, ‘As it happens, a Jewish grandfather, from Poland. And of course it now seems at least possible that this ancestor of mine originated with the Khazars and not in Israel or anywhere near it, so that gives me two non-European grandparents out of four. But otherwise, of course, I am that common mix, Irish-Scotch, both of them subject races.'

Another roar of laughter. There was a danger the singing would start again, but he stilled it.

‘I want to make a single observation. It is that for three thousand years India has persecuted and ill-treated a part of
its own population. I refer of course to the Untouchables. The unspeakable treatment meted out to these unfortunate people,
barbaric, cruel, senseless,
– these words were thrown up, one after another, with pauses between, like challenges, up into the tiers as he turned slowly around to face every part of the audience – ‘this unspeakably cruel treatment is matched for baseness by nothing the white races have ever done. At this time millions upon millions of people in the subcontinent of India are treated worse than the white South Africans ever treated any black – as badly as any white oppressor ever treated a black man or woman. This is not a question of a year's oppression, a decade's persecution, a century's ill-treatment, not the result of a short-lived and unsuccessful regime like the British Empire, not a ten-year outburst of savagery like Hitler's regime in Europe, not fifty years of savagery like Russian communism, but something built into a religion and a way of life, a culture, so deeply embedded that the frightfulness and ugliness of it apparently cannot even be observed by the people who practise it.'

At this he stepped aside and Sharma Patel took his place.

‘I, an Indian born and bred, ally myself with what our comrade has said. I am not an Untouchable. If I were, I would not be standing here. Because I am not, I am able to stand forward now to say that I heard nothing during the days we have sat here listening to the indictments, that cannot be matched by what I know – what we all know – is true, of the treatment of Indians by Indians. Thousands and thousands of years it has been going on, and still it seems that we are unable to put an end to this monstrous wrong. Instead we come here to criticize others.'

With which she went back to stand with her group, and George Sherban followed her.

A long silence. Nothing was said. Then began the restless stirring and muttering which always means a crowd is going to express itself in some way.

John Brent-Oxford now raised his voice, but not very much, so that everyone was forced to silence themselves so as to listen.

‘We all know that at this time, now, there are nations, nonwhite nations, which dominate and subjugate by force other nations, some equally nonwhite, but other nations that are white.'

Silence again.

Then: ‘Do you want me to remind you of the many instances in history when black, and brown, and light brown, and gold-coloured and cream-coloured nations treated themselves, or other nations badly?'

Silence.

‘For instance, it is not news to any of us that the slave trade in Africa was conducted largely by Arabs and was made possible by the willing cooperation of black people.'

At this point, a latecomer, running down one of the aisles between the seats, called out, ‘It seems we are in for a seminar on man's inhumanity to man.' Various people near him enlightened him on what had been happening, he called down an apology, and during this little stir, it was noticed that people had begun to leave the stadium.

Then a girl stood up and shouted, ‘I've had enough of man's inhumanity to man. What is the point of all this anyway?'

She was German. A Polish girl stood up from the opposite side of the amphitheatre and shouted across, ‘I'm not surprised you have had enough. You can leave if first you stand up like others have done and do some self-criticism. I want you to tell us of the crimes committed by the Germans in the Second World War.'

‘Oh no!' ‘Oh for God's sake!' ‘Let's get out of here,' was now heard from everywhere.

The old white was trying to make himself heard. Other people were calling out that anyone who wanted to make similar points should come down to the floor of the arena and make them properly, clearly, and correctly.

The German girl, pigtails flying, was running down into the arena to face her opponent, who was already there: the Polish girl, a large young woman who was wearing a costume our agents one and all found ‘disgusting' – dirty white shorts
and a brassiere. But by then all the costumes had become a matter of individual whim, and often exiguous.

A lot of people were standing up to shout that they hadn't come to listen to ‘private quarrels'.

This caused more interventions, verbal and otherwise: there were some scuffles. In a moment everything was quarrelling and disorder.

George Sherban brought the proceedings to an end. As he did this, a helicopter appeared, directly overhead, very low. It was large, noisy, with violently flashing lights of different colours.

Suddenly everyone was standing, shaking their fists and screaming. It was by then almost completely dark, the torches were flaring: a scene of confusion and impotent rage.

They all streamed back to the camp. By then everyone recognized the ‘Trial' was over. People were talking about returning to their respective countries. They were hot, dirty, tired, irritable, and very hungry. All night, there were aircraft coming and going. This made it impossible to sleep or to rest. When the light came, everyone streamed away down to the sea, walking, jogging, running.

Not everyone left the camp.

About seven in the morning, a single aircraft came over, flying rather high, and dropped a single well-aimed bomb into the amphitheatre. This was totally destroyed. Some debris fell among the tents. The old white, who was sitting by himself not far from the amphitheatre, was hit by a piece of stone and killed. No one else was hurt.

