Jack's Travels (working title)

Jack is a criminology student who has been selected by his professor to assist in his research travelling the world.

Jack was a student of the liberal arts. Upon hearing this, most people would believe that he was, in fact, a painter or musician, pursuing a profession of some cultural appeal. While these are all perfectly excellent professions for a person to go into, this is not what Jack was studying. Jack was in a program that was going to teach him all about criminals, and how to study them. This form of study is normally referred to as ‘criminology,’ by those who are either very early into their studies, or those who have never studied it at all.

            Criminology, or so it is called, is far more than simply looking at criminals, but for now, Jack doesn’t really know this. Jack is a first-year student, and is following the works of a man named Dr. Martin. This doctor is not a man who you would want to have mend a broken leg, and wouldn’t even be able to write you a prescription for cold medication. However, he is a very important man in the study of criminals, and Jack’s professor. Because of this, Jack admires him greatly, and has been making himself indispensable to the professor.

            From a young age, Jack had known he wanted to study criminals; why people become them, how they are rehabilitated or punished, and of course the criminal justice system. He had pictured himself becoming a lawyer, a fantasy that was soon sobered as he learned the intense education and testing required to become one. Lawyering had never been his ideal profession anyway, it seemed to make people cold and inhuman given enough time.

            Criminology seemed like the answer then, studying criminal behavior impartially, and trying to offer solutions to help people. Not just the victims, but also the criminals; they were people after all. He ran into a lot of problems during his first year though. He discovered that criminology was interdisciplinary, meaning that you needed to know a lot of different social sciences to study it.

            Jack never envied the engineers and those who studied harder sciences. These are called ‘hard’ not because they are necessarily harder, but because the answers were always concrete. But he often found himself experiencing issues students in more concrete sciences often do not. Professors were often biased, and injected their own beliefs into their teachings. He only really has one professor who does this, and she is not Dr. Martin.

            Moreover, Jack had issues with theories that didn’t have evidence. They couldn’t run tests on many sociological theories (as this would require large groups of subjects, and may be ethically challenging). He didn’t trust theories that didn’t have statistics and evidence to back them up. Jack also realized that most of the research painted men as the only criminals, largely in cases of crimes that violate individuals (most older readers should know what this means). It was all very disproportionate, painting all of the world’s issues as the fault of men.

            But this wasn’t central to his field, not really. His field was criminals, and while philosophies like neoliberalism and the modern capitalist world came into play, he wanted to discuss it at a far more individual level, research the people involved. Then, only by using aggregate data, would he begin to form opinions and theories of his own. Dr. Martin would insist on this anyway, being the stickler to empirical data that he is.

            Most of what Jack knew about criminology specifically had been proven or disproven in some way or another, over time. Something being disproven was as good as proving a theory, sometimes better. Disproving someone else’s widely-believed theory was amazing, as it prevented a wrongly held belief from persevering, and producing another wrongly held belief over time. Jack wasn’t sure if he was going to prove or disprove any theories; sometimes just having new information, interesting information was enough to make learning worthwhile.

            When Dr. Martin discovered he had the opportunity to travel the world, more specifically the world’s prisons, he jumped at the chance to gain information for his new book. Dr. Martin was writing a book about the prisons of the world, and the communities in them. He was having trouble finding inspiration, and in spite of watching many videos of prisons in other countries, it was worth nothing if he could not speak to the prisoners themselves.

            Dr. Martin asked Jack if he could come on the trip as soon as he knew he was going; Jack was the only man who could write his notes even before he told him what to write. Jack had of course agreed as soon as he was asked. Being as he was still living with his parents, he informed them, and was met with a modicum of protest. They soon gave in as he described that not only was the trip paid for, but he was also going to be paid for his services as a scribe. Jack had no idea where he was going, just that he was leaving Canada for a time.

            While far from having the best crime situation in the world, Canada had prisons that could actually rehabilitate prisoners, rather than just punishing them. There were options to work while you were in prison, and options to get an education, but due to the expense placed on the prisoner, it was not common to take advantage of these opportunities. Instead languishing in cells was the nature of the Canadian prison system, especially following the changes made by the Harper government, which made freedom seem to some prisoners like a distant fantasy. This had not received very much press, as making a prisoner’s life worse was often considered a good thing.

