Always Remaining a Student of History

46: Minding the Keepers

“History is written by the victors.”

The phrase is hard to attribute to one person, as it predates the often quoted Winston Churchill and is present in no less than three languages¹ in some permutation. This version is a concise one but is not necessarily true.

It reminds me of an anecdote from James Baldwin about him being a fan of westerns as a child. He was cheering for the cowboy, but he was the Indian. The portrayal of events paints a villain who may himself have a very different tale. There is rarely an unbiased observer to history, instead it is one who will award the righteous or condemn the wicked. What we can do with events is take all the pieces of evidence we can find and in some part of those narratives, find the core of true events.

It’s not easy to reconstruct a well rounded tapestry of the past, but it must be approached with honesty. Sometimes our egos are bruised with the account. Our people struck first. Our people left a group with no choice but to violently oppose and that opposition justifies their demise in our eyes. There are no real winners or losers, though, only an account of blows and what happened after they ceased. It’s about what borders are drawn by those still standing, what laws were passed in the aftermath. There is the effect of battle on one party versus another both short term and over generations.

In “Ithaka”², my 7-part sci-fi short story, Anaella Bahn is a descendant of philosophers, intellects, but most importantly, historians. When we understand history, we understand ourselves. When we reckon with our wrongs, we heal ourselves and those around us. We make amends, which are not the vapid posturing of political theater for cameras, but among people who are ready to hear and be heard. It can be a painful but restorative process.

What happens when we try to deny history? That’s an easy question to answer, as we are much more accustomed to the sanitized and skewed images of colonization and overseas cultures. But back on the planet Minos, as we moved through their legends, migration, and [], we come to a critical point in their timeline. It’s the one where we fight to main forward movement. It’s a movement that relies on the keepers of history.

For your consideration, here is a short fiction piece entitled “The Keepers”

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Photo by cottonbro studio ; ID: Person holding opened, old book

“The concept of ‘urban renewal’ was a way for the state to take control of, and destroy ethnic neighborhoods by veiling it as what was good for the society, conveniently forgetting that the people they displaced and the businesses they leveled were also part of the society and needed protection and resources, not bulldozers,” Lisa said.

“You can’t seriously be arguing that the government has no place in the improvement and development of all parts of the society. It has a responsibility both to the citizens who live within those neighborhoods but those who are the victims of their vice. Statutes in the State of New York—-“ Fabian countered.

“Time!” Carina yelled.

She held up her hand to silence them at their opposing lecterns. The students glanced at each other with shy grins then returned to their seats.

“Thank you both. Very good debate. Class, are we meeting later tonight to discuss this further while it’s still hot and seething or do we want to sleep on it?”

A few of the students threw their heads back in feigned slumber. Others sprawled out in their seats.

“Okay, okay. Tomorrow. Same time.”

The rush of shuffled feet filled the lecture hall then trickled down to only the shuffle of Carina’s gathered papers. She’d be reviewing notes for a few hours before heading home. She glanced up as a rhythmic patter rapped on the steps. It was Damon, the department’s administrative manager. He forced a wry smile.

“I heard the class discussing some concepts of urban renewal,” Damon said.
“Yeah. It’s part of the Intent and Impact lecture series,” she said brightly.
“I know, you told me about it. I just hadn’t heard it until today.”

He traced his fingers in the thin layer of dust on her desk. “I’m a little concerned about the debates you’re having.”

“Really? Let’s not go over this again.”

She continued gathering her notes into her leather bag.

“I don’t think you should have them debating both sides as if there are two sides to some of these issues.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m understanding you.”
“You’re teaching them to take the opposition’s side, giving them the tools of oppression.”

Carina straightened her back and pressed her palm on the desk, while Damon shifted his weight and leaned away from her.

“In order for us to understand the past, to learn from it, we have to see the intersection of judicial argument, public sentiment, popular literature, period journalism…” she said, punctuating her points with nods to coax understanding.

“This series is critical in their understanding of well meaning, accidental disenfranchisement. We’re weaving together so many threads of history to grasp the impact of policy on real people.” Her eyes burned into him.

“Look, I’m just the messenger. The faculty heads have been buzzing about this. Just giving you a heads up.”He held his shoulders in a shrug with his palms shielding his chest.

Carina titled her head and stared blankly. “Aren’t you an angel?”

She cut around the administrator and headed to her office. She barreled through the door, missing the attempted greeting from the department secretary and slammed her office door enough to rattle the glass. She tossed her bag onto the desk and paced about the room.

Why the hell am I so angry about this? They’re not going to do anything, she said to herself.

She plopped into her office chair and let her eyes fall onto the ceiling. Artists had painted murals on the ceilings of the humanities department offices in a variety of styles from cubist, abstract, to modern digital. During renovations, they divvied up the offices and one was left at the intersection of three styles. Everyone had though the styles an unfortunate clash but her. To Carina, they were a meditation. She traced the history of one style to another and what came in between. That’s where she dwelled, on the in between, on what happened in the middle of history’s pillars.

Carina settled in her chair and exhaled slowly. She took up her bag, retrieved her class notes, and began preparing the next day’s discussion.

“Did you tell her?” the director asked.
“Yeah,” Damon said.
“How’d she taken it?”
“Alright, I guess. She didn’t get too worked up.”
“Do you think she realizes why?”
“No, I don’t think so. I told her we didn’t want her using the debate to indoctrinate students into conservatism.”
The director chuckled.
“She’s got a smart bunch. It’s better to try a different angle this time,” Damon said.
“Of course. Just keep an eye out.”

