Lands of Red and Gold #55: The Lord’s Prayer
Writing the next major instalment of Lands of Red and Gold – about the fate of Baffin’s expedition and related events – is taking me longer than I’d planned. In the meantime, here’s another brief glimpse into the future of the LRGverse.
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“Knowing yourself is wisdom;
Knowing others is insight;
Knowing how to act is essential.”
- Congxie saying
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Dawson (formerly Unega) [Montgomery, Alabama]
Alleghania
Sometimes, Myumitsi Makan feels that he has lived an eternity in this town that the unegas [1] call Dawson. Other times, he feels as if only yesterday he came to this town to make a new name and find men who could not remember his old name.
Tonight, he most definitely feels the former. In his head, he knows that it has been only three years since he first came to Dawson. Now, though, he looks upon the mass of Congxie who have come at his urging, and he thinks that it should have been much longer. Dawson has simply grown so fast. This place of mills [factories] and workshops, this place for the reshaping of cotton, iron, and timber, is a lodestone for the dispossessed, the adventuresome, and, amongst unegas, the avaricious.
The flickering whale oil lamps are not particularly bright, but they suffice to show him how many people have crowded into this place. A large Christian church, built most foolishly by optimistic unega plutocrats who believed that the Congxie would abandon the Seven-fold Path and become slaves to a hanged god.
Most days, even their Sundays, this church stands empty of Congxie. Tonight, though, it is filled to the rafters. Literally; the smaller child labourers have been passed up to where they can sit on the cross-beams.
Voices fill the church; the Congxie are not a quiet people at the best of times. Makan makes his way slowly to the pulpit to address the workers. For what will be a sermon, in fact, if not one which the Christian priests would endorse.
“Silence for Mr Jenkins!” several people call out, and by degrees, quiet falls. As quiet as a gathering of Congxie ever gets, that is.
“Tell us, Mr Jenkins!” someone calls out.
Makan smiles. Mister Jenkins. An essential honorific, that. Unegas would call him by his assumed surname alone, if they had their way, and the tale is that many of them used to try with other Congxie, in the first days. Newcomers to Dawson still try, often-times. They soon learn.
If Congxie are going to be called by a surname chosen in English, of all languages, then they will be shown respect. If an unega refers to him by surname alone, Makan hears only the wind. Most Congxie in Dawson act in like manner. It is this accomplishment, more than anything else, which has persuaded him to organise the morrow’s bold endeavour.
“My friends, this is the night for planning, and tomorrow is the day for decisiveness!”
“Say it, mister!” a woman shouts, to general acclaim.
Makan gives the woman a nod – Cordiality, he thinks her name is – and continues speaking. “Together we must stand,” he says, to another round of acclamation.
“Together, we must strike a great blow,” he says. “Our actions are born of new circumstances, in this new town the unegas have built.” On land they had forcibly stolen from the Congxie, but that is something which Makan does not let himself dwell on that.
“Remember: the unegas speak of this land as a new world. In truth, it never was new. Our forefathers dwelt here since time immemorial.” Relative silence falls, now. Is that because they are considering, or just that they are bored? He does not know, but this message still needs to be heard.
“The true new world comes from knowledge, not from exploration. This modern age is a time of machines, of learning how metal and timber can be crafted by the fires of the earth. This is the age of machines... and we labour in the mills for the bosses who own those machines.”
“We slave, you mean!” someone calls out.
“Oft-times, yes,” Makan says. “But hear me, my friends: there is more to this new age than just a few bosses who care naught for the difference between a slave and a Congxie.”
This time, he thinks that the silence is thoughtful. All to the good.
“This is a new world. A world with new ways of working. With new rules. There is no yindewarra [2]. No proper tradition.” He pauses again to let that be considered, then adds, “Even when the bosses are good men, they have no yindewarra to guide them how to act. Not in this new world, where the rules have changed.”
The crowd starts to descend into angry mutters. Makan says, “We must teach them new rules, proper rules. And we must do it together. If we stand alone, each of us will be nothing. Alone, all the power is with the owners. With the bosses. Only by acting together can we balance their power. We must stand in...” he pauses, hen chooses an English word, since it seems to fit better. “We must stand in solidarity.”
“Solidarity!” The crowd repeat the word over and over, until it becomes a chant.
When the noise subsides again, someone asks, “Can we really do this, Mr Jenkins?” The crowd believes it, of course, or they would not be here. All the same, they want reassurance.
Makan smiles broadly, even though he is not sure how many can make it out. Not for the first time, he is glad that he is known by an assumed surname. The surname Makan is not an auspicious one, these days.
“Remember our forefathers. Remember how the Congxie were born. They rejected the new rules which the unegas sought to impose on them, even then. They rose as one. They acted as one. And they triumphed!”
This time, cheers ring out. Once the crowd quietens again, he says, “Spread the word. Let everyone know. The mills will fall silent tomorrow. No Congxie will work at their mills, by their rules. We will not work tomorrow, and we will not work again until they listen to us.”
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[1] “Unega” is literally translated as “white”; the word is of Cherokee origin. In the Congxie language, it has become one of their words for people of European descent. The word is not particularly respectful, although in Makan’s era it is not an explicit insult. (It would later become derogatory.)
[2] Yindewarra is a Congxie word which is roughly translated as “tradition”, but with stronger connotations: it refers to the proper, established way of doing things. In accordance with Plirite morality, people are expected to act with propriety, in accordance with their station and with established conducts of behaviour. Behaving without yindewarra is seen as breaking the Second Path. In an established Plirite society, it is a good way to get condemned, ostracised or, if a ruler, deposed.
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Thoughts?
