På højden af den kolde krig blev total udryddelse betragtet som en mulighed. I så fald ville alle elskede husdyr som hunde og katte formodentlig dø, medmindre de indgår i den civile bunker med familien.
Kilde: Fallout Shelter Handbook af Chuck West, 1962.
Ved vi fra nogen kilder, om der var indkvarteret kæledyr i amerikanske, europæiske eller Sovjetunions nedfaldsrum?
Godt nok er der social kommentar i form af tegnefilm. St. Louis Post-Dispatch-tegneren Bill Mauldin tegnede en tegneserie af en hund med sit eget personlige nedfaldsrum, som blev genoptrykt i vid udstrækning.
På debatten om nedfaldsrum bemærkede Mauldin, ”Regeringen fremlagde planer for gør-det-selv-folk, og spekulanter blev rige på at sælge sektioner i familiestørrelse af afskårne afløbsrør til motorveje. Selv kæledyr blev sørget for i massekammeringsprogrammet. ” Fra Bill Mauldin, "Jeg har besluttet, at jeg vil have mit sæde tilbage" (New York: Harper and Row, 1965).
På husdyr: U.S. Department of Agriculture, Bunker-Type Fallout Shelter for Oksekvæg, Diverse publikation nr. 947 (Washington, D.C .: GPO, 1964). Denne regeringspublikation bemærker, at “dette hus giver billige og tilstrækkelige strålingsbeskyttelser til husdyr uden opsyn. Selvom huslyet primært er designet til kødkvæg, kan huslyet ændres til brug for får, svin eller fjerkræ. ”
Kilde- One Nation Underground: The Fallout Shelter in American Culture
Her i Storbritannien blev et netværk af bunkers bygget og vedligeholdt ind i 1990'erne - mest af MOD.
Desværre for os plebs var langt størstedelen af disse bunkers ikke beregnet til brug af offentligheden. I stedet var bunkerne beregnet til at blive brugt af lokalrådsmedlemmer, politichefer, regeringsministre, militærpersonale og selvfølgelig kongefamilien.
Mere imponerende var omkring 30 enorme regionale bunkers, der hver kunne skjule hundredvis af mennesker. Her var det håbet, at centrale parlamentsmedlemmer, politichefer og andre VIP'er ville være i stand til at trække sig tilbage for at begynde opgaven med at kæmpe tilbage og genopbygge landet. - Express.co.uk
Det er ikke at sige, at en række almindelige mennesker ville ikke har kunnet få adgang til disse regionale bunkers i tilfælde af angreb, havde den største plads til 6.000 mennesker, men langt de fleste af os ville have været overladt til os selv.
En række foldere, radioudsendelser og folkeoplysningsfilm blev cirkuleret i hele 1970'erne og 1980'erne kaldet "Beskyt og overlev". Disse instruerede offentligheden om, hvilke skridt der skulle tages, hvis Storbritannien var blevet angrebet.
Eksempler kan ses overalt på nettet med en simpel google -søgning, men rådet omfattede at bygge beskyttelsesrum med hynder og lukke vinduer. Skridt, der ville have givet dig noget at gøre, men ikke har givet nogen lang eller sandsynligvis kortsigtet beskyttelse.
Da det for det meste forventes, at den generelle befolkning stort set ville klare sig selv, indtil de regionale kontrolcentre kunne begynde at vedtage de forskellige planer (der sandsynligvis stadig er klassificeret), synes det usandsynligt, at der overhovedet blev taget højde for kæledyr.
Jeg vil genoptrykke denne artikel i toto herunder. Jeg er enig i hver eneste ting, som denne mand siger. Endvidere er jeg enig i hans konklusioner. Al immigration af muslimer til Europa skal stoppe. Vi bør hjælpe med at hjemsende muslimer de muslimer, der ønsker at vende tilbage til deres islamiske samfund. Vi bør kun tillade muslimer, der i det væsentlige har forladt deres religion og ikke længere er muslimer.
Vi har endnu ikke et lignende problem med muslimer i USA og Canada, som de gør på kontinentet, så jeg ser endnu ingen grund til at afbryde muslimsk immigration til USA eller Canada.
Hvilke europæiske lande bør standse al muslimsk immigration? Dem, der har alvorlige problemer med muslimer og kriminalitet og terrorisme: Danmark, Sverige, Norge, Frankrig, Storbritannien og Tyskland. Jeg kender ikke til andre europæiske lande, der har alvorlige problemer med muslimske immigranter og kriminalitet/terrorisme og antisocial adfærd. Hvis du kan tænke på andre lande, dette gælder for, så lad os vide det i kommentarerne.
Dette er et område, hvor venstrefløjen er gået stærkt og vanvittigt. De støtter masseindvandringen af uassimilerbare, asociale, kriminelle muslimer i Vesten uden rationel grund. Hvem protesterer i stedet for invasionen af denne reaktionære kultur til Vesten. Vores helt egne vestlige reaktionærer! Vi tabte bolden i kampen mod muslimsk reaktion, så nu er det op til vores egne reaktionære at bekæmpe deres muslimske reaktionære brødre. Latterlig!
Jeg føler ikke, at denne psykolog er reaktionær eller konservativ. Tværtimod virker han som en meget liberal af selv venstreorienteret kollega, at dømme efter sit sprog. Han gør ganske enkelt, hvad vi ikke længere gør til venstre: Fortæl det, som det er. Det er uforståeligt for mig, hvorfor vi til venstre støtter denne reaktionære kultur.
Hvorfor ville dette indvandringsforbud være så hårdt for de fattige muslimer? Lad dem blive i deres sandkasser. Hvis deres muslimske kultur virkelig er så fantastisk og vidunderlig, må deres muslimske samfund vel være bedre steder at bo end det fordærvede og degenererede Vesten, ikke? Eh? Er det ikke sådan? Hvorfor er det, muslimer? Åh muslimer! Se svaret i spejlet.
Danske integrationsproblemer med muslimer blev offentlige på verdensplan i 2006, da avisen Jyllands-Posten udgav 12 tegnefilm af profeten Mohammed. Præcis to år senere opstod der uroligheder igen på grund af genoptryk af Mohammed -tegningerne i alle større danske aviser.
I øjeblikket består 70% af fængselsbefolkningen i ungdomsfængslet i København af en ung mand med muslimsk arv. Er denne nylige vold og generelle voldelige tendens blandt muslimer udelukkende tilfældig, eller er der en direkte forbindelse?
I februar 2009 udgav den danske psykolog Nicolai Sennels en bog med titlen Blandt kriminelle muslimer. En psykologs oplevelse fra København. I sin bog deler Nicolai Sennels et psykologisk perspektiv af denne muslimske kultur, dets forhold til vrede, håndtering af følelser og dens religion. Han baserede sin forskning på hundredvis af timers terapi med 150 unge muslimer i ungdomsfængslet i København. EuropeNews interviewede forfatteren om hans bog og dens konsekvenser for integration af muslimer i Europa.
EuropeNews: Nicolai Sennels, hvordan fik du ideen til at skrive en bog om kriminelle muslimer i Danmark?
Nicolai Sennels: Jeg fik ideen i februar 2008 under en konference om integration i København, hvor jeg blev inviteret som den første og eneste psykolog, der arbejdede i et københavnsk ungdomsfængsel. Min tale på konferencen handlede om, at udlændinges kultur spiller en vigtig rolle vedrørende integration, kriminalitet og religiøs ekstremisme. Jeg understregede, at mennesker fra en muslimsk kultur har svært ved, hvis ikke umuligt, at skabe et vellykket liv i Danmark.
