Chapter 14 #3
“Canada’s plan to attack the US.”
“Of course. Our long-range plan, begun on July 5, 1776.” Reine-Marie actually snorted with laughter. “Even you can’t believe that.”
“I didn’t say I believe it. Of course I don’t. But many do. You should look at the site. And there are more like it appearing every day, the shit is spreading, not helped by AI and fabricated ‘evidence.’”
They were back there. In the merde.
“I have better things to do than listen to this nonsense, and honestly, Ruth, I’d have thought you’d have better things to do than read it.”
She stepped closer to the map Charles Langlois had marked up and hidden and that was now tacked to the wall of the church basement.
A pretty good hiding place too since few entered the church and fewer still went into the basement.
Those who did would not look twice at a tattered map of the province.
Churches and maps had one thing in common. Both were becoming obsolete.
After a moment, Reine-Marie turned back to Ruth, bothered, despite herself, by what she’d heard. Mostly bothered that Ruth felt it was important enough to mention.
“Who’s going to believe that nonsense? Just a few marginal people. Why are you talking about it?”
“And why are you so upset?” Ruth glared at her.
“I know why. It’s because you’re an archivist, which makes you an historian.
Which means you are very aware of what’s happened in the past. The power of words.
All wars start with words. All conflicts start with early warnings that are ignored.
” She glared at Reine-Marie before continuing.
“What happened on Kristallnacht to the Jews? What happened on St. Bartholomew’s Day in Paris to the Protestants?
What happened to the Tutsis in Rwanda? What happened to wisewomen, healers, in the witch hunts?
Ask yourself, how did that happen? How did perfectly peaceful people come in for slaughter?
How did perfectly reasonable people a short time earlier take part in those atrocities? ”
“Wait a minute. You’ve just gone from a marginal internet site to war and slaughter? Come on.”
“What was in your canvas shopping bag two days ago at the market?”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you choose what to buy? Past experience, yes, but originally? It’s advertising, and what’s that?
Propaganda, often spread through word of mouth.
Someone you know tells you it’s good. This’s no different.
How did hundreds of millions of people believe Iraq was behind the 9/11 attacks when it patently was not?
How did millions believe a perfectly legitimate election was stolen and almost cause a coup?
The power of persuasion. And few places are more persuasive, more influential, than the internet.
Social media. Eventually a critical mass is hit. A tipping point. Shit catches fire.”
Reine-Marie held up her hand. “Enough. You’re not saying that people actually believe Canada is on the verge of invading the US. And has a chance of winning? It’s ludicrous.”
“The ludicrous happens every day. The unthinkable is made real not through rational thought, but feelings. We’ll follow a charismatic leader if they tell us that we have a legitimate grievance.
That they’ll give us back our dignity. Our threatened way of life.
If we follow them, our enemies will be vanquished and we will be heroes.
Who doesn’t want to be part of something bigger than ourselves?
Who doesn’t want to be a hero? Even if it’s all fabricated.
When was the last time you read Animal Farm? ”
“Never.”
“What? Not even at school?” Reine-Marie could see she’d slipped a rung, or ten, in the elderly poet’s estimation.
“Right, and did you read La Peau de chagrin, by Balzac, or L’étranger, by Camus, in school?”
“No, but I did later.” Ruth closed her eyes and quoted, “I often thought that if I had had to live in the trunk of a dead tree, little by little I would have gotten used to it.” Then she looked straight at Reine-Marie. “We can normalize anything. Surely that much is obvious.”
Then, in an instant, Ruth’s face broke into a smile. “Désolée. I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re probably right. We have more important things to do.” She pointed to the wall, and with that a delicate peace was restored.
Both turned to study the map. Still, it worried Reine-Marie that Ruth had given up so easily.
“We don’t know that the line Charles drew was straight,” said Ruth. “It could go anywhere from here. Down into Vermont, yes, but from there? It could veer into Connecticut. Or head over here, into Upstate New York.”
She pointed to the perforated line Charles Langlois had drawn across the Québec-Vermont border. “It could also be completely meaningless.”
“You don’t believe that,” said Reine-Marie. “Nothing on this map is meaningless. And we do know where it’s going. Not down into New England but up into Québec. What we don’t know is where it starts.”
Before they left, Reine-Marie peered out the door of the church to make sure the vehicles were gone.
Sure enough, no more Lauzon. Even Evelyn Tardiff’s car was gone.
As they separated on the village green, Ruth said, “Remember, Napoleon is always right.”
Even for Ruth it was cryptic.