            They didn’t actually know where the trip would take them. The criminologist’s society, the group which was funding the trip with the help of a project hoping to evaluate how many innocent people went to prison in other countries, was going to send them from one country to another. Their conditions were that Jack and Dr. Martin couldn’t refuse to go somewhere, and that they would have to rely on a guide provided by the Innocence project. These weren’t entirely unreasonable conditions, and Dr. Martin had agreed to them wholeheartedly. He was, after all, an adventurer.

            Jack was a little more concerned, but this concern was waylaid by the promise of a warm bed and food at the expense of the society at each location. Not a huge issue, given the circumstances; Jack was a student, and in spite of making a meager salary as a research assistant, he often found himself eating dehydrated noodles for nights on end. Granted, there’s a good chance he would have done this anyway, as his palette was quite small. Spicy food was not to his liking, and anything besides chicken was too strong for him. While he occasionally enjoyed a beer, he did not drink hard spirits, and did not smoke. He was much less of an adventurer than Dr. Martin.

            This didn’t concern him. There were many reasons for him to leave home. He felt that he was stagnating, a word which here means that he had been doing the same thing every day for many years. Wake up, school, work, sleep. He had of course taken the traditional family vacations to Florida, British Columbia, and Washington DC, but these were not really when he felt alive. The trips he had taken on his own to Europe, these trips had made him feel alive, temporarily. He was hoping that the Criminologist’s society was going to send them there, as he had some good memories of the area. Everyone spoke English, thought admittedly with amazing accents.

            Jack had been diagnosed with depression, and when he wasn’t depressed, he was anxious about becoming depressed. They had diagnosed this differently, as General Anxiety Disorder, which essentially meant that Jack worried, a lot, about everything. He was fine with this, and was living with it thanks to modern medication and a good therapist; himself. However, he also knew that if he stopped taking the medication for a few days, it would make him feel awful. He didn’t want to do that again, he had tried it once and nearly drank himself into a coma. And that is why Jack doesn’t drink hard liquor.

            Dr. Martin called Jack into his office about a week ago, and told him that they were going to head to the airport, and a representative would be there waiting for them. “Until we get to the airport,” he said, “Even I don’t know where we’re going.” Jack didn’t have a problem with this, mostly because he was listening to I want to break Free by Queen as he got the news. Music inspired Jack, but also greatly affected his mood. Unfortunately, most of the time he listened to sad music, Pink Floyd and Supertramp. At this point, though, Jack just wanted to break free.

Chapter 2

            The day came for them to go to the airport, and Jack’s mother was crying. She wasn’t really sad, she knew he would be coming back. But she was worried about him, and was going to miss him during his long trip. He had his trunk packed, and it was really more of a trunk than a bag, a large wooden box that looked out of place in the modern age. Jack looked out of place in the modern age. He was wearing a brown tweed jacket, a sweater vest and tie. Contrasting this, his pants were covered in pockets, large and small. It would cause him some problems at security, but the Kleenex and Gravol in the pockets, combined with numerous packages of gum were necessities, and he preferred not to have to reach for his overhead luggage.

            Dr. Martin met him at the airport, and marveled at the size of Jack’s trunk, and his larger than average rucksack. Martin was traveling light, carrying only a small suitcase on wheels, and a backpack that only had one strap hanging over his shoulder. It was probably only big enough for a small bottle of water and a notebook. Then again, that’s all that Martin was probably going to need on the flight. He was a researcher through and through, and besides, Jack was carrying everything that he could possibly need, and in ample supply.

Martin had arrived at the airport with another man, and had retreated into the corner with him where he thought no one was looking. Jack had in fact seen them, and smiled a little as he saw Martin place his lips quickly on his partner’s, before furtively glancing around. He was a homosexual, but still closeted, and Jack respected his privacy. He had known for a while, but never pried. This was in spite of the fact that Martin’s partner was probably closer to Jack’s age than Martin’s. Live and let live, thought Jack. His own parents had a ten-year age difference, and it didn’t bother him. What was the difference?

Jack turned back to look at his parents, who were trying quite conspicuously not to look at Martin, who was far less inconspicuous than he thought he was. Jack chuckled, and waited until Martin had walked over to say goodbye, making sure his parents knew they were leaving him in the hands of someone they knew, albeit vaguely, and a homosexual at that. They were fortunately too awkward to even voice their concern, but Jack could feel the tension. He said goodbye, and his father shook his hand before bring him in for a hug.