Denne erklæring blev mødt med stor modstand fra danske politikere og også min egen chef fra ungdomsfængslet. Jeg var ret overrasket, da jeg troede, at min pointe er indlysende: Nogle kulturer passer bedre ind i vestlige samfund end andre. Hele Europa kæmper i øjeblikket med at integrere muslimer, men dette forsøg ser ud til at være umuligt. Ifølge dansk politi og Danmarks Statistiske Bureau er mere end 70% af alle forbrydelser i den danske hovedstad begået af muslimer. Vores nationalbank offentliggjorde for nylig en rapport om, at en muslimsk udlænding i gennemsnit koster mere end 2 millioner danske kroner (300.000 euro) i føderal socialhjælp i gennemsnit forårsaget af den lave deltagelse i arbejdsstyrken. Oven i det er vi nødt til at tilføje mange flere former for social velfærd, som ledige kan modtage i vores land: udgifter i forbindelse med tolke, specialklasser i skolen - 64% af skolebørn med muslimske forældre kan ikke læse og skrive ordentligt dansk efter 10 år i en dansk skole - socialt arbejde, ekstra politi osv.
Min udtalelse resulterede i et juridisk påbud, en slags faglig straf, der sagde, at hvis jeg nogensinde gentager dette, kunne jeg blive fyret. Ifølge de københavnske myndigheder er det tilsyneladende tilladt at oplyse, at de alvorlige problemer blandt muslimer skyldes fattigdom, medier, politi, danskere, politikere osv. Men to ting er bestemt ikke tilladt: 1) diskussion af kulturens betydning og 2) vores udlændinge eget ansvar for deres integration i vores samfund. Desværre mangler mange meget magtfulde politikere en klar forståelse af kulturens psykologiske aspekt og den indflydelse, det har på integrationen.
EuropeNews: Hvad var reaktionerne i Danmark?
Sennels: Bogen blev modtaget med stor opmærksomhed, allerede inden bogen officielt blev udgivet den 24. februar 2009. Den var på forsiden af en af de største nationale aviser i Danmark, og jeg deltog i radio og tv i debatter med politikere og andre eksperter om emnet. Den første udgivelse af bogen var udsolgt efter tre uger.
Siden er der sket nogle store ændringer i dansk integrationspolitik, som synes at have været påvirket af bogen og den opmærksomhed, den fik. Fra mit personlige synspunkt viser den udbredte opmærksomhed, at mit udsagn er sandt: der er simpelthen et stort behov for en dybere forståelse af, hvordan muslimers kultur påvirker deres muligheder for integration.
Den meget berømte politiker, Naser Khader, der er muslim og forfatter til bestselleren "Ære og skam", skrev en anmeldelse af min bog og udtalte, at den skulle være "obligatorisk læsning for studerende, socialarbejdere og lærere." Jyllands-Posten, den modige avis, der først udgav Mohammed-tegningerne, kalder bogen "et originalt stykke pionerarbejde".
EuropeNews: Lad os se nærmere på bogen. Du taler om fire myter om integration. Den første vedrører forskellen mellem immigranternes kulturer.
Sennels: Det, jeg opdagede under mit arbejde i ungdomsfængslet, var, at mennesker af muslimsk arv har andre behov for socialt arbejde end danskere eller mennesker fra ikke-muslimske kulturer. Disse forskellige behov kræver mere opmærksomhed, og psykologer skal undersøge disse emner mere for at kunne skabe effektiv socialpolitik.
Jeg er helt enig med mine kritikere i, at personlige og sociale problemer kan føre til antisocial adfærd hos både vesterlændinge og muslimer. Der er dog stadig ekstremt uforholdsmæssig antisocial og antidemokratisk adfærd blandt muslimer. Det Danske Statistiske Bureau offentliggjorde en rapport (1 og 2) om, at muslimske lande indtager de første otte pladser på top 10-listen over kriminelles oprindelsesland. Danmark er nummer ni på denne liste.
EuropeNews: Så det betyder, at vi skal behandle muslimske og ikke-muslimske immigranter på en anden måde?
Sennels: Set fra et psykologisk og også humanistisk perspektiv er det meget klart, at mennesker fra forskellige kulturer har forskellige behov, når de har eller skaber problemer. Min egen erfaring er, at muslimer ikke forstår vores vestlige måde at forsøge at håndtere konflikter gennem dialog. De er opvokset i en kultur med meget klare ydre autoriteter og konsekvenser. Vestlig tradition, der bruger kompromis og indre refleksion som primære midler til at håndtere ydre og indre konflikter, ses som svag i den muslimske kultur. I høj grad forstår de simpelthen ikke denne blødere og mere humanistiske måde at håndtere sociale anliggender på. I forbindelse med socialt arbejde og politik betyder det, at de har brug for flere grænser og stærkere konsekvenser for at kunne justere deres adfærd.
EuropeNews: Det fører os direkte til den anden myte: det siges ofte, at immigranters kriminalitet skyldes sociale problemer, ikke af deres kulturelle baggrund. I din bog er du uenig og peger på muslimernes religion som en kilde til kriminalitet.
Sennels: Tja, jeg vil omformulere det som "muslimsk kultur" i stedet for "religion", fordi der er mange muslimer, der ikke ved, hvad der står i Koranen, og som ikke besøger moskeerne. Men de er stærkt påvirket på et kulturelt plan. Og der ser vi, at især vrede er meget mere accepteret i den muslimske kultur.
Et eksempel: I vestlig kultur og også i andre ikke-muslimske kulturer, som i Asien, ser du aggression og en pludselig eksplosion af vrede som noget, du vil fortryde bagefter, noget du skammer dig over. Det er helt modsat i den muslimske kultur. Hvis nogen træder på din ære - hvad jeg som psykolog vil kalde selvtillid - forventes det simpelthen at du viser aggressivitet og ofte også verbal eller fysisk hævn. Så aggression giver dig en lav status i vores kulturer, men en høj status i den muslimske kultur.
Der er imidlertid en anden og meget dybere årsag til den udbredte antisociale adfærd i muslimske samfund og deres stærke modvilje mod integration-nemlig den meget stærke identifikation, som muslimer har med at tilhøre den muslimske kultur.
Mit møde med den muslimske kultur har været et møde med en overordentlig stærk og meget stolt kultur. Dette er bestemt noget, der kan sikre en gammel kulturs overlevelse gennem skiftende tider - islam og den muslimske kultur er fremragende eksempler på dette. En stærk og stolt kultur gør desværre også kulturens medlemmer næsten ude af stand til at tilpasse sig andre værdier. I Tyskland ser kun 12% af deres 3,5 millioner muslimer sig selv som mere tyske end muslimer i Frankrig og Danmark, kun 14% af de muslimske befolkninger ser sig selv mere som fransk eller dansk end muslim. Forskning blandt muslimer, der bor i Danmark, viser også, at 50% af 1. og 2. generations immigranter er imod ytringsfriheden, og 11% vil gerne se den danske forfatning udvekslet med sharialoven (flere tal fra denne forskning kan findes i trykt nummer af avisen). Disse høje procenter er naturligvis skræmmende, men især foruroligende er det, at der ikke er meningsforskelle om dette emne blandt muslimer, der er født og opvokset i muslimske lande og deres børn, der er født og opvokset i det danske samfund. Når det kommer til identitet blandt muslimer, tæller nationalitet slet ikke i sammenligning med kultur og religion. Konsekvensen er en stærk og voksende modstand mod vestlig kultur og værdier i muslimske ghettoer i hele København og andre større europæiske byer.
EuropeNews: Som du allerede påpegede, har mange muslimer en stærk forbindelse til deres religiøse identitet. Den tredje myte, du demonterer i din bog, handler om procentdelen af ekstremister og fundamentalister blandt muslimer. Det formodes ofte, at denne procentdel er relativt lille. Hvad er din oplevelse?
Sennels: Folk håber, at de fleste muslimer er moderne og accepterer vestlige værdier. Min erfaring er anderledes, og det er blevet bevist af statistikkerne i Europa, som jeg lige citerede. I februar 2008 havde vi nogle dødelig alvorlige optøjer af unge muslimer i Danmark.
Disse optøjer var delvist en reaktion på det store fokus fra dansk politi på de voldsomt stigende kriminalitet i muslimske områder. Den anden årsag var genoptryk af Mohammed -tegningerne i alle danske aviser. Denne genoptryk var en solidarisk handling med tegneren Kurt Westergaard, hvis liv var og stadig er alvorligt truet.
