26 Serialisation of the book 'Uprising' 1st book in the 'Corpalism' series - by Arun D Ellis

The not so simple task of turning your handler


When we are no longer able to change a situation,
we are challenged to change ourselves.

Victor Frankl

Ice Man waited in the shadows as the easily identifiable silhouette of Insp. Ken Jackson, his local handler, approached.

“Easy there man,” said Ice, “best stay in the shade.”

“What’s going on, Ice?” asked Jackson, “You’ve got everyone jumping left right and centre. So come on, what was the big meeting all about?”

“What meeting?” asked Ice.

“We know,” said Jackson, “so what the hell’s going on?”

“We need to talk,” said Ice.

“That’s what we’re doing,” said Jackson.

“No,” said Ice, “I mean a proper sit down.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we need to talk about where things are at,” said Ice, “and where they’re going.”

“What the hell does that mean, Ice?”

“It means, we ain’t happy no more with the way things have been going,” said Ice.

“What does that mean?” asked Jackson.

“It means we need a proper sit down,” said Ice.

“Okay,” said Jackson, “when? where?”

“I’ll get word to you,” said Ice, “but don’t report this back, not until we’ve spoken properly.”

“Okay, but you know they’re going to want something,” said Jackson.

“You got a brain; think of something.”

∞

Two days later Insp. Jackson entered the same small community hall where Terry had held his meeting. He was 10 mins late, fashionably he’d thought and it served to keep Ice on his toes. He was shocked to see the place filled with over a hundred people. He turned to leave, he was in the wrong place, either actually or figuratively, the whole deal was sus and he wanted out.

“Jackson,” said Ice.

Jackson stopped and turned back into the room, spotting Ice in the group, he shook his head, hovering uncertainly. Jimmy moved in behind him, helping him make up his mind, “Take a seat with your man.”

“What’s going on?”

“Take a seat and you’ll soon find out,” said Jimmy “You’re okay, Ice saved you a place.”

“Ice saved me a place, did he?” repeated Jackson, “fuck off, I’m leaving.”

“No, you ain’t,” said Paddy standing in Jackson’s way.

Jackson thought about trying to force his way through but looking at the size of Paddy figured he couldn’t, he’d make a spectacle of himself trying, and he’d look weak and now was definitely not the time to be looking weak. He shrugged, “Okay, whatever.”

When everyone was seated Don stepped up to the lectern, “Thank you for coming and thank you for bringing your associates.”

“What the fuck’s going on, Ice?” hissed Jackson.

“My colleague Terry will now address you,” said Don.

Terry rose from his seat in the front row and stood in front of the gathering, “First of all I should mention that we know the authorities are monitoring this meeting. We know about the new programme so we know you will have to report back and we expect you to report what has occurred here, as accurately as you can. I say that to let you know that we aren’t worried about what you say, we aren’t worried whether or not you chose to listen to our message, we are supremely confident. You are here to listen to what we have to say.”

There was a muttering of resentment from the assembled handlers, muted; the proximity of so many community hard nuts had a depressing effect on strong reaction.

Terry started to pace, “We are the majority, we are the mass, we are the real strength, we hold the keys to the real power, not them and by them, I mean the rich 1%.”

“What the fuck,” whispered Jackson, “not this shit again.”

“Shut up Jackson,” said Ice, “just listen to what the man has to say.”

“Why?” whispered Jackson, “all this 99% crap was crushed years ago and they’ll crush it again.”

“Maybe, but I figure he’s right, we ain’t been payin’ attention. Youse, me and the rest of these fine gentlemen have all been playin’ by the rules for the past 20 years and look where it got us?”

“What’re you gettin’ at?” asked Jackson.

“We been taken,” said Ice, “and that don’t sit well.”

Jackson glanced around him looking for other responses similar to his; he found them but now was not the time to exploit it.

