An Examination of Extra-Universal Systems of Government
- Thread starter Ephraim Ben Raphael
- Start date
- Status
Ephraim Ben Raphael
Banned
Yeah, I don't know what this but I definitely didn't approve it. It breaks with the whole established pattern.
It also definitely isn't written from Chana's perspective. (and speaking of which, I hope my entry got his style right)
I apologize, I really did want this put on here; so I'll follow your advice.
I suggest deleting the post since it does have tonal issues, and submitting it to EBR for approval.
And canon issues. I, for one, had no idea Professor Chana was a "son of a former Hoosier Klansman that divorced my mother when I was a toddler and later died in a car crash". Was it even written from Chana's perspective? I can't even tell.
I did not know of this Chana dude and what he's like here; and in case you ask about the tonal perspective thing, it was from a freelance journalist of no relation and again part of my ignorance (perhaps it's better to ask from now on about stuff like this). And right now I'm currently rewriting the page to make sure it fits the criteria.
OK, well, from what I saw it was a good concept, so I'm looking forward to a reworked version.
I'm currently in the process of working out the kinks of this (and don't worry @Ephraim Ben Raphael & @rvbomally, you're gonna get it before I post it), but I already made my initial cartographic sketch of this Confucian theocracy.
It's a first idea I had regarding the territorial extent and I had the idea of Confucian China supporting the Korean resistance against the Japanese and becoming a puppet state. The flag is super simple, just the character for li (ritual, rational principle, natural law, order) on a white background with a red frame, with white standing for purity and virtue, and red standing for the Chinese/Han people. I hope I'll be able to write the entry proper within the next seven days, depending on what my schedule allows.
Deleted member 108228
Could I help? The government part is my specialty. Please?
I suppose it's my first post here in several years. But at least I owe EBR this much.
Now,as was posted in the DeviantArt version, I understand that this may be one of my more controversial and politically incorrect works, given the subject material. But regardless of one's politics (and my own views on how any topic is open season), this is a work of fiction and not meant to be propaganda.
Also, if you recognize how certain bits of dialogue seem like they're from (in)famous Bush War-period songs, it's deliberate.
---
Commonwealth Realm of Rhodesia
It's always an experience to travel to this particular corner of Africa, but not for the best of reasons. Whether it's called Zimbabwe, Rhodesia, Northmark or some other name, one half expects to find a grand old mess or the possibility of death at every corner. Yet even before my taxi approached Salisbury's First Street, I knew this trip would be more surreal than most. The Rhodesian capital, from the outskirts inward looked remarkably clean, its myriad frontier and colonial buildings blending well with a modernist skyline not too unlike 1970s Cape Town. Though more so than the portraits of Rhodes and Smith that seemed to pop up with regularity, there was a strangeness to how the sights around me looked straight out of England. More so, however were the pedestrians along the fairly wide sidewalks. Well dressed and "British" as many of them were, what really caught my attention wasn't simply how many of those passers-by were African as well as White. Rather, it's also how there seemed to be just as many who were of indistinguishable ethnicity, in varying shades and features that came off as a mix of both.
Stepping out of the car and going down the First Street Mall, I took a few moments to shake off any preconceptions. While some of the buildings and stores lining the road like Woolworths or Edgars would be familiar to an old man from Harare, it took a bit of effort to remind myself that this wasn't the same city. Regardless, I made my way past even more of those peculiar mixed-race locals to a cozy-looking cafe. The place itself, thankfully wasn't some stereotypical pub but rather looked as like a quaint coffee shop back home. Once again, however, those two portraits were inescapable, only this time accompanied by the image of an elderly Queen Margaret. Moving on, my attention soon turned to the back, from where my contact was waving.
"Mr. Jones, I presume?" a middle-aged African man in brown suit greeted in a surprisingly crisp Yorkshire accent as he shook my hand, a pin showing the Rhodesian flag clear on his lapel. "I'm Jonathan Chirau Emerson. Her Majesty's Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I must say it's an honour that your patrons have expressed an interest in knowing more about this country."
