Just as I sign the letter supporting KNEECAP there is a buzzing
outside my skylight window. A government drone has been watching me on the
computer. Before I can react, a sonic weapon emerges from the bottom and blasts
high frequency sound waves at me that makes me writhe on the floor and think I
am dying. This wave of audio violence keeps me pinned to the floor whilst
community support officers break down the door and put zip-ties round my wrists
and ankles. I’m carried out of the house on a long pole, wriggling around
uselessly before being loaded onto the side of a lorry filled with hundreds of
other prisoners lined up like shish kebabs on a barbecue.The truck rolls on.
We’re put through processing. DNA samples, 8k infrared
photography of both eyes, the teeth, fingerprints and thumbprints taken, skin
samples, oral swabs, hair (cephalagenic and pubic) as well as five pints of
blood. They take enough of you that they can replicate it perfectly to fit
evidence they find after the fact, as well as enough of you that it can fool
any biometric passwords in order to access your computers. You’re then led down
a corridor with a blindfold on, hosed down and then thrown through a
corridor where other prisoners are armed with Wahl hair clippers, giving you
aggressive haircuts as you run through the gauntlet and
finally into the court room.
I walk, dazed, through the central aisle of chairs laid out like pews, approaching the judge sat before me. All are presumed guilty. None are entitled to representation, there are no appeals, all judgements are final. With my hair like Grace Jones I stand in the dock. Its in the centre of the room, a concrete box fronted with bulletproof glass. Off on the side was the jury. It is a man with a forehead like chicken skin, doing a livestream where the chat decides who is guilty. He makes fun of my appearance and emojis are projected onto the wall behind the judge.
“Order in court. You are accused of supporting a terrorist organisation, hate crimes, making threats to kill or grievously injure foreign officials and recognising Palestine as a country. How do you plead?”
“I don’t goddamn plead.” I say, somehow finding a cigarette and lighting it.
“These are serious accusations. Are you guilty or not guilty?”
“All I’m guilty of is having a heart of gold and skin like porcelain. Why is it so egregious to support the people of Ireland in their ancient struggle against us, the English.” I say. The judge begins to moan.
“Have you no shame man! You break the law in front of me, here, in this courtroom.” he says. The jury man begins shouting as well, hopping up and down in his chair. I blow out a smoke ring.
“Let me lay it all out for you. Since when has it been the law in this country not to criticise another? What’s the big deal here, you know?” I say, flicking the glass shield in front of me.
“Are you not aware of the war and the October 7th attacks?”
“Course I am. The way I see it, Free Palestine but also…Free Israel.” I say. The judge and jury both draw back, obviously flustered.
“Free Israel from what? The tyranny of Hamas?” calls the jury.
“Hamas aren't a terrorist organisation, it's just a political party in Palestine, right? I am against the genocidal dictatorship of Benjamin Netanyahu and all his cold war cronies. Israel and Palestine should both be free of an endless war propped up to support the arms trade and access to the Middle East, particularly with its oil reserves and strategical placement towards Russia, China and India. Israel indoctrinates citizens from a young age through its military draft, trying to connect Jewish belief and faith with xenophobic colonialism. We speak of Islamic extremists, so should we say Zionists are Jewish extremists? No. Israel and Judaism are separate things, just as the Pope is to Christianity or Mecca is to Muslims. They are connected closely, but they are not the same, this is easy to understand, right? Both the United Kingdom and the United States sell weapons to Israel, often using Palestine as a way to test weapons in the field. This is genocide as advertising. This is a test to see if the morals of people can be changed through a controlled media and AI bots flooding social media, as a way to pave ahead the 21st century as a global dictatorship centred around technological mental domination."
“How do you mean?”
“The feeling that nothing can be done. The helplessness against billionaires, global warming, genocide, mental health, even our pasts are used against us into feeling a hopelessness for not only our own lives but the world in which we inhabit. It is as if there is an acceptance that everything is bad, it is destined to be bad, and has always been bad. But doesn’t God give us free will?”
“Silence!” the Judge bangs his gavel again and again like a baby. “I have heard enough.”
“So what.”
“So I sentence you to twelve years in the labour camps. Bring the next prisoner!” says the Judge, wiping his mouth as a rain of emojis and reaction gifs explode behind him like fireworks. There is a quiet laughing in the room. The judge looks around. Where is it coming from? He looks to his security guards, to the jury representative, even in a little pocket mirror that he has stored away amongst his robes. Then he realises. I am the one laughing.
“What are you laughing at? Didn’t you hear? You’re going to be fracking the Scottish highlands for the next twelve years!” shouts the Judge.
“I have my own judgement.” I say, my head still lowered.
“What’s that?”
“I sentence you to death you fucking cunt.” I say, punching through the bulletproof glass and leaping through.
