Sunday, July 31, 2016
Grief, Faith, Acceptance of God, Religions and Fundamentalism (An Excerpt of "The Union Moujik")
Friday, July 29, 2016
A Vision for the Post-Soviet Space—Russia and the other former republics of the USSR (Excerpt of the book "The Union Moujik") Literalized
“That was my vision—a vision to create a new Soviet people to
be called the Union-Muzhiks.”
“The scope of your vision is certainly breathtaking. You must
have canvassed political support from numerous camps,” Taidje said with a
bewildered expression on his face.
Boris smiled dolefully and clenched a fist. “The last comrade
who presided over Kremlin affairs endorsed one of the plans before the
uncertainties of the late 1980s, the August coup and finally the demise of our
great country killed the plan.”
“That man was a flop. Mikhail Gorbachev could not stop the
disintegration of the Soviet Union, even though he had the full powers and the
means to prevent it from happening. I feel oppressed each time I reflect on his
last days in power, scarcely believing that he failed to stop the leaders of
Belarus, Russia, and Ukraine from signing
the Soviet Union’s death warrant over bottles of vodka in Belavezha, and then waking
up the next morning unconscious of their actions,” Taidje said with bitterness.
“Please don’t blame him,” Boris countered with a sad note in
his voice, “He was the rare type, one of those leaders that are too advanced
for their age.”
“He was a flop, short and simple.”
“Think of him as someone who became a leader half a century
too early, at a time that the mentality of our people had not fully evolved.
Yes, Comrade Taidje! He is in the class of leaders who perform miracles when
leading rational minds. Not a people like us, my dear friend. Our people are
either too angry or they are too happy. You and I know that emotions like those
overwhelm reasoning.”
“You are recalling,” Taidje said.
Boris smiled ruefully and clasped his hands. “Why shouldn’t I
recall?”
“Ach, ach, ach! Comrade Boris knows deep in his heart that it
is not good to dwell on the past.”
“Ach, Comrade Taidje! It is obvious you won’t agree with me
on this one. Even so, I will go ahead and express myself. I think it is
sometimes good to dwell on the past, especially when the present is so depressing,
and the future holds little or no certainty. The memory of past joys and
achievements gives us the outlines of the path to a state of happiness. That
memory is a treasure that can never be taken away from us. At least we know
where we were, what we have lost, what we miss, what we want and what more we
need to add to our experiences.”
“I disagree.”
“Why?”
“Not on everything,
though. I beg to differ with you only on the subject of Mikhail Sergeyevich.”
“Why?”
“He is a flop!” Taidje cried.
“I pity Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev in many ways and make
the effort to comprehend his sorrows and regrets. Let me say this before you
make your point.”
“Go ahead!”
“Mikhail Sergeyevich would be remembered in history as the
man who did the most to kill authoritarianism in the world and allowed mankind
to dwell more on humanism than on ideologies for the first time in our long and
turbulent history. However, the world will also remember him as the leader
whose noble intentions, advanced ideas, progressive direction, and liberalizing rule brought about the demise of his
country.”
“He is a whim,” Taidje said with a note of disgust in his
voice.
An enigmatic smile spread across Boris’s face as he sat
back in his seat. “It is people like you who make us pity him even more. What
else was he supposed to do? The constitution gave the union republics the right
to secede. Even our revered Comrade Lenin wasn’t altogether against the idea.”
“Please don't go there. Comrade Lenin is far ahead of him and
others as a once-in-a-lifetime hero, a once-in-a-century pioneer or even a
once-in-a-millennium savior.”
“Why shouldn’t I bring Comrade Lenin into this?” Boris asked.
“Comrade Lenin had great intentions. His actions were
calculated responses to the challenges he was facing at the time. He was for
humanity, but he was equally humane. He made mistakes that he admitted to as errors in his quest for good judgments
during life and death moments in the history of our people. His time was different, if not peculiar. And he
acted out of the exigencies of the time.”
“Comrade Lenin was humane, that’s for sure. Comrade Mikhail
Sergeyevich Gorbachev is like him in so many ways. Believe me, Comrade Taidje!