I disse optøjer så vi muslimer, der ikke praktiserer den islamiske religion i deres daglige liv, stå op for deres kultur og religion på en meget aggressiv måde. København røg i en hel uge på grund af flere hundrede brande, og politi og brandmænd, der forsøgte at berolige situationen, blev også angrebet. En stor del af optøjerne endte i fængslet, hvor jeg arbejdede, og derfor havde jeg chancen for at tale med dem. Næsten alle var muslimer, og de hævdede alle, at det, de har gjort - at starte brande, angribe politiet osv. - var berettiget, da det danske samfund, gennem sit pres på integration og gennem genoptryk af Mohammed -tegnefilmene, har vist sig at være racistisk og imod islam og muslimsk kultur. De få danske mennesker blandt optøjerne var helt forskellige. Deres forklaring på deres handlinger var overvejende en søgning efter eventyr eller spænding.
EuropeNews: Den fjerde myte er, at fattigdom blandt immigranter fører til deres dårlige sociale situation. I din bog fortæller du os, at det modsatte er sandt.
Sennels: Du kan formulere dette vigtige spørgsmål sådan: får folk sociale problemer, fordi de er fattige, eller bliver de fattige, fordi de skaber sociale problemer? Min erfaring er, at det meget lave fokus på at støtte sine børn i skolen og på egen uddannelse og den manglende motivation til at skabe en professionel karriere er en afgørende faktor for fattigdommen, som mange muslimer oplever i både vores samfund og i muslimske lande. Oven i købet har en fjerdedel af alle unge mandlige muslimer i Danmark en straffeattest. Dårlige læsefærdigheder, en stærk modvilje mod myndigheder og en straffeattest gør det ganske enkelt meget svært for dig at få et godt betalende job. Det er antisocial adfærd, der gør dig fattig. Ikke omvendt.
Desværre ser mange politikere fattigdom som hovedårsagen til integrationsproblemer. Jeg synes, at dette er et frygteligt og endimensionelt syn på fattige mennesker og mennesker generelt. Tanken om, at folks adfærd afgøres af mængden af penge, de har på deres bankkonti hver måned, er en yderst begrænset opfattelse. Jeg ville selv, som psykolog, der er uddannet fra humanistisk afdeling på Københavns Universitet, sige, at mennesker har mange flere og stærkere faktorer i deres liv end penge, som påvirker deres adfærd og tankegang.
EuropeNews: Hvad er konklusionen på din forskning? Er integration af mennesker af muslimsk arv i vestlige samfund mulig?
Nicolai Sennels: Jeg vil sige, at optimisterne, de mennesker, der siger, at integration er mulig, bærer et meget stort ansvar. Der er en meget stor risiko for, at de sælger os håb, en drøm, der ikke har noget fundament i virkeligheden. Det betyder, at det er dem, der er ansvarlige for, at Europa ser bort fra og ikke tager fat på dets problemer, før det er for sent.
Der findes simpelthen ingen forskning i Europa, der understøtter optimisternes opfattelse. Tværtimod viser al den forskning, vi har om integration af muslimer i vestlige samfund, at vi fortsat går i den forkerte retning. Så jeg ved ikke, hvordan disse optimister kommer til deres konklusion. Måske er det et forgæves og barnligt håb om, at alt kommer til at gå godt, ligesom i eventyrene. Eller måske er det en pseudo-darwinistisk idé om, at alt vil udvikle sig i en positiv retning. En ting er sikkert: de baserer ikke deres domme på fakta.
Selvfølgelig er der undtagelser, men for størstedelen er integration i den nødvendige grad af muslimer ikke mulig. Kloge og medfølende mennesker arbejder i hele Europa med problemet, og de har brugt milliarder af euro på projektet, men problemerne vokser stadig.
Den psykologiske forklaring er faktisk enkel. Den muslimske og de vestlige kulturer er grundlæggende meget forskellige. Det betyder, at muslimer skal undergå meget store ændringer i deres identitet og værdier for at kunne acceptere værdierne i vestlige samfund. Ændring af grundstrukturer i ens personlighed er en meget krævende psykologisk og følelsesmæssig proces. Tilsyneladende føler meget få muslimer sig motiveret til at gøre det. Jeg kender kun nogle få, der klarede sig, men jeg ved også, at det var en lang og udmattende kamp på et indre plan for dem, og at de ofte betaler en høj personlig pris på det ydre plan, fordi deres muslimske venner og familier foragter og/eller fornægter dem for at forlade deres kultur.
EuropeNews: Men hvad skal vi gøre med de muslimer, der allerede er her?
Sennels: Jeg ser to muligheder. For det første bør vi straks stoppe al immigration af mennesker fra muslimske lande til Europa, indtil vi har bevist, at integration af muslimer er mulig.
For det andet bør vi hjælpe muslimer, der ikke ønsker eller ikke er i stand til at integrere sig i vores vestlige samfund, med at opbygge et nyt og meningsfuldt liv i et samfund, de forstår, og som forstår dem. Det betyder at hjælpe dem med at starte et nyt liv i et muslimsk land. Vi har faktisk de økonomiske midler til at gøre dette. Som jeg nævnte tidligere, beregnede Den Danske Nationalbank, at hver immigrant fra muslimske lande i gennemsnit koster 300.000 euro. Med disse penge kunne vi hjælpe disse mennesker med at leve et lykkeligt liv i et muslimsk land uden at skulle integreres i et samfund, de ikke forstår og derfor ikke kan acceptere. At have penge nok til at forsørge sin familie og bo i et land, hvor man føler sig hjemme med den omgivende kultur, ville være et stort skridt fremad i livskvaliteten. Og vi burde hjælpe dem med at opnå dette. Ikke kun den enkelte muslim, men også de europæiske samfund vil drage fordel. Muslimer, der immigrerer fra Europa til muslimske lande, vil fungere som ambassadører for mere frie og demokratiske samfund: på grund af deres erfaring fra at leve i et demokrati med reelle menneskerettigheder og deres viden om de sociale systemer i Europa, vil de tage meget vigtige ideer og værdier med dem. På denne måde kan de gøre, hvad de forhåbentlig de fleste drømmer om, dvs. hjælpe deres muslimske brødre og søstre i deres hjemlande ved at ændre de dårlige forhold, og som de oprindeligt flyttede fra.
Betydningen af genopbygningen af den maoistiske bevægelse i Pakistan
12. august 2010
En erklæring til den syvende nationale kongres i det pakistanske Mazdoor Kissan -parti i Pakistan
Fra generalsekretæren for revolutionært initiativ
Med vores næver hævet lige så højt som vores håb for fremtiden for
Pakistansk revolution, Revolutionært Initiativ, a
Marxistisk-leninistisk-maoistisk førpartidannelse i Canada, byder en rød hilsen til kammeraterne, der indkalder til den 7. marts i 2010 af det pakistanske Mazdoor Kissan-parti i Pakistan (Pakistan Workers and Peasants Party).
Vi forstår, at den 7. kongres vil markere en tilbagevenden af PMKP til partiets maoistiske oprindelse, som etableret af dets grundlæggere major Ishaq Mohammed, Afzal Bungish, Eric Sperian og Ghulam Nabi Kaloo i 1960'erne.
Det nye program for PMKP vil medføre et afgørende brud med de pseudo-alternativer, der i øjeblikket præsenteres for pakistans befolkning: fastholdelse af et tilbagestående semikolonialt, semi-feudalt samfund, der opretholdes af det pro-imperialistiske militære og civile bureaukrati, komprador borgerskab og feudal herskende elite kontra det lige så tilbagestående sociale program, som Taliban tilbyder
Pakistan. Ved at bryde med det revisionistiske venstrefløj, der ser til amerikansk imperialisme for oplysning gennem sin brutale "War on Terror", sætter PMKP en kurs for virkelig at samle bønderne, proletarerne og de progressive småborgerlige elementer til den anti-imperialistiske sag .
Endvidere har PMKP ved at afsløre Talibans program som fascisme i en anden form virkelig placeret sig i spidsen for alle de slidende masser i Pakistan.
