¿Los búnkeres civiles de la guerra fría planearon la inclusión de mascotas familiares?

¿Los búnkeres civiles de la guerra fría planearon la inclusión de mascotas familiares?

En el apogeo de la Guerra Fría, se consideró una posibilidad el exterminio total. En cuyo caso, cualquier mascota doméstica querida, como perros y gatos, probablemente moriría a menos que se incluyera en el búnker civil con la familia.

Fuente: Manual de Fallout Shelter de Chuck West, 1962.

¿Sabemos por alguna fuente si se alojaron mascotas en los refugios de lluvia de EE. UU., Europa o la URSS?


Bueno, al menos hay comentarios sociales en forma de dibujos animados. El caricaturista de St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Bill Mauldin, dibujó una caricatura de un perro con su propio refugio personal, que fue ampliamente reimpresa.

En el debate sobre los refugios de lluvia radiactiva, Mauldin observó: “El gobierno proporcionó planes para los aficionados al bricolaje, y los especuladores se enriquecieron vendiendo secciones familiares de tuberías de drenaje de carreteras recortadas. Incluso se proporcionaron mascotas en el programa de entierro masivo ". De Bill Mauldin, "He decidido que quiero mi asiento hacia atrás" (Nueva York: Harper and Row, 1965).

En animales de granja: Departamento de Agricultura de EE. UU., Refugio antiaéreo tipo búnker para ganado vacuno, Publicación miscelánea núm. 947 (Washington, D.C .: GPO, 1964). Esta publicación del gobierno señala que “este refugio ofrece protección radiológica adecuada y de bajo costo para los animales de granja desatendidos. Aunque está diseñado principalmente para ganado de carne, el refugio podría modificarse para que lo usen ovejas, cerdos o aves de corral ".

Fuente: One Nation Underground: The Fallout Shelter en la cultura estadounidense


Aquí en el Reino Unido, se construyó y mantuvo una red de búnkeres en la década de 1990, principalmente por el MOD.

Desafortunadamente para nosotros, la plebe, la gran mayoría de estos búnkeres no estaban destinados al público en general. En cambio, los búnkeres estaban destinados a ser utilizados por miembros del consejo local, jefes de policía, ministros del gobierno, personal militar y, por supuesto, la Familia Real.

Más impresionantes fueron unos 30 enormes búnkeres regionales, cada uno capaz de albergar a cientos de personas. Aquí se esperaba que parlamentarios clave, jefes de policía y otros personajes importantes pudieran retirarse para comenzar la tarea de contraatacar y reconstruir el país. - Express.co.uk

Eso no quiere decir que mucha gente corriente no lo haría Hemos podido acceder a estos búnkeres regionales en caso de ataque, el más grande tenía espacio para 6.000 personas, pero la gran mayoría de nosotros habríamos tenido que arreglárnoslas solos.

Durante las décadas de 1970 y 1980 se distribuyó una serie de folletos, programas de radio y películas de información pública denominados "Proteger y sobrevivir". Estos instruyeron al público en general sobre los pasos a seguir en caso de que el Reino Unido hubiera sido atacado.

Se pueden ver ejemplos en toda la web con una simple búsqueda en Google, pero el consejo incluyó construir refugios con cojines y cerrar ventanas. Pasos que le habrían dado algo que hacer, pero que no le han brindado protección a largo plazo, o probablemente a corto plazo.

Dado que, en su mayor parte, se esperaba que la población en general básicamente se las arreglara por sí misma hasta que los centros de control regionales pudieran comenzar a promulgar los diversos planes (que probablemente todavía están clasificados), parece poco probable que se contabilizaran las mascotas.


Categoría: Islam

Voy a reimprimir este artículo en su totalidad a continuación. Estoy de acuerdo con todo lo que dice este hombre. Además, estoy de acuerdo con sus conclusiones. Debe cesar toda inmigración de musulmanes a Europa. Debemos ayudar a repatriar musulmanes a aquellos musulmanes que deseen regresar a sus sociedades islámicas. Solo deberíamos permitir la entrada a musulmanes que esencialmente han abandonado su religión y ya no son musulmanes.
Todavía no tenemos un problema similar con los musulmanes en los Estados Unidos y Canadá como lo tienen en el continente, por lo que todavía no veo la necesidad de cortar la inmigración musulmana a los Estados Unidos o Canadá.
¿Qué países europeos deberían detener toda la inmigración musulmana? Aquellos que están teniendo serios problemas con los musulmanes y el crimen y el terrorismo: Dinamarca, Suecia, Noruega, Francia, Reino Unido y Alemania. No tengo conocimiento de ningún otro país europeo que esté teniendo serios problemas con los inmigrantes musulmanes y el crimen / terrorismo y los comportamientos antisociales. Si puede pensar en otros países a los que esto se aplica, háganoslo saber en los comentarios.
Ésta es un área donde la izquierda se ha vuelto completamente loca. Apoyan la inmigración masiva de musulmanes criminales, antisociales e inasimilables en Occidente sin ninguna razón racional. En cambio, ¿quién está protestando por la invasión de esta cultura reaccionaria a Occidente? ¡Nuestros propios reaccionarios occidentales! Dejamos caer la pelota en la lucha contra la reacción musulmana, por lo que ahora depende de nuestros propios reaccionarios luchar contra sus hermanos reaccionarios musulmanes. ¡Ridículo!