Terry took a sip of water, “Now I will admit that we’re going to try to persuade you to join us, but let me be clear, we don’t care one way or another if you do or don’t. We don’t need you.”

He looked deliberately round the room, his level gaze probing, his meaning unambiguous, “Sure, it would make things simpler for us if the local police were on our side but we all know you’re not the main threat. That comes from the security forces. But I will remind you we number in the millions, the police only in the tens of thousands and the security forces in the hundreds of thousands.” He let that sink in for a moment then continued, “Not only do we number in the millions but we are also united in our endeavour. This is something that they, the 1% don’t understand. I know this because I’ve lived amongst them for most of my life. They don’t see us, they don’t see our plight, and it doesn’t enter into their heads or their daily routines. They mix with their own kind, in the same clubs, same offices, same parties, at the same beaches, at the same holiday resorts. They don’t care about our suffering – they don’t care about us.”

He walked out to the front of the stage, leaving the safety of the lectern, his confidence apparent to all, “and don’t anyone try to say ‘oh but they don’t know’ and ‘if they knew, they’d change things’ … they know, how can they not? They just don’t give a fuck. They’re immersed in their own little world of numbers, constantly looking to see who has more billions than them. They believe they have what they have because they deserve it. They think we are all lazy and shiftless individuals who clutter up their world.”

He took another sip of water. “But tell me, how are they better than us? Are they better under the laws of nature? Are they fitter and stronger than us? Are they kinder and more thoughtful? Are they brighter and more intelligent than us? Do they have superior minds? No, they are none of these things; they are soft, flabby, fat, lazy, indolent, useless individuals, most of whom inherited their money. They live in a world separate from us, a world where there is no want, where there is obscene quantity and unbelievable waste. They live in that world knowing they’re exploiting the workers of the 3rd world and forcing the ordinary people of the west into dire poverty. But the big question is ‘how have they achieved this’?”

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for this shit, Ice,” whispered Jackson.

“I don’t fall for nothin’, but this is real, brother, you just be listening, then we talk.”

“So how have they achieved this miracle?” asked Terry, “Simple really, first, they told us that capitalism would allow each of us a piece of the pie. Then they said if we worked really hard then we could get a bigger piece, like them. But is that true? Has that ever been true?” He pointed out into the crowd, singling out individuals, forcing them to think, to engage, “You there, and you, you all know people who have worked hard all their lives but they never seemed to get more than just enough to get by.”

“That’s true enough” someone shouted, shushed at once by the handler to his left.

Terry accepted the comment with a brusque nod then spoke again, “But then, we’re told that to get that bigger slice you have to be an entrepreneur, a businessman, then you can enjoy the big time and again anyone can be an entrepreneur if they try hard…but that’s not true either, because to set up in business you have to have money… and we, the people, don’t have any spare money because the greedy 1% have kept it all for themselves…” He stopped talking and looked behind him to Don and Dave, a ‘how I’m doing?’ question on his face. Don nodded encouragement; Dave shrugged and made a face.

“I know this is a lot to take in” Terry said abruptly, swiveling his gaze back to the room “So anyone got any questions at this point?” No-one took up his offer, instead satisfied themselves with shuffling and shared glances, no doubt some echoing Jackson’s unspoken ‘I’m in the centre of a communist revolution, how the fuck do I get outta here?’

He took the silence as acquiescence, “The other way to make money is to exploit people, oh, no sorry, that’s the ‘only’ way to make money, exploit other people, that’s how the billionaires have acquired all their money by exploiting others…So how did they achieve it? You’re going to love this…they changed all the rules to accommodate what they wanted to do. How? I hear you ask…easy, they own the politicians, they own the banks, they own industry and they own everything. They made it easier for themselves to invest in so called emerging markets. What once would’ve been considered treasonous was now considered virtuous. Instead of building up the nation state and its resources, all of its resources, including its people, they concentrated on building up their profits. That’s all they did. They invested in parts of the world where children could be worked for 12 hours a day 7 days a week, where grown men and women could be treated like slaves and all for a pittance and they did this because we here in the west had made it illegal to work children, because we’d abolished slavery, because we had fought for workers’ rights, for a minimum wage, for a 40 hr week, for pensions, for the right to retire, for a free NHS, for free education, all of these things were getting in the way of them making a quick and easy profit and worse …had been making us feel we were worth something.”

