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Look Inside! The Lost Heir – First Chapter

You can find The Lost Heir via our Community Publishing Campaign!

The Lost Heir: Chapter One

By Rivera Sun

Note: This novel is the stand-alone sequel to The Way Between. You can find it via our Community Publishing Campaign. Thank you!

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/the-lost-heir#/

 

Ari Ara swung her leg over the window ledge and peered down the high stone wall of the House of Marin. She was about to break a dozen rules and frankly didn’t care. If she couldn’t sneeze without offending somebody in Mariana Capital, then she might as well have a little fun while she was at it. In the three weeks since she’d arrived, she hadn’t been out of the House of Marin once. Instead, she’d been cooped up in her quarters enduring a mind-numbingly dull crash course in conduct and manners. Her tutors were a set of stodgy old toads whose disapproving frowns curved across their faces like the gargoyles glaring from the spouts of the rain gutters. After the first, tedious welcoming reception – where she’d apparently shocked the nobles by breaking every single law of etiquette ever invented – the Great Lady Brinelle had postponed all other events until the Lost Heir learned to behave in accordance with her newly-discovered rank as a double royal.

Sitting on the window ledge of her luxurious quarters, the long-lost daughter of the late Queen Alinore of Mariana and the Desert King Tahkan Shirar snorted in exasperation. It was hard to follow rules if you didn’t know they existed! She’d like to see the pampered nobles get thrown into the High Mountains without any guidance . . . they’d realize quick as lightning that there was more to know in life than which fork went with the salad!

Ari Ara felt like that caged bear cub trapped by the villagers: constantly on display, poked at by everybody, and roaring with frustration as they tried to train the wild out of her. She’d been scrubbed red and raw, fussed over until she wanted to scream, scolded until her head hurt, and kept indoors until she thought she’d go mad with boredom.

Meanwhile, just over the rooftops, the siren song of Mariana Capital called to her. If she leaned out the windows far enough, she could catch the smells of roasting nuts, fresh-caught fish, and ladies’ perfumes as the aromas wafted on the breezes. She could hear the vendors’ songs as they hawked their wares. Mariana Capital rose like a crown atop a large island in the middle of the vast Mari River, packed wall-to-wall with houses and shops. Three bridges spanned the narrow East Channel while the wide East-West Bridge crossed the bulk of the river on the far side of the island. Riding into the city on her first day, she’d gaped at the crowds of people and craned her neck to stare at the towers and tiled roofs climbing the crest of the river island. She’d ogled at the enormous houses along Marin’s Way, but all she’d seen since the moment they’d turned into the courtyard of the House of Marin was the insides of rooms. The Great Lady said she could only go into the city with an official escort and that couldn’t be arranged for weeks.

The constraints of her new life rasped against her like a cat’s tongue until a blister of resentment and a searing itch of curiosity rose inside her. She’d never been forbidden to go places before. As an orphan, no one had cared where she’d roamed across the black cliffs and deep forests of the High Mountains. Each day, the rolling tones of the Great Bell in the top of the University Tower called to her, and secretly, she promised she would come.

Which was why, on this fine and foggy morning, Ari Ara was sneaking out to see the city. She’d risen before first light, slipped on her old training clothes, thrown the hood of her black Fanten cloak over her conspicuous red hair, and climbed out the window. Honestly! She wasn’t some Capital noblegirl who’d slept in fluffy beds all her life. She had run wild across the mountains as a child, fended for herself as a Fanten shepherdess, and been an apprentice in the rigorous trainings of the Way Between under the stern watch of the Great Warrior Shulen. She could take care of herself!

Ari Ara stretched her fingers out. Slick moisture coated the surfaces of the stones. River mist veiled everything in sweeps of white and shadowy grays. The building bent slightly with the curve of the island and a long stone ledge extended the length of the wall. Ari Ara tested the cracks in the old mortar between the granite blocks. She grinned. Easier than chasing yearling lambs down from the cliffs! She slid her toes onto the narrow ledge and began picking her way carefully along the length of the building The mist shivered as the first touch of dawn light rose over the distant mountains. The fog condensed and hunkered down thickly over the city. She could hardly see her hand, let alone the river below or the guards on the parapet at the top of the house.

Perfect, Ari Ara thought with a grin. This type of weather made everyone sleep in . . . and after last night’s festivities, even the maids would be sound asleep until mid-morning. She, on the other hand, was wide-awake, since she – and her deplorable manners – hadn’t been allowed to attend. Her absence had set off wild speculation among the guests that the Lost Heir was as stark raving mad as her father, the Desert King. Several nobles had even tried to sneak into her quarters to find out the truth, but the guards turned them away.

Ari Ara concentrated as she stretched over a tricky section around a stone carving. Her wiry muscles tensed. Her grip slid over a slippery spot. A sheen of sweat beaded her brow. Once past the statue, she quickly reached the corner of the house and picked her way down the drainpipe to the narrow alley below. She wiped her damp and grimy hands on the sides of her pants and pulled her Fanten cloak tighter around her shoulders.

While the nobles slept, the city stirred. The clang of dawn bells and clank of kettles echoed hollowly in the streets. Shrouds of mist walked up and down the cobblestone roads. Figures loomed alarmingly then vanished in the cloak of gray. Murmurs of voices ran through the alleys and bounced off stone walls. Ari Ara quickened her pace through the tangle of alleys that curved like the coiled river dragons on the emblem of the House of Marin.

She rounded a corner and toppled out onto what could only be Merchant’s Way. A grin burst across her face at the sight of the street she’d heard so much about, but never seen. Here, it was rumored, you could find everything from ripe tomatoes in midwinter to your true love on summer solstice. The haggling and trading started at first light and rose loud enough by noon to be heard on the distant west bank of the river valley. Merchants traveled by lamplight to reach the street before dawn. Pushcarts, horse-drawn wagons, and heaps of merchandise piled up on tables, crates, and blankets packed the edges of the market road. Already, cooks and servants jostled shoulders trying to find the freshest produce of the day, shouting out orders for cases of herbs, flapping hens in crates, baskets of eggs, bundles of onions. Ari Ara edged her way through them, eyes wide.

“Lookin’ fer something?” a street urchin bellowed, clutching a woman’s arm. “The maze of the market’s fixed in me mind! I’ll find anything you want, lady!”

The woman shook the urchin off and swept onward. The market shifted each day; there was no order to the awnings, tents, and tables except the whims of merchants and the friendships between flower sellers who pulled up carts next to each other to gossip and share a pot of tea. A potter spread out his shelves next to a carpet seller; an apple grower sat next to a book-and-bauble vender; brand new wares were placed beside antique and salvaged goods; pipes and tobacco were sold near herbal teas for lung health. The humble (shoe polish and sealing wax) stood by the exotic (singing birds and eels in glass tubs). Above the street, rows of shops opened on top of stone steps. Watermarks from the spring floodwaters marked the foundations. Flower baskets hung in the windows. Banners declaring the shops’ specials hung from hooks beside the doors.

Ari Ara wove through the teeming crowd, listening to snippets of conversations between serving maids, snatches of sharp bargains being haggled by farmers over the price of turnips, bantering exchanges between odds-and-ends merchants who swapped and gambled on what the vagaries of the day would bring to the cart. Round women waved handkerchiefs to get each other’s attention. Small scruffy boys whistled through their fingers. Market girls with baskets poised on their heads flirted with young warriors on their way to the Training Yards.