Comrade Lenin advocated for Finnish independence years before the revolution,
and today he is respected in Finland because of that. He was even against
Stalin’s brutality in bringing Georgia under full Soviet control.”
“But he was strong and wise enough to determine when the
general interest of the majority superseded the whims of egomaniacal
nationalists.”
“I know, I know,” Boris agonized, and then emitted a sigh.
“To be candid with you, not even a single republic tried to
secede from the Soviet Union while Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev’s predecessors
presided over affairs in the Kremlin.”
“Ach! Comrade Taidje, Comrade Taidje, Comrade Taidje!” Boris
muttered, shaking his head in a thoughtful manner, “That was because past
Soviet leaders were intolerant to dissension. They dealt harshly with any form
of disruptive nationalism. What they had at their disposal that did the job of
cowing potential agitators into compliance were their big sticks and not their
persuasive tongues and noble intentions.”
“That’s how Mikhail Sergeyevich should have ruled,” Taidje
cried.
“You make me sad.”
“Please bear with me on this one. Most of our people do not
doubt the goodness of that man’s heart. But truth be told, he lacked a certain
force as a leader. Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev lacked the resolve to use a
stick after failing with words.”
Boris shook his head in disapproval. “He is one of those rare
and gifted men with the great ability to draw from reality. Using a stick over
legitimate, though irrational claims
would have only aggravated the tense situation in the Soviet Union at the
time.”
“He was afraid of using the stick, that’s all!” Taidje cried
again.
“What if he had sent in the tanks to crush the spoilers,
those who were trying to tear the Soviet Union apart? You have no idea of what
the outcome would have been. Think of the disaster that befell the former
Yugoslavia after its disintegration, and then multiply it by fifteen.”
“That’s a baseless assumption,” Taidje groaned.
Boris heaved out in exasperation,
and then hit the arm of his seat. “Your judgment of him!” he muttered,
shaking his head, “You are so wrong, Comrade Taidje! Mikhail Sergeyevich
Gorbachev was an exceptional man. He talked so cleverly and proposed such good
ideas that the majority of our people, who are simple-minded folks with
irrational desires, could not discern his good intentions. He initiated his
reforms to bring out the best of the Soviet system, correct the errors and
introduce new values that would have advanced humanism and enhanced our
welfare.”
“He brought about chaos and nothing else, all because he was
incapable of controlling the pace of his reforms.”
“Ach, Comrade Taidje! We had chaos because we misinterpreted
his intentions. Maybe his reforms were not clearly spelt out. Perhaps he
allowed the worst to happen for the truth to reveal itself. Whatever the case,
our people could not make the best out of his reforms. They thwarted his
progressive plans in their efforts to cripple him, in their hatred and resolve
to weaken the Soviet Union that millions of our compatriots fought and died
for.”
“You can’t rule our people without using an iron fist. Catherine
the Great or Czar Paul must have used those words. Even Ivan the Terrible began
as a reformer, only to become an autocrat later in life out of necessity. We
are a people driven by an urge to test the limits. Yes, Comrade Boris; we are
extremists in our emotions. Such people cannot be led by soft men who may even
be soft in the head.”
“That’s exactly the line that
the conservatives used in their bid to cling to power by taking advantage of
the ideology they derailed. Yes, Comrade Taidje; they gave Communism a bad name
by adhering to the methods of the days of Stalin,” Boris said with a nod.
“Please, Comrade Boris. Don’t feel insulted if I tell you
that you are allowing yourself to be gripped by anxiety. You are losing your
composure,” Taidje said with a note of concern in his voice.
“Ach, I blame them,” Boris growled, threw his hands up in the
air in a dejected manner, and then muttered a deep sigh, “Yes, I blame those
conservatives, the Stalinists and the dumb-witted. I blame the stupid
republican leaders. I also blame our people, who in their moments of feebleness
betrayed the Soviet Union when they got carried away by their nationalist
sentiments. I also blame people like you who give victory to the narrow-minded
nationalists by not being steadfast in your love for the lands you
free-heartedly called home back in the day of the Soviet Union.”
