The Art of Denial...

 

There are those who find looking for patterns in history...patterns of racist white dominance, specifically... unpalatable.  They claim acknowledging that the systemic dehumanization of blacks by whites spawned in the days of slavery continues to permeate our social fabric in many ways, both subtle and overt, perpetuating patterns of social inequity and violence, is unjust; that it punishes the whites of today for the crimes of their ancestors and perpetuates unwarranted anger among blacks and tragic self-hatred among whites.

But, it's not about recrimination.  It's about recognizing patterns in our society which, through the decades of freedom marches, boycotts, civil rights legislation and affirmative action continues to manifest in suspicious patterns of racially stilted hiring practices, inequities in housing and medical care, and innumerable police bullets finding their way into unarmed black suspects.

Many whites don't want to acknowledge these patterns.  It's easier not to.  Less demanding.  So much easier to just brush racism aside as a minor annoyance than to admit it's a basic human failing cultivated by American history.  One that's still operating inside each of us in ways we may not even be aware of. 

If our white-centered, self-congratulatory version of history continues to prevail, then racism at all levels must continue to eat away at our society, the gulf between the races growing ever wider and ever more insurmountable.  The average white American may continue to see the average black American as genetically inferior; a crime waiting to happen.  An attitude which perpetuates social inequity, which in turn perpetuates crime.  An endless circle.  Ignoring or denying racism will not make it vanish.  Only acknowledging its historical origins can do that.

This short story illustrates the time-honored principle that those who forget history are...in this case, literally...doomed to relive it.

*******

REMEMBRANCE

 

2122 A.D.

The American science sub glided silently under the South Pacific…

Julia clenched her fist, her nerves frayed as the argument between Roger and Tarrence finally drew to a close.  She’d tried desperately to keep her mind on the monitors and computer data, but it had been like sitting through an artillery duel.  Tarrence had glared at her as he’d stormed off the bridge, his keen eyes stabbing through her like a knife.  She winced, hating herself for not coming to his defense.  She felt like a coward.  She reflexively passed her hand over her stomach, swallowing in a dry throat, a bitter taste in her mouth.  She blinked back the tears.  Could she do it?  Did she have the courage not to? 

Roger sighed as he stepped over to her.  “Anything new?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she responded flatly, not meeting his eyes as she brought up the computer analysis of the magnetic field recordings.  The graphic of the wormhole formed on the computer screen, a tube linking two plains.  “But, the readings are constant.  If and when it opens, the coordinates will be the same.  We are where we need to be.”  She couldn’t help reflecting on the capacity of human beings to fail to see the obvious.  The 21^st century had nearly drawn to a close by the time the world’s scientists finally realized incessant UFO sightings were extraterrestrial in nature.  It had taken them years after that to determine that the reason these alien ships were appearing and disappearing inexplicably was because they were coming and going through a trans-dimensional wormhole linking Earth with the black hole at the center of the Milky Way galaxy.  Used apparently as a power source by aliens to operate a trans-galactic sub-space rapid transit system.

Roger sat beside her, re-checking the readings.  “I’m sorry you had to see that.  He’s becoming quite militant, I’m afraid.”

Her blood boiled.  She couldn’t take it anymore.  “Exactly how would you react in his place?” she forced out.

“Just what is that supposed to mean?  How could I be in his place?  I’m not…him.”

“You’re not black.”  There, she’d said it.  Let him put it on her psych report.

“Not this again.  Look…I’ve treated him with the same respect I would any other member of this team.  We all have.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.”  She managed to look directly at him.  “His academic achievements and efficiency reports are as high as anyone else’s.”

“Obviously, or he wouldn’t have been selected for this expedition.”

“And yet, you haven’t recommended him for promotion.  In spite of his going above and beyond consistently.  He’s put in twice the effort of any Level 2 science officer, he qualified for an expedition that few could even hope for, and he keeps getting passed over.  Why?”

“You know why.  I don’t make the rules.  Promotion is based on A.I.-formulated stats… social averages… group tendencies….”

Her heart was throbbing.  She couldn’t hold it in anymore.  “Why don’t you just say it?  Our society has labeled his ethnic group genetically inferior.”

He stood up… as though reflexively distancing himself from her.  “That’s the kind of thinking that ends careers.  Look… I know it doesn’t seem fair.  It isn’t, in a sense.  But, we’re scientists.  We have to accept the inescapable conclusions of statistical data.  There’s a reason why his… his group has predominantly and consistently occupied the lowest strata of western civilization.  In everything.  Employment.  Income.  Housing.  And, there are the crime rates to consider.  Stats don’t lie.  His people had the same opportunities our ancestors did, and have achieved far less.  There are exceptions, of course.  Tarrence is one of them.  But, we can’t accommodate every individual in a race… a socio-ethnic group which is… well, statistically inferior.”