Just as she was about to round the next bend of Merchant’s Way, a hand grabbed her arm, locking like a vise around her wrist. Ari Ara jerked, startled.

“What are you doing out without your blue mark, eh?” a huge smith growled at her.

“Huh? What?” she stammered, scrambling to figure out what he meant.

The smith snatched up a strip of blue fabric from the rags stall next to him and tied it around her wrist. The rag merchant, a dour woman with a pinched face, stared coldly at her, skinny arms crossed over her flat chest.

“Don’t let me catch you roaming about markless again,” the smith scolded gruffly, muttering about thieving desert demons as he shoved her down the street.

“Those water workers are more trouble than they’re worth,” the rag woman grumbled to the smith. “It’s madness to have so many Desert People here in Mariana. After all the wars we’ve had with them, they’re likely to rise up and rip our throats out in the night.”

“Ah, but the nobles are raking in a fortune on their work,” the smith answered with a shrug.

Ari Ara wanted to protest that she wasn’t a water worker – whatever that was – but then they’d demand to know her true identity, and she couldn’t reveal that! Instead, she slid out of sight among the crowd, rattled by the encounter. Ahead of her, she spotted a coat marked by a blue slash of fabric sewn in a diagonal across the back. The tall, thin man walked behind a rotund, white-aproned chef who was making choice selections of fresh-foraged mushrooms and spring herbs. The water worker carried an enormous pack into which the day’s purchases of berries, bread, fish and cream were loaded. Ari Ara stared shamelessly, a thrill of recognition searing through her at the bronzed skin and almond eyes of the man. Her heartbeat quickened at her first actual sight of her father’s Desert People outside of a stiffly formal greeting to the ambassador on the first night. Feeling her gaze, the thin man turned, shooting her a quick flash of a smile and a stern look accompanied by a jerk of his head to tell her to get on her way.

“Best not to dawdle, young one,” he murmured. “Water workers like us can’t be caught idle.”

Ari Ara started after him, trying to follow the blue slash, but she stumbled into a passel of old women arguing over who got the plumpest duck and lost sight of him. As she circled around the women, Ari Ara saw other water workers with the blue mark, all Desert People, all carrying loads and running errands with haste.

A ripple of motion behind her made her duck. A Marianan street urchin sailed past, rifling her hair with a hand swipe that had been intended to knock her across the back of her head. The ragged child kicked the next water worker and knocked the parcels out of a third man’s arms.

“If you want something delivered in one piece, it’s best to use an urchin!” the boy hollered, racing away as the desert man muttered a curse under his breath.

Up and down the Merchant’s Way, roving packs of urchins – city orphans who refused to live in orphanages – darted through the crowded street like minnows in a stream, carrying messages for coin and delivering packages. They idled by the booths and shops, waiting for customers to come out then offering to carry parcels back to homes. They sidled up to merchants and asked if they needed pick-ups or deliveries made. They bought candies at a markdown and carried the maker’s branded trays up and down the streets, selling and sampling, and pointing people back to the maker’s stall. And, Ari Ara noted, they picked pockets, swiped apples from carts, and nabbed chestnuts off trays with nimble fingers.

They plagued the Desert People like hordes of biting flies, pinching and kicking the water workers as they hurtled past. They even snatched bundles and tossed them back and forth like balls while the frantic blue-slashed water workers scrambled to stop them. Twice, urchins tried to trip Ari Ara, but she was too quick. She leapt over the outstretched legs and strode purposefully onward – the spitting image of a young errand-running water worker – all the while trying to sort out how the Desert People wound up as servants to their enemies.

And why did the urchins hold such a hard grudge against them? she thought, dodging a rotten apple chucked at her head.

A congested tangle of the crowd carried her between rows of houses and out onto a wide plaza. Like most of Mariana Capital, the open space bent irregularly. The northern row of shops stretched longer than the south, the eastside shops wider still, and the west side held no shops at all, only a long line of statues. Ari Ara crossed the foot-worn cobblestones toward it.

The tallest statues loomed like giants as she drew close. They were stacked in a wide row, one in front of the other, sometimes five or six deep. Numbering in the hundreds, they stood like a still and silent crowd, watching the foot traffic on the plaza. Each was carved out of stone; some granite, others marble. A few were hewn from the black rock of the High Mountains, and she couldn’t imagine how they moved the huge slabs of stone so far. She spotted smaller statues, too, even a collection the size of her hand. From the weather marks and styles of dress, she guessed that they had been carved one-by-one and added over time. Small offerings lay at the feet of some; others stood unadorned. In the center stood three tall statues of the famous brothers: Marin, Shirar, and Alaren, caught for all eternity in the historic moment of dispute that had founded the two countries of Mariana and the Desert. The torn halves of the Map of the World lay in Alaren’s hands, the slice of the Border Mountains at his feet. Marin and Shirar glared fiercely at each other, swords in hand. A dozen small ledges were carved into Marin’s pedestal, each festooned with flowers, candles, and offerings. Shirar and Alaren’s feet were bare.

“I’ll come back,” Ari Ara promised to the forlorn statues, “and bring something to you both.”

“Don’t bother,” grumbled an accented voice behind her.

She whirled and saw a young water worker staring up at Shirar.

“We leave offerings to our ancestor, but those urchins steal them,” he explained.

The boy spat onto the ground near Marin’s base.

“What’s between you and the urch – ” she started to ask, but an angry voice interrupted her.

“Wipe that up,” an urchin commanded, shoving the desert youth by the shirt. “Your spit isn’t fit to scrub our sewers.”

Ari Ara stiffened. He had no right to scoff at anyone else’s grime! The urchin was as filthy as an untended statue. Rips in his trousers showed his grubby knees. His feet were black with dirt. His jacket was a collection of patches, all of which had seen better days.

“The urchins’ thievery of offerings is a greater insult to your ancestor than my spit!” the water worker shouted back. “Marin would be ashamed of you! Even if he hated his brother, ancestor spirits are ancestor spirits. You shouldn’t disrespect them.”

Ari Ara saw the urchin’s fist clench. As his arm drew back, she darted between them, knocking the blow aside with a move from her training in the Way Between.

“Fight!” someone hollered.

A crowd of urchins, shoppers, and merchants gathered. A handful of water workers raced over, ready to help the youth. Ari Ara spun to stop the desert boy from launching himself at the urchin youth. She twisted him to the left and sent the urchin rolling across the flagstones to the right.

“Stop!” she shouted, but the jeers and cheers of the two factions drowned out her words.

She ducked under the urchin’s punch and grabbed his arm, pulling him off-balance and to the side. The desert boy charged after him, so she leapt and caught him by the waist, dropping to the ground to use her weight to bring him down.

“That’s no water worker!” someone shouted, recognizing the girl. “That’s the Lost Heir!”

Ari Ara cursed under her breath as she knocked aside another blow. The Way Between was the most controversial and fascinating subject in the Capital besides the Lost Heir. The Way Between, or Azar in Old Tongue, was neither fight nor flight, but everything possible in between. It was a way of changing danger to mutual safety, bringing the thrust of violence to a halt without causing further harm. She and her mentor, the Great Warrior Shulen, had finally convinced the Great Lady to let them start holding public trainings . . . she hoped she wasn’t ruining that opportunity.

“Stop!” she hollered, sliding between the two and holding out her hands.

The boy clenched his fist; she slid in front of him and stared him down. The urchin shifted to spring, she pivoted to thwart him.

