Breed The Secret Design To Maintain Racial Inequality Among The Despised Classes (23 page)

I walked away from this confrontation just
relieved to be alive. The, not so veiled threat that Truth and
Justice had just directed at me was distressing. They obviously
were letting me know the lengths they were willing to go, to have
things their way. I no longer felt safe in Fostoria. I walked then
ran in the direction of Lumpenproleteria. As I ran, I sensed
someone following me. I stopped and ducked behind a tree. Faintly I
thought I could hear nearby branches rustling. I waited with an
ominous feeling hanging over me. “Did I really hear that?” I
thought. “Or was it just my fancy?” After I was satisfied that the
danger had passed I got up and continued my flight. Finally I
reached Lumpenproleteria. I searched for the spot where Hector had
been laying but he was gone. Someone must have moved him. Aimlessly
I walked for hours. Eventually the feeling that I was being
followed returned to me. I glanced behind me and spotted a black
cat and a white cat seated about one hundred yards away watching
me. Alarmed, I plunged into the shadows of a large hollowed out log
and began weeping profusely. I gripped my head and grinded my
teeth. I began developing an ever-increasing feeling that none of
this could be real. My entire life suddenly seemed like a nightmare
that I would be awakening from at any moment. I resolved to stay
where I was, venting until my tears ran dry. I think secretly I was
also hoping that I was correct in the new idea that this was all
just a dream that I would soon be awakening from. After a
considerable period of time I was satisfied that I was not dreaming
after all. Therefore I decided to continue on my way. When I
emerged from my hiding place I noticed that the spies who were
following me had moved on. I walked confusedly throughout
Lumpenproleteria. The grim appearance of the place had returned.
The sunrise glow was gone and the air was stagnant. In a trance I
was shuffling along in no particular direction when all of a sudden
I looked up in alarm. The two cats that were following me earlier
were now stationed ahead of me at some distance. I turned to run
but ran smack dab into someone and fell onto my back. Leaping onto
my paws I stood erect. Frantically I turned to see that the two
cats were now gone. I was genuinely spooked but remembering that I
had collided with someone I quickly turned to make sure they were
all right. When I reached over to assist the elderly dog I had just
toppled I suddenly realized who it was. It was the old St. Bernard
that I had spoken to upon leaving the conference. “Am I glad to see
you!” I exclaimed. And before I realized what I was doing I was
embracing the old Lumpen. After all I’d recently been through, it
was nice to finally see a friendly face. Surprisingly the old dog
just hugged me back as if I was his long lost grandson and we were
being reunited for the first time. “I’m sorry I knocked you down,”
I said. He replied, “That’s ok. No harm no foul. Were you running
from those two cats that were just ahead?” Excitedly I asked, “You
saw them too?” It was reassuring to know that someone else had seen
them. For a moment I doubted whether they were real or if I was
just cracking up. “Yes I saw them. Who are they?” asked the dog.
“They’re spies,” I resolutely replied. I was convinced of it. But I
just wasn’t sure whom they were working for. It could be either
Zarathustra or Socrates and really it didn’t matter because I had
begun to develop a distrust of them both. The old St. Bernard
smiled. “Now why would someone send spies after a nice young cat
like you?” I tried hard to hold back the tears but my emotions got
the better of me. “What’s wrong?” asked the old dog with a look of
concern on his face. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I began to
open up my heart and confess what was plaguing me. “I just don’t
understand why life has to be so complicated,” I sobbed. “For as
long as I can remember I have believed that all animals are equal
and should be treated equally. That’s why I joined the animalists.
But the more I get acquainted with the common animal the more I
realize how little I really know about him. I’m also finding out
how little I know about myself.” I briefly paused but the old dog
didn’t respond. He just listened closely with an attentive
expression and compassionate eyes. I went on, “I guess what I’m
afraid to find out is that I was wrong all along. Maybe all animals
are not equals. Maybe I’m not equal.” Again I paused briefly and in
the back of my mind I thought, “Should I be confessing these things
to him? Earlier he said there was something about me that attracts
curiosity. So far everyone who has approached me offering
friendship has wanted something from me in return. I wonder what he
wants?” Surprisingly, the dog made no attempt to force his way into
the conversation. He just compassionately listened until he was
sure I was finished venting. I declared, “What has me so befuddled
is this speech I heard from Field Marshal Hannibal. I don’t believe
all of the evidence he presented but I have to admit I was
surprised by the amount of research he used to defend his argument.
