“What’s a reactionary?”
The two men stood beside the plaza, at the front of a large crowd watching another large crowd face off against a smaller crowd of police. The spectators were alternately cheering and jeering each side; the police were standing quietly in a two-deep line, looking impassive but radiating the nervous energy of people who are about to be in a fight.
The big crowd of protestors were chanting, but not very well. They’d get a chant going in one localized area, and it would start to spread, and then it would fall apart in an uncoordinated mess. It seemed like a metaphor for the whole exercise.
“Ah... it’s somebody with a job that a protestor wants.”
“Huh.”
The two men watched the spectacle, waiting for something to happen.
“How long does this go on?”
“It’s not clear. I mean, the relative goals are unclear. The police want to contain the protestors, keep them from doing any harm, but really they want to be seen to be in control of the situation, right? They’re there to maintain the illusion of an orderly society.”
“Right. So they want to appear strong, but they don’t have a fixed goal, per se.”
“Well, right now they don’t. Sometimes, there’ll be an actual goal, and they’re pretty good at that, but right now they’re on defense, right? So they’re mostly waiting for the protestors to do something.”
“Okay, I understand that.”
“So, the protestors are there to show that they’re there, more or less, and to demonstrate that they have power. In an industrial democracy, the way you demonstrate power is to demonstrate numbers...”
“So the goal of the protestors is to show that they have numbers sufficient to sway political outcomes.”
“Sort of. The goal is also to demonstrate that a group of dedicated people who don’t have the numbers to sway political outcomes still have the power to be disruptive.”
“So it’s a demonstration of nuisance power.”
“More or less.”
One of the men took a piece of chocolate out of his pocket, unwrapped it, broke it in half and offered half to his compatriot. They ate for a while.
“So... jobs are scarce?”
“Hmm?”
“Jobs are... something to be coveted? I thought everybody had one. Had to have one, if they wanted to eat.”
“Ah... sort of. I mean, you have to have a job to get food, shelter, et cetera, but nobody has to actually give you one, yeah?”
“Oh. So it’s sort of a hedged market.”
“I don’t think you’re using that term right.”
“Hum.”
“Anyway, some jobs are better than others. They pay more, or they’re easier, or they offer better working conditions or satisfaction...”
“Satisfaction?”
“Well, you know, things you enjoy doing.”
Objects started to fly through the air, flung in the direction of the police by members of the crowd.
“Okay, phase change: when the protestors start to throw things, the police are going to respond...”
Objects arced back from the police line into the crowd; after they came to rest, they began spewing clouds of vapor. The shouting crowd surged away from the vapor.
“Chemical agents, yes?”
“Yeah, lachrymatory agents mostly. They make your eyes sting and more or less make you want to run away.”
“So the police are basically trying to use the... the cloud bombs to herd the crowd.”
“Yeah, except that the crowd doesn’t have anywhere to go, really; they’ve got them bottled up...”
“So what’s the point of the lachrymatory agents?”
“The crowd doesn’t have anywhere to go, but individuals in the crowd can always walk away.”
“Oh, so the goal of the police is to destroy the cohesiveness of the crowd. Change it back into a collection of individuals, prevent it from acting coherently.”
“Right.”
“So why don’t they use knockout gas?”
“Because the mechanisms of the brain aren’t well understood at this point, and the knockout gasses available have a tendency to accidentally kill people.”
“Which isn’t allowed.”
“Right.”
“So the invention of the stun ray was what ended the protest movements?”
“Well, it was invented at a time of other great social change, so... sort of, I guess?”
“Huh.”
The crowd surged forward, throwing themselves against the plexiglass shields held by the police. The police held them at bay for a while, but then one of the protestors got the idea of grabbing one of the shields by the edge and pulling the policeman out of line, into the crowd.
The policemen to either side of the man being pulled out of line responded by lashing out with the long truncheons they carried behind the shields, raining blows down onto the heads and shoulders of the protestors until they were able to pull their comrade back into their line.
Protestors wheeled away from the melee, heads bleeding and fighting spirit broken; a litter of protest signs marked the spot where the clash had taken place. Another vapor-spewing canister landed in the midst of the protest signs, driving the protestors back further.
The two men watched as a protestor was treated for a broken arm. The arm looked bad, bent at an awkward angle.
“Man, these guys are really dedicated.” He pulled out another bar of chocolate, broke it in half and shared it out.
“Yeah.” The other man nibbled his half of the chocolate bar, watching the makeshift medical team work. “Historical reenactors are hard-core.”