“Quit yer brawlin’,” a voice ordered in a snap of command that froze all the urchins in place. From the sidelines, a dark-haired urchin girl swaggered out of the crowd. She was skinny as a ragged yarn string and close to Ari Ara in age, no more than a year older. Her hair was braided in hundreds of strands, each wrapped round with a colorful cloth and threaded with glass beads. Her blouse was as white as any shop girl’s, but her breeches bore a patchwork quilt of fabrics, cut in a style that defied and mocked convention. A bulging pouch hung from her leather belt. Crimson stockings rose to her knees. A vest of stitched strips of cloth was buttoned with a row of strange, odd-shaped buttons, no two alike.

“Who are you?” Ari Ara asked.

“Rill – short for Everill,” the girl replied with a proud toss of her head. “I’m a Capital urchin. A first-class South End river dog at yer service.”

A rash of snickers and chortles erupted from the urchins, making Ari Ara suspect this girl was more than just any old street urchin. The girl winked and a slip of a grin flashed across her foxlike features. Her eyes flicked up and down Ari Ara, taking her measure.

“If you’re really the Lost Heir, give me your blessing,” she demanded, reaching out her dirty fingertips in an appeal to the fabled Protector of Orphans.

Ari Ara blinked in surprise. All orphans invoked the Lost Heir as a special saint and protector, calling out in times of sorrow and need. Until this moment, Ari Ara hadn’t realized she had stepped into the very legend she had grown up praying to. The urchin’s eyes drew level with Ari Ara’s and in a flash of unguarded honesty, Ari Ara recognized the intense yearning in the girl’s face. It was like holding a mirror up to her own. A hush fell over the crowd.

“I don’t really have any magic powers,” Ari Ara confessed.

“Yer the Heir,” Rill objected. “You’ve got all the powers in the world!”

Ari Ara sighed.

“Not until I’m officially confirmed,” she admitted, remembering the tedious lecture she’d received on the year-long waiting period before the nobles validated her claim to the throne, “but I can promise to look out for my fellow orphans with any power that I have.”

She reached out a hand, unconsciously imitating the handclasp of warriors, indicating loyalty and unbreakable oaths. Rill sucked in her bony cheeks and spat into her own palm. Shocked cries broke out around them, but Ari Ara didn’t hesitate. She spat into her own hand and reached for Rill’s. The urchin snatched her hand back with a challenging gleam in her eye.

“Do you mean it? All we get from nobles is lies and empty claims,” she complained.

“I’m not a noble – or wasn’t until recently – and my word is as good as yours,” Ari Ara shot back as the hot bite of her temper flared.

“Prove it to me, then. Grant me a boon,” Rill demanded.

“If it is in my power,” Ari Ara cautioned.

“I hear yer bringing the Way Between back to the warriors. Let the urchins study it, too.”

Surprise shot through the crowd of Marianans at the request. Everyone knew that the Great Warrior Shulen and the young Marianan Champion Emir Miresh had vowed to return the nearly extinct art of the Way Between to the Training Yards. No one had considered opening those trainings to ordinary citizens and street urchins . . . until now.

In a voice only Ari Ara could hear, Rill begged.

“We urchins is kicked down and beaten by anyone bigger’n us – and that’s everyone. Offer us yer strength, Protector of Orphans, your magic as it may be, in the form of the Way Between.”

“Done,” Ari Ara declared, slapping her palm into Rill’s hand.

The girl’s eyes lit up with excitement. She lifted her fist above her head in victory and a rippling cheer burst out loud enough to make bystanders flinch. From every direction, the call was returned from pint-sized lungs of children. The urchins’ scrawny arms and pumped fists waved vigorously into the air. Ari Ara’s eyes narrowed, realizing that Rill’s request had been calculated and executed with all the skillful maneuvering of a war general.

“Who are you, really?” Ari Ara demanded to know.

Rill leaned in close and spoke in a breathless whisper.

“As you are to all Marianans, so I am to the street urchins of the Capital. Everill Riverdon, known to some as the Urchin Queen. We are now in yer debt and at yer service.”

“Rill!” an urchin boy hollered from a lookout point on one of the statues. “The Watch is coming!”

Alaren and the Brothers Wall – Stories of the Third Brother

Note: Here is a story from the Stories of the Third Brother. These are the tales of Alaren, the founder of the Way Between, and Ari Ara’s inspiration for many of her actions in her adventures. Thirty of these stories have been serialized into a weekly online release as one of the thank-you perks in our Community Publishing Campaign for The Lost Heir. Another short story, Alaren and the Feast Day Ceasefire, is a perk for most of our contribution levels and is based on the famous WWI story of the Christmas Day Ceasefire. Thank you for your support as we use great stories to build a culture of peace.  Below today’s story, you will also find the real-life story that inspired this folktale. My quest as a writer is to build a canon of great stories rooted in peace and nonviolence, tales that celebrate our remarkable achievements in real life and weave them into enjoyable contemporary myths and stories. Find The Lost Heir here.

Alaren and the Brothers Wall

In the Stony Pass, north of the East-West Road, the two kings Marin and Shirar were building a wall. Two walls, in fact, because the kings were brothers and mortal enemies, and neither would cooperate with the other on anything – even on building a wall in the exact same spot.

Stone for stone, back to back, the two walls rose like twin serpents through the border pass. The stone masons – a burly and dusty lot – shook their heads over the foolish pride of kings and shared mortar and tools with the opposing king’s craftspersons. By the time the wall was built, the Stone Masons Guild – the oldest international organization in history – was founded. But that’s another story.

Alaren, the younger brother of the two kings, heard about the ridiculous double wall from the villager woman who hiked the narrow and winding footpaths through the Border Mountains to find him at his way station in the Middle Pass. Alaren’s Fanten wife added broth to the soup and broke out a fresh loaf of bread to feed the weary traveler. His young daughter poked fresh life into the fire to ward away the night’s chill as it clung to the shivering woman.

“We’d not be upset if they’d built their silly walls a hundred paces on either side of the village,” the villager complained. “Then we’d at least have a nice perimeter to keep wolves and warriors out.”

But no. The brothers had built their walls straight through the village, splitting it in half like an apple. Families were divided. The village well – the only water source – was on the opposite side of the wall from the farmlands. The officials told the villagers to move to one side or the other, and when they refused – shaking their heads in disbelief at the nonsense – the two kings plunked warriors down on the walls to oversee the daily traipsing back and forth.

“They think we’ve turned into enemy spies,” the woman grumbled, “and they interrogate us for going to visit our grannies.”

The woman asked for Alaren’s aid.

“Write to your brothers and talk some sense into them,” she pleaded.

Alaren agreed, though he had his doubts that Marin and Shirar would listen to him.

Sure as pigs roll in the mud, his brothers refused to move their walls one inch – unless it was into the other brother’s territory. Alaren – who didn’t believe there should be any sides to this great and beautiful world – sighed in exasperation. He bid farewell to his wife and daughter, and journeyed over the mountains to the village.



He spoke to the villagers on one side of the wall. He spoke to their friends and families on the other. At dawn on the third day of his visit, Alaren picked up a stone that was sitting on the edge of the east side of the Brothers Wall and climbed up the steps to the guard post at the top.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Marin’s guard challenged him.

“Invading in the name of Marin,” Alaren said flippantly, tossing the rock up and down in his hand.

“You can’t do that!” Shirar’s guard objected. “I won’t let you through.”

