Os bunkers civis da Guerra Fria planejavam a inclusão de animais de estimação da família?

Os bunkers civis da Guerra Fria planejavam a inclusão de animais de estimação da família?

No auge da Guerra Fria, o extermínio total era considerado uma possibilidade. Nesse caso, qualquer animal doméstico querido, como cães e gatos, provavelmente morreria, a menos que fosse incluído no bunker civil com a família.

Fonte: Fallout Shelter Handbook de Chuck West, 1962.

Sabemos por alguma fonte se os animais de estimação foram acomodados em abrigos de precipitação radioativa nos EUA, Europa ou URSS?


Bem, pelo menos há comentários sociais na forma de desenhos animados. O cartunista do St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Bill Mauldin, desenhou o desenho de um cachorro com seu próprio abrigo antiaéreo, que foi amplamente reproduzido.

No debate sobre o abrigo radioativo, Mauldin observou: “O governo forneceu planos para o faça-você-mesmo, e os especuladores enriqueceram vendendo seções de tamanho familiar de canos de drenagem serrados em rodovias. Até mesmo animais de estimação foram fornecidos pelo programa de internamento em massa. ” De Bill Mauldin, "I've Decid I Want My Seat Back" (Nova York: Harper and Row, 1965).

Em animais de fazenda: Departamento de Agricultura dos Estados Unidos, Abrigo Antecedente Tipo Bunker para Gado de Corte, Publicação Diversa no. 947 (Washington, D.C .: GPO, 1964). Esta publicação do governo observa que “este abrigo fornece proteção contra radiação adequada e de baixo custo para animais de fazenda desacompanhados. Embora projetado principalmente para gado de corte, o abrigo pode ser modificado para uso por ovelhas, porcos ou aves. ”

Source- One Nation Underground: The Fallout Shelter in American Culture


Aqui no Reino Unido, uma rede de bunkers foi construída e mantida na década de 1990 - principalmente pelo MOD.

Infelizmente para nós, plebeus, a grande maioria desses bunkers não se destinava ao público em geral. Em vez disso, os bunkers deveriam ser usados ​​por membros do conselho local, chefes de polícia, ministros do governo, militares e, claro, a família real.

Mais impressionantes foram cerca de 30 enormes bunkers regionais, cada um capaz de abrigar centenas de pessoas. Aqui, esperava-se que os principais parlamentares, chefes de polícia e outros VIPs pudessem recuar para começar a tarefa de lutar e reconstruir o país. - Express.co.uk

Isso não quer dizer que várias pessoas comuns não iria pudemos ter acesso a esses bunkers regionais em caso de ataque, o maior tinha espaço para 6.000 pessoas, mas a grande maioria de nós teria sido deixada por conta própria.

Uma série de folhetos, programas de rádio e filmes de informação ao público circulou ao longo das décadas de 1970 e 1980, denominados "Proteja e Sobreviva". Eles instruíram o público em geral sobre quais medidas tomar caso o Reino Unido fosse atacado.

Os exemplos podem ser vistos em toda a web com uma simples pesquisa no Google, mas o conselho incluía construir abrigos usando almofadas e fechar janelas. Passos que teriam dado a você algo para fazer, mas não forneceram nenhuma proteção de longo, ou muito provavelmente de curto prazo.

Visto que, para a maior parte, esperava-se que a população em geral basicamente se defendesse sozinha até que os centros de controle regionais pudessem começar a implementar os vários planos (que provavelmente ainda são classificados), parece improvável que os animais de estimação tenham sido contabilizados.