“He’s going to get you killed,” whispered Jackson.

“You ain’t listening,” said Ice, “did you take a look round you when you came here this morning, Jackson? Did you see what this place is like? What ‘bout you? What ‘bout your life?”

“I know that some of you will have thought all this before, you might have been on the picket lines, you might have campaigned against the hikes in student loans, the year-on-year reduction in the earnings level before payback was due, the obscene Work Programme that put the disabled into slave labour for the hypermarkets, you might want to come up here and tell me about it… you were there, I wasn’t. I’m too young; I was at school, not even born when some of this was happening…” He looked round and saw no takers to his challenge, “I know also that some of you will be thinking that this was crushed years ago, that the state is now all powerful and that the 1% are so entrenched and so influential that nothing can change.” He encouraged the murmurs, accepting their fear of what he was saying, recognising and absorbing it, “They’re monitoring this meeting, but that doesn’t mean that we have to let them dictate to us, that doesn’t mean we have to accept third, fourth or fifth best in this world.” He raised his hands to his shoulders, in a questioning pose, “Where is it written that one man must be the economic the slave of another? Or a thousand men must carry the burden of just one man? Where is it written that they are so much better than us? Where is it written that we must sit idly by whilst they party and wallow in luxury whilst half the world’s population starves? Where is it written that they should have all the money and that they should decide who lives and who dies? I ask you, where is it written?”

Isolated figures round the room were on their feet, whether in support or preparing to leave was unclear but Jimmy and his brothers moved swiftly to settle them back down.

“Why you asking about my life?” said Jackson.

“What about your family?” pressed Ice, “Are their prospects so good? What have you been promised? Have they delivered? Will your kids have more than you ever had or are they already in debt? Well? Huh! Admit it Jackson, we’re already dead.”

Terry spoke again, “Capitalism, we were told, creates prosperity… and so it does, in a properly regulated environment. That way everyone gets a piece of the pie. But in a world where the game is rigged so that those with the most keep getting more and those with the least keep getting less, and those with some find themselves driven ever lower down the chain, then it doesn’t create prosperity, it creates want. That’s what they have achieved in their crazy desire to own all of the money. It’s insane, they are insane … they are economic psychopaths.” Terry glanced round the room then continued, “Now some of you might be thinking ‘What’s he on about’?” He expected the short bursts of laughter and grinned easily, “I’ll explain… psychopaths lack morality, they can be charming, they can be aggressive, they mimic others but what they are all incapable of doing is empathizing. That’s the difference between them and us; between normal people and psychopaths… it’s easy to identify this group of obscenely wealthy individuals as psychopaths because they aren’t the first rich people to have ever existed.”

Jackson stood to leave, with a loud “Fuck this”. Ice Man stood as well and Terry stopped talking, awaiting the outcome, a test case for the rest of the room’s occupants.

“Not yet, he’s not done” said Ice, “an’ we need to talk first.”

“What?” said Jackson, “Are you crazy? Have you really swallowed all that crap?”

“No!” said ice, “I’ve lived it. Sit down.”

Jackson paused, shuffled his feet, and then sat.

Terry waited for the mutterings that’d been activated by Jackson’s loud irritation to die away, and then continued. “We’ve had periods in history where the gap between rich and poor was as wide as now but at that time some of the wealthy empathized with the poor, they cared for the conditions under which the masses live; we know this because history proves it. They fought against exploitation, against slavery, against children working up chimneys and down mines, and they fought their own kind to achieve social justice. Other countries needed revolutions to achieve change, Britain always changed without that upheaval, common sense prevailed, and a sense of decency and justice was alive in the land.”