“I’m not coming through,” Alaren promised.

The village woman walked up the steps on the west side of the wall, a stone in hand. She handed it to Alaren. He gave her his rock in exchange. They walked back down the stairs, crossed the village and set their stones down on the opposite sides of the village – right where the woman had said a set of walls would at least keep out the wolves. They returned. Picked up another rock. Climbed the steps.

“What are you doing?” Shirar’s guard demanded.

“Nonviolently, peacefully invading in the name of Shirar,” the village woman answered as Alaren nodded.

“What are you talking about?’ the guards exclaimed at the same time.

Alaren winked.

“Friends, how would you like to report a great victory of expansion to your kings, won without bloodshed and without losing a single warrior? In fact, you don’t even have to lift a finger.”

Confusion creased their features.

“Each brother will gain a hundred paces from this wall all the way the far edges of the village – where these foolish walls should have been built in the first place. If they had to have been built at all,” Alaren told them.

“But, but, it’s not up to us,” the guards spluttered.

Commanders were called. Officials came scurrying up to the wall. All the villagers gathered at the base, peering up at the commotion. Alaren brought forth his brothers’ letters in which they stated that they wouldn’t move the wall an inch except into the other brother’s territory.

“So,” Alaren said, turning and passing his stone to the village woman as she gave hers to him, “we’re invading and building new walls on either side of this village. You,” he pointed to Shirar’s forces, “will patrol on the east side. And you,” he pointed to Marin’s regiment, “will patrol on the west side.”

“But who will patrol on this wall?” asked an official.

“No one,” Alaren said firmly, “because we need these stones to build the new walls.”

“But we’re not going to move the walls!” someone protested. “We’re warriors, not masons.”

Alaren bit back a sigh. Warriors built terrible walls, invisible ones that divided people’s hearts – but that was a comment for another day. He whistled through his fingers and from the houses of the villagers, the Stone Masons Guild stepped forward, tools in hand, ready to take down and rebuild the walls.

“The masons have agreed to do the work,” Alaren explained. “And the villagers have agreed to house and feed them.”

As you might imagine, elegant as the scheme was, the officials objected. So, one day, after weeks of arguing, Alaren picked up a chisel and struck the first blow to the wall. The sound rang out like a bell. Within moments, the villagers and stone masons ran to the wall and began to tear it down. The officials shrieked and screamed, but the warriors stood back and simply watched the villagers. They didn’t particularly care which side of the village the walls stood upon and frankly, it was a lot of bother dealing with the villagers tromping back and forth across the walls simply because they forgot their knitting basket at their mother’s house.

And so it was done. The Brothers Wall was moved, stone by stone, to either side of the village. Over time, the villagers declared themselves to be neither Shirar nor Marin’s citizens, but members of Alaren’s Peace Force. In gratitude for the Third Brother’s help, they announced that they would become a Peace Village. Years later, when the first of the two brothers wars was coming to an end, the peace negotiations would be held in this village. But that, my friends, is another story.

If you enjoyed this story, support the series and the novels! Thank you!

Here’s where to find our Community Publishing Campaign.

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/the-lost-heir#/

___________

Fall of the Berlin Wall
By Lear 21 at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0

Behind the Story – Real Life Inspiration

for the Stories of the Third Brother

Mauerspecht By Skäpperöd – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0

This fictional story was inspired by the tragic story of walls built along borders around the world . . . and the hopeful story of the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. After WWII, Berlin was divided in half when Germany was split into East and West Germany. A long, concrete divider was built through the city in 1961. Many people tried to cross the wall. 5,000 succeeded; 200 were killed.

 

Wikipedia reports: “In 1989 a series of revolutions in nearby Eastern Bloc countries—Poland and Hungary in particular—caused a chain reaction in East Germany that ultimately resulted in the demise of the Wall. After several weeks of civil unrest, the East German government announced on 9 November 1989 that all GDR citizens could visit West Germany and West Berlin. Crowds of East Germans crossed and climbed onto the Wall, joined by West Germans on the other side in a celebratory atmosphere. Over the next few weeks, euphoric people and souvenir hunters chipped away parts of the Wall; the governments later used industrial equipment to remove most of what was left. The “fall of the Berlin Wall” paved the way for German reunification, which formally took place on 3 October 1990.”

 

In Alaren’s story, the people of the village used creative nonviolent action to build an alternative to the Brothers Wall. In this folktale, the building of the perimeter walls is not a perfect solution to building peace, but it meets the villagers’ immediate needs of access to the two parts of their home. As with Gandhian Constructive Programs, the building of the solution quickly becomes a direct challenge to the problem. The Brothers Wall holds the stones they need to rebuild the walls in a new place. In the long run, resolving the problem of the division set the stage for deeper peace work, including the formation of a Peace Village and the evolution of the town as the location for peace negotiations. This is a common pattern in peace work and change-making: small steps prepare us for larger goals.

 

Alaren’s story also includes an important type of action: direct action and noncompliance with injustice. Alaren and the villagers refuse to bow to “authority” and accept the wall. Instead, they take tangible actions to create a solution and deconstruct the wall. They rally allies in the Stone Masons Guild and sway potential opponents of soldiers to simply stand aside and let the work of change take place. All of this helped the change take place.

 

What other aspects of this story struck you as important components of the work of peace and making change?

 

Photo Credits:

Top image: Fall of the Berlin Wall

By Lear 21 at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0  

Side Image: Mauerspecht By Skäpperöd – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0

All others are from Creative Commons under CC0 License. Support the Commons!Did you enjoy this? Want to see more of these stories in the world?

Support the Community Publishing Campaign for The Lost Heir!

Thank you.

After the Vote

An Essay of the Man From the North

Image from Creative Commons – CC0 License. Support the Commons!

(The Writings of the Fictional Character Charlie Rider from The Dandelion Insurrection)

by Rivera Sun

The Vote – the beloved, abused, scorned, corrupted, stolen, hijacked, pointless, profound, hopeful, depressing, hard-won, cherished vote – is not the only way to take action for meaningful change. Currently, the elections operate in our nation like a cattle chute, all too often forcing us back into the deadly, no-win tracks of the two-party duopoly that serves only the moneyed class. It becomes a handy device for siphoning off the demand for revolutionary change by giving false hope that elected officials will actually enact their campaign promises once in office.

Instead of taking matters into our own, capable, millions of hands, we vote to let someone else take care of it. And, in large part, these representatives do nothing. We wind up hamstringing our movements over and over. We vote for Candidate X’s promises of someday guarantying living wages instead of going on strike until we actually get them. We vote for Candidate Y’s vow to someday ban assault weapons instead of picketing and blockading arms dealers. Instead of targeting fossil fuel investors, we try to elect politicians to craft legislation that, even if passed, is largely ignored by industry until they manage to get officials and judges in place to overturn the law.

It is maddening and infuriating. We have other – and better – options.

Change happens on many levels: cultural, economic, industrial, social, artistic, personal, psychological, spiritual, and more. We must work in all of them if we hope for lasting, systemic shifts. Don’t be fooled by the annual circus of voting. Go vote, sure, but don’t sit back down on the couch when you’ve cast your ballot. Go out into your community, businesses, churches, colleges, and so on, and work for the changes we wish to see in the world. In truth, no legislation has the power to enact the full scope of change without the cooperation of all those other institutions and the popular support in ordinary citizens.

