Fascisme Ordinaire

I glimpsed fascism and reacted how you probably would

I am crawling in a muddy ditch on my elbows and knees. A trickle of sewage runs between my legs. The stench is nauseating. I am holding on to the filthy shoes of the person ahead of me, trying not to accidentally get hit in the face. If I let go, I will be punished. I do not lift my head up. That also, is not permitted. I sense the elders lining the banks of the gully and peering at us from above. They are screaming at us in their own foreign, raspy language. I know that they are dressed in ornate, leather and faux-silk ceremonial garb, weapons by their side, chains rattling against metal swords, their faces covered with white masks that seal their collective anonymity. I only catch glimpses of their military-style boots. It is the middle of the night. I had managed to grab a couple of hours of sleep before “O Fortuna” blasted through the PA system and summoned us to stand at attention. “The moat is dirty,” they said. It’s time to clean it. Again. They are shouting for us to quicken the pace. They are having fun. I am having fun too. I know I can endure. I also know that when I make it through this, something great awaits me. It is not hard, as long as I comply. Some are weaker. They rebel. They fight, and everyone pays the price for their defiance. Thankfully, they are the exception. Someone ahead of me is having a…