Categoria: Islã

Vou reimprimir este artigo na íntegra abaixo. Eu concordo com tudo que esse homem diz. Além disso, concordo com suas conclusões. Toda imigração de muçulmanos para a Europa deve parar. Devemos ajudar a repatriar os muçulmanos aqueles muçulmanos que desejam retornar às suas sociedades islâmicas. Devemos permitir a entrada apenas de muçulmanos que essencialmente deixaram sua religião e não são mais muçulmanos.
Ainda não temos um problema semelhante com os muçulmanos nos Estados Unidos e Canadá como no continente, então não vejo necessidade de interromper a imigração muçulmana para os Estados Unidos ou Canadá.
Quais países europeus devem impedir toda a imigração muçulmana? Aqueles que estão tendo sérios problemas com muçulmanos e crime e terrorismo: Dinamarca, Suécia, Noruega, França, Reino Unido e Alemanha. Não tenho conhecimento de nenhum outro país europeu que esteja enfrentando sérios problemas com imigrantes muçulmanos e crimes / terrorismo e comportamentos anti-sociais. Se você conseguir pensar em outros países aos quais isso se aplica, informe-nos nos comentários.
Esta é uma área onde a Esquerda enlouqueceu totalmente. Eles apóiam a imigração em massa de muçulmanos criminosos, anti-sociais e inassimiláveis ​​no Ocidente, sem nenhuma razão racional. Em vez disso, quem está protestando contra a invasão dessa cultura reacionária ao Ocidente. Nossos próprios reacionários ocidentais! Deixamos cair a bola na luta contra a reação muçulmana, então agora cabe aos nossos próprios reacionários lutar contra seus irmãos reacionários muçulmanos. Ridículo!

