Rise of the Ra'id
Posted: Thu Jul 16, 2009 2:30 pm
Qadir Thabit drummed his fingers on the table, it always took a while for the regional Rais and his squad of Mujahids to secure a hall, throwing out the hecklers and trouble makers so he could make his speech in safety. Last night they had done a bad job and a group of trade unionists had tried to charge the platform and steal the flag, so the meeting had ended with him leaving surrounded by his Mujahids without him being able to finish his point about Jewish blood sacrifice of Arab children. Tonight, he would talk about only one thing. This one thing was more important than the corporate state, more important than welfare, more important even than Zionism.
Communism!
Not just any kind of Communism, but Communism on our own doorstep. Communism had not ignited any great fear when it was in far away places like Keris, but now only a small stretch of water separated the old bumbling Islamic conservative soceity of Al'Badara with it's few political parties, inactive government and a hangover from the glory days of the Terran Caliphate from a all-out Communist revolution.
Communist revolution in Kafuristan!
He could imagine the meeting now, it would be different from the old meetings with his few fresh faced and young Mujahids, in their sandy brown uniforms, trying to win the hearts of apathetic and bemused voters while battling with equally few, fresh faced and young anti-fascists who would burst out from among the herd like a bull out of field of cows. Their fists and arms seeking out every bit of brownshirt flesh and insignia they could reach. He remembered the knuckle dusters, bricks, knives and handfuls of sand thrown into eyes. He remembered the tactics, when the antis would take a whole row of seats to themselves so when his Mujahids tried to remove the seemingly lone heckler in the middle of the row, it would seem like the entire people had spontaneously risen against fascism. How they would bring people from other towns and cities to partake in their "spontaneous" fights against his movement, all the while the bemused and oh-so apolitical public would go home having watched the whole affair like it was some kind of travelling circus and continue their silly little lives. Now it would be different, now they where frightened, now they saw reds under every rock, now they feared their mosques would be burned and their property stolen. Now the halls would be packed with thousands of transfixed faces, sweating and pushing for place as they try to hide their terror with stern expressions. They would boil in their terror, it would consume them whole as from his mind he would recall every atrocity story, every scare and every rumour that abounded about the Kafuri Red Terror (he needed no notes, he remembered every propaganda point like a camera) and then he could mold them like clay. In their terror they would love him and worship him like a god, they would scream "Ra'id!" hysterically and accept everything they had once rejected as unimportant or false in his programme. Now they feared for their property, they would pay any tax and accept any regulation on capitalism as long as they could hold their little deeds to their little houses and bless the corporate state as it turned them into state employees for saving them from socialism. And it was true, he didn't want to nationalise business, why do that when the businessmen themselves could be by fear turned into far more effective minions of the state willingly? Now they feared Communist Kafuristan, they would scream for his Imperialist conquest of a independent country which had long been Al'Badara next door neighbour like they where wolves who smelled the blood of lambs. Now they feared the nihilistic atheism of Communism, they would worship the state mindlessly and forget the Mullah's teachings as they pressed their ears against radios in total subjugation to the political religion of war and savagery he preached. Now they feared for their own people, they would gladly let the Jews suffer.
Now, when a heckler stood up to shout him down, he would have a stage light shine upon the hapless fool and declare "A communist!" and then the terrified sheep would become Mujahids without thinking twice, they would beat and kick the fool till he died and continue till he ordered them to stop. When he showed them the line upon which to sign their name they would obey and wear the brownshirt as if they had been in the movement all their lives, and when they returned home they would be shocked to remember that they had saluted him, fought their own neighbours and screamed for Fascism and they would realise like every drug addict they needed more and more and more and nothing could be done to stop them wanting more. Even hecklers, even Communist hecklers would join, for only the strongest will could resist his power over a crowd.
But even this wouldn't be enough to get up the stairway of power, for after the meeting he had a important dinner with a certain group of powerful gentlemen of the old classes. They didn't show their fear in such a undignified manner as did the public mob, but they felt it just as strongly. These men would be the last nail in the grave of democracy in Al'Badara, if he could persuade them. He tapped faster and louder upon the table, and glanced at his watch.
