Subversive Media Literacy

"I was watching tv when it happened, that moment of perfect clarity. The kind that leaves you staring at the ceiling for a long time, before fading into the recesses forever.

YouTube was turned up loud, and I saw something that had once made me smile. A video about a military parade with a soundtrack of a nationalistic march from a video game. It had been a very funny video game, one of those RTS's with cutscenes of real actors. And I watched it.

For a moment, I was smiling, watching the men in their uniforms march past, remembering all the fun I had playing that game. Then, something clicked. A small something, terribly small. But one of those somethings that makes ripples.

Uniforms, that was it. Uniforms.

They were wearing uniforms and being presented in a proud display. I admit to feeling a swelling in my chest as I watched, it can be an enthralling thing if you're not careful. So, I examined that swelling, looked into that pride it invoked in me and wondered where it had come from.

And what it was it doing.

Metaphorically holding this moment of revalation in my hands, I looked back up at the video. It was still playing, the soldiers in their uniforms still marching along. And the uniforms caught my attention again, not for a sense of anything, but rather a realization of intention.

I noticed that I could not see their faces. Not to imply that I've lost my mind, of course if I focused I could see the faces easily. But as I watched the men in green marching by, I found that I saw only the uniforms and the flags. Standing proudly out against the green on green, it caught the eye to remind the watcher of the throne.

Expertly cut in with the music was the steady marching of hundreds of boots in unison. Perhaps it was part of the music initially, perhaps edited in by the creator, but it was there, and it served a vital function in the dangerous fiction I was beholding.

Human kind is a pack animal at heart, though we might find ourselves separate and wishing that to continue, we crave connection. Thus, the rise of the internet, thus the rebuilding of the echo chambers of millions. And one of the first ways to our inner pack mentality is common activity, the more the better. Hundreds in unison stirs the deepest part of ourselves that says, "I want to be with them."

For in that moment of clarity I saw the-"

-0-

"What's that then?" Zorya Caldwell's foot connected lightly with Catinca Raice's knee. "You're barely listening to my brilliance."

"Oh, I'm certain your plans to ruin dating forever are just riveting."

"Do you hate fun or something?"

“I dare you to use one of these ideas just once."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Coward."

Zorya reached out and plucked her friend's phone out of her hands. Ignoring the indignant 'hey!' that followed her theft, she scanned the text there.

"Looks like a manifesto," she sniffed. "What're you doing reading those? I thought we left that shit behind in high school."

Catinca shrugged, making a non-commital noise and looking away.

"Wait, you're not into this stuff, are you? Why didn't you tell me?"

"C'mon you know that stuff's weird."

"Yeah but it's normal weird. Everyone has their little things like this, just, not always angsty political. So, who is it? What's it's title? Please tell me it's something stupid!"

"It's just called Uniforms," Catinca couldn't meet her friend's eyes, instead staring out the bus window.

"What?"

"Yeah... Uniforms."

"Isn't that that guy who blew up the Kremlin?"

"He tried to, didn't get anyone important."

"He started the civil war! Why are you reading his manifesto? I mean, I'm judging, yet. But seriously, girl, why him? Why not someone less... controversial?"

She thought about that, idly taking a drink from her water bottle to buy herself time. What could she say? That she wanted to know what motivated the man who simultaneous started and ended the Third World War? That she was curious about how what he might have to say influenced the invasion of the Russian east by China to claim a slice of the Arctic?

Maybe she wanted to know what motivated a person who, according to all surviving digital records, had nothing to gain and everything to lose from the collapse of that particular regime. Then again it could be all of them and nothing.

What she could never say, was that she thought his work was undone, and was looking for something in his work that would tell her someone was still trying. She couldn't, of course. She wasn't that brave, or maybe that hopeless. Yet another thing she wanted to glean from the grossly self-indulgent piece. To tell if he had been like her, or if he had given up.

"Don't you remember studying this in school? How they talked about it?"

"Obviously," her friend rolled her eyes dramatically, the tiny sequins at the corners catching the light. "He was insane and created an opportunity for us to put a stop on their expansionism. I think they called him a foreign national hero at some point."

"That was Jason."

"Right, yeah. But like, we all agreed. Even the teachers."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"I don't understand."

"Think about the leaders we talked about in school, right? Zelenski, Roosevelt, Churchill, Mandela-"

"The guy who died in prison?"

"No, he didn't. What I mean is this, every leader or revolutionary figure has something in their closet, right? Something that at least casts a shadow on their legacy. Except maybe Nelson, don't remember anything bad about him but I'm sure there was one."

"Why?"

"You ever heard of a 100% perfect human? Even what's-his-face who invented insulin was a bit of prick."

"That's fair. So why are you reading this guy?"

"Because I want to know what made him tick. Because he is maybe the most influential figure in modern history, responsible for the collapse of two empires and the genocide of nearly one hundred million people in the resulting wars. If we only count the actual numbers from the cleansing governments."

Catinca groaned and put her head in her hands. "Promise me you won't tell, ok? I just want to know about him, I want to... understand him. Because right now I feel like… another one is coming, and I'm not ok with that feeling."

"You think it'll happen again?"

"I don't know. The world is just... it's better but it's worse? I can't explain it. All I know is that this guy is, accidentally probably, the reason we are where we are and I want to know what motivated him. Maybe it'll help me understand what's coming next."

Zorya shrugged, "whatever, dude. It's not as if I can stop you. Was just curious, is all."

"I get that. Thanks."

"But maybe don't read it in public. You know how the patriots get about women and reading."

"Starting to see why I'm concerned, eh?"

"Maybe find a way to disguise it? Audiobooks are pretty good for that, one click on your headphones and you can switch it to approved music. They'll never know," she winked at her friend, who suddenly wondered exactly what kind of subversive media she listened to in secret. It was always teenybopper slop whenever they shared headphones.

"Thanks," she shook her head, trying to clear the desire to know if her friend was socially kosher out of her head. "I'll do that."

"Anything for my favourite anarchist!"

"I'm not a -"

"Sorry, this is my stop! See you tomorrow!"

"Yeah," muttered Catinca watching her friend's back disappear into the crowded station. "Tomorrow. Another day wondering when the next bombs will fall. Lovely."

Pulling out her phone again, she resumed reading. The man, the boy's words were rough on her eyes. But she was convinced there was something valuable in them. Something that everyone else had missed.

Maybe she would be lucky and find them, before the next Kremlin Bomber decided to turn her world upside down.