Não acho que este psicólogo seja reacionário ou conservador. Pelo contrário, ele parece ser muito liberal até mesmo para o esquerdista, a julgar por sua linguagem. Ele está simplesmente fazendo o que não fazemos mais na esquerda: diga como é. É incompreensível para mim por que nós, da esquerda, apoiamos essa cultura reacionária.
Por que essa proibição de imigração seria tão difícil para os muçulmanos pobres? Deixe-os ficar em suas caixas de proteção. Se sua cultura muçulmana é realmente tão fantástica e maravilhosa, certamente suas sociedades muçulmanas devem ser lugares melhores para se viver do que o Ocidente depravado e degenerado, não? Eh? Não é assim? Por que isso, muçulmanos? Oh muçulmanos! Procure a resposta no espelho.
Os problemas de integração da Dinamarca com os muçulmanos tornaram-se públicos em todo o mundo em 2006, quando o jornal Jyllands-Posten publicou 12 caricaturas do profeta Maomé. Exatamente dois anos depois, os tumultos estouraram novamente por causa da reimpressão dos cartuns de Maomé por todos os principais jornais dinamarqueses.
Atualmente, 70% da população carcerária da prisão juvenil de Copenhague consiste em jovens de ascendência muçulmana. É esta violência recente e tendência geral violenta entre os muçulmanos apenas uma coincidência, ou existe uma conexão direta?
Em fevereiro de 2009, Nicolai Sennels, um psicólogo dinamarquês publicou um livro intitulado Entre criminosos muçulmanos. A experiência de um psicólogo em Copenhague. Em seu livro, Nicolai Sennels compartilha uma perspectiva psicológica dessa cultura muçulmana, sua relação com a raiva, como lidar com as emoções e sua religião. Ele baseou sua pesquisa em centenas de horas de terapia com 150 jovens muçulmanos na prisão juvenil de Copenhagen. O EuropeNews entrevistou o autor sobre o seu livro e as consequências para a integração dos muçulmanos na Europa.
EuropeNews: Nicolai Sennels, como surgiu a ideia de escrever um livro sobre criminosos muçulmanos na Dinamarca?
Nicolai Sennels: Tive a ideia em fevereiro de 2008, durante uma conferência sobre integração em Copenhague, onde fui convidado como o primeiro e único psicólogo a trabalhar em uma prisão juvenil de Copenhague. Meu discurso na conferência foi sobre o fato de que a cultura dos estrangeiros desempenha um papel significativo em relação à integração, crime e extremismo religioso. Enfatizei que as pessoas de uma cultura muçulmana acham difícil, senão impossível, ter uma vida de sucesso na Dinamarca.
Esta declaração encontrou grande resistência por parte dos políticos dinamarqueses e também do meu próprio chefe da prisão juvenil. Fiquei bastante surpreso, pois achei que meu ponto era óbvio: algumas culturas se encaixam melhor nas sociedades ocidentais do que outras. Toda a Europa está lutando para integrar os muçulmanos, mas esse esforço parece impossível. De acordo com a polícia dinamarquesa e o Bureau of Statistics dinamarquês, mais de 70% de todos os crimes na capital dinamarquesa são cometidos por muçulmanos. O nosso banco nacional publicou recentemente um relatório afirmando que um estrangeiro muçulmano custa em média mais de 2 milhões de coroas dinamarquesas (300.000 euros) em assistência social federal, devido à baixa participação na força de trabalho. Além disso, temos que adicionar muitos tipos adicionais de bem-estar social que os desempregados podem receber em nosso país: despesas com intérpretes, aulas especiais na escola - 64% das crianças em idade escolar com pais muçulmanos não conseguem ler e escrever dinamarquês corretamente depois 10 anos em uma escola dinamarquesa - serviço social, polícia extra, etc.
Minha declaração resultou em um mandado de segurança, uma espécie de punição profissional, que dizia que, se eu repetisse isso, poderia ser demitido. De acordo com as autoridades de Copenhague, aparentemente é permitido afirmar que os graves problemas entre os muçulmanos são causados ​​pela pobreza, a mídia, a polícia, os dinamarqueses, os políticos, etc. Mas duas coisas definitivamente não são permitidas: 1) discutir o significado da cultura e 2) os próprios estrangeiros são responsáveis ​​por sua integração em nossas sociedades. Infelizmente, muitos políticos muito poderosos carecem de uma compreensão clara do aspecto psicológico da cultura e da influência que tem na integração.
EuropeNews: Quais foram as reações na Dinamarca?
Sennels: O livro foi recebido com muita atenção, já antes da publicação oficial do livro, em 24 de fevereiro de 2009. Esteve na capa de um dos maiores jornais nacionais da Dinamarca, e eu estive na rádio e na TV participando em debates com políticos e outros especialistas no assunto. A primeira publicação do livro esgotou depois de três semanas.
Desde então, houve algumas grandes mudanças na política de integração dinamarquesa, que parece ter sido influenciada pelo livro e pela atenção que ele recebeu. Do meu ponto de vista pessoal, a atenção generalizada mostra que minha afirmação é verdadeira: há simplesmente uma grande necessidade de uma compreensão mais profunda de como a cultura muçulmana influencia suas chances de integração.
O famoso político Naser Khader, que é muçulmano e autor do best-seller “Honra e Vergonha”, escreveu uma resenha do meu livro e afirmou que deveria ser “leitura obrigatória para alunos, assistentes sociais e professores”. Jyllands-Posten, o jornal corajoso que primeiro publicou os desenhos animados de Maomé, chama o livro de “uma obra original de pioneiro”.
EuropeNews: Vamos dar uma olhada no livro. Você fala sobre quatro mitos de integração. O primeiro diz respeito à diferença entre as culturas dos imigrantes.
Sennels: O que descobri durante meu trabalho na prisão juvenil foi que as pessoas de herança muçulmana têm outras necessidades de trabalho social além dos dinamarqueses ou pessoas de culturas não muçulmanas. Essas diferentes necessidades requerem mais atenção, e os psicólogos precisam fazer mais pesquisas sobre esses tópicos para poderem criar políticas sociais eficazes.