“You misunderstood me, Comrade Boris. You are wrong again, my
dear friend,” Taidje cried, “I never stopped sharing your union-nationalist
ideals. I’m a committed socialist in the deepest sense of the word. I’m not a
prostitute in my ideas like those conservatives in black and gray suits. You
know the depth of my heart; you know how flexible I am when it comes to
applying the ideas of Marx and Lenin. I always factor in the changing times. I
know the ideas of those geniuses are the only hope for the cheated, the discriminated,
the oppressed and suppressed people of his world. Comrade Boris, don’t you
think it is time to come to terms with present-day realities and accept the
fact that our past leaders betrayed the noble ideas of Marx, Engels, and Lenin?”
“You have a point there.”
“I know I do. Am I expecting too much by asking for realism
in whatever judgments we make?”
“Realism, pragmatism,
free will, et cetera, et cetera. Ach my dear friend! People use those words all
the time as if we shall become better human beings at the mere mention of
them.”
“Comrade Boris, most of our people crave liberal socialism
because it is in our true traditions and our culture to care for one another.
We are concerned about our neighbors and consider the times we enjoy with other
people as our best moments in life,” Taidje stuttered as he tried to put more
sense into his words.
“Go ahead. I’m listening,” Boris offered.
“Now, wouldn’t you agree with me that we are instinctively a
communalist people?” Taidje cried with more earnest in his voice.
“Ach, you mean liberal socialism, which never got implemented.
That should be reformed communism as we all know it today.”
Taidje nodded and closed his eyes. “It is sad. It is sad. It
truly is sad, Comrade Boris,” he said in a resigned tone.
“Everything around us is sad,” Boris said with a sigh.
“Perhaps things wouldn’t have become so bad had people like
us with genuine intentions, with concern for others and with realistic views
asserted ourselves and imposed our wills for the sake of the Soviet people.”
“You are almost beginning to sound self-righteous, my dear
friend.”
“Hmm, Comrade Boris!”
“Don’t dwell on the failures of the past, and don’t allow
yourself to live on your regrets.”
“No, no, Comrade Boris! I am trying to judge from it, that is
all. I’m trying to revive hope and expose the hidden light. Perhaps a time will
come when our people shall realize their errors, and then decide to come
together again. After all, the different nationalities of the former Soviet
Union share a lot in common with one another than with others beyond our
borders.”
“You mean others who care little about our interests, others
who now consider our current plight as evidence that they defeated us in the
cold war?”
Taidje nodded. “They
don’t trust us. In fact, they don’t want us in their midst. And why should we
trust them while they snub us, even though we are on our knees, begging them to
become our friends?”
“Foreigners or people from the Far Abroad think former Soviet
citizens have little to offer the world other than raw materials, women, and crime.”
“You know that is not true! Comrade Boris, our scientists are
contributing enormously to the technological advancements we see in the West
today. Israel is leaping forward because our Jews are leading their
technological inventions,” Taidje quivered.
“You are right. But we lack people who can sell those points
to the rest of the world.”
“Leaders you mean!”
“Comrade Taidje, our people have been hijacked by demagogues
who claim to be leaders. The buffoons I am talking about are making irrational moves
to consolidate independence, dwelling on rhetoric that stresses the differences
among our diverse nationalities. They are failing to build on our mutual
compatibilities and our shared history and interests.”
Taidje nodded dolefully and closed his eyes. “Comrade Boris,
I’m still trying to hope.”
Boris cleared his throat. “What are you saying, Comrade
Taidje? Are you hoping that the disintegration virus that gripped the different
nationalities of the former Soviet Union be cured soon?”
Taidje nodded. “You can tell me. You have traveled far and
wide. You have met most if not all of the different peoples that resided in the
lands that were within the borders of the Soviet Union.”
Boris shrugged, and then muttered
a sigh. “I was always a maverick. My party comrades even called me a utopist
behind my back. The truth is that none of them had the temerity to say it in my
face because they dreaded my fist.”
“I remember people talking about your memorable days as an
amateur boxer.”
“Yes, Comrade Taidje; I could make use of my fist back in the
day,” Boris said with a smile and a proud nod.