She glared at him.  “You can say that as a scientist.  Even though every bit of genetic, physiological and evolutionary data proves beyond any doubt there is absolutely no intrinsic difference…”

“Just because we haven’t isolated the causal genetic differentiation doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.  We know it must.  What other explanation is there?”

She closed her eyes, sighing in exasperation.  “You’re making it easier for me to make my decision.”  A chill ran through her.  She’d avoided discussing it, though he’d been like a silent, hovering presence ever since the pregnancy test had come back positive.  She evaded his cold stare.

“I can challenge it, you know.”

“You don’t have standing, now that the divorce is final, and you know it.”  She clenched the arms of her chair.  She so wanted to scream it out, but she couldn’t just throw her life away.  “I will not…”

She started as the red light flashed, the klaxon blaring… the pre-programmed computer alarm sounding.  ALERT.  ALERT.  MAGNETIC SHIFT DETECTED.  WORMHOLE ACTIVATION IMMENENT.

Her fingers flew over the computer keys, the analysis coming up.  “Confirmed,” she said, her heart racing.  “This is it.”

“Tarrence, to the bridge,” Roger shouted into the intercom.  “It’s opening.”

Tarrence rode the lift up from the lower deck and dashed to his station, activating the scanners with lightning speed.  “Magnetic perturbations detected and plotted,” he said.  “Course laid in.”

Roger assumed his place at the coordination center.  “Course dead ahead east,” he said, plotting the coordinates on his board.  “Prepare to surface.”

As the sub broke water, Julia lifted the shields from the view port.  And, there it was.  Her jaw dropped.  A gateway into infinity…a twisting kaleidoscope of shifting colors and warping space appearing in a vast circular aperture floating in mid-air above the ocean surface.  Nothing she’d seen in the computer simulations had prepared her for this.  Regaining her senses, she checked the radar sweeps.  “Exiting contacts confirmed.”  A split second later, a half dozen or so alien craft emerged from the rift.  Time was short.  It wouldn’t stay open long.

“Engage lift jets!” Roger ordered.

“Engaged,” Tarrence acknowledged as the immense vertical rotors lifted the sub into mid-air.  “Magna field activated.  Engaging aft thrusters.”

Julia was thrust backward against her seat as the sub became an aircraft, diving headlong into the alien star gate.  “Dear God…” she whispered as the light engulfed them.  “We made it.”   She strapped in as the ship trembled wildly around her, the readings going crazy.

“Fluctuations in the magna field,” Tarrence announced.  “Attempting to compensate.”

“Roger…” Julia said in a breathless whisper, unable to believe her eyes.  “The chronometers are going whacky.  This is…”

A blinding flash of white light swallowed everything.

She felt hot sun, heard wild screams and smelled smoke.  She opened her eyes.  She was standing in a village of burning huts.  Screaming black natives were being driven from their homes by white men in archaic clothing.  16^th century?  The whites were howling and setting fire to the huts with torches.  The blacks were being beaten down and shackled.  Some of the black villagers attacked the whites with spears, and were blasted down with primitive muskets.  Was she dreaming?  Or, had she died and gone to hell?

“Where the hell are we?” Roger demanded.

“Central Africa, 1535,” Tarrence declared, checking his portable com pad.  Julia’s mind was spinning.  Tarrence roared as he picked up a spear from a fallen black warrior and thrust it into the gut of a white man as he tried to grab a fleeing village girl.

“Damned heathen,” another white man shouted as he aimed a pistol at Tarrence.

“No!” Julia shouted as she threw herself against the man, knocking him off balance and grabbing the pistol as it fired.  Another blinding flash.  She found herself back at her bridge station on the sub.  She looked around.  Tarrence and Roger were back at their stations too.  “Was it real?” she asked, barely able to speak.

“That had to be some kind of shared hallucination,” Roger exclaimed, wiping cold sweat from his forehead.

“This looks real enough,” she said, picking up the recently spent single shot pistol from where she’d dropped it on the deck.

“Real as this graze on my shoulder,” Tarrence said, his hand coming away from his shoulder smeared with blood.  “I think you just saved my life, Jules.  Thank you.”

Before she could even think, another flash swallowed them.  This time she found herself on the rolling decks of an old wooden sailing ship at sea.  Wild screams…a battle.  Sabers clashed, muskets firing.  Blacks were breaking their chains, attacking the white crew that held them in bondage.

“Where this time?” Roger asked.

“Mid-Atlantic.  1683,” Tarrence answered.  “According to the computer.”

One of the sailors pointed a pistol at an enraged black man covered in blood as he attacked the sailor, swinging a broken chain.  Tarrence picked up a sword and hacked off the sailor’s gun hand.  The white man screamed as the black smashed in his head with the chain.  Another white flash, and they were back on the sub again.

“Another souvenir,” Tarrence said, holding up the bloodied cutlass.

