The Tree of Knowledge by Daniel Miller (room on the broom read aloud .txt) 📕

middle and outer rails of the convention hall, holding red banners with a modern tree symbol etched in black. The camera panned around the crowd, which numbered at least five thousand, and Ying could see the entranced faces of students, children, mothers, seniors, and workers as the woman spoke. When the speaker paused, Ying could hear a booming chant of “Chris-ti-na, Chris-ti-na” echoing throughout the chamber.

Ying leaned in to listen, joining the crowd in willing hypnosis. The speaker paused, and the roar of the crowd fell victim to the hushed silence of anticipation.

Cristina Culebra’s voice echoed with haunting sincerity and power.

“As many of you know, I grew up in Chile.”

She paused and smiled as the few Chileans in the crowd hollered out their support.

“Today, Chile is a wonderful place, but it wasn’t always that way. When I was a child, my mother and father owned a beautiful farm about an hour outside of Santiago. It was a majestic piece of land. In the mornings, the sun would come up over the mountains, and the grapevines and lemon orchards stretched for what seemed like forever. My two brothers and I would walk the fields with my papa at dawn, occasionally sneaking a grape when he wasn’t looking. He loved that farm, and he worked it every day. I could feel it when I held his hands, which were hard, cracked, and dry from the work. But underneath that tough layer of skin, I could always sense the tenderness that he felt for my brothers, Mama, and me. My brothers and I would work from sunup to sundown, racing to see who could pick grapes faster. They were older than me, so at first, they were faster, but soon I learned that with my small hands and a couple of different tricks, I could outpace them. When we were done in the fields, Papa, my brothers, and I would stumble into our home, exhausted and famished from the day’s work, and Mama would hug us and tell us to clean up for supper, and then serve us a gigantic paella. We would scarf the food down like dogs while Mama scolded us for our table manners. Shortly thereafter, we turned in for bed. I shared a room with my two brothers, and I remember the three of us just staring at the ceiling with full bellies and the warm contentment of a good day’s work and the love of family.”

At this point, the crowd let out a collective nod as each individual recalled a treasured family memory. The speaker’s soothing words created a warm blanket of nostalgia over the willing audience.

“Then, when I was nine years old, everything changed,” she said with a tone of heartbreak and anger. “Chile elected its first socialist president, who believed that land should be taken from those who had it and given to those who didn’t.”

At this, the red crowd’s nostalgia transformed into anger as they erupted in a chorus of boos and shouts of “Socialist!”

Cristina Culebra politely smiled and raised her hands to quiet the crowd.

“The government seized four-fifths of Papa and Mama’s farm and gave it to four poor families who had never farmed before in their life. Despite my parents’ best efforts, the remaining land was not nearly enough to feed our family. For months, we attempted to survive on grapes and our remaining animals, but as we began to starve, my father decided that something had to be done. He and the other farmers went to the government and told them of our plight. He promised to help the poor families on our land if they would allow us to farm it.

“But it was all for naught.

“At this point, the government was practically powerless, consumed with a divided congress that could do nothing but squabble and bicker while their country crumbled and their countrymen starved. Eventually, my parents could no longer support our family, so they sold our land, had my brothers enlist in the army, and sent me to live with my aunt and uncle in Los Angeles. I never saw them again.”

Ying watched in awe as the crowd stood ice-still as though they had been physically frozen by her words.

The speaker paused and gathered herself for several seconds while the crowd’s silence begged her to continue.

“I tell you this story not to earn your pity but to rouse your vigilance. Just like Chile back then, California stands on the brink of disaster. We have twenty-five percent youth unemployment, and our state is effectively bankrupt. Yet, just like my father and those farmers, we, too, are shut out while the politicians bicker and squabble.”

The crowd again began to boo.

“But, as much as I hate to say it, just like in the case of Mr. Allende, it’s not the politicians’ fault. It’s the system. We currently have a Republican governor, Democratic senate, and Democratic house. Now, I ask you to imagine a company that had a CEO who believed in one set of ideas, but before the CEO could do anything, he first had to get not one but two groups of people who believe the opposite of what he believes to agree with him.”

The crowd erupted in laughter.

Cristina Culebra smiled. “You laugh, but this is the comical system in which we ask our elected officials to operate every day. It’s outdated, antiquated, and absurd.

“More than anything in this world, I want to make sure that no child ever has to go through what I went through. That no family is ever torn apart because of government bureaucracy and indifference. That every hardworking person can realize their dream and that their government will do everything it can to make sure that happens.

“But if we want to make that dream a reality, we can’t keep doing the same thing with the same system.” The speaker began to pound the podium with her fist, and the crowd cheered. “We need a new leader. And we need a leader who can take action without wondering