The Kafka Papers, Pt. 1 [bonus material]

Notes from the forbidden labyrinth of Maharlikan history

[Excerpt from an encrypted document authored by the anonymous writer KAFKA.]

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As a child, I didn’t have a strong inclination towards animals or zoology. Yet the fauna of the Philippines captivated me like nothing else. There was the Philippine eagle, one of the largest eagles on the planet, with its wild mane capturing the spirit of this fierce nation that rebelled against the long arc of history. And the tarsier, its polar opposite in certain ways: small, meek, and fragile, and yet symbolic of the same boundless sensitivity at the heart of Maharlika, this undisputed king of global culture.

There’s a dose of retroactive romance at play here, I’m sure, but there was something that drew the younger me to these flesh-and-blood icons of the greatest republic on Earth. Some magic to which I am just now desperately attempting to assign words and logic. 

But that magic was powerless, at the end of the day, against the grinding force that rules over Maharlika: the imperial thirst for power, control, and prosperity at any cost. By the time I was a university student, my beloved eagles and tarsiers had been swept away from their habitats and into enclosed sanctuaries, these bright and cozy cages where they could live out their last days as Maharlika’s capitalist hunger consumed their former homes. The moment I began to see this reality for what it is marked my first step away from the dogma of Maharlikan exceptionalism. It would be far from my last.

If you’re reading this, then I assume it’s taken you a long journey to get here: layers of private networks and encryption to fish out the file that contains this document. For this reason, it won’t be a surprise to you that the author’s name on these papers is not my own. We have many reasons to hide, you and I. 

But let me complete my rambling prelude by speaking of the inspiration behind this name, a little-known writer by the name of Franz Kafka who immigrated from Prague to Manila in the 1920s driven by the itch to make a mark in this emerging cultural capital. By many accounts, Kafka was eccentric and paranoid, and some would say mentally unsound. But his works reflected a certain truth better than any I’ve seen penned by an author, Maharlikan or otherwise: this sense of living in an absurd and unknowable world that cares little for the individual stuck in its maws. If the curiosity that led you to reading my dangerous letter is more than a passing fancy, I would suggest you find and pick up a copy of his novel, The Trial. You may find a sort of kindred spirit in those pages, as I did.

I write this to bring light and form to a sentiment that has been percolating across Maharlikan society: this growing itch that tells us all is not quite as it seems. I’ve spent several years talking to bright minds about the true nature of Maharlika’s history, in conversations shrouded by the best privacy technology we can muster… and have somehow survived, at least so far. Not everyone will have the luck and foolhardiness of myself and my associates, so I thought to assemble this document, a sort of primer and an overarching working theory around that question: How did we get here?

The first major section of these papers will dissect what we have come to know as the Grand Reversal: the moment in which our humble Philippine archipelago defied the odds by defeating the Spanish through technological dominance, and with that same advantage would go on to lead the world. I’ve worked with a group of esteemed scientific historians who have come to the conclusion that this event was not only remarkable, but downright impossible. The step-change in technology that allowed the Katipunan to triumph is something that the world has never seen before or after. It’s an anomaly without a satisfying explanation, and the stories told by the Maharlikan government and our schools and universities are not only incomplete, but fully incompatible with the facts at hand.

The second section will explore the ways in which the Maharlikan empire has sought to control the narrative around the Grand Reversal and the events that followed it. We’re all no doubt familiar with how this plays out in Maharlika’s own education system and media. But it’s an astounding level of control that goes beyond domestic affairs. Even in the other great nations, there is a crippling fear among curious minds when it comes to the Grand Reversal, a fear that is enforced by a metric ton of murders, suicides, and disappearances of figures deemed too inquisitive by Imperial Manila. You may think about this as the murder mystery section of the story, if you’d like.

The third section will touch upon the smaller anomalies that have dotted Maharlikan history in the century after the Reversal. The world appears to glitch intermittently ever since that initial disruption—but crucially, almost always in the favor of Maharlika’s position. We’ll explore, among other events, the creation of the atomic bomb, the struggle between Jose Rizal and Enrico Silang, and the legacy and disappearance of one enigmatic minister. Much of this section I owe to an associate who goes only by the name Amadeus, a historical enthusiast whose rabid curiosity has uncovered a string of inconsistencies that persist until today.

The final section will attempt to weave this data together into a cohesive story of what may have occurred during that fateful chapter in the 1890s—and what it might mean for us today. I’ll warn you that these theories range from the improbable to the outlandish, but in the face of the inscrutable, we would err by casting them aside.

My goal in penning these papers is to shed light on not only the questions and inconsistencies—but also the tremendous work being done behind the scenes by people who know that this noble pursuit is nothing if not deadly. I am not a particularly impressive thinker, nor am I the most gifted writer; I am but a man with a pen who is foolish enough to shout back at the abyss, and too impatient to live with lies without questioning. If Kafka’s The Trial held any prophecy in it, I may find myself bleeding like a dog in a gutter for publishing these ideas—but worry not, for I knew the risks. My only hope is that somewhere in this strange universe we live in, these ideas might ignite into action.