The lives of two not-so-different men lay in ruins a week after the affair headlined in the media as either the Peoples’ Rally in the Clouds or Civil Unrest in Make-believe Square.
Of course that wasn’t the official name. The event was first advertised under the title, World-wide Freedom Day.
Preston Fleshman and Stephan Bossberg were at an age when they had achieved huge worldly success in their careers – one in the area of diplomacy as well as political lobbying and the other in software development and internet connectivity.
They each brought their own strengths to the table. It seemed like divine providence that caused them to own side-by-side luxury villas on an exclusive island in the Turks and Caicos.
Neighborly visits between their families started the ball rolling.
Bossberg liked to drink mimosas under the bougainvillea. Fleshman’s liquor mixes tended towards hardier stuff. But he did enjoy relaxing in the shade around Stephan’s ocean-side pool and blue-skying ideas with his new best buddy.
Stephan’s reputation had been built when he founded a web firm to link all government agencies around the world in one giant social net. Fleshman’s wily negotiating ways first came to public attention when a Wall Street Journal profile said he could explain Kierkegaard to a zombie.
Fleshman rose as high as Secretary of State in Washington’s executive branch before taking his Rolodex of contacts with him into retirement.
It had already been demonstrated that social media could topple secretive regimes. Bossberg accepted kudos for the role his firm played in those fights, providing information and news flashes to an outside world hungry to hear the inside scoop on what was really going on.
For his part, Fleshman knew politicians were slow to recognize how Facebook and Twitter were changing the political landscape. Figurative and literal borders were coming down everywhere.
Domestic tweeters were meeting other tweeters from all over the world and discovering everyone was basically the same. Common needs and interests were part of humanity’s make-up.
“If only everyone spoke English,” Fleshman would say to Bossberg, “the bonding and community sharing would occur at an even faster rate.”
“Take it a step further. What if we all adopted the same religion?” added Bossberg. He threw out this comment on a lark, knowing full well his own orthodox inclinations would never meet with approval from his drinking pal.
“Yeah!” Fleshman shouted. There was a reason Fleshman was so highly regarded among the global intelligentsia. A quick mental step later, he corrected himself. “Hang on. Isn’t that why the world has so much trouble in the first place – one religion or another believing it’s the only true faith. Let’s back up on that idea. But I still like the notion of everyone learning English.”
Self-satisfaction having become firmly engrained in the psyches of both men after years of extraordinary worldly success, they continued to sit and ruminate in peace and contentment.
That’s when the idea was hatched that would change their lives and peoples’ perceptions forever.
These were two men who knew most limitations are artificial, man-made creations. The means for toppling them have always been at hand.
Public protests demonstrating for freedom in foreign lands were moving experiences. One couldn’t help but become caught up in the sentiment.
It was easy to feel sympathetic, but a sense of impotence was also unavoidable.
That’s because being there in person was nearly impossible to accomplish. Who among us can pick up and travel to some far-away country to show support? Never mind that air, sea and land transportation are often cut off when the military takes action against its own citizens.
Fleshman and Bossberg searched for an answer. Suppose there was a world-wide day of protest against all remaining repressive regimes to take place over the Internet?
It could be “virtual”. The place to hold it was obvious, Make-believe Square.
It was Bossberg who came up with the idea. He was the social media expert. He knew what people wanted. He could also deliver the technical expertise. There would be vast challenges on that score.
How many would attend such an event? The order of magnitude might be nearly limitless.
Noting Fleshman’s initial hesitancy, Bossberg asked if he had someone to suggest for working on the promotion side. “Anyone you can think of who would do as great a job as I know you could?”
Well, of course, that sunk the hook into Fleshman with the kind of firm grip that was impossible to dislodge.
What Fleshman had to offer was his skill in negotiating with world leaders to lend their support and even participate themselves. He was on board and convinced he could turn the affair into something almost everyone would get firmly behind.
Both men were soon confident they had a winning concept.
