This story is inspired by an original work, and is not meant to infringe on that work but to setup a small segment of that story, as I’ve thought about it a lot later today. Tags and closing will give framing elements to this story.
A group of extra-planetary missionaries were bound by a common goal: to spread their beliefs to large groups of people and to help convert them to their way of life. Unlike other missionaries, they had vowed to respect the ways of life of the people around them and to not try to convert them through brutal or harmful means.
Over more than a hundred years, their community had grown into a small “tribe” of it’s own, the only humans among aliens. Some accepted their new faith and ideas, others did not. But for years and years, there was a peace of sorts between the people — especially of the indigenous people who lived closest to them. Those communities had lived so close together that for years, there grew to be an acceptance of differences but a lot of deep connections between the two.
Still, some within their mission were very dedicated to spread the “good word” far and wide; this appealed to some of the believers, others had long given up on converting anyone; they were born there because their parents were there and they just accepted things. Sometimes begrudgingly.
An up and coming priest within their community was incredibly popular. Father Steven was charismatic, bold, and when he spoke, he spoke to the people from his heart in a way that most of them connected to. They all liked him.
One day, Father Steven said to his community: I am traveling a great distance from here, to go speak to a tribe a long way away who waits to hear the word, and I believe it is my duty to go speak to them. While the community had long accepted their situation with regards to being outnumbered, there was also some hostility in the group for others, but they loved Father Steven enough that they wished him well, provided him goods, and he left.
Several days later, news came back: the people he had visited at a great distance had murdered Father Steven. Not only did they not accept the word, they were so infuriated by his claims and discussion that he was murdered within the walls of their settlement.
Furious, the local people of the mission began to talk. Many weren’t even regular church goers anymore; some hadn’t been to Sunday service in a very long time. But on the night they heard that Father Steven had been murdered, everyone became the most dedicated religious person imaginable. And their dedication was rage.
At first, they were content to sit and drink, proclaiming something was wrong. Then, James, a brother to father Steven, came to them and said: it is outrageous and unacceptable that this has happened. They have murdered in cold blood the best of us. We cannot let this stand. Who are these people anyway? We don’t know them. They are obviously horrible monsters. We need to do something about it.
Pulled aside by a local sherrif, he’s told: Don’t start whipping these people up into a mob; we can’t control that and you certainly can’t control that. This will not end well. Anger swelling up in James, he stares at the law enforcement and says: they will listen to me, and we will do real justice.
James walks into the group and brings a set of torches and pitchforks. Justice must be done. These people have to pay, he says. They have done a grave disservice to us and my family. They have heard the message and rejected it. They have killed a missionary who meant them no harm and who tried to protect them.
The mob screams in unison: “Yes, Yes, to hell with these people. I’m sick of being confined only talking to people here while these heathens spit on what we believe. Let’s go tonight. Let’s dispense justice”. James stares at them for a second: “Wait, you can’t go tonight, the tribe is at least a two day drive, we’ll have to plan and we can go!”
The mob stares at James: “What do you mean? I see those heathens just on the other side of the fence, less than twenty minutes from here, some almost in my back yard!” James responds: “But those people didn’t do us any harm! They’ve been our friends for a long time. We need them and they need us, let’s plan this out, we can travel to the tribe that killed..” the mob begins to yell back: “The heathens are across the fence, they are right there! Why wait? Father Stevens deserves to be avenged tonight!”
“This isn’t what I meant” said James. “But it is what we mean, did these people warn us? Did they do anything to stop this from happening? Aren’t they complicit in his murder?”
Picking up pitch forks and fire, the mob leaves the bar, headed straight into the neighboring areas, dispensing cruel judgement on all who are tainted by being one of “them”.
From people who work in the most basic jobs to leaders, everyone is sacrificed. “For Father Stevens!” the crowd yells. “Yes, for Father Stevens, for Father Stevens tonight!” they scream in unison. James is unable to explain to them that their harsh action is destroying their relationship with good friends, people who have kept them safe from other tribes who do meant them harm, “But these are our friends” he yells. “They are no better than any of the others” screams the mob.
Sitting down, looking on as his friends are destroyed, James looks on: Is this what Father Stevens would have wanted? Probably not. He thought he could control the mob. He was sure of it. It was too late before he realized the mob had controlled him.
hattip: OSC, Xenocide