Martin Anastas sat at the end of the bar with an untouched glass of raki in front of him. He sat quietly staring at the line of bottles below the standard bar mirror. The bartender would occasional pause near him, look at the untouched glass, and move on.
O’Sullivan’s was a good Irish pub just off the university campus. It was mostly frequented by faculty and graduate students. Undergrads didn’t come in much because it didn’t have loud music. O'Sullivan’s was more of the local debate center and the venue of some of the most outstanding exchanges of opinion the university community had ever known. Hardly a night went by that there wasn't a large table of faculty being challenged by grad students over a pint of beer. The debates were often heated and lots of beer was consumed. Everyone left friends, agreeing to disagree. It was the academic's paradise. The campus, the library and the classrooms were the formal centers of academia. O'Sullivan's was the informal primus locus for debating ideas and testing hypotheses.
Martin Anastas, PhD, Ledbetter Professor of Philosophy until about two hours previous, had been a participant in many of the debates and a moderator in many more. His entire life had been dedicated to his greatest loves; philosophy, learning and education.
Dr. Raymond Fedder, Professor of Psychology, walked in the door. Sean, the owner/bartender, called out a welcome and with a tilt of the head set the new arrival's attention on Martin. Raymond pulled up a stool next to Martin and ordered a pint of stout.
"You still drinking that Greek rot-gut?" Raymond tried to be light and friendly, but got no reply.
"Okay," said Raymond, "so much for the casual approach. What the hell's going on, Martin?"
"Sorry," said Martin. "I just got fired."
"You what?!"
"I got fired."
"How in the hell do they fire the most popular professor ever to hold one of the most pretigious philosophical chairs in the country?"
"They tell you that you're a liability to the university."
"You're a what?"
"They said I'm a fucking liability because the federal Department of Education says they think I'm teaching anti-American philosophy! They're replacing me with a DOE approved teacher."
"You must be kidding. It's April 1st. This must be an April Fools joke. This type of thing doesn't happen." Raymond was dumbfounded. What the hell was anti-American philosophy? "A DOE approved teacher is an oximoron!"
"They made me clean out my office before I left campus."
"That's absurd! You have to fight this!"
"And how do I fight it?" Martin asked. "I'll be lucky to get my pension."
As they talked another friend, Amos Frank, PhD, Associate Professor of Physics, entered the pub. He pulled a stool around the end of the bar so he could sit on the other side of Martin.
Amos' experience was with the government always wanting his department to develop something that the government could use to make a bigger and more destructive weapon. Amos had survived several such episodes, so his advice was "hang in there, this too will pass."
"I wonder," Martin said after a great deal of useless suggestions made to make him feel better, "if this is what refugees feel like?"
"What do you mean?" asked Raymond.
"They have no control over their lives or their destiny. That's why they're fleeing. There are people whose sole purpose in life is to destroy their lives as well as their way of life. They are often treated by those who are driving them out as well as those with whom they seek asylum as inferior and losers. Do you think refugees are angry? I bet they're damn angry. Isn't anger a part of the cycle of grief? I'm absolutely pissed beyond belief!"
"But what are you fleeing?" Amos was lost. He was usually lost in anything other than a scientific argument.
"I feel like I have no control over my life. My own government seems absolutely intent upon destroying my life as well as my ability to live. It is definitely destroying the land that I love and calling me inferior and a loser because they have the power. I'm watching nature being raped. I'm watching people being abused for the benefit of a handful of super-rich people. I'm watching prejudice and violence being normalized. I'm being told that my students can not seek truth and understanding but must be taught to conform and believe what the government tells them. If I do otherwise it is called anti-American."
"I can't believe that you would ever be accused of being anti-American," argued Raymond. "To disagree with the government is an integral part of democracy."
"Who says we still have a democracy?" questioned Martin.
"That's a ridiculous question," Amos snapped. "Soon enough people will see through these ass-holes and vote them out. It will be okay."
"Normally I love your naivete," Martin almost smiled, "but that type of naive sentiment actually pisses me off. These monsters survive because of such sentiment."
"I have to agree with Martin on that one," said Raymond. "Even before Hitler's final take-over of the German government people were saying 'it can never happen here.' We're doing the same thing."
"Oh, come on guys," Amos looked seriously concerned, "you guys are talking like a couple of conspiracy geeks."
"Do you know poem by the German Lutheran pastor, Martin Niemoller?" Martin asked.
"Who?" both of his friends asked.
"Martin Niemoller was a Luthern pastor who opposed Hitler and paid dearly. He did survive and in 1946 wrote the famous poem . . ."
First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me - and there was no one left to speak for me.
"We're not there yet," exclaimed Amos.
"Aren't we?" questioned Martin.
"I know how you feel, Martin," Raymond said, "but we'll take this to the Regents and we'll win. You're a phenomenal teacher and a brilliant thinker. They won't get rid of you."
"Thank you, Raymond," said Martin. "but they don't want a phenomenal teacher or brilliant thinker. Those are the last things they want. They want someone to indoctrinate students with the government's latest position. It's 1984, my friends."
Martin's two friends tried to disagree but they couldn't find a flaw in Martin's argument or logic. The government was using double-think and snubbing morality while claiming to be the definers of morality. They were teaching that war is peace, slavery is freedom and ignornce is strength, just like the novel. They finally gave up the argument and invited Martin to join them with a couple of grad students who wanted to pitch the idea of an interdisciplinary doctoral program.
As expected, Martin politely declined and the two friends moved to a neaby table.
Martin was actually listening in on the grad students as they made their pitch when three men entered the pub. They stood for a moment at the door. They were all dressed in black suits, white shirts with bright red ties, and an American flag on their suit-coat lapel.
"We're looking for Professor Anastas," they demanded of the bartender.
Before Sean could say or do anything, Martin looked up. "I'm Professor Anastas."
The men made their way to the end of the bar; one on each side of Martin while the third stood facing him.
"Dr. Martin Anastas, you are under arrest for unAmerican activities and teaching subversive philosophy. Please turn around and put your hands behind your back."
As everyone in the bar was paralyzed with shocked, Martin stood up and put his hands behind his back as instructed. The men in black hand-cuffed him.
He turned to his friends and said "And they came for me . . . ."
Martin was led from the bar. His friends looked at each other wondering what they should do. It was then that they heard the shot. A single shot and then silence.
The evening news ran a report.
"Martin Anastas, an immigrant college professor, was shot dead as he resisted arrest for unAmerican activities."
And they came . . . .
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