The world’s citizens would be invited to log on and attend the event scheduled for half a year away, in mid-July. That was the approximate timing of tax-free day in most of North America.
Emancipation day is the crossover point when all moneys earned so far in the year can be said to go towards supporting the public sector through annual taxes. Beyond that date, income finally becomes available for one’s own personal use.
Both richer than Croesus and at continuing loggerheads with revenue-collecting bodies over trusts and other income-hiding measures, the choice of date was an inside joke for the two men.
In a variation on myriad role-playing games, protesters would be asked to begin gathering at 8 a.m. Eastern Standard Time on the fifteenth day of the seventh month.
There would be designated boarding stations on each continent, hypothetically speaking of course.
Participants were to be taken to the event on a virtual “magic” bus. The cost of the ride would be a minimal twenty-five cents, the money going towards worthy causes.
Once on site, there would be similar nominal charges for snacks and cold drinks as the day progressed.
If the make-believe sun shone too brightly, or clouds blew in and brought heavy rain, umbrellas could be made available, also at a cost. It was felt some randomness should be introduced to keep interest high.
The made-up square was in the fabricated country of Mindnumbia, run by a dictatorship that was a compendium of several vicious and corrupt regimes still extant.
Fleshman and Bossberg dreamed up the background for a fictional despot. He was a tyrant named General Grossout. There was a gaggle of young Grossouts, sons and daughters, waiting in the wings to take over if the illustrious leader should ever falter or die. The latter possibility was left open to dispute since his eminence assumed god-like status in his own country.
One could easily get the impression clothing was the nation’s major industry. A string of couturiers was employed fashioning madcap uniforms to show off the glory of the ruling family. Ostrich feathers stuffed in peaked caps, muscle shirts or sleeveless blouses and open-toed sandals were favorite examples of sartorial splendor.
Sycophancy and cronyism had depleted the treasury. The man in the street was left with no money for subsistence and jobs were hard to come by, except in the military.
The powers-that-be in the nation were awarded a very low theoretical score in Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index.
Mindnumbia had a governing body that was considering cutting off internet access for its people. But as out of touch as it was, the ruling elite realized that was no way to endear itself to the populace nor to prove it was paying lip service to the notion of being progressive.
Fleshman and Bossberg decided the international day of protest in support of the citizens of Mindnumbia should have a festival atmosphere as its primary goal. This was to be a demonstrably feel-good moment, after all, not a humdinger.
Top musical acts were signed on to provide entertainment and light relief.
Bossberg worked on lining up the bandwidth and Fleshman made phone calls to his inside sources in all the world’s major legitimate governments. International support was gained quickly at a level that was astonishing.
Prominent world leaders were scheduled to address the assembled crowd by all manner of electronic missives beginning at dinner time.
The day’s culmination was to be a virtual world-wide hand-holding while everyone sang “Imagine” at the stroke of midnight, Eastern Standard Time.
Such was the plan.
****
If only someone had “imagined” how the best of intentions can go so far astray.
At first, the only participants to feel any sense of disgruntlement were the ones who tried to pay for things with fake money. That brought swift expulsion from the game.
But what the two principal organizers failed to take into consideration was the resourcefulness of the opposition. Agents provocateur swung into action.
Behind the scenes, sinister forces went to work. The secret services of several rogue nations put forth great effort to wreck the proceedings. They were successful to a degree whereby the day deteriorated into a disgraceful rout.
Anarchy prevailed.
The lines of attack had three prongs – insert infiltrators and saboteurs into the main game; set up alternative role-playing contests with opposing criteria that spilled over and hacked into the main event; and seduce as many solid citizens as possible to adopt previously unexpected masks.
To the disappointment of many, a great number of individuals switched allegiance in mid-stride.
The bad guys were smart. They offered a spectrum of choices. One could sign up to protest on behalf of the ruling party. This is where the jokesters and malcontents found a home.