“Are you reminiscing?”
“I don’t know what you mean. But I know for a fact that I
have some memorable technical knockouts in my record. I even flirted for a
while with the idea of becoming a professional boxer, that is, until Hitler
invaded the Soviet Union, and I was forced to put that thought to rest as the
entire country mobilized to stop him.”
Taidje nodded again to show that he understood. “Still, I
need your view on that,” he said.
“You can’t mean it.
What is there for you to learn from my opinions, being the maverick some people
thought I was?”
“A maverick they called you! That was because you defied
their negative intentions, which they tried to justify by clinging to the laws
of Marxism-Leninism, laws they had perverted for their selfish and egoistic
ends. You had an outstanding mind of your own, Comrade Boris. That is why you
distinguished yourself from the heartless conservatives and party apparatchiks
who discredited the noble ideas of Marx, Engels,
and Lenin. Every single muzhik respected your mind back in the day when
Soyuzgrad held so much promise.”
Boris sighed and closed his eyes. “Ach, you bring me back to
those beautiful times. Well, you can see the way I’m built. Genealogists will call
me a mongrel. Hmm! That doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’m proud to say that the
Boris Petrenkov sitting in front of you this very moment has several
nationalities in him.”
“Count that aspect of your genetic makeup as a plus.”
“A plus you said. In other words, I can speak from within the
deep reserve of their feelings.”
“Say something then, Comrade Boris,” Taidje urged with a
broad smile on his face.
Boris rubbed his brows, sighed, and then shook his head. “You
want to know if our different peoples can forge their destinies together again.
Well, those nationalities that stretch across Republican frontiers are the
bonds that can be strengthened to reincarnate our union. These frontier muzhiks
need to do something to compel their obstinate governments to budge in their
divisive policies. They would have to force their governments to start engaging
their brotherly neighbors in a practical manner that recognizes their shared
history, culture, language, and their intertwined economies.”
“You sound very hopeful, especially since you and I know that
the presidents of the republics are destroying the things that our different ethnicities
and nationalities shared in common during the times of the Soviet Union as if
the West will come in and fill the vacuum with new factories and
infrastructure. Hmm, Comrade Boris! I might be wrong about this, but I think
the West only needs us as a source of raw materials and a market for their
goods.”
“Don’t blame the West all the time as if we are innocent victims,
as if we don’t have a hand in all the ills plaguing our lands. Look, Comrade
Taidje! In life, there is a tendency among friends and even among brothers to
strive to have an edge over one another. So, why don’t you expect something
like that to be the case in a situation involving former enemies or opponents?
That is what competition is all about. Please, let’s stop blaming others when
we are responsible for failing to defend our interests.”
“You have a point there, Comrade Boris.”
“Now, let’s talk about ways of picking up the pieces of the
fallout of the Soviet Union so that we
can recover and catch up with the rest of the world in the race to make this
world a better place for man.”
“Tell me, Comrade Boris.”
“Let’s begin with the nationalities of the Russian Federation
still suffering from Boris Yeltsin’s manipulation. The citizens of Russia
became disgruntled because they were made to believe that they were bearing the
brunt of the sacrifice in maintaining the Soviet Union, which is one of the
many reasons why many of them resented the control of the Soviet central
government. Comrade Taidje, Russian citizens have come a long way. They have
come to realize the important role the Soviet Union played for the Russian
people. There are about thirty million people residing in the other former
Soviet republics who trace their ethnic origins to the Russian Federation. That
is the equivalent of about twenty percent of the population of the Russian
Federation. Russia has a lot to gain from forging closer relations with her
sisterly and brotherly republics, especially if Russia intends to guarantee the
interest of its population living as a minority in the other republics.”
“The Near Abroad, you mean?”
“Why not call it ‘The Other Motherland’. Believe me, some
Russians feel a lot more at home in the other republics than in the Russian
Federation. Take the case of Andrei Abramovich Yeremenko―”
Boris did not complete his analysis of the situation because
just then, the train hissed as it slowed down to a stop at the Nargonyy station.
“Why did the train move so fast?” Taidje asked in a barely
audible tone, muffled by the sound of the whistling train.