The representative stood there, just before the bag check. She was a smiling woman, in her late fifties with close cut silver hair, and a glimmer in her eyes of a person who had a lot of hope for the future. In her hand, there was a leather-bound clipboard, and her pantsuit was not designer, but quite well-fitting for an off the rack piece of clothing. She looked professional, but the world of being a professional hadn’t beaten her down. Jack thought she was beautiful, in the way an old book is beautiful. Martin walked over and shook her hand enthusiastically.

“Well, here we are,” she said, her slight smile widening, “are you excited?”

“Very,” replied Dr. Martin. Jack nodded, but for the first time since they decided to leave, he felt his stomach twist. They were about to find out where they were going.

“My name is Doctor Kathleen Woodrow, and for the first leg of your journey, I will be your emergency contact in Canada. The first location you will be visiting is Ktzi’ Ot prison in Israel, the largest detention camp in the world. This location is a site for many who have been imprisoned as a result of conflicts with Palestine, specifically areas of Gaza and West Bank, the second location being contested territory. Many of the people in this prison are younger than you, young man. What’s your name?”

“I’m Jack, Jack McEnroe,” said Jack. He was beginning to worry about the nature of this prison, if sixteen and seventeen-year-olds were locked in with much older man.

            “Well Jack, there will be a guide, of course, and you will be in very capable hands. I will not lie to you, and tell you that everyone you meet deserves to be there, but you know well enough, do not interfere. You are there, like Dr. Martin to interview, research, and accumulate data. Do not believe claims, simply because someone you like makes them.” She warned them of the various problems that could arise in Israel, from bombings to civil unrest, but they both already knew these things. They were on the news, after all.

            “I will leave you then,” she said, “good luck!”

            Dr. Martin waved goodbye, and checked his bag. Jack followed suit, and they passed through security without much fuss, in spite of Jack having to empty all of his pockets, and Dr. Martin being patted down for carrying his titanium toothpick through the metal detector. Strangely, he was allowed to keep it, but Jack was left wondering why he was carrying it at all. Perhaps it was a gift from someone important. Or maybe he was just eccentric. The professor did have his eccentricities.

            Jack repacked his pockets, careful not to leave behind the ticket that the woman had given him. They were to land in a city called Tel Aviv, which sat on the coastline. He had looked at photos of it on his phone, and found that the city was beautiful. But in the news, they had missiles fly overhead regularly, and men attempt to explode themselves in the streets more than once. Once was, to him, enough for worry.

            The plane was delayed for three hours, but that was predictable, the planes never ran on time. And besides, due to jet lag, it didn’t matter when they took off and when they landed, they would still feel tired from the flight. Dr. Martin purchase Jack a beer at the pub in the airport during the wait. They sat and drank a couple of pints each, and thoroughly enjoyed Montreal brews and sausages proudly made from Alberta pork and beef. There were calorie contents printed on the menu, but Jack was overweight and fine with it, and Dr. Martin was built like a string bean. Both of them didn’t want to know how bad it was for them, as they were boarding a plane, and would rather not eat the inevitable in-flight meal.

            When the announcement came for their time to board the plane, Jack was again feeling giddy. His eyes smiled in the lineup, with his rucksack over his shoulder, and his stare fixed on the great flying machine. It was an airbus, with multiple levels. These planes, he knew, had formerly held lounges so the people on long-haul flights could have more than a bag of peanuts and a reheated lunch. But now, they filled this area with seats, all in search of money. Still, the memory of better days made him happy.

Dr. Martin followed him down the shaky hallway as the crisp outside air blew in through the connection between the plane and the docking station. The thought briefly crossed through Jack’s mind that if this was the way people boarded a space shuttle in space, they would immediately die. However, this was another story entirely. The boarded the second level of the plane, third-class, or coach as people liked to call it. As they found their seats, they found that they had already been filled. Thankfully they had been the last to board, so it was no trouble to find a steward and inquire as to why this had occurred.

The steward inquired to the pilot as to their next course of action, and soon Dr. Martin and Jack found themselves in a tiny elevator being brought to the top floor. There were no extra seats in coach, nor any in business class. But curiously there were two in first class. The seats were like beds, separated from each other, pointing away from each other. There was a small bar, as Jack had seen in the old images of this plane. The beds each had a television screen across from the head rest, and a phone built into the seat. They seemed socially isolating, Jack noted as he sat (or was it lay) down on the seat, and buckled the seatbelt.