Pakistans lakeier til imperialisterne og Taleban ser ud til kun at være uforsonlige modstridende kræfter, men i praksis er de to sider af den samme mønt. Verden vil aldrig glemme, at det var amerikansk imperialisme i løbet af den kolde krig, der hjalp med at skabe Taleban med den urokkelige støtte fra den pakistanske stat.
På grund af de pakistanske herskende klassers underkastelse af amerikansk imperialisme betalte langt de fleste en stejl pris for opretholdelsen af landets utrolige økonomiske tilbagestående tilstand. I dag er dette forhold
har kun medført nye lidelser, hvor amerikansk imperialisme regner ned med droneangreb på pakistanske civils hoveder.
Med en befolkning på 170 millioner mennesker er 48% af Pakistans arbejdsstyrke involveret i landbrugsproduktion. Omkring 55% af landets befolkning besidder slet ingen jord. Langt de fleste mennesker på landet bliver udnyttet af udlejere, usurer, købmænd og de religiøse institutioner.
Som PMKP's nye udkast til program lyder, er det det semikoloniale aspekt af Pakistans landskab, der fortsat er "hovedhindringen for frigivelse af produktive kræfter og vores lands fremskridt". Det er det, der gør de stærkt udnyttede og undertrykte bønder til "hovedkraften i folkets demokratiske revolution udført under proletariatets ledelse."
Det er disse forhold, der gør Pakistan moden til folkekrig. Hvis maoisterne ikke leder folkets kamp, vil de islamiske styrker fortsat sejre i deres reaktionære mobilisering af masserne i deres pseudo-opposition til amerikansk imperialisme.
De oversvømmelser, der i øjeblikket hærger Pakistan, som bringer stor elendighed og dislokation til så meget som 10% af befolkningen og kræver tusinder af menneskeliv, kan let dæmpes af et socialistisk samfund, der lægger alle samfundets produktive kræfter i arbejdernes hænder og bønder.
Det er vores håb, at oversvømmelserne ikke afsporer planerne for den 7. kongres, men hvis de gør det, ved vi, at det vil være på grund af det presserende behov for den revolutionære fortrop til at tjene og vejlede folket i en tid med store strabadser. Det er uundgåeligt, at imperialisterne og reaktionærerne i Pakistan vil bruge katastroferne til at styrke deres legitimitet og orden, ligesom imperialisterne og reaktionærerne har gjort i Haiti med det store jordskælv der i januar 2010.
Udover de store konsekvenser, som fremkomsten af den pakistanske maoistiske bevægelse vil få på hjemmemarkedet, ville den pakistanske revolution også påvirke historiske forandringer på regionalt og globalt plan.
Regionalt ville revolutionen i Pakistan føre det revolutionære tidevand, der fejer Sydasien dybere ind i den muslimske verden, og bryde de gejstlige fascisters monopol i kampen mod imperialismen, som de ikke grundlæggende modsætter sig og kun gør i udseende kun for deres eget opportunistiske og selvforstærkende formål.
På verdensplan ville fremkomsten af et revolutionært kommunistisk tidevand i Pakistan slå et slag mod det ideologiske grundlag for den imperialistiske 'krig mod terror'. I de vestlige imperialistiske lande bliver muslimer gjort til syndebuk for at aflede resten af masserne fra de sande geopolitiske og økonomiske interesser for imperialistens NATO-blok: at plyndre verden, udnytte de slidende masser og få overhånd i inter- imperialistisk konkurrence med de andre imperialister og regionale geopolitiske rivaler, især Rusland og Kina.
Masserne i Vesten afpresses for at støtte den imperialistiske angrebskrig i Afghanistan gennem spøgelsen efter Taleban -styre. Men vi ved, at krigen mod Taleban, en krig mod indenlandske reaktionærer og udbyttende klasser, kun kan være klassekrig for de slidende masser, ikke imperialisterne. Verden blev mindet om dette den 1. maj 2010, da PMKP samledes og marcherede i North-West Frontier Province for at støtte revolutionen i Nepal.
Vi ser frem til, kammerater, til de store bedrifter, som Pakistans folk vil opnå under ledelse af ægte kommunister styret af marxisme-leninisme-maoisme, og vi vil vise masserne i vores land, at Pakistans folk er vores venner og kammerater , og at de stræber efter ægte demokrati, socialisme og kommunisme, ligesom vi selv.
Hvis PMKP sammen med vores kammerater fra Shola Jawid (kommunistpartiets maoist i Afghanistan) og Sarbederan (kommunistpartiet i Iran-maoist) med succes organiserer og vækker masserne til nationaldemokratisk revolution ved hjælp af anti-imperialistiske folkekrige i Central og Sydasien, ægte kommunister over hele verden vil samle sig til din sag, lære vigtige erfaringer fra din kamp og promovere dem blandt proletarerne i deres hjemlande.
Hvis PMKP holder fast i marxismen-leninismen-maoismen efter konventet på den 7. nationale kongres og dybt rykker revisionismen i de sidste årtier og dristigt anvender MLM på Pakistans vilkår, så venter en herlig fremtid for pakistans folk og Syd- og Centralasien. Imperialismens æra er en periode med verdens proletariske revolution. I denne fase imperialismens strategiske tilbagegang, fasen af den anden store krise i kapitalistisk imperialisme, der har plaget verden siden begyndelsen af 1970'erne, forbedres betingelserne for den proletariske revolution ubønhørligt.
Endelig ville dette budskab om solidaritet ikke være fuldstændigt, uden at vores egen organisation klart identificerede canadisk imperialisme som en førende fjende af verdens mennesker, herunder befolkningen i dit land. En førende spiller i besættelsen af Afghanistan og NATO er canadisk imperialisme, hvis grundlag er canadisk monopolfinansieringskapital. Efterhånden som den imperialistiske krig i Afghanistan mere og mere vælter ind i dit land, uddybes din forbindelse til det canadiske proletariats revolutionære kamp mere og mere.
Den proletariske ungdom, der kun sendes til Afghanistan for at vende tilbage til Canada i kropsposer, er også ofre for imperialistisk krig, men de skal være fordrevet fra Afghanistan på samme måde. Den ødelæggende krig i Afghanistan danner grundlag for revolutionær agitation blandt soldaterne, ikke mindre end Korea -krigen og Vietnamkrigen radikaliserede hele generationer af unge og soldater i Vesten.
Lad os sammen fremskynde bevægelsen mod socialisme og kommunisme på verdensplan, inden imperialisterne trækker os videre ind i en helvedes krigsverden, katastrofer, der kan afværges, økologisk katastrofe og den daglige slibende udnyttelse og undertrykkelse af kapitalismen.
Rød hilsen til PMKP for at have taget marxismen-leninismens- maoismenes banner op!
Videre med folkekrigen i Pakistan!
Længe leve den internationale proletariske revolution fra Canada til Pakistan./> Forfatter Robert Lindsay Udgivet den 16. august 2010 Kategorier Afghanistan, Amerika, Asien, Asien, Canada, Kapitalisme, Kina, Kold krig, Økonomi, Eurasien, Fascisme, Geopolitik, Hinduisme, Historie, Imperialisme, Indien, Indonesien, Islam, Venstre , Maoism, Marxism, Modern, Mother Nature, Nepal, North America, Pakistan, Political Science, Politics, Radical Islam, Regional, Religion, Revolution, Russia, SE Asia, SE Asian, Socialism, South Asia, Terrorism, US Politics, US War in Afghanistan, Vietnam War, War, Weather 7 Comments on The Significance of the Refoundation of the Maoist Movement in Pakistan
A nice, short analysis of the Indian independence movement, written by Kumar Sarkar, the nom de guerre of an Indian Maoist revolutionary. Most Indian and Nepalese revolutionaries use noms de guerre due to state repression in their homelands. This is a good piece, nice and short, well-written by a smart guy, from a Marxist perspective, that you might enjoy if you are interested in the subject.
I believe that India was deindustrialized in the 18th – early 19th centuries. Following that, colonialism succeeded in preventing the growth of a national bourgeoisie capable of leading a democratic revolution and industrialization. Emerging bourgeois forces were not independent, and they compromised with Brahminic ‘feudalism’ instead of smashing it, as it happened in Europe during the ‘classical’ bourgeois democratic revolution.