I simply returned the gesture with a smile as I took my seat. "It's a been a pleasure, indeed. Though I admit, it's rather surprising to find such a place as this here in Africa. Clearly not what I was expecting."
"Ah, to the point then! Not much for ceremony, are you?" Emerson's tone was jovial, though I wondered if he had heard something like that far too many times. "Right then. If you allow me a little indulgence, there's more to the story of Rhodesia than just being a land both fair and great. Many know the beginnings back in 1890, with Rhodes, Company Rule and what have you. No doubt you may know as well of the pioneers and how their quest for better fortunes turned into building civilization. But as important as our contribution during the Great War and the move to Responsible Government in 1923 were, I'd say the real tale of our land begins in the 1930s. Funnily enough, it starts off far away in old Britannia."
"I see. The Great Depression, is it?"
"That's part of it, yes. It was a time of great hardship in the British Empire, but the ailing King George V and his supporters firmly believed that granting more power to the Dominions at such a time was ill-advised, especially with concerns about social unrest destabilizing all that'd been accomplished. So in 1931, Parliament in London approved a more gradual devolution of power to the other Commonwealth Realms while encouraging a new generation of pioneers to seek a better future for King and Country. That Act, however, also included provisions for continuity in the event of any such upheaval. Now, although that call to the frontier wasn't seen as entirely successful at the time it did have an effect of bringing in more British settlers, through South Africa, into Rhodesia. Truth be told, whether it's out of desperation, the traditional tobacco or genuine fervor is irrelevant. Then as now, it's a land of opportunity, where a man could build a future with his hands. Which meant more farms, more industry, more manpower, and whatnot." The man then sighed. "It seemed such a good idea then. But as the decade dragged on, the unrest didn't abate. While more people were coming into Salisbury, it also meant that life must have been going down the gutter for them go here. Then came the Second Civil War following George V's death, with Socialists and Fascists fighting in the streets. The attack on Buckingham Palace in '38 must have been a godsend for Hitler and his Reich, I imagine."
"So how did this corner of Africa become the heart of the Imperial Commonwealth?"
"Well, none of us would be so proud as to call ourselves that. But truth is, there aren't many left who are loyal to the Crown," Emerson shrugged before gesturing to the handful of flags on display. "A weary Britannia fell to Mosley, who in turn became embroiled in the Germans' war against the Soviets. India, Egypt and Malaya were soon lost as what remained of the Royal Navy retreated. Most of the rest was gobbled up by Mosley's goons, the Germans, the Yanks and even some uppity warlords who took over much of the land north of the Zambezi, what we used to call Northern Rhodesia. The Royal Family - those who survived, anyway - dispersed across what remained of the old Empire: Canada, Australia-New Zealand and South Africa. But us? We not only held true and stayed steadfast, but we're the first to swear fealty to King George VI in 1941, which he graciously accepted. Since then, they've elevated our little nation as the prime mediator among the remaining Loyalists of the Commonwealth. You could say we're what holds and drives it all together."
This man, I realized, seemed too earnest to be simply repeating his government's line. Which only further made it harder to ignore the elephant in the room. "I could imagine. But what of-"
"The Black Question?" To my surprise, Emerson laughed. "Ah, yes. Don't be so surprised, Mr. Jones. It's true that 60 years ago, a man like me wouldn't be able to reach where I am position. Even without such ghastly institutions like segregation or slavery, I'd be lying if I said that my own ancestors weren't disenfranchised, or that there weren't any squabbles with patronizing settlers. You could say that it wasn't unheard of among Blacks to feel a bit disgruntled with answering to Whites. Then one day in 1953, Mosley's regime, without Hitler's backing, fell to infighting. Before the Isles devolved into a bloody shouting match between the Communists and Republicans, however, there was one last wave of British migration to all over the Commonwealth and especially here. This only worsened tensions between Whites and Blacks. the former back then still making up some 20-25% of the population even with all the settlement and border policies. Lots of bad blood, from what my Matabale dad said. But that's all in the past, mind you, even if it took much sacrifice."