It wasn’t just a blind, ignorant, hatred filled mind that was at
work. I perceived sincerity in him. I’m convinced that his ideas
were the product of a great mental struggle.” I paused. I had grown
accustomed to having my expressions interrupted by other’s
opinions. To be able to express myself for an extended period of
time without interruption was a welcome change. I interjected,
“Don’t get me wrong. There’s plenty of hatred in his mind.
Especially for the Lumpen. What could make one animal hate a breed
so passionately?” Not waiting for an answer I continued, “Something
else has been weighing heavily on my mind. I think I’m in love. But
love isn’t how I imagined it would be. I’m probably not even making
sense right now but I don’t know how else to explain it.” The old
dog slightly lifted his brow but said nothing. He just continued
listening. “Finally,” I said after taking a deep breath. “My
friends are missing. They have disappeared and I suspect the
animalists have something to do with it. If this is true than it
means that the organization that I believed was rooted in equality
is a sham. If that is true does it mean that their philosophy is
also a lie? Is equality a lie? That…” I concluded with out
stretched paws, “is what’s wrong.” “Well,” said the old dog after a
brief reflection. “I don’t know much about philosophy or politics
but I have learned a few lessons in life. You see. I’ve been around
a long time. I’m willing to share the little bit of knowledge I
have. Who knows? You might be able to use something.” He began to
rub his rough paws together while he silently reflected. Finally he
said, “The area currently known as Lumpenproleteria did not always
go by this name. No one remembers what the original name was but it
is remembered that domesticated settlers gave it the current name.
As far as what Field Marshal Hannibal had to say about Lumpens? I
don’t know about that. But what I do know, I’ll tell you. The
inhabitants of what is now called Lumpenproleteria have been
categorized into a breed first by speciest scientists and now by
the rest of the world. However these scientists have made unusual
exceptions with regard to the standards of how animals are
classified. For this reason, only in Lumpenproleteria can you find
dogs, cats, rabbits, and birds all classified as one breed. The
argument made is that though outwardly they appear different, they
all have identical brains. Since no one can remove their brain and
have a look at it there is no way to disprove this theory. Even if
it could be proved that Lumpens are identical on the inside to many
it seems suspicious to that whenever any animal is seen as an enemy
of the state they are all at once discovered to have Lumpen blood.”
In amazement I asked, “So there is no real Lumpen breed? Its all an
invention?” The old dog meditated then said, “Well, according to
legend, there was once a breed of animals called Lumpen. They were
merchants because this is the only vocation they were allowed to
engage in. They were resourceful and thrived despite not being
allowed to possess land. Lumpenproleteria’s current inhabitants and
the Cuyamongans actually share the same likelihood of having blood
ties with this original breed. Over generations there’s been so
much cross-breeding and migration that it’s impossible to claim any
pure blood line.” I found this history very interesting. I asked,
“What was this original breed like? Is there any truth to what
Hannibal said about them?” The old st. Bernard smiled and patiently
replied, “I’ve told you all I know about the past and about what
I’ve been told. I can tell you much more about the so-called Lumpen
of today. Since I’ve lived in this land something that has always
interested me is the large amount of animals churned in and out of
Lumpenproleteria between Cuyamonga and the Union of Animals. These
animals, after suddenly becoming sub-animals are exiled to
Lumpenproleteria. They are then rehabilitated back into society but
don’t ever seem to form a firm grasp of their respective
philosophy. I say this because many times an animal finds himself
churned into the opposite camp and they live there for long periods
of time. One would expect them to have a hard time adjusting to a
new way of thinking that is supposed to be the polar opposite of
their former way of thinking. However, this rarely happens. They
live on without there being, a significant contradiction of purpose
in their lives.” Unexpectedly I caught a snippet of conversation
from some passing Lumpens that momentarily distracted me from
listening to the old dog. “So then they said we was all like
evolved from the same animal and that. I don’t remember what else
but… We was forcibly like homogenized or something.” Another voice
added, “That’s right! So the revolution is gonna like, free us.”