No creo que este psicólogo sea reaccionario o conservador. Por el contrario, parece un tipo muy liberal, incluso de izquierda, a juzgar por su lenguaje. Él & # 8217 simplemente está haciendo lo que ya no hacemos en la izquierda: decir las cosas como son. Me resulta incomprensible por qué los de izquierda apoyamos esta cultura reaccionaria.
¿Por qué esta prohibición de la inmigración sería tan difícil para los musulmanes pobres? Que se queden en sus cajas de arena. Si su cultura musulmana es realmente tan fantástica y maravillosa, seguramente sus sociedades musulmanas deben ser mejores lugares para vivir que el depravado y degenerado Occidente, ¿no? ¿Eh? ¿No es así? ¿Por qué es eso, musulmanes? ¡Oh musulmanes! Mírate en el espejo para encontrar la respuesta.
Los problemas de integración danesa con los musulmanes se hicieron públicos en todo el mundo en 2006, cuando el periódico Jyllands-Posten publicó 12 caricaturas del profeta Mahoma. Exactamente dos años después, los disturbios estallaron nuevamente debido a la reimpresión de las caricaturas de Mahoma en los principales periódicos daneses.
Actualmente, el 70% de la población carcelaria de la prisión juvenil de Copenhague está formada por jóvenes de ascendencia musulmana. ¿Es esta violencia reciente y la tendencia violenta generalizada entre los musulmanes una mera coincidencia, o hay una conexión directa?
En febrero de 2009, Nicolai Sennels, un psicólogo danés, publicó un libro titulado Entre musulmanes criminales. La experiencia de un psicólogo de Copenhague. En su libro, Nicolai Sennels comparte una perspectiva psicológica de esta cultura musulmana, su relación con la ira, el manejo de las emociones y su religión. Basó su investigación en cientos de horas de terapia con 150 jóvenes musulmanes en la cárcel juvenil de Copenhague. EuropeNews entrevistó al autor sobre su libro y sus consecuencias en la integración de los musulmanes en Europa.
EuropeNews: Nicolai Sennels, ¿cómo se te ocurrió la idea de escribir un libro sobre musulmanes criminales en Dinamarca?
Nicolai Sennels: Se me ocurrió la idea en febrero de 2008 durante una conferencia sobre integración en Copenhague, donde fui invitado como el primer y único psicólogo que trabaja en una prisión juvenil de Copenhague. Mi discurso en la conferencia fue sobre el hecho de que la cultura de los extranjeros juega un papel importante en la integración, el crimen y el extremismo religioso. Hice hincapié en que a las personas de cultura musulmana les resulta difícil, si no imposible, crear una vida exitosa en Dinamarca.
Esta declaración fue recibida con gran resistencia por parte de los políticos daneses y también de mi propio jefe de la prisión juvenil. Me sorprendió bastante, ya que pensé que mi punto es obvio: algunas culturas encajan mejor en las sociedades occidentales que otras. Toda Europa está luchando actualmente por integrar a los musulmanes, pero este esfuerzo parece ser imposible. Según la policía danesa y la Oficina de Estadísticas de Dinamarca, más del 70% de todos los delitos en la capital danesa son cometidos por musulmanes. Nuestro banco nacional publicó recientemente un informe en el que afirma que un extranjero musulmán cuesta más de 2 millones de coronas danesas (300.000 euros) en asistencia social federal de media, provocado por la baja participación en la población activa. Además de esto, tenemos que agregar muchos tipos adicionales de asistencia social que las personas desempleadas pueden recibir en nuestro país: gastos relacionados con intérpretes, clases especiales en la escuela; el 64% de los niños en edad escolar con padres musulmanes no pueden leer y escribir en danés correctamente después 10 años en una escuela danesa: trabajo social, policía adicional, etc.
Mi declaración resultó en una orden judicial, una especie de castigo profesional, que decía que si alguna vez repito esto, podrían despedirme. Según las autoridades de Copenhague, aparentemente está permitido afirmar que los graves problemas entre los musulmanes son causados ​​por la pobreza, los medios de comunicación, la policía, los daneses, los políticos, etc. Pero definitivamente no se permiten dos cosas: 1) discutir el significado de la cultura y 2) nuestros extranjeros asumen la responsabilidad de su integración en nuestras sociedades. Desafortunadamente, muchos políticos muy poderosos carecen de una comprensión clara del aspecto psicológico de la cultura y la influencia que tiene en la integración.
EuropeNews: ¿Cuáles fueron las reacciones en Dinamarca?
Sennels: El libro fue recibido con una gran atención, ya antes de que se publicara oficialmente el 24 de febrero de 2009. Estaba en la portada de uno de los periódicos nacionales más importantes de Dinamarca, y yo estaba participando en la radio y la televisión. en debates con políticos y otros expertos en la materia. La primera publicación del libro se agotó después de tres semanas.
Desde entonces, ha habido grandes cambios en la política de integración danesa, que parece haber sido influenciada por el libro y la atención que recibió. Desde mi punto de vista personal, la atención generalizada muestra que mi afirmación es cierta: simplemente existe una gran necesidad de una comprensión más profunda de cómo la cultura musulmana influye en sus posibilidades de integración.
El famoso político Naser Khader, que es musulmán y autor del bestseller "Honor and Shame", escribió una reseña de mi libro y afirmó que debería ser una "lectura obligatoria para estudiantes, trabajadores sociales y profesores". Jyllands-Posten, el valiente periódico que publicó por primera vez las caricaturas de Mohammed, dice que el libro es “una obra original y pionera”.
EuropeNews: Echemos un vistazo más de cerca al libro. Hablas de cuatro mitos de la integración. El primero se refiere a la diferencia entre las culturas de los inmigrantes.
Sennels: Lo que descubrí durante mi trabajo en la prisión juvenil fue que las personas de ascendencia musulmana tienen otras necesidades de trabajo social que los daneses o las personas de culturas no musulmanas. Estas diferentes necesidades requieren más atención, y los psicólogos deben investigar más sobre estos temas para poder crear políticas sociales efectivas.