He was entering the last phase of the talk, the bit where he hoped to attract most support from the police in the group.

“The problem we have is that the ones at the top, the ones who have all the money, are the same type of people as those who thought slavery was acceptable, who thought nothing of sending a child up a chimney… those people were psychopaths and so are the people now at the top.”

He took another, final sip of water, “But none of this can be true, can it? If it was, surely we’d do something about it? Surely the masses would rise up as one and change things? You’d think that, wouldn’t you…. But how, how can we … legally? When the wealthy 1% not only has all the money, but has also written all the laws; laws which value property above life, which value the wealthy above the poor. Laws that prevent us from speaking out against this intolerable injustice, laws that prevent the masses from gathering, that prevent us from taking what is rightfully ours whilst protecting the rich who regularly steal what is ours, laws that say the rich own everything whilst the poor own nothing. Who wrote these laws? Who approved these laws? They did…” He raised his arms in front of him, palms into the room, “but who enforces these laws? They can’t do it themselves because there’re not enough of them. So, I say again…who enforces these laws? …We do, we make the rich safe, we protect them, we keep other workers down and in the process keep ourselves down and we support the injustice of obscene wealth for the few. Without our obedience they couldn’t do it. Without our obedience they couldn’t maintain their position in the world and tell me, please someone tell me, why we’re the only species on the planet to live such pitiful lives, simply at the whim of another.” He paused, “Now I know most of you coppers will want to get the hell out of here and report back which is fine, as I said, we don’t need you… but you are going to need us. We are the mass and we are unstoppable. We will rise up, we will march and we will be victorious.”

He had finished speaking but the room still echoed with his words. The handlers sat in their various places round the room, waiting for whatever was meant to happen next, for the first movements being made to empty the hall. Jimmy and his brothers were still positioned by the doors and whilst that was the case no one wanted to be first to the exit, or indeed to test whether they were being allowed to exit. Since Jackson and Ice were loudly continuing their argument most of the room’s occupants were content to listen.

“What you don’t see” said Ice, “is how shit it is here, day in, day out.”

“Hey, you chose the mission.” said Jackson.

“That ain’t the point, things were never meant to be this bad.”

“You got TV, You got Mackey Ds, and you got other stuff.”

“We ain’t got shit,” said Ice, “TV is shit, Mackey Ds is shit, and we ain’t got freedom.”

“Freedom?” Jackson’s eyebrows shot up to join his hairline.

“Now I ain’t gonna force you to join us,” said Ice, “and I ain’t gonna let my boys harm ya’, but I am gonna ask you to go home and think about it, to look at your life, at your home, at your kids and their prospects, look at your debts, at your kids’ debts and see where they’ll be at 10 years time ‘cause I’m willing to bet they’ll be here, living in the sinks with us.”

“No way,” said Jackson.

“Oh no?” questioned Ice, “Really, you can be that sure, can you? What’s your debt?”

“I’m not tellin’ you that.” said Jackson.

“I’ll bet it’s right up there,” said Ice, gesturing at the top of his head, “and I’ll bet your kids already have loadsa debt. What happens if you lose your job? What happens if there’s no work for your kids?”

“There’ll be work,” said Jackson.

“How many kids you got?” asked Ice.

“Why do you want to know about my kids?” demanded Jackson. “you threatening me?”

“I don’t wanna know ‘bout your kids, I want you to think ‘bout them and how many of ‘em‘ll get jobs, or manage to scrape a living outside serving the system and which one will end up here.”

“My kids are gonna be fine,” said Jackson, “they’re gonna go to Uni and they’ll get good jobs.”

“Well I hope so,” said Ice, “’cause that sounds like a load a debt to me.”

“They’ll be fine,” stated Jackson, “now, can I go?”