"Ra'id" said the Rais "the hall is ready."
"How many have you left?"
"We left only a few pockets in the middle, just wear they can't reach either the door or the platform."
"Good" said Thabit.
Communism!
Not just any kind of Communism, but Communism on our own doorstep. Communism had not ignited any great fear when it was in far away places like Keris, but now only a small stretch of water separated the old bumbling Islamic conservative soceity of Al'Badara with it's few political parties, inactive government and a hangover from the glory days of the Terran Caliphate from a all-out Communist revolution.
Communist revolution in Kafuristan!
He could imagine the meeting now, it would be different from the old meetings with his few fresh faced and young Mujahids, in their sandy brown uniforms, trying to win the hearts of apathetic and bemused voters while battling with equally few, fresh faced and young anti-fascists who would burst out from among the herd like a bull out of field of cows. Their fists and arms seeking out every bit of brownshirt flesh and insignia they could reach. He remembered the knuckle dusters, bricks, knives and handfuls of sand thrown into eyes. He remembered the tactics, when the antis would take a whole row of seats to themselves so when his Mujahids tried to remove the seemingly lone heckler in the middle of the row, it would seem like the entire people had spontaneously risen against fascism. How they would bring people from other towns and cities to partake in their "spontaneous" fights against his movement, all the while the bemused and oh-so apolitical public would go home having watched the whole affair like it was some kind of travelling circus and continue their silly little lives. Now it would be different, now they where frightened, now they saw reds under every rock, now they feared their mosques would be burned and their property stolen. Now the halls would be packed with thousands of transfixed faces, sweating and pushing for place as they try to hide their terror with stern expressions. They would boil in their terror, it would consume them whole as from his mind he would recall every atrocity story, every scare and every rumour that abounded about the Kafuri Red Terror (he needed no notes, he remembered every propaganda point like a camera) and then he could mold them like clay. In their terror they would love him and worship him like a god, they would scream "Ra'id!" hysterically and accept everything they had once rejected as unimportant or false in his programme. Now they feared for their property, they would pay any tax and accept any regulation on capitalism as long as they could hold their little deeds to their little houses and bless the corporate state as it turned them into state employees for saving them from socialism. And it was true, he didn't want to nationalise business, why do that when the businessmen themselves could be by fear turned into far more effective minions of the state willingly? Now they feared Communist Kafuristan, they would scream for his Imperialist conquest of a independent country which had long been Al'Badara next door neighbour like they where wolves who smelled the blood of lambs. Now they feared the nihilistic atheism of Communism, they would worship the state mindlessly and forget the Mullah's teachings as they pressed their ears against radios in total subjugation to the political religion of war and savagery he preached. Now they feared for their own people, they would gladly let the Jews suffer.
Now, when a heckler stood up to shout him down, he would have a stage light shine upon the hapless fool and declare "A communist!" and then the terrified sheep would become Mujahids without thinking twice, they would beat and kick the fool till he died and continue till he ordered them to stop. When he showed them the line upon which to sign their name they would obey and wear the brownshirt as if they had been in the movement all their lives, and when they returned home they would be shocked to remember that they had saluted him, fought their own neighbours and screamed for Fascism and they would realise like every drug addict they needed more and more and more and nothing could be done to stop them wanting more. Even hecklers, even Communist hecklers would join, for only the strongest will could resist his power over a crowd.
But even this wouldn't be enough to get up the stairway of power, for after the meeting he had a important dinner with a certain group of powerful gentlemen of the old classes. They didn't show their fear in such a undignified manner as did the public mob, but they felt it just as strongly. These men would be the last nail in the grave of democracy in Al'Badara, if he could persuade them. He tapped faster and louder upon the table, and glanced at his watch.
"Ra'id" said the Rais "the hall is ready."
"How many have you left?"
"We left only a few pockets in the middle, just wear they can't reach either the door or the platform."
"Good" said Thabit.