Estoy completamente de acuerdo con mis críticos en que los problemas personales y sociales pueden conducir a un comportamiento antisocial tanto entre occidentales como entre musulmanes. Sin embargo, todavía existe un comportamiento antisocial y antidemocrático extremadamente desproporcionado entre los musulmanes. La Oficina de Estadísticas de Dinamarca publicó un informe (1 y 2) que indica que los países musulmanes ocupan los primeros ocho lugares en la lista de los diez primeros países de origen de los delincuentes. Dinamarca es el número nueve en esta lista.
EuropeNews: ¿Eso significa que tenemos que tratar a los inmigrantes musulmanes y no musulmanes de una manera diferente?
Sennels: Visto desde una perspectiva psicológica y también humanista, es muy claro que personas de diferentes culturas tienen necesidades diferentes cuando tienen o crean problemas. Mi propia experiencia es que los musulmanes no comprenden nuestra forma occidental de tratar de manejar los conflictos a través del diálogo. Se crían en una cultura con autoridades y consecuencias externas muy claras. La tradición occidental que utiliza el compromiso y la reflexión interna como medio principal para manejar los conflictos internos y externos se considera débil en la cultura musulmana. En gran medida, simplemente no comprenden esta forma más suave y humanista de manejar los asuntos sociales. En el contexto del trabajo social y la política, esto significa que necesitan más fronteras y consecuencias más fuertes para poder ajustar su comportamiento.
EuropeNews: Eso nos lleva directamente al segundo mito: a menudo se dice que la criminalidad de los inmigrantes es causada por problemas sociales, no por su origen cultural. En su libro no está de acuerdo y señala la religión de los musulmanes como fuente de criminalidad.
Sennels: Bueno, lo reformularía como "cultura musulmana" en lugar de "religión" porque hay muchos musulmanes que no saben lo que está escrito en el Corán y que no visitan las mezquitas. Pero están fuertemente influenciados a nivel cultural. Y ahí vemos que especialmente la ira es mucho más aceptada en la cultura musulmana.
Un ejemplo: en la cultura occidental y también en otras culturas no musulmanas, como en Asia, ves la agresión y una repentina explosión de ira como algo de lo que te arrepentirás después, algo de lo que te avergonzarás. Es completamente opuesto en la cultura musulmana. Si alguien pisotea su honor, lo que yo como psicólogo llamaría confianza en sí mismo, simplemente se espera que muestre agresión y, a menudo, también venganza verbal o física. Entonces, la agresión te da un estatus bajo en nuestras culturas, pero un estatus alto en la cultura musulmana.
Sin embargo, existe otra razón mucho más profunda para el comportamiento antisocial generalizado en las comunidades musulmanas y su fuerte aversión contra la integración, a saber, la fuerte identificación que los musulmanes tienen con la pertenencia a la cultura musulmana.
Mi encuentro con la cultura musulmana ha sido un encuentro con una cultura extremadamente fuerte y muy orgullosa. Sin duda, esto es algo que puede garantizar la supervivencia de una cultura antigua a través de tiempos cambiantes; el Islam y la cultura musulmana son excelentes ejemplos de esto. Desafortunadamente, una cultura fuerte y orgullosa también hace que los miembros de la cultura sean casi incapaces de adaptarse a otros valores. En Alemania, solo el 12% de sus 3,5 millones de musulmanes se ven a sí mismos como más alemanes que musulmanes en Francia y Dinamarca, solo el 14% de la población musulmana, respectivamente, se ven más franceses o daneses que musulmanes. La investigación entre musulmanes que viven en Dinamarca también muestra que el 50% de los inmigrantes de primera y segunda generación están en contra de la libertad de expresión y al 11% le gustaría que la constitución danesa se intercambiara con la ley de la sharia (se pueden encontrar más números de esta investigación en el edición impresa del periódico). Estos altos porcentajes son, por supuesto, aterradores, pero especialmente preocupante es el hecho de que no hay diferencias de opinión sobre este tema entre los musulmanes que nacieron y se criaron en países musulmanes y la opinión de sus hijos que nacieron y se criaron en la sociedad danesa. En lo que respecta a la identidad entre los musulmanes, la nacionalidad no cuenta en absoluto en comparación con la cultura y la religión. La consecuencia es una oposición poderosa y creciente a la cultura y los valores occidentales en los guetos musulmanes de Copenhague y otras ciudades europeas importantes.
EuropeNews: Como ya ha señalado, muchos musulmanes tienen una fuerte conexión con su identidad religiosa. El tercer mito que desmantelas en tu libro es sobre el porcentaje de extremistas y fundamentalistas entre los musulmanes. A menudo se presume que este porcentaje es relativamente pequeño. Cual es tu experiencia?
Sennels: La gente espera que la mayoría de los musulmanes sean modernos y acepten los valores occidentales. Mi experiencia es diferente, y así lo demuestran las estadísticas europeas que acabo de citar. En febrero de 2008, tuvimos algunos disturbios muy graves por parte de jóvenes musulmanes en Dinamarca.
Esos disturbios fueron en parte una reacción al gran enfoque de la policía danesa en las tasas de criminalidad en fuerte aumento en las áreas musulmanas. La otra razón fue la reimpresión de las caricaturas de Mahoma en todos los periódicos daneses. Esta reimpresión fue un acto de solidaridad con el caricaturista Kurt Westergaard, cuya vida estaba, y sigue estando, seriamente amenazada.