The product was a predominantly comprador bourgeoisie, often still with feudal roots and a strange mixture of bourgeois-Brahminic feudal ideology. The non-comprador elements never gained any real strength.
Thus, the democratic revolution failed to take place, probably nipped in the bud that was once about to show itself, in Bengal. Casteism, discrimination against Muslims, which is an extension of casteism, Brahminic land relations and social order remained virtually intact.
The so-called nationalist movement that started in 1905 in Bengal against its partition was a deformed phenomenon from the beginning, without the support of the Muslims, and in fact often directed against them. This was repeated all over the sub-continent till 1947 with its abortive end and partition of India.
The role of Nehru, Krishna Menon, Subhas Chandra Bose, etc. cannot be understood with the European model of Marxism. The political philosophy of Bose and that of the so-called ‘socialist group’ within the Congress have not been researched yet. Nehru’s individual pro-Marxist attitude ended after his association with Gandhi. The class base of these people remains to be investigated and can only be understood in the background described above./>Author Robert Lindsay Posted on April 24, 2010 Categories Anti-colonialism, Asia, Colonialism, Guest Posts, India, Left, Maoism, Marxism, Nationalism, Regional, Revolution, South Asia Leave a comment on “The Indian Independence Movement,” by Kumar Sarkar
Did civilian cold war bunkers plan for inclusion of family pets? - Historie
Ram and Arn watched as the small, almost featureless blob lanked up to the bar, which was level with it's chest. It was barely 1.9 meters tall. Proportionally, it's limbs were quite thin as well, the thickest parts of it's arms being barely a third the diameter of its chest.
Arn was famous in these parts, and every time a newbie walked into his bar, he felt it was his duty to provide an exhibition to the other regulars. He was known throughout the quadrant as the toughest barroom brawler for a thousand light years in every direction, and he enjoyed the benefits of that title. It had afforded him quite the lifestyle. Having such an individual take up residence in your bar meant fewer fights broke out, lest they attract the attention of the seasoned brawler. He drank for free, and even got paid to patronize particular bars.
This bar was especially attractive to those types, so a famous brawler was more important than in most others. Situated in the expanse between two Galactic arms, the Manifold was the only bar on the only refuelling station for 50 LY, and a convenient rest stop right in the middle of the 100 LY trade route.
Granted, this particular trade route wasn't nearly as popular as others, but it was considerably faster than the (600 LY) long way around. But the vast emptiness generally was hard to navigate and, for quite a few species, mentally disturbing. This also made it a prime target for piracy.
As a result, the merchants who frequented these routes could only afford (or convince) the truly desperate to man their transports.
It's hard to be desperate in an Intergalactic society. You have to be a special kind of asshole to be desperate enough to need to work an Expanse trade route.
The particular kind of asshole in question was the violent kind. People steal because they're lacking in life, most societies figure out by the time they become interstellar that most sapients would rather work than steal. But violence, that proclivity is more primal.
That's what Arn and Ram were. Primal. Primates, in fact. Arn eyeballed the human as it ordered a drink, and elbowed Ram. "You ever seen a human 'round here?"
Ram sipped his drink, "nope."
Arn grinned, "always heard they were crazy. But you know what they say, the smaller the monkey, the louder they howl".
Ram just shrugged, "why don't you go find out."
Arn chuckled and rolled out of his chair, standing at his full 2.5 meters and slipping on his knuckle boots. His arms were long, even for a Primate, being nearly 2 meters in length on their own, and nearly as thick as the human.
As he meandered over, he grabbed onto the bar with one hand and lifted himself into a stool next to the human, removing his knuckle boots and hanging them on the hook under the bar.
"So you're a human, huh?" Arn said, tapping the bar indicating he wanted a fresh glass of his usual.
The human seemed a bit startled that someone was talking to him, "Huh? Oh yeah. & quot
"Never seen a human way out here. What brings you around?"
"Oh, just wanted to see the galaxy. Can't really do that running freight for human companies, and the only ones willing to employ my kind are in these kinds of places, I guess."
Arn chuckled, a low, quiet sort of "oooh, ooh" sound. "Well, only the truly desperate end up way out here."
"Meh, it's kind of nice," he shrugged, then did a standing jump up and over the stool, landing squarely on it's seat, "the gravity's a bit of an issue, though."
Arn was confused for a second, but shook it off. "Too high?"
"Nah, vej too low. 2.5 m? That's like a quarter of what it is back on Earth."
For the first time, Arn actually looked at the human. Really examined him. The standard jumpsuit worn by hairless species was very revealing, and in his years as a brawler he learned to size up his opponents.
Not only was his musculature clearly visible through the material, but even his vasculature in some places. The human's knuckles were almost as callused as his own, the skin on his forearms was thick, scarred and taut, clearly revealing every artery and muscle as he reached for his glass. This is going to be interesting, Arn thought to himself.
"Given that you're new out here, I take it you don't really know much about galactic etiquette in these kinds of establishments?"
"Oh, I've heard stories, but for the most part, yeah. Not really sure. The biggest guy challenges newcomers, right?"
The human smiled and rubbed the short, bristly hair on the top of it's head.
Arn dropped his jovial tone and adopted a serious one. "That is the way we do things out here. You must understand, we have to discourage unruly behavior."
"I'm guessing that area over there isn't a dance floor, then." The human looked over to the shallow pit in the center of the large room.
Arn chuckled at the attempt to derail the inevitable. "I understand, you've probably heard of me as well. Unfortunately there's no escaping this, especially since you're the first human we've had out in this sector. My professional reputation is on the line, I have to make an example of you for other humans to understand how to behave."
The human just sighed and slid out of his stool, "alright, let's make this quick."
Arn followed suit, after slipping on his knuckle boots, slowly making his way over to the informal ring with an exaggerated swagger. This drew people's attention. It had been a while since they'd seen a fight, given that Arn's reputation kept the rabble in check. Even though he hadn't fought in a while, he still kept in good shape, training daily.
The human looked well trained as well. He was almost excited, but knew how these things would turn out. Especially given the human's small stature.
As he stepped into the ring, the human was stretching out his shoulders and legs. Good idea, thought Arn, I've had quite a few drinks. It'll be good to get the blood pumping. He tossed knuckle boots to the side of the ring and began stretching.
After a few rotations of his shoulders, a nice stretching of his fingers and forearms, Arn moved to the center of the ring. The human followed suit. "So is there a bell or signal or something?"
He reached forward with one of his massive, powerful hands and gripped the humans shoulder, looking to lift him up and slam him down to establish dominance right away.
But he didn't, or rather, couldn't.
The human was dense. He must have weighed just as much, maybe even more, than Arn. After failing to lift the human, he went to use two arms, but didn't have the chance.
Before he could even lift his knuckles from the ground, a hand shot up and wrapped a third of the way around Arns wrist and squeezed. Hard.
A crackling sound indicated that the bone had snapped. The humans grip was like a pneumatic vice. Even as the sound of his breaking forearm was still reverberating in the silent room, the human twisted around and flung the 2.5 meter tall gorilla man up and over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground, following it up with a single lightning-fast punch to the chin.
The next thing Arn knew, he was lying on a couch in the VIP lounge with Ram and the human standing over him, conversing about something Arn couldn't quite make out. He let out a groan.
"Oh shit, are you ok, man?" The human stepped over to him. Ram tried, in vain, to hold the human back, simply grabbing on to his upper arm and getting dragged forward.
"It's alright, I was a Corpsman in the Nav- a Medical specialist in the Human military, I know medicine."
Ram just shrugged and gestured to Arn.
The human held up a finger, "follow my finger with your eyes."
Arn followed the instruction, but had to ask, "How?"
"How are you so heavy? How did you knock me out in one blow? How are you this strong, even though you're so small?"
The human continued to work as Arn spoke, checking the back of his head, examining his wrist and so on.
"oh, uh, well I guess that's more to do with my homeworld. Back on my planet, gravity is about 9.8 m. I guess we just have to- hey Ram, do you guys have a first aid kit around here?- it, uh, we have to be like this just to withstand the gravity. Plus, we're kinda Apex-Apex Predators."
