Friend: I don’t think that (long pause) . . .

  Me: You packed the right shoes?

  Friend: No, I was going to say that I didn’t eat enough breakfast.

  This type of innocent back-and-forth happened repeatedly, and, yes, I was the jerk who tried to anticipate his comments instead of letting him speak freely. This drove him a little nutty, and by the time we reached Virginia it had turned into a running joke.

  This experience led me to a series of observations and questions, some of which I shared with my friend then:

  1. Sound is invasive. We have the right to close our doors and turn away soliciting strangers, but we can’t demand that someone doesn’t call us, doesn’t drive by with a loud muffler, or that a little birdy doesn’t sing up a storm outside our bedroom window. (not unless we soundproof our abodes)

  2. Questions are commands in disguise. This was covered a little in a conversation between Cat and Taven. Every question is a demand. And every demand is a veiled threat. We have so many social obligations related to speech. If I say, “Excuse me, can you tell me what time it is?” Whoever I spoke to is expected to say, “It’s ten-thirty,” or “I don’t know,” or “No.” What’s not expected and what would be interpreted as rudeness would be no answer at all. How is it we expect verbal answers to every question, and if we don’t get them, the silent party is guilty? It would be like sending someone a letter that says, “You owe me a million dollars unless you sign and return this form.” Of course, that would never obligate someone to give you a million dollars, nor would it require a response at all. But on a smaller, more exaggerated scale, this is exactly what happens every day of our lives as we interact with others.

  3. Speech is violent. As much as I try to live my life by the non-aggression principle and the golden rule, I’ve come to believe that speech (as is customary in modern society) is predicated on small violent infractions upon others. And we take turns doing it.

  Now, this may sound ludicrous and I may never convince you, but it all comes down to one’s definition of violence. We can all agree that beating up someone is a violent act; there’s an infliction of physical pain. We can also agree that robbing someone at gunpoint is a violent crime, because there was a very real emotional injury as well as the threat of physical harm, not to mention the loss of property.

  What about other coercive acts? What about a letter informing you that you’ve been chosen to serve your country in the next war or that you owe taxes? No one calls these messages threats except those who are brave or stupid enough to say no to them and who end up caged somewhere working for pennies an hour in a state penitentiary.

  I’m an introvert and a recluse by nature. I build my castles high and dig my moats deep. So, it’s understandable that I’d be more easily troubled by innocent seeming day-to-day conversations. Speaking a friendly “hello” doesn’t seem like a violent act, I know. But if you can describe violence as an injection of chaos or a loss of autonomy, then it is.

  Behind the non-aggression principle is the basic belief that we as human beings have the right to be left alone. God, nature, the universe—however you want to explain it—may encroach on our lives, but other people don’t have the right. I, more or less, believe this to be true. But I also recognize that every time I interact verbally with others, I’m throwing bits of chaos at them, and they are casting rods of chaos toward me. It may not ever be someone’s intent, and intentions matter. But it happens simply because we are individuals, and individuals don’t share the same thoughts. As much as we try to align ourselves with our brothers and sisters, we are different, and these differences account for the chaos we inflict on one another.

  Carried to the extreme, simply walking past someone on a street can be injurious to them. Imagine me, a tall bearded man, walking past you in a dark alley at night. You don’t know me. You don’t know my intentions. My mere existence is setting off your Spidey sense like mad.

  Thoughts like these were the germs for Rebel’s Construct. I wanted to explore them, to see what could be done about them. Ultimately, I discovered—far into the writing process, mind you—that total alleviation of this communal violence wasn’t tenable. Efforts to completely remove it would create unintended consequences that would make the anxiety inducing day-to-day speech pale in comparison.

  Thanks for sticking with me through these ramblings and for voluntarily suffering the violence of my words. Here are a couple parting thoughts:

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  Until next time,

  Allen

 

 

  Allen Kuzara, Rebel's Construct: Sim-Verse: Book 1

 

 

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