“Comrade Taidje, my dear friend! We must see each other again
and talk our problems over as compatriots,” Boris offered with a note of
desperation in his voice.
A wave of emotion swept over Taidje, and he nodded effusively
without being conscious of it. Then he stood up and embraced his friend. “Tell
me, Comrade Boris; how many of us are still left?”
“You tell me! That is
a question I’m incapable of answering, for now.”
“Ach, Comrade Boris!
The fact that we must separate so soon depresses me deeply. Believe me, the
only time I found solace talking about the demise of our Soviet Union was
during our wise discourse today. You made me see hope on the horizon. Your
great ability to help people reason in a positive manner is an asset we need.
Yes, Comrade Boris; you epitomize the worthiness of the Soviet Union.”
“We shall see again,” Boris promised.
“Of course, we shall spend time together in the future. As a
friend and comrade, I can give myself the pleasure of baring my heart to you. I
will do so because I know you won’t think I’m soft in the head.”
“You make me laugh, Comrade Taidje.”
“I’m about to leave you with an uncomfortable feeling that
you think I am a renegade. I’m even haunted by a greater fear that you might
one day call me a traitor to the real ideals we shared during the heyday of
Soyuzgrad.”
“Why?” Boris mumbled.
“I’m baring my heart, Comrade Boris. That is all! At one
point in our conversation, I thought about Stepan Bandera and wondered how
different I could be from him,” Taidje said with wistful eyes and a tilted
head.
Boris held Taidje’s shoulder and looked him straight in the
eye in a reassuring manner. “I understand why you had to move. We are sometimes
permitted to do things that are against our convictions for the sake of serving
a greater good. In your case, that greater good was your family. You may have
taken your only option,” he nudged Taidje on the chest, smiled, and then rested
his left hand on his shoulder again…
The Union Moujik
Ukraine: The Tug-of-war between Russia and the West
Sunday, July 24, 2016
The Game of World Domination as explained by the Good Frenchman (An excerpt of "Flash of the Sun")
Jean-Pierre thought he
would have been able to facilitate things with the local authorities by being
by the defense attaché’s side, but the American official had turned down his
offer of assistance. Diplomatic protocol forbade that; he had explained in
concise words. But now, after watching from a distance as Peter Atkins spent so
much time in there trying to talk some sense into the heads of the local authorities,
Jean-Pierre became convinced that the diplomat was yet to understand the real nature
of Francophone bureaucracy. It would be a
learning process for the naïve American, he thought.
He snapped out of his
thoughts to find his wife Rachel whispering into Delphine’s ear and a broad
smile spreading across the young woman’s face. It was the first time he was
seeing her unfettered smile, unencumbered by the worries of her daily life as a
target in Cameroon. His nine-year-old son Jean-Jacques was playing with the
baby Delphine was carrying on her back, and his older brother Marcel was
swinging Rachel’s arm. They cut such a happy image that he took some shots of
them with his camera.
“I will post some of the
pictures to you next week,” Jean-Pierre
said.
Clement replied with a
nod. “Thanks for everything. I look forward to your visit with your family.”
“I try to live up to my
promises.”
“Be careful.”
Jean-Pierre nodded.
“Rachel wouldn’t let me venture anywhere close to danger.”
“You have got a good
woman.”
“Advice heeded,” Clement said. “After experiencing the joy of
life that reigns in the family you and Rachel created, I concluded that
happiness can also be found in our culture, out of the setup we have always known.
All we need is our sense of humanity.”