Concordo totalmente com meus críticos de que problemas pessoais e sociais podem levar a um comportamento anti-social entre ocidentais e muçulmanos. No entanto, ainda existe um comportamento anti-social e anti-democrático extremamente desproporcional entre os muçulmanos. O Bureau of Statistics dinamarquês publicou um relatório (1 e 2) afirmando que os países muçulmanos ocupam os primeiros oito lugares na lista dos 10 principais países de origem dos criminosos. A Dinamarca está em nono lugar nesta lista.
EuropeNews: Isso significa que temos de tratar os imigrantes muçulmanos e não muçulmanos de uma forma diferente?
Sennels: Visto de uma perspectiva psicológica e também humanística, é muito claro que pessoas de diferentes culturas têm necessidades diferentes quando têm ou criam problemas. Minha própria experiência é que os muçulmanos não entendem nossa maneira ocidental de tentar lidar com conflitos por meio do diálogo. Eles são criados em uma cultura com consequências e autoridades externas muito claras. A tradição ocidental que usa o compromisso e a reflexão interna como meio principal de lidar com os conflitos internos e externos é vista como fraca na cultura muçulmana. Em grande parte, eles simplesmente não entendem essa maneira mais suave e mais humanística de lidar com os assuntos sociais. No contexto do serviço social e da política, isso significa que eles precisam de mais fronteiras e consequências mais fortes para poderem ajustar seu comportamento.
EuropeNews: Isso nos leva diretamente ao segundo mito: costuma-se dizer que a criminalidade dos imigrantes é causada por problemas sociais, não por sua origem cultural. Em seu livro, você discorda e aponta a religião dos muçulmanos como fonte de criminalidade.
Sennels: Bem, eu reformularia como "cultura muçulmana" em vez de "religião" porque há muitos muçulmanos que não sabem o que está escrito no Alcorão e não visitam as mesquitas. Mas eles são fortemente influenciados em um nível cultural. E aí vemos que especialmente a raiva é muito mais aceita na cultura muçulmana.
Um exemplo: na cultura ocidental e também em outras culturas não muçulmanas, como na Ásia, você vê a agressão e uma explosão repentina de raiva como algo de que se arrependerá depois, algo de que se envergonhe. É completamente oposto na cultura muçulmana. Se alguém pisar em sua honra - o que eu, como psicólogo, chamaria de autoconfiança -, espera-se que você simplesmente mostre agressão e, muitas vezes, também vingança verbal ou física. Portanto, a agressão dá a você um status inferior em nossas culturas, mas um status elevado na cultura muçulmana.
No entanto, há outra razão muito mais profunda para o comportamento anti-social amplamente difundido nas comunidades muçulmanas e sua forte aversão contra a integração - a saber, a forte identificação que os muçulmanos têm com a pertença à cultura muçulmana.
Meu encontro com a cultura muçulmana foi um encontro com uma cultura extremamente forte e muito orgulhosa. Isso certamente é algo que pode garantir a sobrevivência de uma cultura antiga em tempos de mudança - o Islã e a cultura muçulmana são excelentes exemplos disso. Uma cultura forte e orgulhosa, infelizmente, também torna os membros da cultura quase incapazes de se adaptar a outros valores. Na Alemanha, apenas 12% dos 3,5 milhões de muçulmanos se consideram mais alemães do que muçulmanos na França e na Dinamarca, apenas 14% da população muçulmana, respectivamente, se vêem mais como franceses ou dinamarqueses do que muçulmanos. Pesquisas entre muçulmanos que vivem na Dinamarca também mostram que 50% dos imigrantes de 1ª e 2ª gerações são contra a liberdade de expressão e 11% gostariam de ver a constituição dinamarquesa trocada pela lei sharia (mais números desta pesquisa podem ser encontrados no edição impressa do jornal). Essas altas porcentagens são certamente assustadoras, mas especialmente preocupante é o fato de que não há diferenças de opinião sobre esse assunto entre os muçulmanos nascidos e criados em países muçulmanos e a opinião de seus filhos nascidos e criados na sociedade dinamarquesa. Quando se trata de identidade entre os muçulmanos, a nacionalidade não conta em comparação com a cultura e a religião. A consequência é uma oposição poderosa e crescente à cultura e aos valores ocidentais nos guetos muçulmanos em Copenhague e em outras grandes cidades europeias.
EuropeNews: Como você já observou, muitos muçulmanos têm uma forte ligação com sua identidade religiosa. O terceiro mito que você desmonta em seu livro é sobre a porcentagem de extremistas e fundamentalistas entre os muçulmanos. Freqüentemente, presume-se que essa porcentagem é relativamente pequena. Qual é a sua experiência?
Sennels: As pessoas esperam que a maioria dos muçulmanos seja moderna e aceite os valores ocidentais. Minha experiência é diferente, e isso foi comprovado pelas estatísticas da Europa que acabei de citar. Em fevereiro de 2008, tivemos alguns distúrbios graves e mortais por jovens muçulmanos na Dinamarca.
Esses distúrbios foram em parte uma reação ao grande enfoque da polícia dinamarquesa no aumento acentuado dos índices de criminalidade nas áreas muçulmanas. O outro motivo foi a reimpressão das caricaturas de Maomé em todos os jornais dinamarqueses. Essa reimpressão foi um ato de solidariedade ao cartunista Kurt Westergaard, cuja vida estava, e ainda é, gravemente ameaçada.