“What do you think about studying the reasons behind the arguments?” Carina asked.

“I know, for me, when I take the government’s argument, I look at their research, the laws they draft… and I understand them better, but also, I can see exactly why they’re wrong,” Fabian said.

“How so?”

He thought a bit before another student answered.

“I mean, the logical fallacies are clear, but we have to dig further to find out why people fell for it. Even though this thing didn’t make sense, how was it appealing to people? We keep finding the same things over and over. People are convinced by being dumbed down with uncomplicated propaganda, given a foreign enemy to hate, even if it’s their neighbor, they’re given a group to look down on—-“

“Exactly,” Fabian said. “The trick works because they are unequal and there are few roads to the top. I know there’s equity in this society. We seek that out. My dad was in construction and decided he wanted be a doctor. There were no money or class barriers. He just went. And he loved it! Then he retired and went into printmaking. We’ve studied what it would take for someone like my dad to make that leap and his family has to have money, a good school system, childcare… we have that. Everyone here gets a chance if that’s what they want.”

“That makes me think too that when people are fighting for resources, they can’t help who they become to get them. Poverty breeds violence and the state uses violence to control them. Even if the door were open, they couldn’t go inside,” Lisa added.

Carina nodded. “Do you think understanding the opposition makes you become them?”

Some students scoffed while others looked at each other, confused.

“No. We are not subjected to the same conditions. Plus, what would we gain? We’re already rich,” Fabian flashed a wide grin.

Carina was at her office late that night, getting some reading done in preparation for a mid semester seminar. The department was empty with only the occasional cleaning bot sweeping the hallways. She was deep into an important chapter when a sound caught her attention. She heard the flutter of insect wings behind the blinds but in the dark could not see where it was. The wings batted briskly against the glass then stopped. The silence penetrated the room as she listened. The wings struck the glass again and she darted her eyes from blade to blade but could not find the insect, nor did she know what it was. She thought better of trying to find out in the dark and decided to wait until the morning.

It was easier to see in the daylight that the insect had not been behind the blinds but in between the screen and her window pane.

“Don’t you get tired of that old timey wardrobe?” Carina said.

“Hmph! You’re just jealous of my mustache,” Nico said, twisting one end. He shot her playful look and straightened his brown waistcoat.

“I wanted you to look at something for me.”
She set down a jar with a white-winged moth with gray dots on its back.
“Did you touch it at all?”
“No, I swept it into the jar with the lid.”
“Okay, good, because these are super poisonous.”
“What is it?”

Nico turned the moth over with a set of tweezers and set it down onto a piece of paper. He looked at it through a magnifying glass.

“Wow. These aren’t that common. It’s a type of specter moth, Euerythra apateon or a fox moth, cousin of Euerythra phasma. This moth lures its prey in my pretending its injured, then attacks. They evolved these mouth pieces that inject poison, an unfortunate side effect of transporting it here to Minos. Where’d you find this?”

“It was caught between my window and screen.”

“It’s a good thing it didn’t get in. Sometimes it’s hard to tell how they affect people. You could have easily been bitten in your sleep and uh…”
“And what?”
“Croaked.”
She stiffened.
“You have any allergies?” he asked, still studying the moth.
“Yeah. Stone fruits.”
He looked up to face her. “How allergic?”
“Pretty fucking allergic. Why?” She couldn’t help but squirm.
“You have to be careful with these moth bites. Just saying. Keep some epinephrine handy.”

Carina’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. The student debate dampened to murmurs as she stared at Damon standing in the doorway. He casually sat down and dusted off his sport coat. He looked plainly at her and nodded.

After the class was dismissed, Damon approached Carina’s desk.

“How’s class?”

“I think you already know. You’ve been in and out of here for the past several days.”
“Yes. And I have to say I’m disappointed.”
“Mmm. Why is that?”
“You were told by admin to stop teaching these classes.”

She sighed. “Well you and admin should find a hobby because I’m continuing the class. You have no right. I won’t keep them from their history.”

“That’s too bad.”

Damon reached into his pocket and pulled out a cupped hand. He slowly opened it to reveal a cream white moth with gray dots on its back which suddenly fluttered to life.

“I know you’ve heard of these interesting little creatures,” he said as the moth beat it’s wings against the gravity of his palm. “Do you know why we’re doing this?”

“You don’t want people figuring out how the hate is made?”

“You were always a fantastic student. Yes! We are a little tired of the Farmer Joe aesthetic of Nesh. There’s no…” he groped at the air for the word.

“Spice?” she suggested.

“Yeah… no thrill. Maybe it’s vapid, but there are people out there who still want and we endeavor to fulfill that.”

She scoffed. “With what? Money? Fine jewelry?”

“Carina Bahn… I knew your father, you know? He was just as perceptive and just as stubborn. You see, in order for us to reissue currency, we have to convince people it’s worth it.”

“Dumbing down Minoans means starting at colleges first. Very good.”

“Not good enough to make you stop.”

“I’m not teaching them a winner’s narrative. I’m teaching them to be keepers of history. There is nothing you can do to trap liberated minds,” Carina said with a smirk.

Damon hung his head and hummed softly to himself. Then with a swift motion, threw the specter moth toward her face.

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1. Hirsch, Ken. Antedating Quote "history is written by the victor" https://listserv.linguistlist.org/pipermail/ads-l/2009-December/094857.html

2.