Take-off was fine, but almost as soon as they got into the air, turbulence took hold. He heard the captain tell the people in the deck below to fasten their seatbelts, a quiet echo which was barely discernable in the first-class cabin. The people around him did not seem phased, and so he removed his belt as well, and went to the bar, where he rang the bell for service. Another man got up, and stood next to him at the bar. He was tall, so tall that coach wouldn’t really have been an option for him. The grey suit he was wearing was so well hung and sharply cut that had you touched the shoulders, you may have sliced open your skin. He was wearing small, slightly tinted round glasses, which the discerning individual would have noticed were pinching the bridge of his nose, rather than hanging from his ears.

Jack ordered a Riesling wine, which he had recently become quite partial to at the advice of a good friend. The stranger ordered a scotch old fashioned. They stood shoulder to shoulder as equals, though they didn’t say a word to each other, and Jack knew that this man was wealthy.

“It’s rude not to make conversation, even in higher circles,” said the man. He spoke with a middle eastern accent, thought Jack did not have the knowledge or experience to place it.

“Sorry sir, didn’t know,” replied Jack. He introduced himself, and asked the man his business.

“My name is Ahsad Mufasa. My business is tools. Largely projectile, and largely with a great potential to harm others.”

“I see. So, I am to take it that you are...?”

“A weapons dealer, yes. There are a great many of them where we are going, and a great many more in the middle east as a whole. How about you? You strike me as an academic, a scholar. But not the kind of man who passes judgement against people.”

“Criminologist, yes, I study people, but try to reserve judgement.” The steward at the bar passed them their drinks, and they clinked glasses before drinking. “However, I am not the kind of man who says that criminals are not guilty for crime, nor the kind of man who would say they do not deserve mercy anyway.”

“Indeed, you aren’t wrong. I know a great many criminals, most of whom believe they are fighting for some good cause or another. I am not the kind of man who can say who is right and who is wrong. I assume both sides are wrong, and do not discriminate.”

“So, you sell to both sides of the battle,” whispered Jack, cautiously. This was not something that would be accepted in Canada or the United States, he thought. But they were going to Israel, and maybe it was accepted there.

“Young man, there are more than two sides to this battle. And do not call it a battle. To the people fighting it, there is no difference between these battles and a war. Some call it a holy war, but they are mistaken. It is just a war, like any other, for land and power. And why not profit from both sides, so it does not matter who wins in the end?

“But the Palestinians oppress women and kill innocents in their own country!”

“Do the Israeli’s do better? In Tel Aviv, there are entire sections of the city in which a woman walking alone would be raped. Or beaten. The government does nothing to stop this, and it can’t be expected to, the Hasidic people would revolt. Homosexuals are still jailed in Israel, and in the country, the people are as horrible and barbaric as the people in Gaza.”

Jack was speechless. He knew the man was right, or at least partially right. So, he kept his mouth shut as Ahsad kept speaking.

“There is little difference between the sides in the wars of the Middle East. It is not Americans against the Nazis, it is everyone against everyone. I sell to everyone then. It makes no difference, except instead of being poor, I am rich. I am no criminal, in spite of what your law may say. That is my contribution to your work. That a criminal is not always a criminal.”

Ahsad smiled at him, shook his glass, and waited for it to be filled.

“Criminality is relative. And if the law controls morality, then so is morality. Better to accept it, and move on,” he said, chuckled to himself, and went back to his seat. Jack looked at his drink, and realized that he hadn’t had another sip since the first one. He stood and drank it, and looked at Dr. Martin, who was dozing as he watched a bad romantic comedy. Ahsad was correct, at least in some ways. Laws changed in every country, and people believed morality based on the law of their country, or their religion. Usually some combination of the two.

Jack knew that Canada was a good country, and so he followed Canada’s laws, and believed in the morality of the country. That all people were equal, men and woman, homosexuals and heterosexuals, Christians, and Muslims. But even then, he rejected some of the common rhetoric. He believed in the power of individuals to create change, but also that they had to take responsibility when they made mistakes, or didn’t reach their goals. Jack’s sociology professor did not take kindly to this mentality, and so it was his worst class. Dr. Martin had accepted it, and taken a shine to the ambitious lad.

Jack finished the drink, enjoying the flavor of botanicals clinging to his lips, and the tonic water settling his stomach once again. The bed was comfortable, and he sat down, the divider between sections keeping him from seeing the face of the person beside him. He turned on the television, and was going to watch an episode of Game of Thrones before taking a nap. Suddenly the divider lowered, and a man appeared, in his sixties with mottled skin, and with bottle caps for lenses in his glasses.