Nesses distúrbios, vimos muçulmanos que não praticam a religião islâmica em suas vidas diárias defendendo sua cultura e religião de uma forma muito agressiva. Copenhague fumou durante uma semana inteira devido a várias centenas de incêndios, e a polícia e os bombeiros que tentavam acalmar a situação também foram atacados. Grande parte dos desordeiros acabou na prisão onde trabalhei e, portanto, tive a oportunidade de falar com eles. Quase todos eles eram muçulmanos, e todos alegaram que o que fizeram - iniciar incêndios, atacar a polícia etc. - era justificado, pois a sociedade dinamarquesa, por meio de sua pressão sobre a integração e pela reimpressão das caricaturas de Maomé, provou ser racista e contra o Islã e a cultura muçulmana. Os poucos dinamarqueses entre os desordeiros eram completamente diferentes. A explicação de suas ações foi predominantemente uma busca por aventura ou emoção.
EuropeNews: O quarto mito é que a pobreza entre os imigrantes conduz à sua má situação social. Em seu livro, você nos diz que o oposto é verdadeiro.
Sennels: Você pode formular esta questão importante como esta: as pessoas têm problemas sociais porque são pobres ou ficam pobres porque criam problemas sociais? Minha experiência é que o foco muito baixo em apoiar os filhos na escola e na própria educação e a falta de motivação para criar uma carreira profissional é um fator crucial para a pobreza, que muitos muçulmanos vivenciam em nossas sociedades e em países muçulmanos. Além disso, um quarto de todos os jovens muçulmanos do sexo masculino na Dinamarca tem ficha criminal. Poucas habilidades de leitura, uma forte aversão às autoridades e um registro criminal simplesmente tornam muito difícil para você conseguir um emprego bem remunerado. É um comportamento anti-social que o torna pobre. Não o contrário.
Infelizmente, muitos políticos consideram a pobreza a principal causa dos problemas de integração. Acho que esta é uma visão horrível e unidimensional dos pobres e das pessoas em geral. A ideia de que o comportamento das pessoas é decidido pela quantidade de dinheiro que elas têm em suas contas bancárias todos os meses é uma visão extremamente limitada. Eu mesmo, como psicólogo formado no departamento de humanidades da Universidade de Copenhague, diria que as pessoas têm muito mais fatores mais fortes em suas vidas do que o dinheiro, que influenciam seu comportamento e modo de pensar.
EuropeNews: Qual é a conclusão da sua pesquisa? É possível a integração de pessoas de herança muçulmana nas sociedades ocidentais?
Nicolai Sennels: Eu diria que os otimistas, as pessoas que dizem que a integração é possível, têm uma responsabilidade muito grande. Existe um risco muito grande de que nos vendam uma esperança, um sonho, que não tem fundamento na realidade. Isto significa que serão eles os responsáveis ​​pela Europa, desviando o olhar e não abordando os seus problemas até que seja tarde demais.
Simplesmente não há pesquisas na Europa que apoiem a visão dos otimistas. Pelo contrário, todas as pesquisas que temos sobre a integração dos muçulmanos nas sociedades ocidentais mostram que continuamos na direção errada. Portanto, não sei como esses otimistas chegaram a suas conclusões. Talvez seja uma esperança vã e infantil de que tudo dê certo, como nos contos de fada. Ou talvez seja uma ideia pseudo-darwinista de que tudo se desenvolverá em uma direção positiva. Uma coisa é certa: eles não baseiam seus julgamentos em fatos.
Claro que há exceções, mas para a maior parte, a integração ao grau necessário de muçulmanos não é possível. Pessoas inteligentes e compassivas estão trabalhando em toda a Europa no problema e gastaram bilhões de euros no projeto, mas os problemas ainda continuam a crescer.
A explicação psicológica é realmente simples. A cultura muçulmana e a ocidental são fundamentalmente muito diferentes. Isso significa que os muçulmanos precisam passar por grandes mudanças em sua identidade e valores para serem capazes de aceitar os valores das sociedades ocidentais. Mudar as estruturas básicas da personalidade é um processo psicológico e emocional muito exigente. Aparentemente, poucos muçulmanos se sentem motivados a fazer isso. Eu só conheço alguns que conseguiram, mas também sei que foi uma luta longa e exaustiva em um nível interno para eles e que muitas vezes pagam um alto preço pessoal no nível externo porque seus amigos e familiares muçulmanos desprezam e / ou rejeitam por deixarem sua cultura.
EuropeNews: Mas o que vamos fazer com os muçulmanos, que já estão aqui?
Sennels: Vejo duas possibilidades. Em primeiro lugar, devemos parar imediatamente toda a imigração de pessoas de países muçulmanos para a Europa até que tenhamos provado que a integração de muçulmanos é possível.
Em segundo lugar, devemos ajudar os muçulmanos que não querem ou não são capazes de se integrar em nossas sociedades ocidentais a construir uma vida nova e significativa em uma sociedade que eles entendem e que os compreendem. Isso significa ajudá-los a começar uma nova vida em um país muçulmano. Na verdade, temos os meios econômicos para fazer isso. Como mencionei anteriormente, o Banco Nacional Dinamarquês calculou que cada imigrante de países muçulmanos custa em média 300.000 euros. Com esse dinheiro, poderíamos ajudar essas pessoas a viver uma vida feliz em um país muçulmano, sem ter que se integrar a uma sociedade que não entendem e, portanto, não podem aceitar. Ter dinheiro suficiente para sustentar a família e viver em um país onde se sinta em casa com a cultura circundante seria um grande passo na qualidade de suas vidas. E devemos ajudá-los a conseguir isso. Não apenas os muçulmanos individualmente, mas também as sociedades europeias serão beneficiadas. Muçulmanos que imigram da Europa para países muçulmanos funcionarão como embaixadores de sociedades mais livres e democráticas: devido à sua experiência de viver em uma democracia com direitos humanos reais e seu conhecimento dos sistemas sociais na Europa, eles levarão idéias e valores muito importantes com eles. Desta forma, eles podem fazer o que a maioria deles sonha, ou seja, ajudar seus irmãos e irmãs muçulmanos em seus países de origem mudando as condições precárias de onde eles se afastaram inicialmente.