"Apex-Apex Predators?" Arn said hoarsely, not sure he understood.
"Uh, yeah, we hunt other Apex Predators. Or we used to. They're mostly extinct now. Y'know, from the hunting."
Arn's eyes began to water. At times, Arn had thought of himself as an Apex Predator. The top of the galactic food chain. And there was an entire arter of sentients that evolved to hunt Apex Predators.
He hadn't felt fear in a long, long time. He was supremely confident in his strength, durability and combat prowess. Having that confidence shattered by such a small being, so publicly, was overwhelming. It welled up in his chest, flooded his throat and overflowed from his eyes, tears trickling down his face. He couldn't speak, but was mouthing words.
"Oh, hey, heeey, you're alright. I'll get you patched up in- thanks Ram," he said as Ram passed him the first aid kit, which seemed comically oversized in the Humans deceptively small hands, "-in no time, alright?"
Arn could only stare in awe as the monster administered expert, albeit a little fast and sloppy, medical care.
"Alrighty then. You'll be ok, Arn. Just a few bumps and a minor fracture, sorry about that by the way, never fought an alien before. You're all patched up and good to go."
Arn couldn't even speak, his face twisted in terror, his throat too dry to produce sound. He just held his palms up to the human, staring down a the floor. His entire career flashed through his mind. He had done this to so many other beings. He had never even imagined that it could happen to him, let alone by someone that appeared so weak at first glance.
When he looked up, the human seemed worried. "Is he going to be alright? I'm pretty sure I took care of everything."
(Ch.7) A Cat That Really Was Gone- An SSB story
He turns over in his top bunk, pillow covering his ears. It was late out, too late. If he didn’t catch some shut-eye, he would be late for his squad meeting tomorrow.
And 500’s attempts to talk to him weren’t helping.
He finally relented. If he answered, maybe the kid would finally piss off.
“What?” He said through clenched teeth.
“I… uh… well, I saw we were on the same team, and I just wanted to say I haven’t forgotten what you did for me. Thanks, I guess.”
496 felt a little bad at lashing out to the poor kid. He was trying his best, and 496 had watched over him a bit when they first came here. 500 was not a prime example of a youthful teenager: in runs, 496 would have to lag behind and help the wheezing 500 to make the given time for the run. No one had failed it, but 500 sure had gotten very, very close.
On weapons inspections, 500 tended to be more black and blue than he was clear skin. It was only when 496 snuck to his station to fix the horribly maintained gun that 500 squeaked by.
The only thing that 500 could hold his own on was irregular warfare and tactics. The kid was a natural, and the instructor tended to use him to humiliate the other recruits when they were unable to perform to expectation. He was so good, they allowed him to use his glasses during lessons. He just had to hide them anytime else, which partially explains why he was so bad at weapons.
496, realizing he would just have to get this over with before he could rest, gave a grunt in response to the voice coming from the lower bunk.
“Thanks for helping me hide my glasses. The instructor said to not let anybody see them, ‘cause they’d do somethin’ real bad if they find out.”
496 just laid in the bunk, listening to his acquaintance ramble on.
“I was thinkin’ bout em this morning, actually. And… and I started to remember something. Like, who gave them to me.”
No one in the camp remembered what happened to them before they were in the cold back of a truck. Most of them couldn’t even remember if they had parents or not. Whether it was from traumatic events or just age, it was a worrying trend to 496. They had just woken up here and now they were training to be soldiers for the mighty Soviet Union. At least, that’s what they said in the classes they were in.
500 got a bit more sheepish.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s stupid…”
496 was about to inquire more, but soon realized he would rather sleep than deal with the lucid dreams of 500 right now. He adjusted to look at the claustrophobia- inducing ceiling, and closed his eyes again.
“When we were doing those maps with artillery placements and all that, I swear I was back somewhere. Like, a way nicer lookin’ classroom. I was readin’ some map that didn’t have any troop formations on it, just some capitals, and everything is real blurry like. But then, this lady walks up to me and gives me the pair. All the sudden, I can see!” 500’s hushed tone picks up a tad.
“And I remember somethin’. She didn’t have a number for her title. She had this big long word, and it was Elizabeth.”
496 sat in consideration. A real name? Det er mærkeligt. The only people that had real names were the ones in the books they studied.
“Do you have any items you have that you feel strangely attached to? That’s what it was like with my glasses, and when I thought real long and hard about it, it was in my head like this fuzzy picture. Couldn’t really grab it, it was so strange.”
496 dismissed the tired ramblings of what he really doubted could be called a friend. A pity person? He really didn’t know what to call 500. He thought a little about what the kid had said. An object I’m attached to…
He contemplated for a moment, and reached into his shirt to pull out a necklace. He really didn’t know what it was. It was in the shape of an addition symbol, he knew that much.
496 had noticed it when doing his runs, the cold metal freezing his collarbone. He had thought of just throwing it away or tossing it to the snow, but something in the back of his head kept telling him no. Was that like 500’s glasses?
496 rubbed the icon. Doing that calmed him down, sometimes. He also had a harmonica he had found in his pants before the clothes he came in were burned. He knew what that was. He played it sometimes too, when no one was there in the barracks. He didn’t think it was illegal to do, but he played it safe, just in case.
He didn’t know how exactly he knew to play the strange little metal box, only that when he put his lips on they started to guide themselves to the little holes in quick succession. Melodies he did not recognize flitted through the air, and with a couple weeks of playing he considered himself pretty proficient. He really had no one to compare to, so he just estimated he might be decent. Måske.
He waited a bit, and 500 spoke no more. Endelig. He shifted to the size, and let his breathing calm down. He had always been good at just going to sleep, a skill he subconsciously picked up during live fire drills, and tonight was no different.
Grumbles. 496 waved his hand, turning around and pulling the blanket up farther.
Why the hell was 500 so dead set on being annoying?
“Hey 496, I think we are doing that group thing in a couple minutes…”
500 fell over, a blur of movement in front of him throwing him off balance from the lower part of the bunk bed.
496 was throwing everything on in a hurry, his boots messily tied and his belt still being fastened as he ran out from the bunks. He shrugged off the cold as he made his way to the classrooms.
Last night, the letters had been delivered with their designation. He supposed it made sense: the groups of ten were literally the numbers of ten, grouping him with 401 and upwards. They were group 50, and 496 hoped that order did not really matter that much.
He had gotten to his assigned room number until he remembered 500.
The kid had stayed back to tell him the time, and he bowled him over in thanks! 500 couldn’t move worth a damn, and 496 debated going back until he saw a very unexpected sight.
“Don’t… worry… I… have been… working on my. running…”
The boy collapsed against 496, who held him up without much effort.
“Thanks,” the red cheeked kid sputtered out, coughing as he bent over to his knees.
“Sure, dude. Don’t puke on me.”
496 grabbed 500’s arm by the elbow and pulled him into the classroom. It would suck if they were late on a technicality. Inside, cadets in a small gaggle all glanced at the newcomers. An imposing figure stood with arms crossed in the corner, sporting dark combat gear and weird round mask with two holes. A ballistic face mask, if 496 remembered correctly. That must be their Instructor.
496 did a quick headcount as they joined the wordless gathering of cadets. One, two, three… seven, he counted. Plus him and 500, that meant there should only be one left.
496 jolted, the tall menacing figure beside him now just inches away. When had that happened? 496 looked down at his boots, and saw that in his haste they were not securely tied. One had come undone in his mad dash to make it in time.
496 braced, knowing the likely punishment. It never came.
“I won’t bust your ass about it this time, 496. Just know if it happens again, I won’t hesitate in breaking something.”
The inspector then kind of just… froze. He looked up at the corner of the room, where 496 realized there was a camera. The instructor touched his ear, and then nodded.
“Besides,” the instructor addressed 496 after snapping out of his trance. He glanced down at a watch, “someone’s about to have a lot worse of a first day.”
All cadets in the room formed a line, stiff and at the ready.
“You will be soldiers, make no mistake. Warfare is your life. And there is no warfare without death.”
The instructor stood by the door to the room.