Jean-Pierre grunted and rubbed his brows, nodding
thoughtfully as he did so. “Let me confide in you about this experience I had
with my father and brothers. Perhaps it would explain something to you,"
he said and licked his lips:
"It was the summer of 1937. My father took my brothers and me to a
village in the south of Cameroon, a village not far from Sangmelima in Betiland,
in the Bulu area precisely. It was a place he had been paying frequent visits
to over the years. That was where I met a pigmy for the first time. The man was
in his forties, and he was walking around practically naked except for the
scanty material covering his manhood. My
youngest brother Jacques, who had just turned eleven, thought the fellow looked
and acted funny, that he was behaving like a clueless child. My knucklehead
brother who didn’t know any better, made known his perception to us with a
chuckle that had an insulting ring in it. He drew immediate ire from our father
who yanked him away to the edge of the village, cursing and threatening. My
other brother Jules and I were initially taken aback by the rapid developments,
but then I remembered that our father always thought highly of Jacques. So,
this sudden idea that my father taking his anger on the knucklehead would be
fun to watch, after all, had a wonderful appeal to me at the time. We knew our
father could become unpredictable in a hurtful way when his adrenaline level moved
up; so, we trailed him and Jacques with a great deal of trepidation and awe, if
not curiosity. My old man was breathless when he finally came to a stop. In
fact, he had to take a deep breath before he mustered the words to address my
brother:
‘I never want to hear or see you run down or
undermine another human being again; do you hear me?’ he told Jacques in
between gasps in the most threatening voice I had ever heard coming out of his
mouth.
“My brother nodded, still lost for
words, looking like he was about to pee in his pants.
‘That man you just insulted is the
best native doctor I have ever known. He knows the right herbs for the cure of
so many ailments that he deserves to win the Nobel Prize in Psychology or
Medicine. The good fellow is even far better at curing people and animals than I
or any other French doctor alive. And guess what? All this while, he has been
showing me the herbs and passing over other useful knowledge to me without
asking for anything in return. Can’t you see?
I have learned much from him that can make us rich for the rest of our
lives if I decide to put the knowledge to use in France or if I decide to
monetize it, to commercialize it.’
‘If he knows so much, then why is he
so poor and miserable-looking?’ My brother stuttered with a look of
stupefaction on his face.
‘Mon Salopard!’ my father raged, shaking his head incredulously, ‘Young man; he is what
he is today because he attaches no value to wealth as we know it. The good
fellow is happy. And he doesn’t derive his happiness by depriving others of
theirs,’ our old man said, looking at my brother for a moment, and then at us
before adding in an incongruous voice, ‘Boys, follow me.’
“We did. He took us for a short walk
into the forest, into the jungle, to put it plainly. The sun was up and very
bright that afternoon, but it was somehow dim down there. You see, we stopped
close to a small river, and I noticed that the vegetation lining the riverbank
was not only very dense but very lush as well.
‘Do you know what the tallest tree in
the world is called?’ he asked us finally.
‘The sequoia in California,’ Jacques
replied with a smirk on his face.
“It is good to know that as an
adolescent, Jacques had this knack of saying and doing unbearable things.
Anyway, the walk must have affected my father on the positive side because he
responded to his answer graciously. ‘Good, good, good, Jacques! Now tell me:
why is this forest dark; why is it dark in here?’
‘Well!’ Jacques muttered, turning his
head around, apparently to get our input.
‘Well, what?’ my father asked.
‘I think is because of the canopy.’
‘And what is the canopy?’
‘This!’
‘What do you mean by this?’ my father
asked in a teasing manner.
My brother shrugged, moved his body
around, looked at us, and then turned around again and faced my father. ‘Isn’t
the roof of the forest made up of its largest trees such as these mahogany,
iroko and sapele trees?’
‘Is that all?’
‘I guess so,’ my brother replied with
another obnoxious shrug.
‘Listen to me, Sons! Listen to me
very well because this piece of information is going to be very useful to you
in real life. If you fly over this area, your aerial view of this forest would
be dominated by the tall trees forming the forest canopy. From that picture,
you are likely to think that the forest is all about these imposing trees when
they are just a decimal of the forest ecosystem, of the plant life if we need
to be precise about it. As you fly over
this forest, you are most likely to fail to take the other three layers of the
forest structure into account, layers like this forest floor with its sparse
vegetation and smell of decay caused by the less than two percent sunlight it
receives,’ he said sweeping his arms around, ‘You are also likely to miss the understory layer over there which
is made up of small trees, vine, shrubs,
and herbs whose heights cannot amount to a quarter of those of the canopy trees
because they hardly receive more than five percent of sunlight,’ he added with
a nod, ‘Now, let’s get out of here.’