En estos disturbios, vimos a musulmanes que no practican la religión islámica en su vida diaria defendiendo su cultura y religión de una manera muy agresiva. Copenhague estuvo fumando durante toda una semana debido a varios cientos de incendios, y la policía y los bomberos que intentaban calmar la situación también fueron atacados. Una gran parte de los alborotadores terminaron en la prisión donde trabajaba, y por eso tuve la oportunidad de hablar con ellos. Casi todos eran musulmanes, y todos afirmaron que lo que habían hecho (iniciar incendios, atacar a la policía, etc.) estaba justificado, ya que la sociedad danesa, a través de su presión para la integración y la reimpresión de las caricaturas de Mahoma, ha demostrado ser racista. y contra el Islam y la cultura musulmana. Las pocas personas danesas entre los alborotadores eran completamente diferentes. La explicación de sus acciones fue predominantemente una búsqueda de aventuras o emoción.
EuropeNews: El cuarto mito es que la pobreza entre los inmigrantes conduce a su mala situación social. En su libro, nos dice que lo contrario es cierto.
Sennels: Puede formular esta importante pregunta de esta manera: ¿la gente tiene problemas sociales porque son pobres o se vuelven pobres porque crean problemas sociales? Mi experiencia es que el escaso enfoque en el apoyo a los hijos en la escuela y en la propia educación y la falta de motivación para crear una carrera profesional es un factor crucial para la pobreza, que muchos musulmanes experimentan tanto en nuestras sociedades como en los países musulmanes. Además, una cuarta parte de todos los jóvenes musulmanes de Dinamarca tienen antecedentes penales. Las malas habilidades de lectura, una fuerte aversión a las autoridades y un historial criminal simplemente hacen que sea muy difícil para usted conseguir un trabajo bien remunerado. Es el comportamiento antisocial lo que te empobrece. No de la otra manera.
Lamentablemente, muchos políticos ven la pobreza como la principal causa de los problemas de integración. Creo que esta es una visión horrible y unidimensional de la gente pobre y de la gente en general. La idea de que el comportamiento de las personas se decide por la cantidad de dinero que tienen en sus cuentas bancarias cada mes es una visión extremadamente limitada. Yo mismo, como psicólogo egresado del departamento de humanidades de la Universidad de Copenhague, diría que las personas tienen muchos más y más factores más fuertes en sus vidas que el dinero, que influyen en su comportamiento y forma de pensar.
EuropeNews: ¿Cuál es la conclusión de su investigación? ¿Es posible la integración de personas de ascendencia musulmana en las sociedades occidentales?
Nicolai Sennels: Yo diría que los optimistas, las personas que dicen que la integración es posible, tienen una gran responsabilidad. Existe un riesgo muy grande de que nos estén vendiendo una esperanza, un sueño, que no tiene fundamento en la realidad. Esto significa que serán ellos los responsables de que Europa deje de mirar y no aborde sus problemas hasta que sea demasiado tarde.
Simplemente, no hay ninguna investigación en Europa que apoye la opinión de los optimistas. Por el contrario, toda la investigación que tenemos sobre la integración de los musulmanes en las sociedades occidentales muestra que seguimos yendo en la dirección equivocada. Así que no sé cómo llegaron estos optimistas a esa conclusión. Quizás sea una vana e infantil esperanza de que todo salga bien, como en los cuentos de hadas. O tal vez sea una idea pseudodarwinista de que todo se desarrollará en una dirección positiva. Una cosa es segura: no basan sus juicios en hechos.
Por supuesto que hay excepciones, pero la mayor parte de la integración de musulmanes al grado necesario no es posible. En toda Europa hay gente inteligente y compasiva que trabaja en el problema y han gastado miles de millones de euros en el proyecto; sin embargo, los problemas siguen creciendo.
La explicación psicológica es realmente simple. Las culturas musulmana y occidental son fundamentalmente muy diferentes. Esto significa que los musulmanes deben experimentar cambios muy importantes en su identidad y valores para poder aceptar los valores de las sociedades occidentales. Cambiar las estructuras básicas de la personalidad es un proceso psicológico y emocional muy exigente. Aparentemente, muy pocos musulmanes se sienten motivados a hacerlo. Solo conozco a unos pocos que lo lograron, pero también sé que fue una lucha larga y agotadora a nivel interno para ellos y que a menudo pagan un alto precio personal en el nivel externo porque sus amigos y familiares musulmanes desprecian y / o repudian. ellos por dejar su cultura.
EuropeNews: Pero, ¿qué vamos a hacer con los musulmanes, que ya están aquí?
Sennels: Veo dos posibilidades. En primer lugar, deberíamos detener inmediatamente toda inmigración de personas de países musulmanes a Europa hasta que hayamos demostrado que la integración de los musulmanes es posible.
En segundo lugar, debemos ayudar a los musulmanes que no quieren o no pueden integrarse en nuestras sociedades occidentales a construir una vida nueva y significativa en una sociedad que comprenden y que los comprenden. Esto significa ayudarlos a comenzar una nueva vida en un país musulmán. De hecho, tenemos los medios económicos para hacer esto. Como mencioné anteriormente, el Banco Nacional Danés calculó que cada inmigrante de países musulmanes cuesta una media de 300.000 euros. Con este dinero, podríamos ayudar a estas personas a vivir una vida feliz en un país musulmán sin tener que integrarse en una sociedad que no comprenden y, por lo tanto, no pueden aceptar. Tener dinero suficiente para mantener a la familia y vivir en un país donde uno se sienta como en casa con la cultura que lo rodea sería un gran paso adelante en la calidad de sus vidas. Y debemos ayudarlos a lograrlo. No solo se beneficiarán los musulmanes individuales, sino también las sociedades europeas. Los musulmanes que emigran de Europa a países musulmanes funcionarán como embajadores de sociedades más libres y democráticas: debido a su experiencia de vivir en una democracia con derechos humanos reales y su conocimiento de los sistemas sociales en Europa, tomarán ideas y valores muy importantes con ellos. De esta manera, pueden hacer lo que, con suerte, sueña la mayoría de ellos, es decir, ayudar a sus hermanos y hermanas musulmanes en sus países de origen cambiando las malas condiciones de las que se alejaron inicialmente.