Each student stood at rigid attention, knowing the consequences of breaking formation.
The door creaked, and all eyes moved to the shaved head poking in.
It was the last nervous recruit, seeing if he truly had been late.
His head was still peering into the door when it closed.
The metal collided, the cadet’s skull caught in between the door and the catch. A sickening crunch came to the ears of all the cadets, watching the scene unfold.
The boy collapsed, gasping and struggling to push himself back up from his stomach.
The Instructor grabbed the cadet by the back of his shirt, and pulled him back into the door.
Crack. Crack. Crack. The metal door slammed again and again ferociously, and after a dozen more swings, blood and brain matter lapped at the edges of the now coated door frame.
He dropped the cadet, the shaved head impacting with a final slam. His head had two large indents, both leaking internals at an alarming rate.
All the cadets recoiled, a few throwing up in their mouths.
He gave a final kick to the corpse.
“An entire platoon can die within fourteen seconds. Battles are won or lost in times less than that.”
He crossed his arms again, surveying the varying reactions.
“496, you had the best reaction here. Didn’t even flinch. Good on you. Your reward is taking care of the body.”
Didn’t seem like a reward to him.
“Rest of you, clean up this shit.”
His eyes fell to the remnants of brain and blood among other liquids splattered on the door.
“Mop and water are in the janitor’s closet.”
Nevermind. He definitely got the better deal.
She had been watching from the Control Room, eager to please the Professor and have high attendance rates. Hopefully no students would start off on the wrong foot. She gave a sigh of frustration as the clock struck the hour, and more than a few instructors reported missing cadets.
She reached to the mic, addressing all the personnel.
“Any tardy cadets should be punished severely. Let’s nip bad behaviour in the bud, gentlemen.”
She waited a moment, each guard staring at the cameras to give a sign of affirmation.
She received a radio call back.
“Doctor, this is the second phase of the project and we still have the full initial sample. Should we elevate from Tough Love Protocol?”
She hesitated, not knowing what that was.
Katastrofe undgået. She didn’t want to look like a dumb newbie.
Static came back, with another voice patching through.
“Ma’am, are you confirming orders for Rules of Nature?”
Lada really should have studied that protocol book they gave her. C’mon, the thing was like a foot thick!
Each instructor seemed to shift a little on her live feed. A few shuffled uncomfortably, some checked their sidearms. Each one turned their radios on, repeating the question.
“Ma’am, confirming orders for Rules of Nature protocol.”
She had to answer all of them individually, giving the order to switch to that ‘Rules of Nature’ policy. Why did each one need orders for it?
Lada stood in the middle of the aisle, holding a clipboard and pen. She looked around the room, seeing eyes glance at her every now and then from the countless computer desks facing the large display monitors. Why was everyone being so weird?
“Hey, you there,” she pushed her finger to the nearest employee at the many computers.
“Read back to me the Rules of Nature protocol.”
The desk jockey fumbled a bit, scattering a few papers on his binder he had been using. He threw the binder off in frustration, finding the paper he had been looking for.
He cleared his throat, giving nervous little glances at her every so often.
“The R-rules of N-nature protocol dictates that, uh, that-”
The employee loosens his tie, his neck glistening with sweat.
“Punishment for any infractions deemed w-worthy of extreme disciplining in the Tough Love protocol is instead to be elevated to elimination of the culprits via lethal methods, said m-methods being up to the, the, uh, d-discretion of the acting instructor.”
Lada hated bureaucratic diction, always had. She had faced enough of its bullshit in Vympel, as a geneticist, and she had certainly had enough of it here.
Lada heard lethal, and that was enough to start the bells and whistles in her head.
“Well, ma’am, you have just authorized every instructor to use it at their own discretion. I believe you will see r-results soon.”
She was sweating now, and her clipboard was in a death grip. She started clicking her pen. Odd, she had never done that before.
She turned back to the monitor.
There was a kid on camera, facing down the barrel of a Makarov.
All she could do was watch.
She had almost vomited. Her stomach hurt so much, like she’d been beaten within an inch of her life.
Those children. Those poor kids.
She couldn’t think. All she could see were those kid’s faces. Everything became so distant, like she was in her own little world. Lada had killed people. This was a fact she couldn’t get around. People had died by her hand.
But the keyword was people. Fully functioning adults, enough to have lived their lives. Made mistakes, loved, and whatever sins they had seen through at the time.
These were kids. Teenagers. Not a single one looked a day above fifteen. Oh God, the feeling came back. She dove to her personal bathroom, emptying her stomach into the toilet. She looked down into the green water, her spit dripping down into the bowl.
She gave a groan, tears beginning to follow into her vomit. Snot dripped down after a while, falling from her slumped form using the toilet for support.
She had been there for so long. Just thinking. She looked at the mirror, gathering herself to look at least somewhat presentable. Her hair was a mess, and tears made her cheeks absolutely red. It was very apparent she had been crying.
She shot up, coughing as she smelled her horrible breath.
“Do not let it destroy you, Doctor.”
Professor Sauer was somehow in her room, staring from the entrance to the washroom.
She ignored him after glimpsing his appearance and sat on the floor, her head pointed up at the ceiling.
She covered her face with her hands, doing a poor attempt at hiding her already re-appearing tears.
“They were fucking kids. And I gave the order.”
She moaned, and let out a half sob.
She bowed her head. She really needed a drink right about now.
The form of the Professor leaned down.
“I told you to simply cull the herd, Miss Khristina. Five hundred is a lot to feed, no doubt some of those mouths being dead weight.”
He rubbed the top of his cane and tapped her arm with it.
“You said to punish any who did not make the time quota for the groups. An easy task, especially since they have been trained for almost a decade in that sort of thing. Punctuality should have been the first thing that was ingrained in those heads of theirs.”
“You did your job, Doctor, and your duty. You alerted them of the repercussions, and still they tempted fate. Now, while the punishment was a bit more extreme than what they are used to, it does not excuse them.”
Lada looked at him and screamed.
“I thought harsh punishment meant to make them clean a latrine or run laps, not… not fucking execute them!”
He came face to face with Lada, squatting to her level. His voice was now full of disdain.
“They aren’t kids, Khristina. They are tools. Their deaths are on their heads and the heads of their instructors who simply dealt out punishment as seen fit.”
“We are onto the second stage, Doctor. You did good. Already we are down to 433 of our original five hundred.”
“These tools must be exposed to death, Doctor. It is their purpose. Better to do it sooner rather than later. This event will also sort out the mentally weak, something that is just as important.”
The Professor stood up and fixed his slight disheveled clothing.
“Duty comes first, Doctor. You would do well to remember this.”
496 sat outside the barracks, where his squad was sleeping. He hoped. It wasn’t a crime to be outside barracks right now, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t exactly tolerated. He had been sitting there for a while, letting the wind nip at his rosey cheeks and snow dance on his nose.
He gave a final visual sweep before withdrawing the harmonica from his pocket. He gave a few test blows, even though the metal was frigid. He could deal with it. He began a new song, one he had only played a few times before. He hadn’t really called them anything, he just remembered the melodies.
Forgetting the troubles of watching a kid get his head bashed in, he let the music take him away.
Lada walked through the moonlit compound. God, she still felt sick. She needed something to calm her down. It was her duty.
She thought maybe walking around the above ground compound would help her. Get the blood flowing. The cold was doing the opposite, despite her layers of protection against the elements. She nodded at a few of the armed men, whom she still thought were creepy.
The wind started to get really noisy. She was about to head back to her room when she realized the wind was actually whistling.
The sound was towards one of the maintenance buildings. It was a small thing, a concrete shed with wires running in and out of the block.
She walked closer, feet sinking in the snow. She saw a flickering light as she rounded the edge of the shack.
The young bearded man quickly tried to hide the light.
“Ah! Miss, uh, Khristina! Hello! What brings you out here on such a fine night?”
She gave him a suspicious look.
“This night sucks ass, Yuri. What are you doing out here?”
“I am, er, checking the generator for gas!”
Lada turned her head to see a yellow electric sign.
“This is the electrics station, Yuri.”