Want living wages, for example? Change the sickening culture of greed and the hero worship of the criminals at the top of capitalism’s cannibalistic food chain. Challenge the moral “right” our culture places upon exploitation and survival of the fittest. We will never see justice for workers while we salivate over billionaires and laud their “brilliance” (read: ruthless willingness to shove others under the bus) with which they “made their fortunes” (read: stolen from others by means of low wages, high prices, global exploitation, insider deals, destruction of the earth, corruption of democracy, self-serving laws and legislation.)

Elections and politics are the games of elites. We are whipped up each election cycle to serve as their cheering crowds at their jousting matches. It is no better than the feudal days of fighting for this king or that queen when the real struggle is the establishment of “nobles” and the theft of common land from the people. In the 1500s, the real struggle was not whether Queen Elizabeth of England and Mary Queen of Scots would sit on the throne, but rather, how ordinary women were being stripped of rights and lowered into the status of property. Neither Mary nor Elizabeth’s rule stopped the rise of patriarchy into a monstrous beast that still echoes in the policies and practices of today.

History is long, I could go on with examples across nations, class, and creed. The real challenge of our times is not which super-wealthy Democratic or Republican regime gets to hand out sweet deals and lucky breaks to their friends, but how we, the people, wrest the state apparatus from the death-grip of the “nobility” of our times. Just as fighting for this king or that queen was not as vital as defending the commons, so do I warn you, today, about over-inflating the significance of the vote.

The idea is wonderful; our practice of it, deplorable. Never confuse those two. Prize our ideals. Exercise your right to vote – it is hard-won for seventy-five percent of our populace. But never allow its current, corrupted incarnation to distract you from working on cultural, economic, social, or any other type of change. Measure for measure, pour your courageous heart into all levels of change. If you spend ten minutes reading a report about a candidates’ forum, spend the same time reading about – and participating in – strikes for better wages or sit-ins to abolish mass incarceration or shut-downs of insurance offices for affordable healthcare. If you go door-to-door canvassing for a politician, spend an equal amount of time knocking on doors to build support for a boycott of exploitative goods. If you’re willing to throw a house party for an election campaign, go to a local organizer and offer to throw a house party in support of their social justice cause. If you donate to a political campaign, donate to a movement, too.

These are just a few examples. Remember that the elections have become a massive industry. Many of our social justice movements remain shoestring, miracle-workers. Your time, skills, and donations are all deeply appreciated by your fellow citizens who are striving for significant change. Don’t forget them during the shouting matches of our election circuses. Without our movements changing the hearts and minds and daily lives of ordinary people, the mere words on paper that make up legislation have no meaning. Laws are irrelevant if officials ignore them, courts reject them, and people disobey them. Do the legwork of making sure that the populace can uphold justice, not merely because it is the law, but because it is our will, our belief, and our sense of justice turned into a way of life. To do this, you must make change in every level of our lives.

 

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Author/Activist Rivera Sun syndicated by PeaceVoice, is the author of The Dandelion Insurrection and the sequel, The Roots of Resistance. Website: http://www.riverasun.com

The Man From the North is a fictional writer in Rivera Sun’s novel, The Dandelion Insurrection and the sequel, The Roots of Resistance. The novel takes place in the near future, in “a time that looms around the corner of today”, when a rising police state controlled by the corporate-political elite have plunged the nation into the grip of a hidden dictatorship. In spite of severe surveillance and repression, the Man From the North’s banned articles circulate through the American populace, reporting on resistance and fomenting nonviolent revolution. This article is one of a series written by The Man From the North, which are not included in the novel, but can be read here.

 

The Lost Heir is here! Your New Favorite Book Awaits!

Join in the fun of the magical celebration of the Community Publishing Campaign for The Lost Heir, Rivera Sun’s newest, unforgettable, and heart-warming novel.

Today’s the Day! Hooray for The Lost Heir!

Your new favorite book is here!

The adventure begins. You can get The Lost Heir here and help send this book into the world. In our Community Publishing Campaign, you’ll find the early-release, special Author’s Edition of the novel, great perks, gifts for friends, and ways to give this book to young people and readers of all ages!

Find The Lost Heir here.

The Community Publishing Campaign is our annual celebration of the newest Rivera Sun novel . . . and Ari Ara’s latest adventure deserves cheering on! It’s a spectacular story, possibly my best book ever (says an early reader), and its quest for justice is woven with nonviolence, peace, love, courage, and fun. Urchins strike clever bargains. Workers rise up for freedom. Ball gowns and high fashion collide with tomboys and adventures. And one young redhead turns the whole world upside down by following her heart into an adventure like no other. 

You’re going to love it. And your friends,

young and old, will love it, too.

This year, I am encouraging everyone to “Get One, Give One”, by picking up a copy of the book for yourself and getting a set of Ari Ara’s books for a young person. The best way for our youth to get these books is for YOU to give it to them. Another good way is for you to pick up a set for your local library. If we want to see a strong, empowered next generation, these are the stories they (and we!) need to read, share, celebrate, and embody.

And check out all the creative, unique, and wonderful thank-you perks! I’ve really gone creative with the perks this year. Dariel cried (happy) tears reading “Alaren and the Feast Day Ceasefire”, a special short story about how the founder of the Way Between stopped a war one magical winter night with a fiddle, a fire, and a great deal of courage. Inspired by the real life Christmas Day Ceasefire during WWI, this is just one of 30 Stories of the Third Brother I’ve written. “Supporters of the Series” will receive these short story each week for the next 30 weeks with our online serialized version! And there’s so much more, including a brand-new edition of The Way Between with a new cover design to make the series, a dazzling gem of an outtake scene from The Lost Heir, the Stories of the Third Brother as an online series, original artwork from my sketchbook, Ari Ara bookmarks, and more.

 

Enjoy the thank-you gifts in our Community Publishing Campaign.

Thank you for joining in the fun, cheering on the new book, and supporting the whole writing process from number two pencils to colorful covers to getting reviews posted and shared. Your support makes my writing possible. I am incredibly grateful that, year after year, we are able to gift the world with a great story. The world is made of stories, and we’re putting an empowering, exciting, and love-based tale out at a time when such stories are the saving grace and hoped-for dreams of us all. 

Thanks for sharing the adventure,

Rivera

 

PS What’s this book about? Here’s the description!  “With all the fun of a sword-swinging adventure, but without the violence, The Lost Heir spins a spectacular story with strong female characters and powerful social justice themes. Young Ari Ara has been discovered to be the Lost Heir, the double royal daughter of two nations. When she learns that her mother’s people have forced her father’s desert people to sell their labor in exchange for water, she sets out on a quest for justice. ‘Armed’ with nonviolence and love, Ari Ara launches a youth movement to restore the honor and dignity of both her peoples. Unexpected allies rush to her side: the urchin queen, a monkish young scholar, a desert seamstress, and a mysterious hawk keeper. Before she knows it, she’s sparked an uprising like nothing Mariana Capital has ever seen!” Find The Lost Heir here.

A shero with spunk and spark, Ari Ara confronts prejudice, discrimination, bullying, violence, and injustice with all the action, adventure, magic, and fantasy that readers love!

What’s the Title? Ari Ara’s Newest Adventure Blends Action, Fantasy, and Fun with a Dash of Social Justice Thrown in for Good Measure

The Lost Heir: Ari Ara Is Back!

An Unruly Royal. An Urchin Queen. A Quest for Justice.