“You shouldn’t listen to him you know,” he muttered, his British accent tinged with something older. Possibly, thought Jack, it was Israeli, making this man Israeli, and highly educated in Britain.

“Why not?” Asked Jack, curiosity piqued. He too kept his voice low.

“He is an arms dealer. Their business is lying. And besides that, there is an absolute morality, unwritten but absolute; that a person should not be killed unless they deserve it. It’s just that everyone has a different definition for who deserves to die.” He stressed deserves, as though he was saying that the arms dealer was one of those who did, in fact, deserve death.

“And who are you?” Jack replied.

“I am the defense minister of Israel. As much as I hate it, I have to buy missiles from that man when our supplies are low. I cannot touch him as he sells to our enemy, or else I will run out of weapons myself. He is the devil, young man, and that is the truth, absolutely the truth.”

He raised the divider before Jack could respond, leaving him torn. He would have to mention this to Dr. Martin when he awoke. It could very well be as they touched down in Tel Aviv, from the times he had caught the professor sleeping at his desk. He went to one of his larger pockets and pulled out a notebook, and opened another to pull out a pen. He made two quick notes in his notebook.

1.      Not all people follow a specific moral code.

2.      Sometimes following a moral code makes you believe that it is always the correct moral code.

These notes were simple, and not really statistical, but when he pondered on them, both of the statements sounded accurate. Well, relatively accurate anyway. In spite of the seriousness of these statements, Jack chuckled. He heard a snort in the corner, and Dr. Martin woke himself up. He stood up, grabbed his bag, and went to the back of the plane. He came out a few minutes later, and headed for the bar. He pocketed a small container of medication, ordered a drink, and stood there while the bartender poured him a beer. Jack got up and went to him.

“Well, we seem to have had a stroke of luck, Dr. Martin,” said Jack. Martin didn’t respond, and stared at the wall. “Doctor?” continued Jack, slightly louder.

“Hmm?” said Dr. Martin, “What was that?”

“I was just saying how lucky we have been so far, Doctor.”

“I suppose we have. Sorry Jack, I have a lot on my mind. There’s a good deal that’s been happening over the past few weeks, and a lot of it has been pressing on me. Oh, and before I forget, my name is David. You don’t need to call me doctor on this trip, in my opinion, for this purpose, we are equals.”

“Thank you, Doctor… I mean David. There have been a good number of things pressing on me as well, especially since we have boarded the flight. I have met a couple of people here.

“It is good to hear that the travel has not dulled your inquisitive mind Jack, who have you met?”

“Two men, seemingly opposites. One in the arms trade, from the sound of it both legal and illegal, and another, the Defense Minister of Israel.”

“And what makes them opposites?”

“One sells arms to both sides and sees them both as being wrong. He believes morality to be flexible and relative. The other, believes that his side is absolutely right, and that this is an absolute truth.”

“Then the other question is, what makes them the same?”

“What do you mean,” Jack asked, his expression quizzical.

Professor martin shifted, leading his weight on the bar. Jack briefly thought that it was ironic that the bar was made of mahogany, and yet those in coach paid hundreds for a spare suitcase.

“The similarity Jack,” said David, “is that they are both, in some way, criminals. Israel has committed war crimes under his defense ministry, and the man who sells weapons feeds the war in the same way both sides feed him money. They are both guilty. And yet, neither will ever be prosecuted. Why? Because both are above the law of the common man, or at least thinks themselves as such. They are both right, both in their own belief and in truth, and at the same time, both are wrong.” Jack looked puzzled and confused. But then his expression softened, and he understood what David was saying. He pulled out his notebook, and added a third statement.

3.      Both parties in an argument may be wrong. And both can be criminals while insinuating the other it a criminal.

This was not exactly rocket science, but Jack liked how his professor had put it. There was a wide gap between both of these men’s ideologies, and yet they constituted the same actions. Both were responsible for killing innocents, and both believed themselves to not be criminals. This was, as Jack would discover, more often the case than not. David drank his beer, and Jack sat there, speaking with him about issues of criminality and history for a period of about an hour. Then they returned to their seats, and napped for the rest of the flight. They made a wise decision in rejecting the lunch; later they discovered that the other members of the flight had experienced food poisoning. 

Author's Note

ignore grammar, interested in whether this kind of writing may have any audience. Kind of based on Hector and the Search for Happiness. Looked longer in word, and I have another chapter ready if anyone wants to read it.