/> Autor Robert Lindsay Publicado el 28 de septiembre de 2010 Categorías Américas, Gran Bretaña, Canadá, Crimen, Cultura, Dinamarca, Europa, Francia, Alemania, Gobierno, Inmigración, Islam, Izquierda, Norteamérica, Noruega, Psicología, Regional, Religión, Social Problemas, Sociología, Suecia, Terrorismo, EE.UU., Inútil Izquierda Occidental 30 Comentarios sobre el psicólogo danés: "La integración de los musulmanes en las sociedades occidentales no es posible"

La importancia de la refundación del movimiento maoísta en Pakistán

12 de agosto de 2010

Declaración al Séptimo Congreso Nacional del Partido Mazdoor Kissan de Pakistán

Del Secretario General de Iniciativa Revolucionaria

Con nuestros puños levantados tan alto como nuestras esperanzas para el futuro de la
Revolución paquistaní, Iniciativa Revolucionaria, una
La formación prepartido marxista-leninista-maoísta en Canadá, ofrece un saludo rojo a los compañeros que convocan el 7º Congreso Nacional del Partido Mazdoor Kissan de Pakistán en agosto de 2010 (Partido de los Trabajadores y Campesinos de Pakistán).

Entendemos que el VII Congreso marcará el regreso del PMKP a los orígenes maoístas del partido, como lo establecieron sus fundadores, el Mayor Ishaq Mohammed, Afzal Bungish, Eric Sperian y Ghulam Nabi Kaloo en la década de 1960.

El nuevo programa del PMKP provocará una ruptura decisiva con las pseudo-alternativas que se presentan actualmente al pueblo de Pakistán: la perpetuación de una sociedad atrasada semicolonial y semifeudal mantenida por la burocracia civil y militar proimperialista, compradora burguesía y élite gobernante feudal versus el programa social igualmente atrasado ofrecido por los talibanes de
Pakistán. Al romper con la izquierda revisionista, que mira al imperialismo estadounidense en busca de ilustración a través de su brutal "Guerra contra el terrorismo", el PMKP está marcando un rumbo para unir verdaderamente a los campesinos, proletarios y elementos pequeñoburgueses progresistas a la causa antiimperialista. .

Además, al exponer el programa de los talibanes como fascismo en una forma diferente, el PMKP se ha colocado verdaderamente a la vanguardia de todas las masas trabajadoras de Pakistán.

Los lacayos de Pakistán ante los imperialistas y los talibanes sólo parecen ser fuerzas opositoras irreconciliables, pero en la práctica son dos caras de la misma moneda. El mundo nunca olvidará que fue el imperialismo estadounidense, durante el curso de la Guerra Fría, el que ayudó a crear los talibanes con el apoyo inquebrantable del estado paquistaní.

Debido a la sumisión de las clases dominantes paquistaníes al imperialismo estadounidense, la gran mayoría pagó un alto precio por el mantenimiento del increíble estado de atraso económico del país. Hoy esta relacion
solo ha traído nuevos sufrimientos, con el imperialismo estadounidense lanzando ataques con aviones no tripulados sobre las cabezas de los civiles paquistaníes.