Are you ready for an adventure? The Lost Heir, sequel to The Way Between is almost here! In less than one month, the next part of our remarkable shero’s journey from mountain shepherdess to warrior’s apprentice to royal heir will be available. Ari Ara is headed for Mariana Capital, a world of nobles and fashion, politics and intrigue . . . and injustice, as she’s about to find out. The Marianan’s have driven a hard bargain with their mortal enemies: a year’s worth of water for a year’s worth of work. Desert People by the thousands have become bonded laborers in the factories, mills, noblehouses, and river docks of Mariana.

Ari Ara is appalled to discover how her mother’s people have forced her father’s people into servitude. When she sets out to end the Water Exchange, unexpected allies – such as the Urchin Queen, a desert seamstress, a mysterious Hawk Keeper, and her old friend Minli – come to her aid. And just in time! As fast as Ari Ara makes allies, enemies pop out of the woodwork . . . and one of them is trying to kill her.

Sounds like an adventure, alright! This novel is packed with action – nonviolent action, that is! Unlike the usual sword-swinging books in this genre, Ari Ara wields the tools of nonviolence and peace. Unarmed peacekeeping, de-escalation of fights, mass strikes, constructive programs, solidarity actions, youth mobilizations, disruptive campaigns, reconciliation work, and much more all appear within the pages of this book. This is an adventure like no other.

Our launch date is mid-November (before Thanksgiving) and we’ll be releasing it via our annual Community Publishing Campaign. As you know, all my books come to you by way of an ever-growing team of readers who work together to publish the book. Thanks for your support throughout the years and with this newest novel!

Start telling your friends. We’re in the final countdown to the launch.

Yours in the adventure,

Rivera

PS Be sure to check next week’s newsletter for a sneak peek of the cover to The Lost Heir . . . and the new cover for The Way Between!

The Stories We Tell: Rivera Sun On Hit Movies, Feminist Classics, and New Novels

“The Universe is made of stories, not atoms,” said Muriel Rukeyser in  The Speed of Darkness .






View this email in your browse






































What Do Hit Movies, Feminist Classics, & Rivera Sun’s Newest Novel Have In Common?

They all weave the story of the world, for better or for worse.

Confession: I watch movies. I check out amazing social justice films like Pride or Made in Dagenham. I also watch not-as-inspiring Hollywood tributes to the culture of violence like the new Star Wars film or the Chris Pine Star Trek movies. Why does a nonviolence fan like me watch these flicks? (And yes, I ask myself that question through the whole movie.) Namely, because I’m curious about the stories we’re telling ourselves as a culture.

Might makes right. The good guy’s violence is okay. Just Wars justify extreme acts of brutality. These are the messages we’re pumping out to millions of viewers on the silver screen. But, if we’re ever going to have a culture of peace and active nonviolence, we’re going to need to change these stories. Our heroes and sheroes are going to have to look a lot more like  Gandhi, King, the women of Dagenham, Liberia’s Mass Action for Peace, the Chipko Movement and so many more.

That’s where my writing comes in. It’s almost time for a new Rivera Sun novel. The sequel to The Way Between is coming. It’s a magical story about a fiesty redheaded shero using nonviolent action instead of swords to wage peace instead of war. In the new book, Ari Ara turns Mariana Capital on its snobby head as she stands up for the rights of two downtrodden populaces, helping them shift from fighting each other to fighting their common problem. More on that in next week’s email (including the title of the book).

This newsletter is about the importance of changing the story of the world. As you might imagine, my reading  list is as eclectic as my movie list, ranging fromAkata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor (think Harry Potter meets the African diaspora) to Charles Eisenstein’s Climate: A New Story to The Chalice and the Blade by Riane Eisler. The last book is a feminist classic, though Riane’s point is that the epic struggle humanity has faced over the last six millennium hasn’t been patriarchy vs. matriarchy, but rather dominator structures vs. partnership structures. The massive challenges we face today still revolve around these ancient themes. And if there’s anything to be learned from history, it’s that violence begets violence begets hierarchy begets domination. If we want to end oppression, our ends and means need to be rooted in systems of respect, mutuality, horizonality, equality, equity, real democracy, peace, and nonviolence.

Six thousand years ago, the story of the world experienced a terrifying shift to war, violence, domination, and in most cases, patriarchy. The last hundred and fifty years of human history have shown incredible heroic struggles to flip this script, to challenge those stories, and to re-establish the equality of the (many) genders, races, sexualities, abilities, and creeds. My mission as a writer is to transform the field of literature and to move our literary myths into reflecting the epic story of our times: the story of courageous nonviolent struggle for justice. This is a story that’s robust and inspiring, but all too often overlooked by our mass media (the vehicle of contemporary myth making). All of my novels lift up the new mythic sheroes and heroes. Ari Ara is a classic example.

In my next newsletter, I’ll be sharing more about the plot of the new novel, the themes explored, and the upcoming Community Publishing Campaign (you know ’em, you love ’em). Thanks for being part of the growing movement to change the story of our times. You are my real-life hero or shero. Keep it up.

Rivera

Protect the Net!

Image from Creative Commons (CCO License). Protect the Net & Support the Commons!

Stop Crony Capitalism: Protect the Net!

by Rivera Sun

Pretty soon, we’ll all be paying a whole lot more money for Internet service. A few days ago the FCC’s repeal of Net Neutrality went into effect. If nothing is done, it easy to see the handwriting on the wall. After a waiting period of no changes (intended to diffuse public outrage), it’s expected that the telecom giants will broker deals with massive companies like Google and Amazon, giving them the virtual version of a bulk shipping discount while the rest of us pay premium rates to download, upload, and stream. It’s a death knell for struggling small businesses.

There’s still hope for the supporters of Net Neutrality, however, as a Congressional Review Act in the House could overturn the FCC’s ruling. While the left has mobilized repeatedly to defend Net Neutrality, and many conservative citizens have spoken up in earlier phases of the campaign, Republican elected officials are dragging their feet.

It’s hard to figure out why. The attack against Net Neutrality comes as a heavy-handed act of good-ol’-boy crony capitalism that favors the profits of telecom giants over small businesses’ (and everyone else’s) need for fair Internet access and affordability. Conservative voters want Net Neutrality. Senate Republicans have stepped up and helped the CRA move through the Senate. Hundreds of small to mid-size businesses across the political spectrum have demanded Net Neutrality.

One Net Neutrality advocate group is keeping track of officials’ stances as people struggle to get the House of Representatives to use the Congressional Review Act to overturn the repeal of Net Neutrality. The Democrats are lined up in a neat little row in defense of equal access to the Internet. The Republicans, on the other hand, seem strangely reluctant to walk their talk and fight back against crony capitalism that rewards Big Business at the expense of John Q. Citizen.

It’s one of those awkward moments when the populace on the right and left shares a common protest chant: Don’t Raise Our Rates! None of us need to pay more money for worse Internet service just to satisfy telecom companies’ greed. And that’s what this is all about.

Whether you think of the Internet as a commons-based resource or an equal-access marketplace, both lovers of capitalism and the commons should know that ending Net Neutrality is just plain unfair business. The Internet is a vitally important aspect of contemporary economies, businesses, education, communication, arts and culture, politics and so much more. When fast and slow lanes (guess which one you’ll pay more for) let concentrated wealth buy Internet privileges, the little guys (and that’s the vast majority of us) are going to have a harder and harder time running our businesses, accessing information, and contributing to our society, culture, and economy. Telecom companies’ greed shouldn’t be allowed to aggravate the already horrific inequalities in our country, especially when doing so is flatly unjustified.