"I'm not the squeamish kind, good sir," I shrugged just as a plate of fish and chips arrived, delivered by a White waiter. "Though forgive me for being upfront, but you don't sound Matabale."
Emerson smirked before bringing out a small photograph of himself alongside an English lady and young uniformed boy of 12. The latter, I noticed also had the same indistinguishable mix as those pedestrians earlier.
"Well, that's part of the sacrifice made to help make this all work. Though I wouldn't call it a loss, so much as it's a gain," he continued. "Though as the saying goes, the cost of keeping this land prosperous can never be too great."
"So the government is encouraging mixed unions?"
"More than that. As you may imagine, it was unacceptable for a Commonwealth Realm to have such setbacks with issues like race, lest we lose our standing with our fellow Loyalists. So back in '56, Parliament passed the Solidarity Act, which was intended to gradually provide voting rights to everyone in Rhodesia, Black and White, alongside a comprehensive education campaign to bring us all to up to speed. At first though, it backfired thanks in part to a few overzealous teachers on the one hand and Socialist agitators hearkening back to some African utopia on the other. Then in 1962, amidst simmering tensions a snap election was held. I take you know who I'm referring to?"
"Ian Smith," I replied, glancing at the man's portrait. War hero, farmer, firebrand, his background was rather similar no matter which universe he existed. "Seems like he must have done a lot."
"Right. He was a man of his time, yes. But he understood that in order to resolve the concerns of Whites and Blacks alike, simply going for majority rule or playing to race would not be enough in the long run. So he took the Solidarity Act and reforged it into the Unilateral Declaration of Solidarity, or UDS as we call it. While many applauded and benefited, some weren't all too happy. This was especially the case of the various Black ne'er do wells, who had somehow managed to gain the backing of the Soviets, North Chinese and God knows who else. Rumour has it they even siphoned money from the Kaiser's supporters after they ousted Hitler, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, against all odds and more than a few lives, his gamble pulled through as it goes beyond gradually opening up more windows for Blacks to excel by their own hands. No, it also involves a daring willingness to pursue their own future. In Britannia's loss, we are taking its place."
"From the sounds of it, it must have been a tremendous effort."
"An understatement, Mr. Jones. But we all do our share in promoting an unity of all Rhodesians under a common language, culture and heritage, as befitting true subjects of the Crown. look at what we've achieved so far," Emerson beamed. "Nowadays, all people are treated as equals, be it together or in their respective counties. Every man and woman can vote with no strings attached, just as they all have a fair chance at pursuing their own prosperous lives. Our industry is the envy of our Canadian and ANZ counterparts, while our lads in uniform hold back the Socialist and rebel tide, within and without. Not even the tragic fall of South Africa back in the '80s has cut us off, not with our ties with the Lusophone League through Mozambique or through our air services, which are second to none here."
"There's a catch though, I imagine. It seems like that work isn't quite finished."
"Indeed. True, you could say that Blacks like myself only make up at most 30% of all civil servants alone. And Whites by far still have the highest standard on average. My youthful self might even say that it's unfair, to be honest. But understand that the color of one's skin is irrelevant these days. Not when our children are becoming such an integral aspect of our society." He then leaned closer to me. "The Opposition can scoff all they want. For where once there's White and Black, soon Smith's dream with UDS will be complete. One Rhodesian people. A shining beacon for the Commonwealth. Amazing, ain't it?"
My mind went back to those pedestrians seen in that taxi earlier. All those faces blending into a mixed, if very British mold. It took a bit of effort for me to smile before finally finishing my meal.
"God Save the Queen."
The rest of that stint in the cafe was rather trivial by comparison. Once all the formalities were done, however, I quietly took my leave, making up an excuse of going down to Bulawayo, then onto Victoria Falls and Livingstone for some sightseeing. Which wasn't that far off from the truth, as I did have a ticket for later that afternoon. Suffice to say, the ride itself was rather comfortable, with the highways a clear improvement from the slipshod, often-dirt road conditions seen more than a few timelines. The countryside itself though proved to be as surreal as Salisbury. Miles of carefully maintained ranch and farmland seemed to stretch out into the horizon, broken here and there by the occasional town, industrial complex and checkpoint belonging to the British South Africa Police. If not for the African fauna and a handful of huts that might very well be just for show, the scene wouldn't be out of place in a ride through the Midlands. I imagined that many of those farms and factories were still run by the settlers' descendants. But from the looks of the largely mixed people around me during that ride and from what I saw in those villages passed by, I wondered even more just how far that drive for a single, Rhodesian people went.