Con una población de 170 millones de personas, el 48% de la fuerza laboral de Pakistán está involucrada en la producción agrícola. Aproximadamente el 55% de la población del país no posee tierras. La gran mayoría de la población rural es explotada por terratenientes, usureros, comerciantes e instituciones religiosas.

Como se lee en el nuevo borrador del programa del PMKP, es el aspecto semicolonial del campo de Pakistán el que sigue siendo el "principal obstáculo para la liberación de las fuerzas productivas y el progreso de nuestro país". Esto es lo que convierte al campesinado fuertemente explotado y oprimido en la "fuerza principal de la revolución democrática popular llevada a cabo bajo la dirección del proletariado".

Son estas condiciones las que hacen que Pakistán esté maduro para la Guerra Popular. Si los maoístas no lideran la lucha del pueblo, las fuerzas islámicas seguirán prevaleciendo en su movilización reaccionaria de las masas en su pseudo-oposición al imperialismo estadounidense.

Las inundaciones que actualmente asolan Pakistán, trayendo gran miseria y dislocación a hasta el 10% de la población y cobrando miles de vidas, podrían ser fácilmente mitigadas por una sociedad socialista que ponga todas las fuerzas productivas de la sociedad en manos de los trabajadores. y campesinos.

Tenemos la esperanza de que las inundaciones no descarrilen los planes para el VII Congreso, pero si lo hacen, sabemos que será por la urgente necesidad de la vanguardia revolucionaria de servir y guiar al pueblo en una época de grandes dificultades. Es inevitable que los imperialistas y reaccionarios en Pakistán utilicen las catástrofes para fortalecer su legitimidad y orden, tal como lo han hecho los imperialistas y reaccionarios en Haití con el gran terremoto de enero de 2010.

Además de las grandes consecuencias que tendrá el ascenso del movimiento maoísta paquistaní a nivel interno, la revolución paquistaní también afectaría transformaciones históricas a nivel regional y mundial.

A nivel regional, la revolución en Pakistán llevaría la marea revolucionaria que barrería el sur de Asia más profundamente en el mundo musulmán, rompiendo el monopolio de los fascistas clericales en la lucha contra el imperialismo, al que no se oponen fundamentalmente y lo hacen en apariencia solo por su propio oportunismo y propósitos de auto-engrandecimiento.

A nivel mundial, el surgimiento de una marea comunista revolucionaria en Pakistán asestaría un golpe a la base ideológica de la "Guerra contra el Terrorismo" imperialista. En los países imperialistas occidentales, los musulmanes están siendo chivos expiatorios para desviar al resto de las masas de los verdaderos intereses geopolíticos y económicos del bloque de imperialistas de la OTAN: saquear el mundo, explotar a las masas trabajadoras y tomar la delantera en el competencia imperialista con los demás imperialistas y rivales geopolíticos regionales, especialmente Rusia y China.

Las masas en Occidente son chantajeadas para que apoyen la guerra de agresión imperialista en Afganistán a través del espectro del gobierno talibán. Pero sabemos que la guerra contra los talibanes, una guerra contra los reaccionarios internos y las clases explotadoras, solo puede ser la guerra de clases de las masas trabajadoras, no de los imperialistas. El mundo recordó esto el 1 de mayo de 2010 cuando el PMKP se reunió y marchó en la Provincia de la Frontera Noroeste para apoyar la revolución en Nepal.

Esperamos, camaradas, las grandes hazañas que el pueblo de Pakistán logrará bajo el liderazgo de genuinos comunistas guiados por el marxismo-leninismo-maoísmo, y demostraremos a las masas de nuestro país que el pueblo de Pakistán son nuestros amigos y camaradas. , y que luchen por una democracia genuina, por el socialismo y por el comunismo, al igual que nosotros.

Si el PMKP, junto con nuestros camaradas del Shola Jawid (Partido Comunista Maoísta de Afganistán) y Sarbederan (Partido Comunista de Irán-Maoísta), organiza con éxito y despierta a las masas para la revolución democrática nacional mediante guerras populares antiimperialistas en el centro y En el sur de Asia, los comunistas genuinos de todo el mundo se unirán a su causa, aprenderán lecciones importantes de su lucha y los promoverán entre los proletarios de sus países de origen.

Si el PMKP se aferra al marxismo-leninismo-maoísmo después de la convención del VII Congreso Nacional, desarraigando profundamente el revisionismo de las últimas décadas, y aplica audazmente el MLM a las condiciones de Pakistán, entonces le espera un futuro glorioso al pueblo de Pakistán. y Asia meridional y central. La era del imperialismo es la era de la revolución proletaria mundial. En esta fase del declive estratégico del imperialismo, la fase de la segunda gran crisis del imperialismo capitalista que ha asolado al mundo desde principios de la década de 1970, las condiciones para la revolución proletaria están mejorando inexorablemente.

Por último, este mensaje de solidaridad no estaría completo sin que nuestra propia organización identificara claramente al imperialismo canadiense como el principal enemigo de los pueblos del mundo, incluido el pueblo de su país. Un actor destacado en la ocupación de Afganistán y la OTAN es el imperialismo canadiense, cuya base es el capital financiero monopolista canadiense. A medida que la guerra imperialista en Afganistán se extiende cada vez más a su país, su conexión con la lucha revolucionaria del proletariado canadiense se profundiza cada vez más.