Conservatives, this one’s on you. House Republicans are the ones that need to move into action to stop this act of crony capitalism. They’ve certainly campaigned enough on that theme to recognize it in action; now it’s time to stop it.  The Congressional Review Act is the mechanism by which they could act to ensure small businesses have a fair chance. Whether you’re on the right or left of the political spectrum, take a moment to visit the Battle for the Net websiteand contact those representatives.

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Rivera Sun, syndicated by PeaceVoice, is the author of The Dandelion Insurrection, The Roots of Resistance, and other books, including a study guide to making change with nonviolent action. She is the cohost of Love (and Revolution) Radio, and a trainer in strategy for nonviolent movements.

Think Outside the Protest Box

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Protest. Petition. Call your senators. Nothing changes, right? No matter how large our demonstrations get, no matter how many millions of people write and petition politicians, no matter how many people get arrested in front of the White House or at our state capitols, it seems that our (supposedly) elected officials keep turning a blind eye and deaf ear to our cries for change.

In fact, there’s even a study out that shows that in twenty years on two thousand different bills, we, the People, got our bills through Congress a whopping 0.0% of the time. (Yes, you read that correctly. Zero point zero. In other words, “never-ever-not-once”.) Only businesses and rich people managed to get legislation passed. And sure, it looked like we had a few victories, so long as one of those other groups were aligned with us. But when we wanted something they didn’t, nope. Nada. No way. Congress just wasn’t listening.

You’d think we’d learn from twenty years of experience, but to judge from the emails I’m getting as an engaged and caring conscious citizen, we haven’t. I’m supposed to give my reps and senators a ring forty times a day on as many issues. I’ve been invited to enough DC mass demonstrations and marches this year to take up residence there. And I have to confess to a hefty dose of skepticism that voting this batch of politicians out of office in two to four years is the only way to advance social justice causes. In that timeframe, hundreds of school children could be murdered in mass shootings in schools, hundreds (and probably close to a thousand) black people could be shot dead by police, and dozens of aquifers will be contaminated with fracking toxins and oil spills – to name just a few of the problems that will wrack up casualties in the next couple years.

I’m rarely happy to be lied to, but in this case the truth holds more hope that my email list organizations are letting on. If you’re anything like me, you’ll be thrilled to know that we have literally dozens more options for pushing for change than we’re generally told. Getting foot-dragging corporate and oligarch controlled politicians to pass legislation is not our only option. (Thank goodness.)

So what can we do? For one thing, talk to your favorite nonprofits, organizations, and campaigns for change. Ask them to do a thorough strategic analysis of the problem you’re working on. Look for the all the power holders, not just the political ones. Your power holders on the issue may be investors, financiers, technicians, researchers, academics, social trend setters, police chiefs, school administrators, CEOs and shareholders, and many other types of groups. Analyze the problem carefully before you assume that politicians are the only ones with the power to change the equation. There are many books and online tools to help you with this work.

Do a Pillars of Support analysis to find your leverage points in the equation. Every injustice arises in a system. Find the points of intervention and cut off the flow of labor, money, resources, information, and/or functionality until your demand for change is met. Your best point of intervention may not be on the political front. For example, when Earth Quaker Action Team wanted to stop mountain top removal, they didn’t stop at calling their senators – they shut down the big bank that was financing the coal companies.

If you’re looking for ways to change a complex problem, one with many potential solutions that could be implemented at several levels, see if you can work for change on many fronts, building cumulative campaigns (even simultaneous cumulative campaigns if you want to get really fancy) to implement several sets of changes. For example, when peacebuilders in Gainesville, FL wanted to stop the school-to-prison pipeline, they worked to address the many layers of the problem, helping to start a restorative justice program in both the schools and the juvenile justice system, initiating police-youth dialogues, and working to resource kids and families to meet underlying needs, among other approaches.

Consider doing a Spectrum of Allies to identify your allies. You might be surprised at who/what you discover. Do you need the telecoms giants to back off from Net Neutrality? Net Neutrality supporters include some behemoths like Amazon, Facebook, and Google. If you pointed your campaign at shifting them from fairly passive allies to active allies (say, shutting down all search engine and advertisement traffic to the telecom giants), you’ll have mobilized some powerful allies. Other times, your allies pop up in less powerful groups that are, nonetheless, in powerful positions to serve as pivots of change, One example might be coders, who also advocate for Net Neutrality. Imagine an industry-wide coders’ strike for Net Neutrality . . . it might be a fairly rapid and swift way to shift the equation on this issue.

We have more power than we think. But we’ve got to go beyond the “protest-petition-call officials-vote” routine. Think outside that box, and you’ll find a world of creative solutions and strategies to tap into. I’d like to issue a challenge to all of our nonprofits and organizing groups to at least employ a one-for-one strategy. If you’re going to ask people to call public officials or join a large protest, add a second strategy that uses an organized, sustained, and strategic act of noncooperation and/or intervention targeted at a second group of power holders. The time has come to double down on strategy and make great strides toward change.

 

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Rivera Sun is the author of The Dandelion Insurrection, The Roots of Resistance, and many other books, including a study guide to making change with nonviolent action. She is the cohost of Love (and Revolution) Radio, and a trainer in strategy for nonviolent movements. www.riverasun.com

Shifting Systems with Nonviolent Strategy

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The secret to successful nonviolent struggle lies in understanding strategy and systems. All systems require participation and resources to survive. Deny those things, and the system will wither away . . . or concede to meet your demands.

Strategy can be that simple. Cut off the water and the plants will die. Block all other exits and the rabbit will come out the hole in front of you. Surround the castle and cut off the food supply and the people will surrender – or starve. Give Archimedes a lever long enough (and a pivot upon which to place it) and he can move the world.  If workers can sustain a strike and keep out scabs then the business owner must raise wages – or lose productivity. If all investors divest from fossil fuels then the industry has no capital with which to continue operating. If everyone boycotts palm oil then there’s no profit in clear-cutting the rainforest.

Simple strategies. Clear levers. Effective change.

Of course, we all know it can get waaaaay more complicated. The science of making change with nonviolent action can sometimes look more like quantum physics. In fact, the lens of ecosystems and evolution might be the most useful metaphor for how complex system change affects economics, politics, social behaviors, psychology, worldviews, education and much more. We’re often not just changing a single tree, or even a forest of trees, but the entire ecosystem of the watershed, plants, animals, mycelium, erosion, atmosphere, and climate that surrounds the issue we’re working on!

When we’re working for change, we need to think on both levels. We need to understand the complex fields of social, political, economic, and cultural behaviors. We also need to know exactly where to place, pivot, and pull the lever long enough to move our world.  Underneath the complexity, there’s often a simple and straightforward explanation for what’s driving the shifts. (Prolonged drought turns a grassland into a desert. A landslide dams up a river. A new housing development drives bears further north and cougars into the swamp.) Change happens when we disrupt an old system strongly enough that it must adapt or risk collapse. Our job as organizers and strategic thinkers is to analyze the complex web of what underlies the injustice. Then we must figure out how to non-cooperate with and/or intervene in the old system to such a degree that it concedes to our demands or ceases to exist. In this way, we have the power to halt and deconstruct powerful, oppressive systems.