No matter, I thought to myself upon arriving at Bulawayo's colonial-themed bus terminus. I arrived just in time for dinner, it seemed due to the shorter than expected travel time, but that had to wait. Quietly making my way through the rather well-preserved heart of the city, I tried to make my way to an innocuous building near Hume Park. Thankfully, there weren't as many of those portraits on display. The weirdly frequent of BSAP patrols out and about made up for that, however; though many of the men and women in those khaki uniforms also looked more clearly of Anglo descent compared to their Salisbury counterparts, they were often led by the same sort of indistinguishable mix. Eventually I reached my destination, which turned out a deceptively quaint two-story house not much different from the others around it. By the front door was an aging, rugged-looking African man in a walking suit with red, yellow and green stripes. One who didn't look particularly enthusiastic as he approached me.
"You're late, Mr. Jones. I almost thought you wouldn't show up," he chided with a tinge of impatience. His coarse accent sounded more recognizably Shona yet with more than a hint of South African and Estuary. "Well, I suppose it couldn't be helped with you lot. Though it's better if we continue this inside."
I nodded as Matthew Sibanda, leader of Rhodesia's Opposition led me into what was evidently his home. Despite the colonial-style exterior, however, the interior was a melange of various documents, envelopes and indigenous artifacts. There were also a few others with him, including a couple of blond Afrikaners to my surprise. All off whom seemed more than adept with their firearms, which made keeping a straight face a tad bit harder.
"I hope you don't mind the mess. When I'm not in Parliament, I'd rather do my business in the safety of home," he shrugged before offering me a seat across from his makeshift office. "Speaking of work, I take you've been around Salisbury."
"Yes, I have," I replied cordially before clearing my throat. "It's definitely not what I imagined it'd be like, if you don't mind me saying."
"Not at all. It's all well and good to see White minority rule for oneself and the seeds of what's replacing it. But of course, it's another to be in that everyday."
"What makes you say that? Surely, much has been done to make Rhodesia great."
"Great, eh?" Sibanda scoffed. "They're still trying to act like it's all in the past. The beatings and persecutions. My father lived through that. He even faced down the Vana Mudengu Muneyi in the early Smith years! Now, I won't deny that he made deals with the Soviets for their backing, as much as it must have abhorred him to turn to other White men. Nor deny that the bread and circus have improved for many since then, from Betchuanaland to the mighty Zambezi. But as a young man, I remember just how thorough UDS was. The education and upbringing so charitably brought upon us were supposed to uplift our standing. But so pervasive it all was that my ancestors' way of life was being erased before my very eyes! Even my accent now, while not some caricature of British media, is nowhere close to what I heard in my childhood. My political career is a way to honor what my father tried to defend by more legitimate means."
"I mean no disrespect. But surely you could say that it's not all bad then, right?"
"That's one way to look at it. We at least have the right to assembly, which we in the Opposition have used to continue fighting for those forgotten by all that talk of becoming the new Britannia. Not always successfully, but among our means it's better we use their own system against them than play into their propaganda." The man laughed bitterly. "I wonder if even Her Majesty will balk if she ever realizes the full extent of what's happening here means. What better way to curb resistance to whole White minority rule problem than to erase the minority - and eventually the majority with a monolithic race of obedient Coloureds?"
That helped explain in part why Sibanda and his retinue were a more varied bunch than I anticipated. It was also, I realized, the first time the term "Coloured" was openly uttered at all since coming here. Nonetheless, I kept calm. "I take that explains the Whites then? It seems like with the One Rhodesians angle, you've left the old Black majority rule cause behind."