When the thousands of young people came streaming back, they found a scene of devastation. Some left at once, making their way on foot to towns and villages along the coast where they could begin their long and dangerous journeys home.

By that night very few were left. The camp had been dismantled, the disgusting latrines filled in, the local people had gone.

Our Chinese delegates were taken away by special coaches. Resentment and anger were expressed, as it was seen that
food had been brought, and our delegates were already eating and drinking as they were driven away.

By next morning there was nothing left but the usual half-starved dogs nosing about.

So much for the ‘Trial'.

While it was still in progress, I was getting reports of rumours – very strong and persistent – particularly in India and Africa, that there were plans for ‘mass transfer of populations' to all parts of Europe. By implication, these included plans for pogroms and massacres and the compulsory attachment of land. The rationale for these invasions was always variations on the theme of the white man's culpability, that he had ‘proved himself unfit to play his part in the brotherhood of nations'.

Our
attitude was expected, was
assumed,
to be one of sympathetic noninterference.

Shortly after the delegates left Greece, scattering over the world, these rumours ceased.

Are we then to believe that the highly rhetorical and oversimplified (though of course in essence entirely correct) ‘indictments' had exhausted a certain allowance of anger and desire for revenge? Or that these young people returning home with an
account
of what had taken place, a description of the arguments and counterarguments used – this had the effect of damping certain fires?

I am without any rational explanation. But the
fact
is, coincidence or not, massacres, a determined and planned wiping out of the remaining European populations was on the cards, and being actively endorsed – and now nothing is being heard of it.

This rather minor, and bizarre, and suspect event, the ‘Trial', to begin with almost a joke (not I hasten to add because of its subject), is in fact being commented on everywhere.

This although we allowed no news coverage. Of course accounts – inadequate and inevitably garbled – found their way into the newspapers of the world, including the official organs of the People's Will. But always in a minor and
unemphasized way. There was no television, and it was mentioned hardly at all on the official radio wavelengths.

The question of George Sherban. This ‘Trial' succeeded in elevating him to a position of undisputed leader and spokesman, even though he spoke, during the ‘Trial' itself, perhaps not more than a score of sentences. What did he expect to gain by this exposure of himself in this particular way? Which was accomplished, I remind you, without even the aid of certain positions he could have had for the asking?

I can only report that whatever one may have reasonably expected to happen, the fact is that he disappeared when the ‘Trial' was over. No one seems to know where he is, and yet the Youth organizations and Armies of fifty countries are clamouring for him to visit and ‘instruct'.

Many of the delegates to the ‘Trial' have also disappeared, and people with whom they are known to have been in contact.

What were the subjects of conversation during those days and nights when he was always on view in the camps, talking, discussing, ‘holding seminars'?

Studying my informants' reports, I can come to no conclusion.

He is a fluent and witty conversationalist – yet on no particular subject. He makes a strong impression, yet does not seem to leave people with the memory of strong opinions. He does not take any particular political stand, he has never stood for a class or other position that could be defined. Yet he is trusted by young cadres for whom politics are everything.

Our Agent Tsi Kwang when reporting conversations she was – obviously – fascinated by, since she mentions over and over again that she has been in his company, says, ‘The delegate George Sherban fails to satisfy the soaring aspiration of the People's glorious militancy. He lacks revolutionary sweep. He lacks an ability to base his actions on the highest interests of the broad masses. He suffers from wishy-washy idealism and enthusiasm for humanistic ideas unrelated to concrete requirements. Weak-minded elements with insufficient
bases in correct doctrine find his utterances attractive. He should be exposed and re-educated.'

I have reissued instructions for his elimination.

I send you comradely greetings. My remembrances, memories of an old friendship are one of the few pleasures of my exile.

[This Overlord was recalled shortly after. His friend Ku Yuang had already been removed from his position by an opposing faction. Both were sequestered, and underwent ‘beneficent correction' until their deaths.
Archivists
.]

History of Shikasta, VOL. 3014, Period Between World
Wars II and III.
SUMMARY
CHAPTER.

This was a period of furious activity.

The inhabitants of Shikasta, engaged in destroying themselves, soon to face the intensive, if short, final phase of their long orgy of mutual destruction, were not entirely unaware of their situation. A feeling of foreboding was general, but was not commensurate with the situation, nor specific to the various dangers. Alarms and warnings were frequent, but related to an aspect or part of the situation: these preoccupied them for a while, and were then forgotten as another crisis arose and seemed overriding. A few Shikastans, and in all countries, understood quite well what was happening.

Shikastans, then, in every country, scurried about like insects when their nest is threatened: a breach has been made, and in that place repairs must be effected. And of course, talking went on continuously and always and everywhere; councils, conferences, meetings, discussions, were held all over the planet, some of these purporting to be in the interests of Shikasta as a whole, but the habit of partisan and sectarian thinking was too ingrained for these to be of use.