The strategic power of nonviolent struggle rests in the inarguable truth that all systems require resources to operate, indeed even to exist. The Pillars of Support model first proposed by Gene Sharp and later adapted by numerous organizing groups helps us understand this. By placing a dictator on top of a series of pillars, such as “human resources,” “material resources,” “sanction power,” “skills and knowledge,” and others, the model demonstrates that when you remove the pillars, the dictator cannot maintain his position. He – and his regime – crumbles. This model uses the metaphor of gravity and stone edifices to explain how power works. A dictator without access to resources and obedience is just a little man in a room throwing a temper tantrum.

That basic theory holds true for all systems. A corporation without financing, workers, suppliers, staff, supplies, communications, customers and so on, cannot do business–deny any one of these and profits are eliminated. A school without students, tuition payments, teachers, and administration cannot continue to operate. A nonprofit without donors, members, or the ability to function at its stated tasks will not exist except in name. Everything from a social club like the Rotary Club to a practice like segregated lunch counters to a worldview like “survival of the fittest” relies on the participation and cooperation of many parts. Without them, the organization or system must either adapt or cease to exist.

When we are working for change, this is the knowledge that we must tap into strategically. We must understand the system we seek to change. We must identify the resources it uses. And we must withhold those resources either by refusing to give our cooperation to the system or by using nonviolent action to intervene in the operation of the system. We can do this temporarily in pursuit of a demand (like going on strike for higher wages) or permanently to stop a destructive practice (like divesting from fossil fuels).

We can also use the power of systems to create the new. This is known as building parallel or alternative institutions (a famous example is the Continental Congress that usurped British Rule in the early colonies of the United States), or crafting constructive programs (such as Gandhi’s salt and spinning wheel campaigns). When working to create the new systems, the most strategic projects begin by gathering overlooked resources. Then, they pull the resources of people, money, time, skill, and participation away from the old, destructive system. Finally, in the third stage of a constructive program, the project directly challenges the old system, using acts of noncooperation and intervention to redirect the resources and participation from the old to the new. (Sometimes, this third stage is precipitated by the old system’s attack on the new system.)

Many of the nonviolent tactics being used in our movements are acts of protest and persuasion. They have a role in the struggle and can be fun, useful, and effective at opening minds and rallying allies. But they are often not enough on their own. It is important to understand how to pair protest tactics with acts of noncooperation and intervention that directly impact the systems and structures of injustice, or the power holders that need to act to correct an injustice.

The old adage, we have more power than we think, is true. Our opportunities for successful and effective struggle are numerous. But to access them, we need to use wise analysis and careful strategic planning. We need to understand what the destructive systems require to operate and then we must deny them those resources until the demand for change is met. Simple. Complex. Effective.

 

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Author/Activist  Rivera Sun , syndicated by  PeaceVoice , is the author of The Dandelion Insurrection, The Roots of Resistance, and many other books, including a study guide to making change with nonviolent action.  She is the cohost of Love (and Revolution) Radio, and a trainer in strategy for nonviolent movements. 

 

The Roots of Resistance: An Intense Journey Into The Vibrant Complexity Of Nonviolent Change

Book Review by Tom Atlee

The Roots of Resistance is now available on this website and in ebook and print formats on Amazon and all major online bookstores!

Rivera Sun always gifts us with usefully creative fiction in the face of daunting challenges to future generations, to current society, to marginalized communities, and to all of us as citizens of our planet. Her Roots of Resistance – the second novel of her Dandelion Trilogy – offers an inspiring story to help guide love-based strategic change efforts during what promises to be a very messy transition to a better world.  The novel imagines deeply human responses to our civilizational predicament and to the challenges we (especially as change agents) will face as we try to put such responses into practice.

This novel takes seriously the idea not only that we face innumerable societal problems – especially in vulnerable marginalized communities (those sizzling cauldrons of possibility) – but also that we are heading into increasing systemic dysfunction – that our traditional mainstream institutions, systems, and power centers are – at the very best – not able to competently and fairly deal with these challenges – and, at worst, are actively generating greater injustice and suffering.  Some of the players in that high drama are playing their roles selfishly and intentionally.  Others – civil servants, waitresses, programmers, truck drivers – are just caught up in a business-as-usual system that is designed for short-term, unjust and problematic outcomes that especially benefit a few elites.  From a strategic nonviolence perspective, the former need to be shown they will not be allowed to function normally, while the latter need to be invited – sometimes through provocative demonstrations of powerful caring – into another way of being and operating that holds promise for a better world.  And that can involve individual and collective activities that thoroughly gum up the workings of the Mainstream Machine – which, incidentally, makes for a fascinating weave of unfolding plot lines!

It doesn’t require great literature to draw us into this narrative.  It just takes a really good storyteller who knows what she is talking about and can carry us along a compelling thread of adventure that makes us want to keep at it to see what happens next – partly because it may well happen to us soon in real life.  It takes a storyteller like Rivera Sun who inspires us to rise to the challenge as her characters do, because her stories tell us how.

Into her narratives Rivera Sun – who is, after all, a skilled nonviolence trainer – weaves deep knowledge of the energetics, possibilities and challenges of nonviolent struggle with the complex, varied, and emotionally intense lived experience of real people caught up in the dynamic tensions of that struggle.  Her characters – from dedicated activists to ambitious politicians to ordinary folks and a strange volunteer bodyguard – are lifted from real life and their tactics, strategies, and shifting perspectives and motivations have been discussed by activists and academics for decades.  We see many of those conversations reflected in the book’s dialogue – notably the incredibly important and challenging issue of what constitutes violence and where – if anywhere – it fits in a strategic nonviolent movement.  We also see debate over whether and how to collaborate with members of the establishment who act like they’re friends, and how fraught with opportunity and danger such collaborations can be.

For many such issues there are no obvious answers.  The “struggle” in nonviolent struggle is not only between the movement and its opponents, but within the movement, and within the hearts and minds of every person involved, on all sides.  Rivera Sun’s continual return to love as the primary touchstone – the source of both the power and wisdom of nonviolence – offers a glimpse of where the elusive answers may lie.  But only a glimpse, because it turns out that even love is an ambiguous, intuitive guide when the challenges of relationship and strategy intensify to the breaking point.  We see a lot of that here.

This is not a quiet, peaceful book.  It is a book of questions and challenges, subterfuge and sudden transformations, disagreements and failures, insights and obliviousness, with visions and values dancing together in every corner of the story.  The complexity of real life is abundantly on display, as are the heights of clarity and caring.

Rivera Sun’s descriptive language is intense, lyric, sometimes mystical, magical, almost psychedelic.  It made me dance between dismissing it as overdone and examining the quality of my own experience, wondering how much I subdue my own wildly surging aliveness.  To look at the world through Rivera Sun’s eyes is to see things with a vivid brilliance appropriate for someone with such a solar name and spirit!

I suspect the ideal role for Rivera Sun’s books – including notably this one – is to stimulate conversations about who we are in the world and why, and how we may want to take action because of that.  And then to act, to live with open heart into her empowering stories of change.

PS:  I highly recommend reading her prelude, The Dandelion Insurrection, first.  (Much of what I say in this review applies just as well to that book, subtitled “Love and revolution”.)  And I invite you to join me in looking forward eagerly to her final book in the trilogy…

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Tom Atlee is vice president and research director of the Co-Intelligence Institute, and the author of numerous books on social change agentry, including Empowering Public Wisdom: A Practical Vision of Citizen-Led Politics and Reflections on Evolutionary Activism: Essays, Poems and Prayers from an Emerging Field of Sacred Social Change.