Hielo, Is It Me You're Looking For?
How One Man Ran Away from ICE to Find Himself and Help Defeat the Mouse King
As told by Indiana Bones, an imaginary man and his dog.
Hello, readers.
Today, we hear from Indiana Bones, who fled his home country of Icamera during a crisis and escaped to Excimo, a cold, frozen wasteland. After a long absence, Indiana has returned to tell us a story so fantastic you may think it could not be true.
FYI, Hielo is Spanish for ice, all anybody talks about. Ice used to be cold; now it’s hot.
Join Indiana as he muses about a catastrophe resembling what happened in America.
***
Hi, I’m Indiana. You know, the guy with the fedora and the bullwhip.
We didn’t like the state of affairs in Icamera, where the evil Mouse King had unleashed MICE to terrorize Icamerans. MICE stood for Madmen in Control Everywhere.
It was a rerun of the old, segregated South fighting the Civil Rights Movement in the ‘60s with dogs and water cannons, cracking heads on the Edmund Pettus Bridge. Back then, we believed it could only happen in the South, until the violence moved North.
***
The catastrophe erupted into public view with a single horrific act of violence.
MICE shot and killed a young woman, Renee Good, in cold blood. After blowing her brains out, the MICE agent looked at her as she lay dying and called her a “Fucking bitch.”
Public condemnations began overnight. In a panic, the Mouse King declared that Good was Bad. Truth was lies.
‘She was bad, very bad, a vicious, nasty woman,” the Mouse King proclaimed.” She was trying to kill MICE.”
***
I knew that I had to leave. If I had stayed and witnessed their ruthless invasion, I would have blocked them with my vehicle. I worried that I might try to hurt them with my vehicle, and, of course, that would have been wrong. They would have blown my brains out, too.
Call me a coward for leaving. I deserve it. But I felt my role was to witness the tale and to retell it. The story is about a man far braver than I. His name is Jesus, code-named Ice Cubed. He helped to put ICE back in the tray and stuck it in the freezer where it belonged.
Let’s meet our hero:
***
Hello, mis amigos. I am from Excimo, the frozen land to the north of Icamera. I am Jesus, but you call me “Hey, Zeus.” I am also known by my code name, Ice Cubed.
During the troubles, the authorities feared me because they were hot, but I was cool.
***
This is Indiana. You may want to know about the day I fled and why I decided to go. It was just after the gruesome murder. It set my mind on fire and drove me nearly mad.
I had to get out of there.
I crossed the border on a Friday afternoon and drove for five hours on the long, empty road to a small, hidden fishing village located somewhere on the windy, cold Gulf of Racial Info.
(You know it by another name)
As I drove, disturbed by recent events, I wished that the troubles would end soon, but knew it was not yet time. I did not know when it would come, but I knew it would, after much killing, many protests, after protests, marches, boycotts, strikes and sit-ins.
They would use violence. At first, some of us responded in kind, until Jesus came forth. Like jiu-jitsu, he taught us to turn violence against itself. We flipped the script on them.
***
But I get ahead of myself. Jesus, please tell us why you came, why you left, and why you finally returned?
Jesus: At first, I came to Icamera searching for work. For years, after sneaking across the border, I worked alongside many of my countrymen. Then, when MICE invaded my town, I fled Icamera. It was not safe anymore for immigrants.
The bosses had always hired us to do the hard jobs for low pay, but still hated us. “Dirty Immigrants!” they said. “Taking our jobs!” But we needed the money for our families back home, so we pretended not to see and not to hear. We said, “Yes, boss.” We kept quiet.
But after they killed Good, I could not stay in Icamera. The sick feeling in my stomach grew too strong, so I fled to my frozen homeland, located near Greenland.
I wanted to fight MICE but needed time to think. How could we fight them? They had the guns; they could shoot and kill us. When they did, the government lied about it.
When we saw that the government kept lying in the face of the killing and suffering, we knew that we had to stand up to the guns and face the hail of bullets. Like in the song, Blowing in the Wind, we had to force people to see our suffering and answer the question, “How many times can an Icameran turn his head, And pretend that he just doesn’t see?”
IB: How did you escape from Icamera?
Jesus: They microchipped all Excimoans, but some of us learned how to remove the chips. While they pursued me one day, I managed to stick my chip in the vest of a MICE agent. In the dark and cold, there was confusion. I slipped into the shadows, pointing and shouting:
“There he is! He’s pretending to be MICE!”
The other MICE surrounded him and pointed their guns at him. “It’s him. We got his signal.”
The agent raised his hands, saying he was MICE too. They arrested him anyway, and took him to their jail. We heard that they only realized the chip was false several days later.
Meanwhile, I found a vehicle. I was well on my way to the border to make my escape.
***
Life in Icamera had become nearly impossible for immigrants. The Mouse King put electronic Icameran flags everywhere, with the blinking Eye in the middle.
The Eye camera spied on us. People had to salute it.” They would get arrested if not. The Mouse King warned: ‘I am EYE; I see! Those who do not smile are our enemies.”
