Ever Be Forgot

Ever Be Forgot

The foreboding he felt was palpable. Bad juju, bad mana – no good vibes here. It was the sheer number of them. The closer he got to the designated site, the more cars there were. Road sides had started to look congested about 4-5 miles back.

By the time Eddie Whelan parked his car, there was no further to travel; it was park up or turn back. The winding, thinning country lanes up to the forest were stocked with cars everywhere he looked. This felt enormous. People had travelled a long ways to be here, from all over the country, and so very many.

Deep autumn right on the cusp of winter, when “the fall” has lost its charm. The first flashes of crispy pastel yellows and oranges dissolved into the sludge of dark mud under foot.

“Shit,” Eddie somewhat gasped as nearly an entire shoe was swallowed by mud. The visibility was dismal. There was clearly some form of glow emanating from the depths of the forest. Mainly, he was guided by a mid-distant hollering and the banter of the revelers way ahead of him.

A brief glance back and Eddie’s car was no longer visible in the gloom of later year night. Nevertheless, he kept moving forward, identifying the pines and conifers ahead with his phone torch. It felt eerie; it felt like it couldn’t be trusted. Time, place, setting – everything was off.

His years in the field had taught him he couldn’t really trust any novel environment – that caution, and an unblinking vigilance, were a necessity. But this was a flavor of feral he hadn’t sensed in a good while, maybe since youth. This was Guy Fawkes Night after all:

“Remember, remember the 5^th of November.”

A holiday 400 years in antiquity, a staple of national identity.

“Gunpowder, treason, and plot…”

Counter terrorism before it was named, as King and Parliament saved.

“I see no reason, why gunpowder treason…”

Bring fireworks along, lighting bonfires must be done.

“Should ever be forgot.”

An evening of national pride, community, and fun.

Eddie wiped a drip of snot from the tip of his nose. The assaulting British cold emanated from the forest with every step. The winter to come was making its presence known – wrap up as you will, it’s going for your bones.

Wading deeper into the foreground of ominous pines, Eddie felt his entire back stiffen. This was a hell of a time to be out late… anywhere. He’d watched helplessly in recent months as his waistline and appetite for casual cigarette smoking grew. He thought to himself that maybe his job had never been harder.

Current affairs reporting in the 21^st century was seldom uplifting. Journos knew the score, just as the general public did. Negativity, cynicism, and the inflammatory were catnip to news consumers. Yet, this was a bad year.

Britain’s social fabric was hemorrhaging. National identity had gone from being something revised, expanded and growing, decade for decade, to something febrile and dangerous. Forging ahead was rejected while screaming for something long gone was the order of the day. Exactly what it meant to be British had become a nationwide obsession. In many corners, it became a green light for vigilantism and worse.

Eddie could hear voices getting louder up ahead. The silhouettes of tree trunks getting steadily clearer. He couldn’t tell if it was his eyes adjusting to darkness or if he was moving towards light. A sharp crunch echoed nearby. Eddie made a snap glance behind. Nothing. Was he being followed?

Arguably the originators of conservatism, Britain had only in the most recent decades used the word “diversity.” The term Britain had always favored was “tolerance.” Yet it was clear in some parts of the country, this had long since faded. The picture was ugly. Violent white crime remained on a steady upward trajectory. Youth crime circled its perennial numbers. Hate crimes were suspiciously falling out of reporting, circulation, or consideration. Streets had become hairy.

Some areas of the country started setting curfews – the most economically deprived areas; typically those neighboring acute densities of immigrant communities. This, commentators called the British Establishment’s greatest failure since the three-day week. The defeat of it reeked. If you can’t make a better society, then survey, control, and cage it. The headlines were clickbait gold. Their message was societal decay.

IS THE BRITISH POLICE A SPENT FORCE?

SERVE AND PROTECT WHO?

OLD BILL OUT TO PASTURE!

The fuse was lit 6 months prior.