“My father must have wanted us to
reflect a little because he did not utter another word to us throughout the
short walk that brought us back to the edge of the forest. I wasn’t the only
one who found it odd, but I guess each one of us decided on his own volition to
leave him alone for a moment to grapple with his thoughts. Believe it or not,
if we thought that was all about the matter, then we were badly mistaken. We
were close to our destination when he stopped, held my shoulder, and then
gestured for the others to stop too. ‘Sons, do you see the few large trees over
there that are sticking out above the canopy?’
‘Yes, Papa,’ we responded in unison.
‘They form the fourth layer. I
consider them the movers of the forest since they prevailed over the others,
since they managed not to be suppressed by the canopy. We Europeans and the
West, in general, are like the canopy that dominates the forest and prevents
light, the source of energy, from reaching other forms of life occupying the
forest floor and the understory layer. Our actions cause decay or stagnation
for some and force others to scrape an existence that is nothing more than a
fight for survival. That is what we the colonizers, the imperialists and the
capitalists have done to the rest of the world we dominate, to the rest of the
world that we can liken to the forest floor and the understory layer. The
status quo prevails because most of the deprived people of this world are
unconscious of or are indifferent to the machinations that have led us to the
top of the power chain and that have been keeping us there ever since. They are
unaware of the schemes we perpetuate in order to emerge as winners in this rat
race of world domination. Now, I want you to know that of all the survivors I
am talking about, the pigmies are the best equipped.’
‘And what about the tallest trees,
the emergent layer?’ I asked my father.
The old man did not respond to my
question right away. Instead, he looked at me with a sweet smile on his face,
and then nodded. ‘They are the true winners in the forest; they have the best
survivor instincts. If given the opportunity to grow, they end up towering above
the canopy. Imagine our pigmy friend becoming enlightened or imagine him
getting the exposure I was privileged to be born and raised in. He would be
considered a genius; he would make tons of money. If given the room to maneuver,
the underprivileged people of this world who never allowed their will to be
broken will dominate like the emergent layer which you find so puzzling. Now,
is our world ever going to give these natural survivors of life the room to
exploit their potentials, the room to maneuver?’ my father said, more as a
statement than a question,” Jean-Pierre intoned and took a deep breath.
“That was intense,” Clement said, realizing just then that he
was holding his breath, but for how long that lasted during the narration, he
could not tell.
“I couldn’t think of an answer to that question at the time,
Clement. My brothers did not offer a response either. I even doubt if my father
had one for us. All the same, he did not brooch the topic again and I never
forgot that day in the forest. Whenever I ponder the developments in France and
its former colonies, especially the things that Charles De Gaulle and his group
are implementing in Africa today, I get to understand even better what the old
man was trying to tell us. The Colonial Pact my country imposed on Cameroon and
the other peoples of Francophone Africa through the puppets the venerated
Charles De Gaulle and the furtive Jacques Foccart put in place in France’s
former colonies before granting them their so-called independence is a crime
against humanity because it deprives them of the means to live up to their
potential in just the same manner that the canopy deprives the other forest
layers of light and life. The truth is that this pseudo-independence we gave
Francophone Africans is meant to keep them in perpetual bondage. The whole
scheme makes France parasitic on its former colonies like the canopy trees that
feed on the nutrients of the decay of the forest floor and even the understory
layer.”
“Huh!” Clement exclaimed with a contemplative look on his
face.
“Don’t fail to have that in mind as you write your book.”
“I wouldn’t.”
Just then Peter Atkins emerged from the commissioner’s office
with a serious look on his face. Clement edged forward and met him. “You have
been cleared to fly home with your wife and son,” he announced.
Clement hugged his compatriot tightly. “Thank you, buddy! I
don’t know how I can ever repay you for having my back,” he said in an
emotion-choked voice.
“I am doing my job, Clement! Now, go home, take care of your family,
and stay away from trouble.”
By Janvier Chouteu-Chando, author of Flash of the Sun https://amazon.com/Flash-Sun-Compradors-Janvier-Chouteu-Chando/dp/B0C9S1WP7P/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1689051210&sr=1-1…