"Yes and no." There was a fire in those few words, which continued to simmer as he continued. "Take those Afrikaners you've seen. They're the children of refugees who sought shelter here in the '80s when South Africa fell to civil war. Smith, for all his work, did nothing while his supposed compatriots fell into bloodshed. Though no doubt he may have been honest with that line about keeping security, I suppose their long-awaited Apartheid reforms were too much of an embarrassment to the Commonwealth. Maybe it hit too close to home, or perhaps even those particular Whites weren't Anglo enough. Either way, you wouldn't hear that from the Rhodesian Broadcasting Service, Mr. Jones. Nor would you hear of how the Coloureds are been deliberately cultivated through an ever larger quota of mixed unions, generous economic bonuses, and even more subtle indoctrination. Then again, I wouldn't blame you, not when most criticism nowadays against the government and companies is so conveniently dismissed as some Socialist ploy or the ramblings of madmen. Though really, it's not that big of a stretch to imagine that we are all on the same boat against a common enemy."
"You mentioned earlier that those tensions aren't all in the past, and that you have other means," I finally injected, the back of my mind only growing more convinced at what the answer might be. "What exactly are these other means?"
"If you're thinking of underground cells ready to strike, I'm afraid we have none of those. There are rumours, however, of assemblies being hosted by Barotseland as well as those warlords that to the regiments and private militias' credit have kept north of the Zambezi. But those are just rumours, like all that talk of renegades hiding out in the Azanian Union to the south, still hoping to come in like saviors when they're not fighting the Volkstaat or that American-based Cape Republic. Of course, if there's any truth to those, no one will admit. Not even the Kremlin, which even we've disavowed long ago. Mark my words though. Black or White, no one wants to be replaced." Sibanda smirked as he lit a cigarette. "There's a popular song here in Rhodesia, extolling the people to preserve their little nation for their children's children too. Well, who am I to stop them?"
All I could say to that was a simple "Who am I to judge." Once all that was done, sufficed to say my stay had to be cut even shorter. Whatever the future held, I wouldn't want to stay for much longer to find out.
Now,as was posted in the DeviantArt version, I understand that this may be one of my more controversial and politically incorrect works, given the subject material. But regardless of one's politics (and my own views on how any topic is open season), this is a work of fiction and not meant to be propaganda.
Also, if you recognize how certain bits of dialogue seem like they're from (in)famous Bush War-period songs, it's deliberate.
---
Commonwealth Realm of Rhodesia
It's always an experience to travel to this particular corner of Africa, but not for the best of reasons. Whether it's called Zimbabwe, Rhodesia, Northmark or some other name, one half expects to find a grand old mess or the possibility of death at every corner. Yet even before my taxi approached Salisbury's First Street, I knew this trip would be more surreal than most. The Rhodesian capital, from the outskirts inward looked remarkably clean, its myriad frontier and colonial buildings blending well with a modernist skyline not too unlike 1970s Cape Town. Though more so than the portraits of Rhodes and Smith that seemed to pop up with regularity, there was a strangeness to how the sights around me looked straight out of England. More so, however were the pedestrians along the fairly wide sidewalks. Well dressed and "British" as many of them were, what really caught my attention wasn't simply how many of those passers-by were African as well as White. Rather, it's also how there seemed to be just as many who were of indistinguishable ethnicity, in varying shades and features that came off as a mix of both.
Stepping out of the car and going down the First Street Mall, I took a few moments to shake off any preconceptions. While some of the buildings and stores lining the road like Woolworths or Edgars would be familiar to an old man from Harare, it took a bit of effort to remind myself that this wasn't the same city. Regardless, I made my way past even more of those peculiar mixed-race locals to a cozy-looking cafe. The place itself, thankfully wasn't some stereotypical pub but rather looked as like a quaint coffee shop back home. Once again, however, those two portraits were inescapable, only this time accompanied by the image of an elderly Queen Margaret. Moving on, my attention soon turned to the back, from where my contact was waving.