…

Shrill screaming filled the air. A firework ripped through the sky in a phosphorous tear. A pocket of silence followed before a loud pop of neon green splinters gilded the night sky. Eddie made a slow nervous turn to check behind him. Nothing again. As the airborne metal salts faded, the auburn glow of bonfire swelled ahead of him. At his furthest squint, Eddie could make out people marching towards the blaze. He followed.

The internet being a public space mirrors its real life counterpart: what is unacceptable in broad daylight may well find its private settings, corners, or… forums. Many who gather underground, away from the masses, are easily swayed and influenced by conspiracy and fear-mongering. The results can be disastrous.

Such a disaster imploded in an online forum exclusive to the British Isles. Some snarling, aggrieved, nefarious collection of men had taken it upon themselves to begin surveillance of places of worship and their attendees around their local communities. Blinded by bigotry and fear, they did not see the harassment or encroachment of civil liberties they were committing.

Eddie’s walking slowed when the bonfire was only partially blocked. He was no longer alone. The many, many cars parked up had indeed come to this site for what was an almighty bonfire. He couldn’t make out the entire scale of it because it was… it was as big as a house. And no small house.

Like a snowball rolling down a hill, the more this xenophobic tribe posted, the more the number of posts grew. The more the number of posts swelled, the more fictitious narratives and venomous storytelling were assigned to the innocent parties they preyed upon.

After an escalating 3-month campaign against one such individual, stalked and swatted by a forum frothing from the mouth, one of the very worst hate crimes in the country’s history was committed.

Women were left degraded and on life support. Children, grossly still, with skull fractures and broken bones lay in intensive care. A family and their home marred beyond recognition– all while the father was away and unable to protect. Horrifying, blind hate.

Eddie was no longer alone. A hard slap on the back announced the fact.

“Get in!” barked a scratchy voice leaving a full pudgy face, grinning wildly in giddy solidarity. The reveler marched ahead, unawares Eddie was far from one of his own. Eddie was struck by the heat emanating from the bonfire. This was as much a formidable force as a gathering point. The base of the behemoth bonfire was hardly visible from the dense crowd surrounding. Then, Eddie looked up and stopped walking closer.

…

The intelligence communities, in conjunction with the police, soon found the culprits. Those convicted individuals swore that they knew the truth. They claimed, feverishly, that they had attacked the family of an extremist, a terrorist in waiting, a threat to society. Yet, the intelligence communities found nothing of the sort.

Their “target,” upon interview and background checks of length and depth only intelligence teams could conduct, showed no prior or present links, trails, or anything nefarious to his name. The forum had created a monster that didn’t exist. Innocents lay in hospital beds thanks to imagined enemies – a disaster of both social and epistemic proportions.

Like the blast of a bomb, the harrowing damage rippled further than the site of impact. The perpetrators went in the dock, defiant and convinced of a system trying to suppress their “knowing the truth.” In fact, the sheer lack of evidence against the victim and his family only solidified the convicted individuals’ certainty that they were right to act as they had. Worse still, some corners of the internet and certain tribes of British society celebrated these criminals as martyrs.

When the government concluded its McAndrews Commission Report from the investigation – it was met with muted response. People believed what they believed – many felt that they were receiving the true overview of an evil attack of repugnant racism while others believed it was a government smoke screen avoiding uncomfortable realities.

…

The cacophonous chanting and pervasive roar surrounding Eddie was akin to a football cup final. A crowd in raucous anticipation of a great event. He had hoped his undercover following of the forums would turn out to be a damp squib. He tried not to let his own feelings cloud his expectations, but they must have done so. The enthusiasm of the posting was real, the projected attendance was not understated. The scale of this was intimidating, obscene.

This was a celebration, but one rotten and malignant in nature. Oh, the attendees were citizens, but this wasn’t citizenship. A calendar date to stand against nihilism had been hijacked to salute it. Eddie had craned his neck to look up at the towering effigy slowly catching flame. A giant “Guy Fawkes” wrapped in a huge banner. Printed across the banner: a published family photo of the victims.

Eddie slowly raised his phone, to take photos, to report, to do his job. The shriek of another firework and the heat of the fire felt miles away. His blood ran cold. He was numb – what had his country become.