I had been working in Icamera for many years, supporting my family back in Excimo, where there were no jobs and no money, only snow and ice, and endless winter.
For many years, I had worked very hard, paid my taxes, and been a good, law-abiding member of my community. Every day, I smiled at my neighbors, waved, and said hello.
They smiled at me and waved back and knew my name, Jesus. To them, it sounded like “Hey Zeus!”
“Hey, Zeus!” they used to say.
***
Years ago, the Mouse King had lost the election and been forced to relinquish his power, but brooded, remaining defiant. ‘They stole the election!” he shouted. “It’s cheating!”
When the Mouse King narrowly won re-election and returned to power, to the astonishment of many, and the dismay of most, he vowed never to relinquish power again.
He and his minions began looking for men to join MICE, angry men who learned to hate immigrants, men willing to wear a uniform and hide behind a mask, to take an oath. carry a gun and shoot anyone who did not obey orders.
Some were known as the men of January 6th.
“What are our orders?” MICE asked. “The orders are what we say,” a woman named Gnome said. “If they look like immigrants, say, “Stop or I’ll shoot. They must stop; if not, shoot them. They are unimportant. What is important is how I look on TV.”
“What hat should I wear today?” she asked them, trying one, then the other, admiring herself in her ever-present mirror. “The cowboy hat or the black military cap?”
Silence followed those terrible words from the woman concerned about her costumes.
One man looked puzzled. “But how can we shoot our fellow Americans? Aren’t we meant to protect them?” She scowled. ‘Fool. Are you afraid to do your duty? Are you a man or MICE?”
‘All hail the Mouse King!” she shouted, thrusting her hand up in a Mouse-salute.
‘All hail!” they responded, returning the familiar raised-arm salute.
***
Icamera, which had once been a peaceful country where everyone got along, became a nightmare land. Laws meant nothing. Only hat-wearing supporters of the Mouse King were safe. MICE invaded homes, schools, stores, even hospitals. We were the cheese.
They stopped at nothing; at first, nobody dared to resist them.
***
At night, the Mouse King appeared on the television and spoke. The people assembled in the public squares to watch him on giant EYE screens. The giant eye saw who cheered and who did not. MICE took note of the unbelievers and the doubters.
***
The people met in secret to discuss how to defend themselves against the Mouse King and his MICE. “We must fight violence with violence,” said one man. ‘They took my son away to a secret prison. They said he is dangerous. He may never be free again.”
Another said, “They hate us; we must hate them. Our hate will destroy their hate, because we are many, and they are few. Our anger will be far greater than their anger.”
Their anger and resentment grew and spread across the country even as MICE arrests, shootings, and disappearances continued. We knew from history that it would get worse.
Terrible massacres occurred. Those who had supported the Mouse King began to express doubts. ‘We believed in him, but MICE killed my son!” “They disappeared our daughter! We don’t know where they took her.”
The lies of the Mouse King lost their meaning; his power began to slip away.
As the number of supporters shrank, the Mouse King grew more unstable and afraid. “My enemies are increasing. Protect the Mouse King, kill them all!” he ordered MICE.
But as his madness grew manifest. even MICE began to doubt the Mouse King. Agents of MICE, too, were arrested, disappeared, or shot by loyalists of the King.
They also had wives, families, homes, like others. They wished to be normal human beings again.
***
IB: It was as you had long predicted.
Jesus: “Yes. The time had come.”
“Now is the time to return,” I said. “The worst has happened, and the best is yet to come.” So I left Excimo and returned secretly to Icamera, crossing in the night, driving in the dark.
I found an angry crowd facing what was left of MICE: Men with guns, eying each other, backing away, confused, clinging to their weapons, still wearing masks, fearing the crowd. “Sarge, we can’t shoot everyone,” one young agent whispered to the commander.
“Quiet, fool,’ the commander hissed. “If they hear you, they will sense weakness and attack.” The young man fell silent. The commander stepped forward and shouted.
‘We don’t want to shoot, but if we must, we will.”
The crowd surged forward. A young man leapt out. “We have them now,” he shouted. ‘See how scared they are? Let’s take their weapons and arrest them. Power to the people!”
The crowd cheered. A disaster loomed.
***
At this point, I stepped forward to speak. The crowd saw an old immigrant raise his hand. “May I say something?” I asked, waiting for a response. The crowd grew quiet. “Yes.”
“If we allow our hearts to be filled with hatred and revenge,” I said, “won’t we become like MICE? Can we allow ourselves to stoop to that level? The power of the Mouse King is broken.”
A young woman stepped forward and said, “Remember Renee and the others. Let’s do this for her. She wanted us to fight hate with love. Now is the time to honor her wishes.”
‘She’s right,” a man said, stepping forward. “I want to confess: For a long time, I supported the Mouse King. In the end, it was all lies. I believed him because I was angry. Then he came for us, too. But now, I am with you.”
As his confession sank in, the crowd grew still.
“The truth about Immigrants,” he said, “is that they clean our houses. They prepare food at restaurants. They landscape our yards. They are the construction workers.”