“Sure,” said Ice, “Sure thing man.”

Jackson stood up; stared at Terry, now seated on the stage, for a long moment, making sure he’d know him on sight. Then he squeezed past the still seated Ice Man and marched to the door. On his approach Brendan looked for permission from the stage and receiving it, stood aside. The sight of Jackson exiting safely started a general rush for the doors and within a few minutes the hall was empty of handlers.

“How do you think it went?” Dave asked.

“Oh they’ll go running home and tell all,” said Terry.

“Is that what we want?” asked Eric.

“It’ll do,” said Terry, “they’re gonna find out anyway, besides some of them will think about what’s been said.”

“Where’d you get all that stuff?” asked Don.

“I lived with them, it’s just how they are,” He put his hand on Don’s shoulder, “Can you tell them they need to dig out their chips? They won’t like it, and some of them might need persuasion but they’re no good to us until they get rid of them.” Don nodded, pleased to have a concrete action to perform. Terry watched for a moment as he went from leader to leader murmuring and pointing to their forearms, then signaled Jimmy and his brothers over, “Okay guys, it’s time we employed some of your special talents, Liberty Valance style.”

“Liberty what?” said Sean.

Terry frowned, “I thought you’d all seen Eric’s film, at least that’s the impression I got.”

“Yeah, we have,” said Brendan, “but this is Sean.”

“Now we’re talking,” said Paddy.

“What are we talking?” asked Sean.

“Liberty Valance,” said Jimmy, “the film, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.”

“Eh?”

“Forget it,” said Jimmy to Sean, then turned to Terry, “leave it to us, we’ll stir things up good and proper.”

“Now that’s something I can relate to,” said Brendan.

“What is?” said Sean.

“Hang on,” said Eric, “before they go off half cocked, do we want any restrictions on this?”

“Absolutely not,” said Terry, “let’s really stir things up, just don’t get caught.”

“Don’t worry about us,” said Jimmy, “it’ll be smash and run.”

∞

Inspector Jackson made his report and then drove home to his wife and family.

That night as he sat alongside his pretty wife on the faux-suede 4-seater settee in his outskirts of Boro suburb, semi-detached, 3 up 2 down with integral garage, staring at his 42” 3D TV he couldn’t help running the numbers through his head.

They’d known for a long time that they’d run up huge debts… everyone they knew lived the same way. It was how all his colleagues and their families lived. You had to have things and it was all expensive. No-one he knew lived within their means, it just wasn’t possible. The debt was always there and they could never hope to repay it in their lifetime. Even the kids, barely out of their teens, already owed vast sums. Once they went to Uni the figures would be astronomical. He made himself total it up – something he and Michelle usually avoided doing. He whistled, shocked, allowing the magnitude of it all to enter his brain for the first time in years, acknowledging the potential for ruin. His family debt came to something in excess of 5 million, and his being allowed to owe that much was reliant totally on him keeping his job.

Jackson turned to his wife, speaking low to avoid disturbing the kids, Kevin in particular who was at that age, “Can we have a little chat?”

“What?” She was engrossed, she and Kim both, Kevin looked over at him, interested immediately.

“I need to talk to you… in the kitchen?” said Jackson.

“What, now?” Michelle gave a lingering glance at the TV.

“Now” Jackson stood up and led the way. Michelle followed, although rather irritably.

“What’s wrong, Ken?”

“I don’t really know what to say.”

“What is it?” said Michelle, her mind still on the TV, “spit it out.”

“Just give me a second to work out where to start.”

She turned on him abruptly, “you’re not having an affair are you?”

“What? God no,” said Ken.

“Oh, you got me really worried there, what’s going on?”

“Look,” said Ken, “this is really serious, and really dangerous so please…”

“What’s happened, Ken?”

“It’s the sinks,” said Ken, “I think they’re about to explode.”

“My God…will you have to go in there?”