Los jóvenes proletarios que son enviados a Afganistán solo para regresar a Canadá en bolsas para cadáveres también son víctimas de la guerra imperialista, pero de todos modos deben ser expulsados ​​de Afganistán. La ruinosa guerra en Afganistán sienta las bases para la agitación revolucionaria entre los soldados, nada menos que la Guerra de Corea y la Guerra de Vietnam radicalizaron a generaciones enteras de jóvenes y soldados en Occidente.

Juntos, apresuremos el movimiento hacia el socialismo y el comunismo a escala mundial antes de que los imperialistas nos arrastren más hacia un mundo infernal de guerra, desastres evitables, catástrofes ecológicas y la explotación y opresión del capitalismo día a día.

¡Saludo rojo al PMKP por tomar la bandera del marxismo-leninismo-maoísmo!

¡Adelante con la Guerra Popular en Pakistán!

De Canadá a Pakistán, viva la revolución proletaria internacional.

/> Autor Robert Lindsay Publicado el 16 de agosto de 2010 Categorías Afganistán, Américas, Asia, Asia, Canadá, Capitalismo, China, Economía, Guerra Fría, Eurasia, Fascismo, Geopolítica, Hinduismo, Historia, Imperialismo, India, Indonesia, Islam, Izquierda , 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? - Historia

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 sí. & 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, camino 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 especies 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? Eso es raro. 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. Quizás.

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. Adolescentes. Not a single one looked a day above fifteen. Oh God, the feeling came back. She dove to her personal bathroom, emptying her stomach into the toilet. She looked down into the green water, her spit dripping down into the bowl.

She gave a groan, tears beginning to follow into her vomit. Snot dripped down after a while, falling from her slumped form using the toilet for support.

She had been there for so long. Just thinking. She looked at the mirror, gathering herself to look at least somewhat presentable. Her hair was a mess, and tears made her cheeks absolutely red. It was very apparent she had been crying.

She shot up, coughing as she smelled her horrible breath.

“Do not let it destroy you, Doctor.”

Professor Sauer was somehow in her room, staring from the entrance to the washroom.

She ignored him after glimpsing his appearance and sat on the floor, her head pointed up at the ceiling.

She covered her face with her hands, doing a poor attempt at hiding her already re-appearing tears.

“They were fucking kids. And I gave the order.”

She moaned, and let out a half sob.

She bowed her head. She really needed a drink right about now.

The form of the Professor leaned down.

“I told you to simply cull the herd, Miss Khristina. Five hundred is a lot to feed, no doubt some of those mouths being dead weight.”

He rubbed the top of his cane and tapped her arm with it.

“You said to punish any who did not make the time quota for the groups. An easy task, especially since they have been trained for almost a decade in that sort of thing. Punctuality should have been the first thing that was ingrained in those heads of theirs.”

“You did your job, Doctor, and your duty. You alerted them of the repercussions, and still they tempted fate. Now, while the punishment was a bit more extreme than what they are used to, it does not excuse them.”

Lada looked at him and screamed.

“I thought harsh punishment meant to make them clean a latrine or run laps, not… not fucking execute them!”

He came face to face with Lada, squatting to her level. His voice was now full of disdain.

“They aren’t kids, Khristina. They are tools. Their deaths are on their heads and the heads of their instructors who simply dealt out punishment as seen fit.”

“We are onto the second stage, Doctor. You did good. Already we are down to 433 of our original five hundred.”

“These tools must be exposed to death, Doctor. It is their purpose. Better to do it sooner rather than later. This event will also sort out the mentally weak, something that is just as important.”

The Professor stood up and fixed his slight disheveled clothing.

“Duty comes first, Doctor. You would do well to remember this.”

496 sat outside the barracks, where his squad was sleeping. He hoped. It wasn’t a crime to be outside barracks right now, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t exactly tolerated. He had been sitting there for a while, letting the wind nip at his rosey cheeks and snow dance on his nose.

He gave a final visual sweep before withdrawing the harmonica from his pocket. He gave a few test blows, even though the metal was frigid. He could deal with it. He began a new song, one he had only played a few times before. He hadn’t really called them anything, he just remembered the melodies.

Forgetting the troubles of watching a kid get his head bashed in, he let the music take him away.

Lada walked through the moonlit compound. God, she still felt sick. She needed something to calm her down. It was her duty.

She thought maybe walking around the above ground compound would help her. Get the blood flowing. The cold was doing the opposite, despite her layers of protection against the elements. She nodded at a few of the armed men, whom she still thought were creepy.

The wind started to get really noisy. She was about to head back to her room when she realized the wind was actually whistling.

The sound was towards one of the maintenance buildings. It was a small thing, a concrete shed with wires running in and out of the block.

She walked closer, feet sinking in the snow. She saw a flickering light as she rounded the edge of the shack.

The young bearded man quickly tried to hide the light.

“Ah! Miss, uh, Khristina! Hello! What brings you out here on such a fine night?”

She gave him a suspicious look.

“This night sucks ass, Yuri. What are you doing out here?”

“I am, er, checking the generator for gas!”

Lada turned her head to see a yellow electric sign.