“It’s true,” people shouted. “We know immigrants work hard. We trust them.”
****
So it was.
Long after the death of Renee Good, the people abandoned anger. I said, “Now, let’s return to the power of love from a time long ago. Sing, “All we need is love.”
All we need is love,” they sang, swaying in time with the music as they moved forward. The MICE agents huddled closer together.
Then, I raised my hands, imploring MICE. “All we are saying is give peace a chance.”
I stepped out of the crowd and stood face to face with a nervous young MICE agent. “Young man,” I said, “don’t be afraid.” The young man retorted, “I ain’t afraid of you.” He brandished his gun at me, “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to.”
I spoke calmly. “Young man, we do not hate you. We love you. You are our son, our brother. Look around you. We are your father and mother, your brothers and sisters.”
The young agent bristled, responding, “But I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.”
I continued to smile. ‘You are angry because they told you Good is Bad. That Lies are Truth. You don’t know who or what to trust. Please, put down your gun. Let me hug you. You’ve needed a hug for a long time.”
The power of love washed over the young man like a tidal wave in a parched desert. He trembled. The weapon grew heavy; it dropped to his side. I hugged him.
The crowd cheered. The young man asked me, “How did you know I needed a hug?”
I told him, “I can see what is inside your heart, young man. Inside, I saw a boy also named Jesus from your Little League team. You remember when you were on third base in the last inning of the championship? Jesus hit a home run. Your team won. When you see immigrants, you see Jesus. He is still inside you, and always will be.”
I told him, “I, too, am Jesus. Now do you understand?” He nodded.
In unison, the people began to sing the old Doobie Brothers song, “Jesus is Just Alright with Me,” but they pronounced it, “Hey Zeus.”
The young man sang along, too.
Everyone crowded together, hugged, and cried. The power of hate was broken. The Mouse King fled from the country. Love reigned supreme again in Icamera.
People put on their old tie-dye shirts and danced to the Grateful Dead. I advised them, “Celebrate this moment, but do not linger in it too long. Evil always seeks to return.”
***
‘‘Who are you?” the MICE commander asked me.
“They call me Jesus,” I said, “but you know me as Ice-cubed, a leader of the Immigrants from the old days, a man who has always spoken truth to power. I am from a time long ago.”
The commander looked into my eyes and exclaimed. “My God. In your eyes, I see Martin Luther King speaking of his dream, then being shot. I see Selma and the Ferguson bridge and a million men marching. I see Gandhi’s Salt March.”
He shrank back, but I said, ‘Do not be afraid.” I pointed to the crowd. “We are Peace and Love. That is what you see and hear. Feel its power.”
MICE took off their masks and put down their guns. They removed their vests and joined the crowd, hugging people and asking for forgiveness. “We are going home,” they said.
***
With that, Indiana finished telling the story.
“Will we all live happily ever after?” his dog asked him. “Happily-ever after is only true in fairy tales,” Indiana replied. “Why?” his dog asked.
“Angry, resentful, fearful people turn to violence again whenever people like me relax or grow weary. Evil men arise, inciting the angry mob, seething, itching for a fight.
‘What then?”
“Then evil men seize power and use violence to subjugate others. I must always be ready to fight. The struggle never ends. It’s like an endless tug of war: we win only if we pull the hardest each time; otherwise, we end up in the mud again.”
“Oh shit,” my dog said.” ‘So, it’s like me barking every time I see the mailman? We have to remain vigilant forever?” “Correct.”
The end.
Notes: For those who may be puzzled, Icamera and Excimo are fictional countries that are anagrams of countries we know very well. I thought they should be imaginary. Icamera is more paranoid than America normally is, but perhaps not much more. Excimo is much colder than the country I anagrammed.
Most of you have figured out what MICE is.
I struggled to know what to write in this moment of crisis without sounding like I was telling people what to do, preaching, or being pedantic. We all have to decide what is right for us. But on the other hand, this moment of crisis has much in common with times of crisis in modern history with which many of us are very familiar, such as the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s in the US, except that we are not organized yet.
Having reached my late ‘60s, I hoped that my generation, which accomplished so much in the ‘60s and ‘70s, including supporting civil rights, ending the war in Vietnam, and giving the world rock’n’roll, would leave the world a better place.
Imagine my horror now to see democracy falling apart, the climate collapsing, and young people losing hope in the future. Where did we go wrong? What happened?
At some point, I realized that politics is an endless struggle between opposing forces. One side gains the advantage, then the other takes it back. Since 1960, there have been 6 Democratic Presidents and 6 Republicans. Back and forth. There have been twice as many years when Democrats controlled Congress, but that has begun changing.
The takeaway message for me is that the progressive forces in America have had a fatal flaw, which is over-relaxing when we control the White House and Congress, while the conservative forces are scheming to find a way to return to power asap.
No one wants to spend their whole life on the edge of their seat, but if we don’t, we can bet that we will wish we had. I just hope that Planet Earth will survive Trump.
Otherwise, what will I tell my kids?
That’s an interesting story
Loved it