At the height of the McCarthyite hysteria, a young man accused of being a subversive was arrested and dragged before an anti-communist tribunal. Having amassed a large body of evidence, the prosecution presented the Judge with photographs of the man attending socialist gatherings and blurry close-ups of his face in crowds of anti-war demonstrators. Next came several personal items from the man’s home – Marxist literature, the flag of the USSR and various communist pins and buttons. Most damning, the prosecution presented journal entries belonging to the man – passionate essays and poems condemning the excesses of capitalism, proclaiming his personal convictions that the dawn of socialism was at hand.
As the tribunal progressed, the man began shaking in his seat, crushed under the weight of the evidence piled against him. Tempted to betray his comrades in exchange for mercy, he instead remained silent throughout the trial, staring at the ground – unsure of what to do. Standing now before the Judge, he held his breath, holding back tears as he waited for his sentence to be handed down.
“After considering the case put forward by the prosecution, I find you not guilty!” the Judge growled from his throne, a declaration punctuated by the slam of his gavel.
Over the course of a few seconds, the man went from terrified to furious. No longer trembling, his eyes met with those of the Judge in a confused rage.
“Not Guilty??” The man demanded, exasperated, “how is that possible considering that pile of evidence before you?” The man was hyperventilating now, blood vessels bursting in his vision.
Surprised by this strange outburst, the Judge shrugged his shoulders replying,”What evidence?”
The man sputtered something unintelligible – pointing angrily at the pile of secret photographs on the desk.
“These?” The Judge scoffed. “These photographs do not point to any subversive activity, only that you are a good actor, an opportunist looking to take the stage and give the performance of a lifetime!”
Taken back, the man pointed to the red flag folded on top of the collected works of Marx and Engels, surrounded by a large pile of socialist pins and paraphernalia.
“This junk?” The Judge chuckled, “This proves nothing except that you are an avid reader, a collector of international oddities, just a sad little man trying to appear interesting to his colleagues!”
The room was spinning now, and sweat was pouring down the man’s face. With one hand grasping at the tie that had somehow tightened around his neck, the other pointing desperately at his open journal, the man stammered, “A-and the j-journal??”
The Judge was bellowing with laughter now, rifling eagerly through the leather-bound book. “This garbage!?” He roared, “this proves that you are just a try-hard writer, an impotent little poet incapable of changing the course of history!”
“I’M A COMMUNIST!! I’M A COMMUNIST!!!The man shouted, flailing his arms furiously before the tribunal, “what will it take to convince you of this???”
Wiping the tears from his eyes with a handkerchief, still chuckling, the Judge replied:
“This court is indifferent towards the time you waste lecturing at socialist gatherings, it does not care about your collection of books or the exasperated proclamations of your diary rantings. By all means – continue to develop your theoretical prowess, carve out your niche within academia and continue to play out your revolutionary fantasies on the weekend!”
Suddenly, his facial features contorted, and the Judge leaned forward with a snarl,
“Our only enemy are those capable of disciplined organization, those who are willing to lose themselves in a collective struggle against our reign, finding their sole purpose in prying our fingers off of the levers of power! Our only enemy are those truly ready to build a different world – those who would crawl across a horizon of glass to win it. Until you ready to throw yourself in the fire, until you truly become a thorn in our side, then you are no enemy of ours!”
(adapted from “The Orthodox Heretic” by Peter Rollins)
transfigurations 