“No matter how phantasmagoric its stagings often were, the totalitarian society from which I had come was not…some sort of unearthly, demonic aberration, but a human reality that still persists and may indeed revive in other guises as an ideology and as a form of society.” Norman Manea, On Clowns: The Dictator and the Artist, (1992).
“Sir…Sir…Sir…”
Ah, I’ve been called that name for more than 40 years now either out of respect or out of fear. It started when I led a small guerilla unit during the Japanese occupation. Our mission was to kidnap Japanese collaborators of all stripes. I did all the interrogations. I passed the information I deemed to be valuable to the larger guerilla units operating all over the country. Then my team would do the execution of these bastards!
One day we snatched a prominent Japanese collaborator. When I entered the interrogation room, he immediately spoke up: “I can see you’re a reasonable and ambitious man.
You know I’m wealthy. The Japanese won’t be here long. When that happens, I think you’ll have an eminent role in making this country recover from this hellish war. When you decide to run for political office, I can help you tremendously to get you elected.”
This guy could see me through and through. We made a compact to be blood brothers to honour our deal. He lived under my protection. Pretty soon the war ended. He got all his wealth intact. I kept in touch.
I ran for the governorship in one of the provinces in the country. True to his words, my blood brother financed my campaign and got myself elected. After five years, I eyed a Senate seat.
Once again my blood brother put up all the money for me to succeed. I was voted number one of all the elected Senators. I became the Senate President. I presided the passing of laws and studied their intricacies.
After four years, I was ready to run for president of the country. My blood brother and I worked hard to use all the dirty political tricks we could muster to get myself elected. One of them, of course, was vote-buying, such as giving away a bag rice during my campaign rallies. When the final votes were counted, I won by a slight margin; nevertheless still a victory.
I started a secret diary. Once the festivities of my presidential inauguration were over, I wrote in the privacy of my room the following thoughts: “I am now the president, the most powerful man in the country. I sense God’s blessings in making my dream into a reality. I know the burden is great, but with God on my side nothing can go wrong. How can I refuse this divine mission when it is specifically assigned to me? Yes, to me alone. Like Jesus Christ, I am the saviour of this country. So I don’t see how my rule should be limited. There must be a way to prolong it. I am very, very smart and political savvy. I will find it!”
It was a turbulent period. The masses were being persuaded by a rag-tag army of a hundred, spouting the promise of an ideological paradise. Also, instead of working to get their degrees, the university students spent most of their time marching through the city streets and voicing out loud anti-government slogans.
Little did they know these student protest movements had been infiltrated by my spies and agents provocateurs. They reported the details of planned demonstrations. I ordered them to create riots and confusions so that the police could break them up and jail the student leaders.
Bombings were rampant but with minimal damage to property and no loss of life. These were staged. I also ordered the kidnappings of the sons and daughters of wealthy families and business people. They were released after a day or two. The fear worked. They demanded that I took any necessary action to bring LAW and ORDER to the country. I complied and declared Martial Law.
I also took advantage of jailing my political enemies and shutting down media outlets critical to my administration. On the night after my address to the nation in justifying Martial Law, I wrote in my diary: “My plan was executed to perfection. My enemies didn’t expect its boldness.
I caught them sleeping at the wheels. Machiavelli was right. To stay in power, you have to be decisive and ruthless. I have now secured my rule as long as I live. This LAW and ORDER playbook is a sure-winner for the gullible and fearful and we have lots of them. My
divine-sanctioned mission continues. Next is to plan for a dynasty.”
I appointed my blood brother as my Secretary of Commerce. He knew how to make the economy grow which would counteract any negative impact of Martial Law. He was doing an excellent job. The gross domestic product (GDP) was rising at least 4% annually. Unemployment rate was down to 9% from 12% a year ago. The middle class was expanding. Foreign inves-
tors were eager to grow their businesses here. The students were back to studying. Opposition forces were quelled and muted. I opened my diary and wrote with a heavy heart: “I may have inadvertently opened the genie bottle.
Instead of granting my wish of a lifetime power, the genie is working against me. My blood brother’s rising popularity is getting on the way of my plan for a family dynasty. I hear God telling me I have to act decisively lest I’ll lose my divine providence. He must be
stopped at all costs before it’s too late.”
I summoned my blood brother to appear before me. I laid out his options: Accept exile to the U.S. or execution, immediate family included. He and his family boarded an airplane the following day bound for Washington.
I reported to the nation that my blood brother committed a high crime of fraud, that all his assets were ill-gotten gains during the Japanese occupation. I confiscated most of them secretly. I instantly became the richest man in the country, one of the multi-millionaires in Asia. I killed two birds with one stone; that’s how deftly I moved against possible opponents
to my throne. Years passed and the country’s grumblings were getting louder. My blood brother successfully organized a strong opposition group and lobbied the U.S. Congress to put pressure on me to lift Martial Law and call for a free election. I knew I could manipulate the outcome of the election. So I eased the tension by agreeing to both demands.
My blood brother decided to return home alone and be my opponent for the upcoming election. He became my nemesis nonpareil.
His rallies were getting bigger and he was getting favourable coverage from the media. He was accusing me of corruption, the vilest ever of all dictators known in the annals of history. And the people were absorbing his every word, taking it all in as truthful as the bible.
Here’s one of his popular speeches:
“Why do we love strongmen? What makes them tick? Why do we allow them to govern us with impunity in spite of their blatant misdeeds and overt corruptions? What are we so afraid of that we cower right away the instant they roar?
“All these would-be dictators try to lure you with the promise of LAW and ORDER– tough guys who will clean the country of scumbags. And we fall for it every time as if only LAW and ORDER is the TOTAL SOLUTION for all the ills of our society. But you and I know that these authoritarians often fail to deliver! They continue robbing us of good future just to stay in power. When will you open your eyes to the truth?
“In this election, let’s tell them ‘Enough is enough!’ You have the power to make the change. Stop selling your soul for a bag of rice. I understand your need to eat. But what they are giving you are just crumbs. Your votes have more significant value than you might think. Let them count for a better tomorrow!
“Remember the prosperity we had when I was the Secretary of Commerce. I promise you I will bring that back and so much more. Vote for me and let’s kick these corrupt people out of power once and for all!”
I couldn’t let him get away with that. This was not a question of fair play; politics is dirty and brings life-and-death consequences. So I ordered my henchmen to shoot him in the mouth and shut him up forever.
The whole country mourned his death. Soon after, huge street demonstrations occurred daily. Businesses were interrupted. The economy was getting worse.
My cronies were scrambling to enrich themselves and leaving the country at the same time. Successful uprisings were happening in some parts of the country. Half of my generals and soldiers depicted to the other side. Civil war inevitably ensued. The rebels were closing in. I heard the rapid burst of machine guns from my guards. I went to my private room to write my final entry in my secret diary. “I dedicated my whole life to make this country great even at the risk of my family’s safety. But what did I get in return? These people have no idea that God is behind me all the time. I don’t think God wants me to lose. But these few evil forces are being supported by stupid and ungrateful people who can’t figure out the real saviour among their midst, so obvious they don’t see me now. They are blinded by their own misgivings, their failure of character. I refuse to surrender to their pettiness. No one has the right to wrest away this divine mission from my capable hands. So I must fight and offer my blood, honour and life to future generations.
History will absolve me.”
“Sir…Sir… Sir… It’s all over. Time to go!” *
