The emotion in the audience wasn’t hard to perceive. The pain was intimately known to those present. She was hoping that that moment of sympathy would gain their support for the request she planned to make of them.
“That same paralysis has been forced on us. We don’t rule ourselves. Most of us live in generous lands, but we’re not rich. We’re forced to pray to their faceless god while our sacred places are defiled. Our palaces gather dust, our stories are forgotten, our words are ignored. Kings who don’t even make their own conquests say they own the ground where we’re born and where we die. Our food is confiscated to maintain armies that don’t exist to protect us. Our children are conscripted into slavery with no appeal allowed. The three great empires rest easily, staying inside the same borders the Pope saw fit to grant them, because they think they don’t need to defend them anymore. At least during the war, the freedom of a place like Java or Jamaica was an open question. Nowadays such questions are seen as settled, and therefore our tyrants feel they can make any use of us they wish.”
Now she’d gotten to the part she’d practiced dozens of times. Gilberto had helped her rewrite it, seeking to balance hopefulness with urgency. It was a difficult argument to make.
“The Alliance des Nègres Libres was short-lived, but it inspired us all. Their delegate would be sitting in this room in a place of honor if half a century ago the French hadn’t launched a barbaric operation to reconquer them. But their example has not gone unheard. My father and many others worked in secret for years to create the movement we are part of. It is still fragile; just maintaining communications has been a persistent challenge. If it weren’t for the goodwill of the Novadanian Republic, we wouldn’t even have a safe meeting place. They have shared some of our pain. They, too, fought once to win their freedom. But our situation is different. Novadanian sailors never had to face airships or steel cars. They were almost unaffected by the war, which gave them the chance to experiment and perfect their way of life. Upon landing in Munkhaven, we’ve seen what’s come of it: the people here are healthy, proud, and unafraid. They don’t know hunger. They’re governed without cruelty. And watching them go about their lives it’s inevitable to think it shouldn’t be impossible for the rest of us to have the same freedom. But we need to admit that the world is uninterested in saving us. Even our Novadanian friends. Their political system is the most well-thought-out I’ve encountered anywhere, but they haven’t shown any interest in letting their example illuminate those who subject us. I don’t want to be taken for ungrateful, but a friend with open ears and closed hands is half a friend. In this room I recognize delegates from survivor peoples that exist in Novadanian territory and struggle as much as we do. So let’s not view this conference as a promise of assistance. Assistance is not coming. We only have our own strength, and seeing the size of the group gathered here reassures me that we have the strength we need.”
Neema took a deep breath. She wished her parents were alive to advise her on how to ask hurt people to not hurt back.
“There are many possible ways to reach our liberation. You already know which one worries me. During the year that preceded this conference, the Likasi School of Inquiry submitted to each of your tribal leaders a translated report of my life’s work. It details the physical properties and potential applications of a substance that I’ve isolated from the mineral Pechblende and that I’ve named antonite. It’s a poisonous rock, lethal after prolonged contact, that irradiates a form of invisible energy that can be harnessed for heating. I included an appendix with silvergraphs of Pechblende so that those of you who also find it in your lands and call it by another name can identify it and conduct your own studies on it. I must emphasize that you read my section on safe handling of antonite before you collect it, transport it, or do any tests with it. Moreover, we submitted to your tribal leaders a copy of the theoretical work of my colleague Rodrigo Sánchez, Dean of Natural Philosophy at the Likasi School of Inquiry, who has collaborated with me in my analysis of antonite and has suggested a mathematical explanation that connects the behavior of light with the emission of energy from antonite and extrapolates those phenomena to a more general definition of matter and energy and to a hypothetical relation of equivalence between them.”
She saw that the change of topic confused several of her listeners. She told herself she had to trust they’d see her point.
“I know we’re supposed to exchange testimonies and proposals today, but I’m going to veer away from politics and talk a bit about my work, because I’ve received disturbing letters of reply from some of you. There is indeed, as you so quickly figured out, a feasible technique to multiply the deadly properties of antonite and turn it into a tool of war. Rodrigo and I had glimpsed that implication, but the amount of work required made us dismiss the scenario as impractical. What brings me to stand here today and steal the first speaking slot is that some of you have started talking of pooling together the skills, labor and resources of the Alliance of Survivor Peoples to make this weapon, and I find that idea contrary to the aim of our movement. To even suggest going back to war is unacceptable, and to do so as the very first action we take as a group would insult my parents’ memory and tarnish our cause irreparably. What I shared with you can give us a push toward self-sustenance. I implore you to refrain from using it to pay back hatred for hatred.”
She left the podium and took her seat amid an audience stunned speechless. She knew she’d touched their consciences by the sound of their breathing, which went on irregularly until it was interrupted by the Novadanian host, “The delegate from the Esikongo has finished. Next is the turn of the delegate from the Iñupiat.”
A woman walked to the podium and displayed large maps of areas her people had been forced to leave because heat coming from the Canutic program of perennial burning in northern Asia had reduced the size of frozen lands in Vinland.
“The delegate from the Iñupiat has finished. Next is the turn of the delegate from the Viets.”
An old man missing both hands related a series of massacres perpetrated by the Heavenly Followers Army.
“The delegate from the Viets has finished. Next is the turn of the delegate from the Basques.”
An energetic man described a system of tunnels in the Pyrenees used for hiding suspects of heresy.
“Next is the turn of the delegate from the Tajiks.”
A woman wearing mourning robes cited annual numbers of victims of famine.
“…the delegate from the Aymaras.”
A man who could barely speak between sobs displayed handmade portraits of every member of his family who’d been sold as a slave.
“…the Kurds.”
A man read a series of first-person accounts from provinces that had tried to break free of the Ottoman Empire and whose leaders had gone missing.
“…the Amazulu.”
A man with healed wounds on every visible portion of skin told the tale of how Danish soldiers had forced his village out of their lands.
“…the Sefardim.”
An old lady presented examples of how to answer an Inquisitor without putting oneself or others in danger.
“…the Bengalis.”
“…the Saami.”
“…the Lao.”
“…the Dene.”