"Mr. Jones, I presume?" a middle-aged African man in brown suit greeted in a surprisingly crisp Yorkshire accent as he shook my hand, a pin showing the Rhodesian flag clear on his lapel. "I'm Jonathan Chirau Emerson. Her Majesty's Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I must say it's an honour that your patrons have expressed an interest in knowing more about this country."
I simply returned the gesture with a smile as I took my seat. "It's a been a pleasure, indeed. Though I admit, it's rather surprising to find such a place as this here in Africa. Clearly not what I was expecting."
"Ah, to the point then! Not much for ceremony, are you?" Emerson's tone was jovial, though I wondered if he had heard something like that far too many times. "Right then. If you allow me a little indulgence, there's more to the story of Rhodesia than just being a land both fair and great. Many know the beginnings back in 1890, with Rhodes, Company Rule and what have you. No doubt you may know as well of the pioneers and how their quest for better fortunes turned into building civilization. But as important as our contribution during the Great War and the move to Responsible Government in 1923 were, I'd say the real tale of our land begins in the 1930s. Funnily enough, it starts off far away in old Britannia."
"I see. The Great Depression, is it?"
"That's part of it, yes. It was a time of great hardship in the British Empire, but the ailing King George V and his supporters firmly believed that granting more power to the Dominions at such a time was ill-advised, especially with concerns about social unrest destabilizing all that'd been accomplished. So in 1931, Parliament in London approved a more gradual devolution of power to the other Commonwealth Realms while encouraging a new generation of pioneers to seek a better future for King and Country. That Act, however, also included provisions for continuity in the event of any such upheaval. Now, although that call to the frontier wasn't seen as entirely successful at the time it did have an effect of bringing in more British settlers, through South Africa, into Rhodesia. Truth be told, whether it's out of desperation, the traditional tobacco or genuine fervor is irrelevant. Then as now, it's a land of opportunity, where a man could build a future with his hands. Which meant more farms, more industry, more manpower, and whatnot." The man then sighed. "It seemed such a good idea then. But as the decade dragged on, the unrest didn't abate. While more people were coming into Salisbury, it also meant that life must have been going down the gutter for them go here. Then came the Second Civil War following George V's death, with Socialists and Fascists fighting in the streets. The attack on Buckingham Palace in '38 must have been a godsend for Hitler and his Reich, I imagine."
"So how did this corner of Africa become the heart of the Imperial Commonwealth?"
"Well, none of us would be so proud as to call ourselves that. But truth is, there aren't many left who are loyal to the Crown," Emerson shrugged before gesturing to the handful of flags on display. "A weary Britannia fell to Mosley, who in turn became embroiled in the Germans' war against the Soviets. India, Egypt and Malaya were soon lost as what remained of the Royal Navy retreated. Most of the rest was gobbled up by Mosley's goons, the Germans, the Yanks and even some uppity warlords who took over much of the land north of the Zambezi, what we used to call Northern Rhodesia. The Royal Family - those who survived, anyway - dispersed across what remained of the old Empire: Canada, Australia-New Zealand and South Africa. But us? We not only held true and stayed steadfast, but we're the first to swear fealty to King George VI in 1941, which he graciously accepted. Since then, they've elevated our little nation as the prime mediator among the remaining Loyalists of the Commonwealth. You could say we're what holds and drives it all together."
This man, I realized, seemed too earnest to be simply repeating his government's line. Which only further made it harder to ignore the elephant in the room. "I could imagine. But what of-"
"The Black Question?" To my surprise, Emerson laughed. "Ah, yes. Don't be so surprised, Mr. Jones. It's true that 60 years ago, a man like me wouldn't be able to reach where I am position. Even without such ghastly institutions like segregation or slavery, I'd be lying if I said that my own ancestors weren't disenfranchised, or that there weren't any squabbles with patronizing settlers. You could say that it wasn't unheard of among Blacks to feel a bit disgruntled with answering to Whites. Then one day in 1953, Mosley's regime, without Hitler's backing, fell to infighting. Before the Isles devolved into a bloody shouting match between the Communists and Republicans, however, there was one last wave of British migration to all over the Commonwealth and especially here. This only worsened tensions between Whites and Blacks. the former back then still making up some 20-25% of the population even with all the settlement and border policies. Lots of bad blood, from what my Matabale dad said. But that's all in the past, mind you, even if it took much sacrifice."