/> Autor Robert Lindsay Postado em 28 de setembro de 2010 Categorias Américas, Grã-Bretanha, Canadá, Crime, Cultura, Dinamarca, Europa, França, Alemanha, Governo, Imigração, Islã, Esquerda, América do Norte, Noruega, Psicologia, Regional, Religião, Social Problemas, Sociologia, Suécia, Terrorismo, EUA, Esquerda Ocidental inútil 30 Comentários sobre o psicólogo dinamarquês: “A integração dos muçulmanos nas sociedades ocidentais não é possível”

O significado da refundação do movimento maoísta no Paquistão

12 de agosto de 2010

Uma declaração ao Sétimo Congresso Nacional do Partido Mazdoor Kissan do Paquistão

Do Secretário Geral da Iniciativa Revolucionária

Com nossos punhos erguidos tão alto quanto nossas esperanças para o futuro do
Revolução do Paquistão, Iniciativa Revolucionária, um
A formação pré-partidária marxista-leninista-maoísta no Canadá oferece uma saudação vermelha aos camaradas que convocaram o 7º Congresso Nacional do Paquistão Mazdoor Kissan em agosto de 2010 (Partido dos Trabalhadores e Camponeses do Paquistão).

Entendemos que o 7º Congresso marcará um retorno do PMKP às origens maoístas do partido, conforme estabelecido por seus fundadores, Major Ishaq Mohammed, Afzal Bungish, Eric Sperian e Ghulam Nabi Kaloo na década de 1960.