“No, it’s not that,” said Ken, “Look, Mich, you know how worried we are about, well you know, about the money and the kids and things.”

“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with the sinks?”

“They’re going to rebel against the system,” said Ken, “like before.”

“You mean like the Occupy movement?”

“Yeah.”

“But they were communists… are we in danger?”

“It’s not like that,” said Ken, “besides they weren’t really communists, were they.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

“They weren’t communists,” said Ken.

“How do you know that?”

“Come on,” said Ken, “that’s just what the Government said.”

“Why would they lie to us?”

“Okay,” said Ken, “That’s not important; the thing is they are going to fight to change things.”

“Change what things?”

“Well,” said Ken, “I think they’ll get rid of our debt for one thing.”

“Get rid of our debt, how?”

“I don’t know,” said Ken, “it’s a revolution I guess, they intend to take money from the rich, you know the 1% and spread it out amongst the 99%.”

“You’re not seriously considering joining them?”

“We owe so much. All we’re going to leave the kids is debt and they already have a heavy debt of their own.”

“I know that, but the risks Ken? They can’t win, you know that.”

“But what if they do?” said Ken, “and I was on the other side, the wrong side.”

“Can they win?”

“I don’t know,” said Ken, “they think they can.”

“Yes, that’s all very good and well, but can they? Can they win?”

“If they get the support they reckon they will then yes they can win, but if they don’t, then no they can’t.”

“Well what are you saying? What about Bill and Mark? What do they think?”

“Same as me,” said Ken, “it all looks shaky but if they can get enough people involved, if they rise up then… who knows.”

“But the police will be sent in, and if you can’t handle the situation they’ll send in the army, they can’t win.”

“Well, that’s what happened last time,” said Ken, “but things don’t always work out how you think they will.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Nothing at the moment,” said Ken, “I’m just going to go in, do my job and do as I’m told and see what happens.”

“For god’s sake Ken, be careful, it’s not just you who’ll suffer; it’s me and the kids as well.”

“I know that,” said Ken, “but if the revolt takes off, if they really do have the numbers behind them that they claim then we’re going to be swamped in a few hours, which means the army will be here and then who knows what will happen.”

“The army will put it down.”

“It’s not that simple, the troops come from the masses, and it depends where their loyalties lie.”

“Won’t they just use European troops like before?”

“Well they could, but you remember what happened last time, the army nearly revolted, they don’t like their families being shot at by Krauts or Frogs.”

“What are you going to do, Ken?”

“I don’t know, but you and the kids might be better off going to Jack and Hayley, I’d be happier if I knew you with your parents.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“It might be for the best, and then I can make decisions on the hoof.”

∞

Sean sat watching Jenny, his bull mastiff, drink from her bowl.

He stared for several minutes, even after she’d finished he continued to stare; it could’ve been 5 minutes it could’ve been 10. Jenny stared back at him; self conscious, water slipping unnoticed from the side of her jaws, dropping unheeded onto the floor.

Sean started to lap air with his own tongue, slowly, trying it out ‘Why don’t we drink like that? Cats lap, lions lap, tigers lap, buffalos lap, cows lap….’

Abruptly, startling the watching dog, he knelt down and stuck his tongue into the bowl and commenced lapping. Frustrated with the small amount he was getting into his mouth he leaned over and put his face in further, slipped and got a load of water up his nose. He snorted and Jenny sat back on her haunches, quietly observing. He got even lower, tilted his head back a bit and tried to lap some more but it was really uncomfortable, hurting his neck.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asked Brendan.

“How did cave men drink?” asked Sean.

“What?”

“If he didn’t have a cup, how did a cave man drink?”

“With his hands,” said Brendan.

Sean pulled a face, then scooped some water out of Jenny’s bowl and drank it. Brendan shook his head and walked out of the room.

“Or he could’ve sucked,” said Sean, bending over the bowl again.

Jenny sat further back on her haunches and watched her master.




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