“This is the electrics station, Yuri.”

Yuri gave a sigh of defeat, and revealed a lit cigarette.

“I’m just a mechanic who knows too much for his own good, Doctor. I know shit goes down in the underground facility, but I just get paid to make sure everyone doesn’t explode. Most of the time I spend down there is fixing their pipes and the main systems.”

“I come out here on shitty nights like this. Everyone is sleeping or inside. I smoke whatever I have, cigar or cigarette. Calms me down.”

She leaned on the shed next to him.

He gave a look of positive surprise.

“Oh my, Doctor. Breaking the rules, are we?”

He stifled a chuckle before rustling in his coat pockets.

“You are lucky we are friends, lady. I have one left.”

He took out an identical stick, lighting it before passing it to Lada. Lada was never a serious smoker, but she did it socially. Which she realized, was actually quite often. She pressed her lips on the end, taking a long drag.

She released a cloud of smoke with Yuri.

“I had a really shitty first day on the job.”

“Yeah? What did the evil scientist man have you do, kill children?”

Yuri bumped her with his arm, a grin on his face. Lada just stared at the snow. Yuri’s grin faded as he looked at the unmoving Lada.

They sat for a bit, the awkward air still hanging low.

Lada asked him another question.

He puffed more, giving her a sideways glance.

“There is music, Doctor. If you listen closely, you can hear it.”

She went silent, ears twitching in anticipation.

And she heard it. A somber song, like a mourning widow in the crisp night air. It was Katyusha, a song her grandmother enjoyed way back when. She had this old gramophone with one of the original records on it.

He stared at his rapidly disappearing cigarette.

“One of the kids they have here. Has a real knack for it. Heard it during our last little blizzard. He plays every now and then.”

“He’s a good kid, too. When they were running, about the first few months they were here, one of the little brats stumbled. Poor guy was all tuckered out. No way is he gonna make the required time limit.”

Yuri moves his hand to accentuate his tale.

“I’m working on the internal comms at the time, complete pain in the ass. I’ll never forget it: this little fucker picks up the brat, and hauls ass back to the main group.”

“Realized it was the same kid when I saw him playing the harmonica. 496 is the lad. Would hate to scare him, so I just stay here and listen to the kid play. Goes well with my smoke breaks.”

His cigarette butt remains, and he flicks it into the snow some distance away.

“Hey, you’re a top dog in the secret project shit, right?”

She nodded slowly, still staring into the snow.

“Keep track of 496, eh? Just for me. I’d hate to not have my music. He’s a good kid, Doctor.”

“I don’t have any business with what the hell you eggheads do in there. Just try to have him pull through, huh?”

Not this again. He could barely sleep as is, remembering the kid next to him at the firing range getting domed for not perfecting the drill. He didn’t really know any of them personally, even after several years, but that didn’t mean having the insides of the kid next to you splatter on your face from a Kalashnikov round while being ordered to stand still was any easier.

It had been years since the door incident, and the punishments were pretty much only death.

He knew 500 wouldn’t rest until he talked back.

“How come you are so calm? I mean, I have to barf a couple times. I almost keep dropping my glasses in the latrine. Even with the first guy, you didn’t really freak out.”

496 stared up at the ceiling in his new bunk house. It really wasn’t that different, just a few less people and a couple new ones. Namely, the group of ten- well, six- cadets he had been with.

“Just felt like I had seen it before. Just doesn’t really catch up with me until later, really.”

He realized that didn’t really help 500 feel better about his current feelings. He added on to the previous statement.

“Yeah 500, it was messed up. Can’t even sleep right now just thinking about it. What if that was your or me?”

496 wasn’t lying. He really was thinking about what had happened. The thing was, he had just been expecting it. This entire time, since they arrived, certain truths had been pounded into their memories. One of these was the fact of conflict: you will kill people.

This had been repeated to them, over and over. Weapons training, physical testing, classroom learning. They told you that you would kill people, day in and day out. The training had gotten way harder, with sparring and tests that ended up with a few casualties. All the while, they were told that they would kill. It made sense why.

Lessens the impact on them when it finally happens.

Seeing someone die was a little different, so maybe that's why a lot of cadets had an adverse reaction. Maybe when he finally did have to do the deed it would screw with him.

He’d cross that bridge when he got there.

“I know why, 500. Because he’s a fucking pyscho.”

500 looked across at the cadet across from him on the other bottom bunk.

493 got out of his bunk, fuming. He had been listening for quite some time. 492 was his best friend, always had been. They had bunked together all the time, especially when they had numbers right next to each other. It might seem like a weak link, but in this camp, they were willing to grasp at anything they could get. The human mind tends to do that.

So when these little asswipes decided to talk about him like some sort of spectacle to talk about in their spare time, he knew he had to put their shit straight. He would remember 492, even when no one else would.

He climbed on the edge of 500’s bed, shoving his face into 496’s vision while he laid down.

“How about you show some respect, you freak. How about I break your little twink friend here, show you how it feels, huh?”

496 kept a calm face, even with the hot, and smelly, he realized, exhales of the boiling kid breezing onto his nose.

“Your friend was no one, 493.”

Fire burned inside the standing boy’s eyes.

“He was a tool, just like us. ¿Recordar? 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? Quizás. 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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