The Activist: Amy's Choice

Loving the Cause, Hating the Call

Roy was a self-proclaimed second rate Tom Paine. He gave himself to the cause but confined his activities to writing. He was a writer, not a soldier, not an activist, not an organizer or an operative. He found comfort in his role as a propagandist for the movement. A man of letters is not supposed to risk his all. Survival was his duty and writing was his call.

Amy was a vital member of a growing resistance movement. She was an activist, not a weekend protester. She was a gutter to the penthouse activist, a grassroots organizer, rabble-rouser, pamphleteer, recruiter and strategist. She engaged in civil disobedience, broke windows, chained herself to buildings and splattered red paint on the persons and properties of corporate mercenaries. She had been tried, beaten and jailed for the cause. When the cops formed lines of oppression, Amy was on the front lines of resistance and she never broke rank.

If Roy was a part of the cause, Amy was its heart.

The concept of an old soul is reserved for those whose depth and breadth of knowledge cannot be explained by education and experience. If there were such a thing, Amy was an old soul. She consumed knowledge as if it was manna, from the ancient philosophers to contemporary politics, and transformed it into a vision that engaged and pulled at the essence of humanity.

When Amy invited Roy to a meeting of minds, he did not think twice. She was always recruiting, always cajoling, appealing, and building the movement. He was a man who contributed modestly to the cause; he was not the sort to attract anything more than intellectual curiosity in a woman of her stature. He figured he was one of dozens, maybe more, to be invited to this gathering.

He was wrong. It was a small gathering. No more than nine or ten people of like mind, committed to the cause. The evening was spent in groups of two or three, talking about the issues of the day, sharing observations as spectators on the planet. The conversation was free and flowing. Nothing was off limits. Not even the self-imposed censorship – the internal editors that calculate a probable impact before a remark is delivered – seemed to be operative.

A man who was never quite comfortable in the company of others, Roy was more relaxed and self-assured than he had ever been.

As the evening edged to its conclusion, Roy found himself sitting under a starlit sky with a woman he both admired and desired: Amy. Until now, he wondered if she was avoiding him. He felt his spirit rise as she approached. He took pleasure in the sound of her voice, infused with passion and curiosity, a voice of free jazz that held him captive and stimulated wonder. More than anything, he wondered why she had saved the endpoint of a pleasant evening for him.

The tone became more pressing and dark when she told him about a man who had given his life for the cause. She emphasized that he gave it willingly, that when the time came, he did not hesitate.

They had worked together at a halfway house, a place where dissidents throughout the world could escape the oppression of their governments. The work brought them into conflict with numerous international intelligence agencies. An agent from Interpol got too close to the operation and Gerard took upon himself to become an informant. When he turned out to be a misinformant, he was renditioned to an unknown location. Six months later, his body turned up in Saudi Arabia as a victim of a terrorist attack.

Roy began to realize there was more to this encounter than budding romance or intellectual pursuit. Was it possible Amy was an undercover agent? Was it a setup? He had been told that activists had been recruited to the government’s cause. The traitors were often leaders with passionate voices. He looked into her dark brown eyes and recoiled at the thought. If anyone was pure and incorruptible, it was Amy.

Still, it was becoming clear that she was asking him to go beyond his comfort. He was only a writer, a propagandist, a craftsman of words to arouse the heart and soul. He promoted the cause from a distance. His dissidence carried some element of risk but only within definable limits. He had no desire to become a martyr. Had she misjudged him?

She explained in a rush that there was an opening in the organization and that every member needed a match. Couples did not meet the government profile of an enemy of state. She explained that Roy was her match. He was chosen and would have only two chances to decline. If he did not accept, it was understood he would never see Amy or her friends again – at least not as acquaintances.

He saw his own internal struggle in her face. She appreciated his dilemma. It was not a decision to be taken lightly. Had it not been Amy, he would not have given another thought. He was not a martyr, not a hero; he was a writer, a propagandist, a man of words. He knew his role and accepted it. Amy understood his integrity. He would not join a cause for a woman. He was too old for tales of romance. He would not join any cause for anyone or anything except the cause itself. It was why he was chosen. Neither Amy nor Roy nor any of Amy’s comrades would be content with anything less than total commitment.

"I’ll have to think about it long and hard," he finally said.

There was relief in her eyes, which he interpreted as a protective instinct. She allowed her hand to rest upon his before she rose to join the others in a large circle around a fire. He realized that they were all committed, all paired. Only Amy remained alone.

Roy went home and began to obsess. He had turned her down once and with her a life he could only imagine, a life of certain adventure, risk and challenge. He did not know whether he could turn her down again. He did not know whether in fact, he would have a second chance but he was grateful she had held out that promise.

He would not hear from her again for seven months.

JACK RANDOM IS THE AUTHOR OF GHOST DANCE INSURRECTION (DRY BONES PRESS) AND THE JAZZMAN CHRONICLES (CROW DOG PRESS). SEE HIS BLOG: WWW.JAZZMANCHRONICLES.BLOGSPOT.COM.