The two men stood beside the plaza, at the front of a large crowd watching another large crowd face off against a smaller crowd of police. The spectators were alternately cheering and jeering each side; the police were standing quietly in a two-deep line, looking impassive but radiating the nervous energy of people who are about to be in a fight.
The big crowd of protestors were chanting, but not very well. They’d get a chant going in one localized area, and it would start to spread, and then it would fall apart in an uncoordinated mess. It seemed like a metaphor for the whole exercise.
“Ah... it’s somebody with a job that a protestor wants.”
“Huh.”
The two men watched the spectacle, waiting for something to happen.
“How long does this go on?”
“It’s not clear. I mean, the relative goals are unclear. The police want to contain the protestors, keep them from doing any harm, but really they want to be seen to be in control of the situation, right? They’re there to maintain the illusion of an orderly society.”
“Right. So they want to appear strong, but they don’t have a fixed goal, per se.”
“Well, right now they don’t. Sometimes, there’ll be an actual goal, and they’re pretty good at that, but right now they’re on defense, right? So they’re mostly waiting for the protestors to do something.”
“Okay, I understand that.”
“So, the protestors are there to show that they’re there, more or less, and to demonstrate that they have power. In an industrial democracy, the way you demonstrate power is to demonstrate numbers...”
“So the goal of the protestors is to show that they have numbers sufficient to sway political outcomes.”
“Sort of. The goal is also to demonstrate that a group of dedicated people who don’t have the numbers to sway political outcomes still have the power to be disruptive.”
“So it’s a demonstration of nuisance power.”
“More or less.”
One of the men took a piece of chocolate out of his pocket, unwrapped it, broke it in half and offered half to his compatriot. They ate for a while.
“So... jobs are scarce?”
“Hmm?”
“Jobs are... something to be coveted? I thought everybody had one. Had to have one, if they wanted to eat.”
“Ah... sort of. I mean, you have to have a job to get food, shelter, et cetera, but nobody has to actually give you one, yeah?”
“Oh. So it’s sort of a hedged market.”
“I don’t think you’re using that term right.”
“Hum.”
“Anyway, some jobs are better than others. They pay more, or they’re easier, or they offer better working conditions or satisfaction...”
“Satisfaction?”
“Well, you know, things you enjoy doing.”
Objects started to fly through the air, flung in the direction of the police by members of the crowd.
“Okay, phase change: when the protestors start to throw things, the police are going to respond...”
Objects arced back from the police line into the crowd; after they came to rest, they began spewing clouds of vapor. The shouting crowd surged away from the vapor.
“Chemical agents, yes?”
“Yeah, lachrymatory agents mostly. They make your eyes sting and more or less make you want to run away.”
“So the police are basically trying to use the... the cloud bombs to herd the crowd.”
“Yeah, except that the crowd doesn’t have anywhere to go, really; they’ve got them bottled up...”
“So what’s the point of the lachrymatory agents?”
“The crowd doesn’t have anywhere to go, but individuals in the crowd can always walk away.”
“Oh, so the goal of the police is to destroy the cohesiveness of the crowd. Change it back into a collection of individuals, prevent it from acting coherently.”
“Right.”
“So why don’t they use knockout gas?”
“Because the mechanisms of the brain aren’t well understood at this point, and the knockout gasses available have a tendency to accidentally kill people.”
“Which isn’t allowed.”
“Right.”
“So the invention of the stun ray was what ended the protest movements?”
“Well, it was invented at a time of other great social change, so... sort of, I guess?”
“Huh.”
The crowd surged forward, throwing themselves against the plexiglass shields held by the police. The police held them at bay for a while, but then one of the protestors got the idea of grabbing one of the shields by the edge and pulling the policeman out of line, into the crowd.
The policemen to either side of the man being pulled out of line responded by lashing out with the long truncheons they carried behind the shields, raining blows down onto the heads and shoulders of the protestors until they were able to pull their comrade back into their line.
Protestors wheeled away from the melee, heads bleeding and fighting spirit broken; a litter of protest signs marked the spot where the clash had taken place. Another vapor-spewing canister landed in the midst of the protest signs, driving the protestors back further.
The two men watched as a protestor was treated for a broken arm. The arm looked bad, bent at an awkward angle.
“Man, these guys are really dedicated.” He pulled out another bar of chocolate, broke it in half and shared it out.
“Yeah.” The other man nibbled his half of the chocolate bar, watching the makeshift medical team work. “Historical reenactors are hard-core.”
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