They also welcomed new members into the constabulary. In surprising droves, both men and women jumped at the chance to exercise authoritarian tendencies
There were unfortunate consequences. The virtual crowd-control monitors provided by Fleshman and Bossberg were quickly overcome by newly signed-up recruits and imported thugs.
Real world conditions were mimicked at every turn. Make-believe violence became rampant.
When peaceful protesters came in contact with more aggressive elements, they often found themselves in need of medical care, which they had to pay for through bloodied noses.
Wirelessly and over land lines, word was quickly disseminated that one could purchase Molotov cocktails, baseball bats and bricks. These were for launching at the riot police.
Depending on the damage done and which side of the movement one was on, credit could be built up to pull down a mounted officer or acquire a holding cell in which to imprison the victim of one’s choice.
Water hoses, riot shields, taser guns and fence barriers were also fast-moving items.
Virtual mayhem broke out all over Make-Believe Square. Cyberspace was filled with a cacophony of swear words in a myriad of mother tongues.
The Internet, taxed to the max and ultimately overloaded, shut down well before the major speeches were scheduled for delivery starting at 6 p.m.
Thousands were arrested and detained on suspicion of drug use. Accredited media representatives and reporters were deliberately and indiscriminately trampled by horses.
As the day wound down and the crowd disappeared, garbage was scattered everywhere by swirling whirlwinds while collectors refused to clean up until they were given more respect for doing their fake jobs.
In the aftermath, most of the world’s leaders were too embarrassed to comment on the day’s activities. The search to find others to blame was easy for even the most myopic of combatants.
Caught squarely in the crosshairs, Preston and Stephan were the obvious targets.
To the world’s media, Messieurs Fleshman and Bossberg became Mr. Scape and Mr. Goat.
One head of state said it all when she came out of hiding on day three to deny any responsibility. The key passage of her press release read, “What the organizers showed was an appalling lack of sensitivity to the plight of the downtrodden in nations under repression.”
“The disenfranchised demonstrate extraordinary courage when they stand up and fight for their rights against an array of difficult odds. A public inquiry needs to be held into the unfortunate events of several days past and an international forum set up to ensure there is never again a repeat of such circumstances.”
It had taken tremendous control not to replace the last word with “shenanigans”.
The wisdom of such a directive could hardly be denied.
****
A week later, Fleshman and Bossberg were still lying low in their semi-secret Caribbean hideaway.
For the thirtieth time in the past several days, Preston said to Stephan, “Was it really so awful?”
“It was a fiasco. We both know it. We’ll never live it down. ”
“Is there anything we can we do to redeem our reputations?”
“I don’t think so. Not likely in the short term. Maybe if we continue to do good works over the rest of our lives. Of course, we’ll have to do them anonymously. Nobody will want to be associated with us for a while.” Bossberg was continuing to hang his head.
“It’s not in my nature to walk away with my tail between my legs,” said Fleshman. “There must be some action we can take.”
“I’m open to suggestions.” As had lately become his custom, Bossberg left his comment to simmer. The several-days binge on mimosas was starting to have a positive effect.
Fleshman was also now feeling mellower. His mood was aided by the morning’s third Cuba libre and the sound of the surf whooshing rhythmically along the shoreline. In a pleasingly perkier voice he said, “I know. Let’s bring everyone here, to this island. Virtually I mean. We can show the world what great guys we are.”
Bossberg chewed the idea over. He delayed his response not so much in an effort to emphasize his support, but rather due to a preference to stay in a haze. “It’s a thought. We could set up volleyball nets. Have a giant luau. Let our guests enjoy the salty air. Encourage them to go swimming and snorkeling.”
They sat mulling it over for a while.
“What could possibly go wrong?” said Fleshman. Then as if from a great distance, he heard himself adding, “Say Stephan, do you ever wonder what the sharks in these waters do during hurricane season?”
****
For my first book, “Two Scoops” Is Just Right, please click here for the paperback version and here for the Kindle e-book version.
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