“What is happening?!” Roger demanded.

“Near as I can figure,” Tarrence said, checking his instruments…  “We’ve slipped into some kind of time warp.  Somehow, we’re passing through our own history.”

“I think he’s right,” Julia said, regaining her senses enough to run a computer analysis.  “The temporal readings have balanced twice, then disappeared into dead space each time.  We seem to be randomly intersecting with the time stream, slipping in and out of normal time.”

Another white flash.

This time, she found herself at a kind of open air market, a noisy crowd of people in 18^th century garb.  And a barker putting human beings on display…black men and women paraded before the crowd in chains.  “Good strong men for the fields,” he shouted.  “Fine young ladies to serve in your households.  What am I bid?”

“This is Boston,” Tarrence said, checking his hand comp.  “1752.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Roger asked.

“Can’t you see?” Tarrence asked.  “It’s a damn slave auction!”

“What?” Roger’s face twisted in disbelief.  “Here, in the cradle of the American revolution?  This can’t be right.”  Another white flash, and they were back on the bridge.

And, so it went, one time shift after another.  Black soldiers in blue Union uniforms storming Confederate lines.  Thousands gathered in Washington, D.C. a century later.  “I have a dream today,” a black man said to cheering crowds.

“By any means necessary,” another black man said to other cheering crowds.

 “Who were those men?” Roger asked as they shifted back to the bridge.  “I’ve never seen their faces before in history holos.  We have to be slipping through some kind of alternate timeline.  A parallel universe, different from our own.”

“Not according to these readings,” Julia said.  “A parallel timeline would have a different quantum signature.  It’s definitely our own past we’re seeing.”

“But, that’s impossible!” Roger insisted, his face flushed, his eyes wild.  “Those events never happened!  They can’t have.”

“Obviously, they did,” Tarrence said.  “We just saw them with our own eyes!”

“But, why aren’t they recorded in our history texts?”  Roger asked.

Another white flash.  Black protesters gathered around a police line protecting an incinerator where books were being burned.

“We’re in Dallas,” Tarrence said.  “2054.”

A huge image of a white man’s face appeared on a gigantic public telescreen.  Julia vaguely remembered him from her high school history.  A little-remembered U.S. president of that period.  “The Supreme Court has correctly decided that free speech does not extend to history, as public interest outweighs the 1^st Amendment,” the man’s voice boomed through multiple loudspeakers.  “Histories that vilify the white race will fill our children with self-loathing and divide our society, perpetuating endless recrimination and alienation between the races.  Let us celebrate the heroism and nobility that made America great!  These dark chapters of our past are over and done with, and meaningless now.  They are best forgotten.”

Another white flash, and they were back on the bridge.  “We’re coming up fast on our own time,” Julia said with relief, checking the readings.  “And, we’re merging back into the timeline again.  We’ll be home soon.  Whether by our own miscalculation, or by deliberate design of our alien friends…the wormhole’s turned us back and spit us out.  We’re headed back where we started.  Brace for splashdown!”  The ship trembled as it exited the wormhole and hit the ocean surface.  “South Pacific, 2122,” she said, checking the instruments.  “According to the chronometer, it’s been just a few seconds since we left.”

“The wormhole just closed behind us,” Tarrence said, checking his instruments.

 Julia checked the computer records.  “And, we’ve got quite a story to tell.  Our personal vid recorders were on the whole time and uploaded everything into the onboard database.  We’re carrying a living history.”

Roger blanched white.  “Dear God…delete the records!  All of them.  Now!”  He lunged for the nearest computer panel.

“What?!” Tarrence exclaimed, blocking his path.  “Have you lost your mind?  We have to bring back what we’ve learned.”

“It would destroy everything!  It would plunge our society into chaos!  No one can ever know.  Get out of my way!”

“Over my dead body.”

Julia gasped as Roger pulled a gun.  “Don’t make me, Tarrence,” he warned.

Julia quickly re-set the navigational controls, turning the sub sharply to port.  As Roger lost his footing, Tarrence tackled him.  They struggled for the gun.  Julia gasped as a muffled shot rang out.  She felt both horrified and relieved as Roger fell limp to the deck.  Tarrence took Roger’s pulse.  He looked up at Julia.  “He’s dead.”

She lowered her head into her hand, leaning against the panel.  Horrible as it seemed, she actually felt a gigantic weight had been lifted from her shoulders.  She felt Tarrence’s strong hand gently stroke her shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she said, looking up into his strong, handsome face and stroking his hand.  “I’ve decided.  I’m not going to abort our baby.”

He took her hand.  “You’re sure this is what you want?  I’ve made it clear how I feel, but… you know this means prison or exile for both of us.”

She stood and put her arms around him, kissing him full on the lips.  “I feel freer than I have in… as long as I can remember.  Besides… I’m hoping once those records go public, things are going to change.  And, long overdue.”