O novo programa do PMKP efetuará uma ruptura decisiva com as pseudo-alternativas atualmente apresentadas ao povo do Paquistão: a perpetuação de uma sociedade atrasada semicolonial e semifeudal mantida pela burocracia militar e civil pró-imperialista, comprador burguesia e elite dominante feudal contra o programa social igualmente atrasado oferecido pelo Talibã de
Paquistão. Ao romper com a esquerda revisionista, que espera o iluminismo do imperialismo dos EUA por meio de sua brutal "Guerra ao Terror", o PMKP está definindo um curso para realmente reunir os camponeses, proletários e os elementos pequeno-burgueses progressistas para a causa anti-imperialista .

Além disso, ao expor o programa do Talibã como fascismo de uma forma diferente, o PMKP realmente se colocou na vanguarda de todas as massas trabalhadoras no Paquistão.

Os lacaios do Paquistão dos imperialistas e do Talibã parecem ser forças irreconciliavelmente opostas, mas na prática são as duas faces da mesma moeda. O mundo nunca vai esquecer que foi o imperialismo dos EUA, durante a Guerra Fria, que ajudou a criar o Taleban com o apoio inabalável do Estado paquistanês.

Devido à subserviência das classes dominantes do Paquistão ao imperialismo dos EUA, a grande maioria pagou um preço alto pela manutenção do incrível estado de atraso econômico do país. Hoje, essa relação
trouxe apenas novos sofrimentos, com o imperialismo dos EUA lançando ataques de drones sobre as cabeças de civis paquistaneses.

Com uma população de 170 milhões de pessoas, 48% da força de trabalho do Paquistão está envolvida na produção agrícola. Cerca de 55% da população do país não possui nenhuma terra. A grande maioria das pessoas no campo é explorada por proprietários de terras, usurários, mercadores e instituições religiosas.

Como diz o novo projeto de programa do PMKP, é o aspecto semicolonial do interior do Paquistão que continua sendo o "principal obstáculo para a liberação das forças produtivas e o progresso do nosso país". É isso que faz do campesinato fortemente explorado e oprimido a “principal força da revolução democrática popular levada a cabo sob a direção do proletariado”.

São essas condições que tornam o Paquistão maduro para a Guerra Popular. Se os maoístas não liderarem a luta do povo, as forças islâmicas continuarão a prevalecer em sua mobilização reacionária das massas em sua pseudo-oposição ao imperialismo dos EUA.

As enchentes que atualmente estão devastando o Paquistão, trazendo grande miséria e deslocamento para até 10% da população e ceifando milhares de vidas, poderiam ser facilmente mitigadas por uma sociedade socialista que coloca todas as forças produtivas da sociedade nas mãos dos trabalhadores e camponeses.

Esperamos que as enchentes não atrapalhem os planos do 7º Congresso, mas se o fizerem, sabemos que será pela necessidade urgente da vanguarda revolucionária de servir e guiar o povo em um momento de grandes dificuldades. É inevitável que os imperialistas e os reacionários no Paquistão usem as catástrofes para fortalecer sua legitimidade e ordem, assim como os imperialistas e reacionários fizeram no Haiti com o grande terremoto de janeiro de 2010.

Além das grandes consequências que a ascensão do movimento maoísta paquistanês terá em nível doméstico, a revolução paquistanesa também afetará transformações históricas em nível regional e mundial.

Regionalmente, a revolução no Paquistão carregaria a maré revolucionária que varreu o Sul da Ásia mais profundamente no mundo muçulmano, quebrando o monopólio dos fascistas clericais na luta contra o imperialismo, ao qual eles não se opõem fundamentalmente e só o fazem na aparência por seus próprios oportunistas e propósitos de auto-engrandecimento.

A nível mundial, a ascensão de uma maré comunista revolucionária no Paquistão seria um golpe para a base ideológica da "Guerra ao Terror" imperialista. Nos países imperialistas ocidentais, os muçulmanos estão sendo usados ​​como bode expiatório para desviar o resto das massas dos verdadeiros interesses geopolíticos e econômicos do bloco de imperialistas da OTAN: saquear o mundo, explorar as massas trabalhadoras e ganhar a vantagem no inter- competição imperialista com os outros imperialistas e rivais geopolíticos regionais, especialmente Rússia e China.