Yuri gave a sigh of defeat, and revealed a lit cigarette.
“I’m just a mechanic who knows too much for his own good, Doctor. I know shit goes down in the underground facility, but I just get paid to make sure everyone doesn’t explode. Most of the time I spend down there is fixing their pipes and the main systems.”
“I come out here on shitty nights like this. Everyone is sleeping or inside. I smoke whatever I have, cigar or cigarette. Calms me down.”
She leaned on the shed next to him.
He gave a look of positive surprise.
“Oh my, Doctor. Breaking the rules, are we?”
He stifled a chuckle before rustling in his coat pockets.
“You are lucky we are friends, lady. I have one left.”
He took out an identical stick, lighting it before passing it to Lada. Lada was never a serious smoker, but she did it socially. Which she realized, was actually quite often. She pressed her lips on the end, taking a long drag.
She released a cloud of smoke with Yuri.
“I had a really shitty first day on the job.”
“Yeah? What did the evil scientist man have you do, kill children?”
Yuri bumped her with his arm, a grin on his face. Lada just stared at the snow. Yuri’s grin faded as he looked at the unmoving Lada.
They sat for a bit, the awkward air still hanging low.
Lada asked him another question.
He puffed more, giving her a sideways glance.
“There is music, Doctor. If you listen closely, you can hear it.”
She went silent, ears twitching in anticipation.
And she heard it. A somber song, like a mourning widow in the crisp night air. It was Katyusha, a song her grandmother enjoyed way back when. She had this old gramophone with one of the original records on it.
He stared at his rapidly disappearing cigarette.
“One of the kids they have here. Has a real knack for it. Heard it during our last little blizzard. He plays every now and then.”
“He’s a good kid, too. When they were running, about the first few months they were here, one of the little brats stumbled. Poor guy was all tuckered out. No way is he gonna make the required time limit.”
Yuri moves his hand to accentuate his tale.
“I’m working on the internal comms at the time, complete pain in the ass. I’ll never forget it: this little fucker picks up the brat, and hauls ass back to the main group.”
“Realized it was the same kid when I saw him playing the harmonica. 496 is the lad. Would hate to scare him, so I just stay here and listen to the kid play. Goes well with my smoke breaks.”
His cigarette butt remains, and he flicks it into the snow some distance away.
“Hey, you’re a top dog in the secret project shit, right?”
She nodded slowly, still staring into the snow.
“Keep track of 496, eh? Just for me. I’d hate to not have my music. He’s a good kid, Doctor.”
“I don’t have any business with what the hell you eggheads do in there. Just try to have him pull through, huh?”
Not this again. He could barely sleep as is, remembering the kid next to him at the firing range getting domed for not perfecting the drill. He didn’t really know any of them personally, even after several years, but that didn’t mean having the insides of the kid next to you splatter on your face from a Kalashnikov round while being ordered to stand still was any easier.
It had been years since the door incident, and the punishments were pretty much only death.
He knew 500 wouldn’t rest until he talked back.
“How come you are so calm? I mean, I have to barf a couple times. I almost keep dropping my glasses in the latrine. Even with the first guy, you didn’t really freak out.”
496 stared up at the ceiling in his new bunk house. It really wasn’t that different, just a few less people and a couple new ones. Namely, the group of ten- well, six- cadets he had been with.
“Just felt like I had seen it before. Just doesn’t really catch up with me until later, really.”
He realized that didn’t really help 500 feel better about his current feelings. He added on to the previous statement.
“Yeah 500, it was messed up. Can’t even sleep right now just thinking about it. What if that was your or me?”
496 wasn’t lying. He really was thinking about what had happened. The thing was, he had just been expecting it. This entire time, since they arrived, certain truths had been pounded into their memories. One of these was the fact of conflict: you will kill people.
This had been repeated to them, over and over. Weapons training, physical testing, classroom learning. They told you that you would kill people, day in and day out. The training had gotten way harder, with sparring and tests that ended up with a few casualties. All the while, they were told that they would kill. It made sense why.
Lessens the impact on them when it finally happens.
Seeing someone die was a little different, so maybe that's why a lot of cadets had an adverse reaction. Maybe when he finally did have to do the deed it would screw with him.
He’d cross that bridge when he got there.
“I know why, 500. Because he’s a fucking pyscho.”
500 looked across at the cadet across from him on the other bottom bunk.
493 got out of his bunk, fuming. He had been listening for quite some time. 492 was his best friend, always had been. They had bunked together all the time, especially when they had numbers right next to each other. It might seem like a weak link, but in this camp, they were willing to grasp at anything they could get. The human mind tends to do that.
So when these little asswipes decided to talk about him like some sort of spectacle to talk about in their spare time, he knew he had to put their shit straight. He would remember 492, even when no one else would.
He climbed on the edge of 500’s bed, shoving his face into 496’s vision while he laid down.
“How about you show some respect, you freak. How about I break your little twink friend here, show you how it feels, huh?”
496 kept a calm face, even with the hot, and smelly, he realized, exhales of the boiling kid breezing onto his nose.
“Your friend was no one, 493.”
Fire burned inside the standing boy’s eyes.
“He was a tool, just like us. Husk? In class, they told us we were not people. We are numbers, and should be proud to form the new defense of Russia.”
“Do what, 493? Killing me would be just like killing your buddy back then.”
“You are your team, and your team is you.”
In honesty, 496 was lying through his teeth. Yeah, he was a number and a tool, but he was pretty sure he was a person. He was also pretty sure dying would suck. 493 was also certainly not him, given his smell. Phewee, I don’t think it's just his breath. Does he remember to wash his fatigues?
493 couldn’t hold back anymore. His hand reached above the bed, and grabbed 496 by the shirt collar. 496 was caught by surprise, his own hand wrapping around the offending wrist.
After years of constant weight training, cardio, and other activities integral to natural physical progression, each cadet was akin to an olympic athlete. So, he was pulled out of bed quite forcefully.
496 felt himself go airborne. It was a peculiar feeling, and he was starting to get used to it. The height of the fall didn’t hurt, but the sudden stop at the barracks floor was certainly enough to knock the wind out of him.
493 stood over him, positively steaming.
He bent down, and grabbed the collar of the disabled 496. He was about to keep shouting at 496 until he realized he had grabbed something with the shirt. Something hard.
He furrows his brow, throwing 496 to the ground. He reached under the collar, finding the offending item and pulls it to his face to make out what it even was.
An addition symbol? He pockets the cross.
“Nice trinket, fuckface. How much dick did you su-”
His taunts were interrupted by a forceful kick to the back of his head, 500 still sitting on the corner of his bunk.
500 was no slacker, and with 496’s help and the constant threat of death looming over his training, he had become quite the specimen himself.
“So you wanna tussle too, huh?”
With his attention now on 500, 496 reached up and pulled the ear of 493 to the ground. When his meaty little grub hands wrapped around that necklace, he had never felt such emotion before in his life.
Every muscle in his body screamed to be used, and for the first time in his life, 496 had experienced killing intent.
He ignored the pained whelps, and slammed his fist into the fleshy cartilage of 493’s nose. Blood came out after only three swings. 493 tried to kick and swing himself, but he was more in a panicked frenzy now.
496 blocked the desperate jabs from the grounded cadet, rewarding each whiffed strike with an elbow or cross to the face.
496 was one of the best when it came to sparring. The instructor liked him, but he wasn’t so sure it was because of his natural ability.
It might have to do with more that he could use 493 to give losses to a couple cadets he didn’t really like.
If a cadet had three losses in a row in one day with sparring, then they had to spar against the instructor. Who had a gun.
Suffice to say, the cadets were now down to a little under the two fifty mark, by 496’s count. He had tried his best to figure out how many squads they had to beat when they came together on certain days.
Some squads were down to only a couple, and when they got to one the lone survivor just vanished. 496 gave a guess they were probably six feet under.
Did that mean he was kind of guilty for their deaths? Måske. It wasn’t like he had been the one to put them in the dirt.
500 grabbed his arm, and 496 snapped out of what felt like a fever dream. His fist was bruised and hurt like a bitch, but he looked down and saw why.