The first voice put in, “Im’ll be ready for that!” “Me too!”
responded his friend. Bringing my attention back to the wise old
dog and forgetting that he was a Lumpen, I asked, “What’s the
matter with them? Why is the Lumpen mind so ignorant?” I didn’t
realize until much later after reflecting on the conversation that
this question must have been seen as offensive. I certainly meant
know offense by it. I was just so comfortable in speaking with the
St. Bernard that I wasn’t watching my words. Apparently taking no
offense the old dog responded, “Well, that’s a… broad subject. I
believe the answer has less to do with the Lumpen mind and more to
do with the mind in general.” The St Bernard gazed at me with
intensity. “Like I said earlier, I’m no scientist. But from
observations made over the course of many years I have reached some
interesting conclusions about the mind. I started out by observing
the differences in the actions of various animals. Actions that
seemed deplorable to some animals were acceptable to others but at
the same time these latter animals found other actions deplorable
that the former animals found acceptable. I asked myself why is
there such a difference in the morals of these animals if they are
of the same species? I finally concluded that every mind has a
standard set for what it considers acceptable behavior. If an
animal’s actions go against these standards the animal is then
severely tortured by his own mind. This mental torture is not a
quality of life that can be adapted to. A change must take place in
order for the mind and body to continue to survive together. The
animal must either lower his standards to meet his actions or he
must work to make his actions conform to his standards. In either
case the results are the same. You get animals with differing
behavior but with the same level of acceptability.” I listened to
all of this with great interest. It still didn’t dawn on me that I
was being instructed by a Lumpen. Making an inquiring gesture with
his paw he then asked me, “What do you think would happen if the
animals were no longer allowed to change their behavior?” In
confusion I asked, “What do you mean? I thought you said that it
wasn’t possible to adapt to the mental punishment of the mind? The
animal must change his actions in order to survive.” The old Lumpen
suddenly appeared sad. He sighed heavily while gazing at the
ground. “Yes,” he said, “And survival is the mind’s first
priority.” All at once he looked at me with inquiring eyes.
“Consider this scenario,” he said. “What if animals were put in a
closed environment and put under a great deal of stress to go
against the standards set by their own mind. Let’s say they were
then prevented by force from making changes in their behavior. What
do you think would happen to these poor animals?” After only a
brief hesitation I responded, “I suppose they would have to lower
their standards.” “Ok,” continued the old Lumpen. “Now lets say it
is reasoned by the researchers who are conducting this experiment,
that since the animals were able to adjust to the change in
environment, they can now handle more pressure. Imagine some
researchers speculating on just how far these subjects can be
pushed. So they increase the outside pressure. Every time the
subjects adjust to their new environment more pressure is added. My
question to you is, eventually what type of behavior do you think
we will see from these test subjects?” I brooded over this strange
hypothetical scenario for some time before finally responding, “I
really don’t know. I don’t think it would be possible to stay sane
in conditions like that.” Right away the dog responded, “Remember
we are not talking about sanity. That’s an even trickier subject.
Right now we’re just considering the behavior or what others see.”
I said, “Well I suppose we’d see some very strange behavior from
these animals.” The old dog smiled. “I suppose you’re right.” Then
he lifted his paw and motioned for me to look around me. He said,
“What you see is the result of such an experiment.” As he was
talking a group of young Lumpens walked past us in a group. My
attention was drawn to one of them in particular. He was a grayish
brown mongrel with floppy ears. Something about his appearance made
him stand out as if he didn’t quite belong in this group. All in
the group talked with one another crudely but in a manner that
signaled they respected one another. However when the mongrel that
had caught my attention spoke it seemed to cause irritation in the
group. They appeared to merely tolerate his presence. All of these
impressions were gathered in an instant as the group walked by us.
My lecturer continued, “I imagine the threshold guardian must have
given you a tour of Lumpenproleteria? Well if you have the time, I
can show you some features that you will not see on the normal tour
route.” Hungry for answers and anxious to take my mind off of my
current situation, I jumped at the opportunity. He led me to a
small clearing where I noticed various animals of all types huddled
around a scruffy dog. The dog was distributing what appeared to be
food to them and they in turn devoured the food greedily. “Have you