A Letter On America's 250th Birthday from Haymitch Abernathy of The Hunger Games
A fan-fiction tribute imagining Haymitch's thoughts on America.
I’m Haymitch Abernathy and on my 16th birthday I was sentenced to death.
I know, some present.
Gifts in District 12, where I lived, are typically hand made. Homemade soup from Ma. Hair clips for girls. Perhaps a customized pin. Even “new” clothing sewn together from scraps, if you were to be lucky enough to find some. But after my death present, it’s confirmed, luck wants nothing to do with me.
I’ve seen luck. Every year during The Hunger Games, when you’re fighting 23 other children aged 12 to 18 for your life in an arena, there is only one word that describes being the last one alive: lucky.
I’ve hit the jackpot and was sentenced to the 50th games. Such an honor. These sentences are handed down from a place far away, usually never seen before by its victim: the Capital.
The Capital runs Panem, the country that I live in. It rules with an iron fist over twelve districts. Why? How? Those are painful questions to contemplate. Welcome to my world.
While pondering my inevitable death, I came across some books. Not in District 12 but in Plutarch Heavensbee’s library. He’s what they call a Gamemaker, those who run these death games. Obviously, I despise him. But he’s been surprising me.
I don’t like that.
My love back home, Lenore Dove, taught me to appreciate books. So, while waiting to die, when Plutarch smuggled books to me, I read them. He didn’t explain. Was it a trap? Probably. I was going to die anyway.
When preparing to fight for your life in an arena, book reading was never on my list. But with each book Plutarch gave me, I could not put them down. My sleeping suffered. But my mind opened: There was a time before Panem. Before President Snow.
It was called America.
Hundreds of years earlier, Panem was split into different parts. There were no Districts, but countries. Each had different rulers.
One country caught me attention. It had a ruler, just like President Snow. A “king” it was called. And just like President Snow, this king was brutal. Here’s the thing—the people did something about it.
What did they do? They wrote a letter declaring their separation and independence from him. Fifty-six people signed their name to it.
Gutsy, I’ll give them that.
To make sure what they were doing was crystal clear, they titled their letter, “The Declaration of Independence.” They said the king had no power over them and they would govern themselves. They banded together and called themselves the United States of America. Reasonable. If that weren’t enough, they listed all their grievances. The king did not appreciate such a thing. I do. Here’s part of that list:
Sure, the king had set the rules as to how laws were to be written, but this was all for show. He bent the rules. Constantly. The king passed only the laws he wanted. He also enforced them inconsistently. Punishments differed depending on whether or not you supported him. Sounds familiar.
The king invaded people’s homes. Seems unnecessary. Frightening—most definitely.
Local elections were allowed, so people got to vote. A novel idea. In reality, if those elected didn’t do what the king wanted, he’d install someone else. At least he didn’t poison them.
There was a court system. Interesting. A judge would listen to both sides and decide right and wrong. But the king picked the judges. You get the picture.
The king had Soldiers and Officers. There’s a certain genius to President Snow’s naming of the equivalent: Peacekeepers. Officers took the people’s food and stayed in their homes. Ma would not like that.
If enough people stopped listening to the king, he’d wage war to control them. Meantime, America was reliant on the king for all kinds of things such as foods and materials. Not a good position to be in. If one territory (called “colonies,” I think) stepped out of line, he’d isolate them. Alone, they were weak, just like Districts.
If that weren’t enough, the king brought in external forces to wage war on the people. Foreign ships attacked from the sea. Outside armies arrived. Much of this was funded by taxes from the very people that were attacked. Insidious.
The king persuaded locals to fight one another. Fear. Greed. Power. Control. All tools used for manipulation. Right up President Snow’s playbook.
Say anything against the king and you may disappear. Write it down and you’re signing your death sentence. That’s what the signers of the declaration did.
I could go on, but Peacekeepers will be here soon. The declaration mentions “Nature”, “God” and “Creator” but that goes beyond my understanding. Look into that, if you should so desire.
I don’t know how long this United States existed, but their government was formed to prevent tyranny. A novel concept. But they aren’t here anymore, now are they? To their credit, they had a good run of it. The last book that Plutarch gave me talked about their 250th birthday celebration.
I wish I could say something to them.
I’d tell them to hang on to what they got—each other. Be kind. Help. If you’re lucky, find love, like me and Lenore Dove. “All-fire” love.
Just a suggestion: Keep the government out of your lives. Don’t get distracted by those in power. Don’t listen to them just because of their titles. If you do, they’ll be in every part of your lives. Constantly watching and showing up in places, like the Hob in my town. Instead, listen to those closest to you. They matter the most.
Let’s be clear: President Snow doesn’t matter to me. And we don’t matter to him. What he cares about is the same thing that America’s king cared about: power. Sure, their titles may be different, but their actions and results show who they really are. “Snow lands on top,” is President Snow’s aphorism for a reason. What matters to him? Himself.
I really do have to go, but let me tell you this: Don’t forget about your Declaration of Independence. Read it. Hold onto it. Let it serve as a stark reminder of what tyranny really is. That’s my last piece of advice. Take it or leave it.
If these words are read by someone other than me, its happened long after my death. I’m only 16, but I now know what it means to be a man: Fight for what you believe in. Even with all my misgivings of Plutarch, I thank him.
I don’t dream much—most in the Districts don’t. But maybe one day, someone’s going to try and free Panem. If they do, and by some miracle I’m still around, I’ll gladly help.
On the days leading up to the 50th Hunger Games, I’m declaring my freedom from tyranny. This is what I’m signing my name to. For whatever that’s worth.
President Snow, you’re on notice.
Haymitch Abernathy
Note: This fictional post is by Charles Muselli and based on The Hunger Games novels and its characters and universe therein, as created by Suzanne Collins. Happy 250th birthday America. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”