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When Fred announced our selection for the conference, he was convinced that our participation at the conference would play a major role in changing the world.
"They don't know this yet," he said, "but they invited a team of rebels. With us being there the outcome is no longer predetermined, as it always had been for such conferences in the past. We will determine the outcome this time. The only thing that is predetermined is the truth, and that the truth will invalidate what is false."
He had laughed at the idea that the property rights of the oligarchy were to be protected by international law. He had laughed at, that this outcome was deemed to be already cast in stone. "Isn't the U.N. a lateral institution by design? That's what determines our commitment to its success. So what if it is officially pressed into the service of the vertical sewer. It is an honorable institution by design. If it is failing, it can be healed. By us defying the conference mandate that has no validity, we defy the perversion of the institution and enable its healing."
I told Fred that I was more than honor-bound to a dear love of mine to do this very thing, which I had promised her, a woman named Olive from Russia, now living in Austria, who had been the real dynamo behind the conference, and who also was fully aware that the U.N. itself would be healed by us turning it upside down. I said to Fred that we were honor bound to do this for the whole of humanity and civilization, to heal it.
Fred just laughed.
I told him that I felt that this could be done, even knowing that the U.N. structure hadn't changed openly. I felt that deep at its core the U.N. had remained a lateral structure, and that therefore it could be brought back to its original design and become more human, and likewise humanity itself. Perhaps the scene has already changed during the crisis," I added.
"A crisis doesn't cause progress," Fred interjected. "Chaos doesn't cause sanity. The scientific pioneers have to do this."
"That's going to be us," said Sylvia.
I nodded, though I felt that none of us had the slightest idea how the great battle was to be fought and won, or even how it should unfold. In fact, at the very beginning of the conference we played more the role of bystanders, the same role that we had played for the last decade since our previous great success in Venice.
Perhaps it was in the flow of honoring tradition that we were booked into the Caracas Holiday Inn that still existed as a private U.S. based enterprise. Moreover, this selection gave us a comfortable and secure feeling.
"Nothing can go wrong," said Sylvia on the plane, jokingly, that was taking us from our cold northern climate to the genial tropics. "No surprises, right?"
Was she ever mistaken! Murphy's law was in control all the way. It had been in control from the moment we left. Whatever could go wrong had gone wrong. The Caracas project turned out to be an episode full of surprises.
On our very first morning in Caracas, I woke to a stream of noise at five o'clock in the morning, a terrible noise. That's when the shocking reality set in that we were facing the freeway. Our hotel room window was at pavement level. We had spent twenty-four hours traveling to get there. The Coast Guard was supposed to have given us a lift to Norfolk in time for a connecting Air Force transport to Key West. But the Coast Guard had been delayed. After countless phone calls Tony convinced the Navy to send a floatplane that belonged to a carrier group 300-miles off the coast of Florida. From there, after a five-hour wait, we finally made it to Miami. In Miami we were put on the twice a week VIASA flight to Caracas. And even this flight was delayed for four hours because of a needed repair for which no personnel had been on hand.
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