As massas no Ocidente são chantageadas para apoiar a guerra imperialista de agressão no Afeganistão através do espectro do domínio do Taleban. Mas sabemos que a guerra contra o Taleban, uma guerra contra os reacionários domésticos e as classes exploradoras, só pode ser a guerra de classes das massas trabalhadoras, não dos imperialistas. O mundo se lembrou disso em 1º de maio de 2010, quando o PMKP se reuniu e marchou na Província da Fronteira Noroeste para apoiar a revolução no Nepal.

Esperamos, camaradas, os grandes feitos que o povo do Paquistão realizará sob a liderança de comunistas genuínos guiados pelo marxismo-leninismo-maoísmo, e mostraremos às massas em nosso país que o povo do Paquistão é nosso amigo e camarada , e que lutam por uma democracia genuína, pelo socialismo e pelo comunismo, assim como nós.

Se o PMKP, ao lado de nossos camaradas do Shola Jawid (Partido Comunista Maoísta do Afeganistão) e Sarbederan (Partido Comunista Irã-Maoísta), conseguir organizar e despertar as massas para a revolução nacional democrática por meio das Guerras Populares anti-imperialistas na Central e Sul da Ásia, comunistas genuínos em todo o mundo se unirão à sua causa, aprenderão lições importantes de sua luta e as promoverão entre os proletários de seus países de origem.

Se o PMKP se mantiver firme no marxismo-leninismo-maoísmo após a convenção do 7º Congresso Nacional, desenraizando profundamente o revisionismo das últimas décadas, e aplicar corajosamente o MLM às condições do Paquistão, então um futuro glorioso se abre para o povo do Paquistão e Ásia do Sul e Central. A era do imperialismo é a era da revolução proletária mundial. Nesta fase de declínio estratégico do imperialismo, a fase da segunda grande crise do imperialismo capitalista que assola o mundo desde o início dos anos 1970, as condições para a revolução proletária estão inexoravelmente melhorando.

Por fim, esta mensagem de solidariedade não estaria completa sem que nossa própria organização identificasse claramente o imperialismo canadense como o principal inimigo do povo do mundo, incluindo o povo de seu país. Um ator importante na ocupação do Afeganistão e da OTAN é o imperialismo canadense, cuja base é o capital monopolista-financeiro canadense. À medida que a guerra imperialista no Afeganistão se espalha cada vez mais pelo seu país, sua conexão com a luta revolucionária do proletariado canadense se aprofunda cada vez mais.

Os jovens proletários que estão sendo enviados ao Afeganistão apenas para retornar ao Canadá em sacos para corpos também são vítimas da guerra imperialista, mas devem ser expulsos do Afeganistão da mesma forma. A guerra ruinosa no Afeganistão estabelece a base para a agitação revolucionária entre os soldados, não menos do que a Guerra da Coréia e a Guerra do Vietnã radicalizaram gerações inteiras de jovens e soldados no Ocidente.

Juntos, aceleremos o movimento em direção ao socialismo e ao comunismo em escala mundial antes que os imperialistas nos arrastem ainda mais para um mundo infernal de guerra, desastres evitáveis, catástrofe ecológica e a opressão e exploração cotidiana do capitalismo.

Saudação vermelha ao PMKP por assumir a bandeira do Marxismo-Leninismo-Maoismo!

Avante com a Guerra Popular no Paquistão!

Do Canadá ao Paquistão, viva a revolução proletária internacional.

/> Autor Robert Lindsay Postado em 16 de agosto de 2010 Categorias Afeganistão, Américas, Ásia, Ásia, Canadá, Capitalismo, China, Guerra Fria, Economia, Eurásia, Fascismo, Geopolítica, Hinduísmo, História, Imperialismo, Índia, Indonésia, Islã, Esquerda , 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? - História

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 sim. & 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, caminho 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 espécies 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? Isso é estranho. 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. Pode ser.

He waited a bit, and 500 spoke no more. Finalmente. 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.

Desastre evitado. 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! Olá! 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. Lembrar? 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? Pode ser. 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.


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