"I'm not the squeamish kind, good sir," I shrugged just as a plate of fish and chips arrived, delivered by a White waiter. "Though forgive me for being upfront, but you don't sound Matabale."
Emerson smirked before bringing out a small photograph of himself alongside an English lady and young uniformed boy of 12. The latter, I noticed also had the same indistinguishable mix as those pedestrians earlier.
"Well, that's part of the sacrifice made to help make this all work. Though I wouldn't call it a loss, so much as it's a gain," he continued. "Though as the saying goes, the cost of keeping this land prosperous can never be too great."
"So the government is encouraging mixed unions?"
"More than that. As you may imagine, it was unacceptable for a Commonwealth Realm to have such setbacks with issues like race, lest we lose our standing with our fellow Loyalists. So back in '56, Parliament passed the Solidarity Act, which was intended to gradually provide voting rights to everyone in Rhodesia, Black and White, alongside a comprehensive education campaign to bring us all to up to speed. At first though, it backfired thanks in part to a few overzealous teachers on the one hand and Socialist agitators hearkening back to some African utopia on the other. Then in 1962, amidst simmering tensions a snap election was held. I take you know who I'm referring to?"
"Ian Smith," I replied, glancing at the man's portrait. War hero, farmer, firebrand, his background was rather similar no matter which universe he existed. "Seems like he must have done a lot."
"Right. He was a man of his time, yes. But he understood that in order to resolve the concerns of Whites and Blacks alike, simply going for majority rule or playing to race would not be enough in the long run. So he took the Solidarity Act and reforged it into the Unilateral Declaration of Solidarity, or UDS as we call it. While many applauded and benefited, some weren't all too happy. This was especially the case of the various Black ne'er do wells, who had somehow managed to gain the backing of the Soviets, North Chinese and God knows who else. Rumour has it they even siphoned money from the Kaiser's supporters after they ousted Hitler, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, against all odds and more than a few lives, his gamble pulled through as it goes beyond gradually opening up more windows for Blacks to excel by their own hands. No, it also involves a daring willingness to pursue their own future. In Britannia's loss, we are taking its place."
"From the sounds of it, it must have been a tremendous effort."
"An understatement, Mr. Jones. But we all do our share in promoting an unity of all Rhodesians under a common language, culture and heritage, as befitting true subjects of the Crown. look at what we've achieved so far," Emerson beamed. "Nowadays, all people are treated as equals, be it together or in their respective counties. Every man and woman can vote with no strings attached, just as they all have a fair chance at pursuing their own prosperous lives. Our industry is the envy of our Canadian and ANZ counterparts, while our lads in uniform hold back the Socialist and rebel tide, within and without. Not even the tragic fall of South Africa back in the '80s has cut us off, not with our ties with the Lusophone League through Mozambique or through our air services, which are second to none here."
"There's a catch though, I imagine. It seems like that work isn't quite finished."
"Indeed. True, you could say that Blacks like myself only make up at most 30% of all civil servants alone. And Whites by far still have the highest standard on average. My youthful self might even say that it's unfair, to be honest. But understand that the color of one's skin is irrelevant these days. Not when our children are becoming such an integral aspect of our society." He then leaned closer to me. "The Opposition can scoff all they want. For where once there's White and Black, soon Smith's dream with UDS will be complete. One Rhodesian people. A shining beacon for the Commonwealth. Amazing, ain't it?"
My mind went back to those pedestrians seen in that taxi earlier. All those faces blending into a mixed, if very British mold. It took a bit of effort for me to smile before finally finishing my meal.
"God Save the Queen."
The rest of that stint in the cafe was rather trivial by comparison. Once all the formalities were done, however, I quietly took my leave, making up an excuse of going down to Bulawayo, then onto Victoria Falls and Livingstone for some sightseeing. Which wasn't that far off from the truth, as I did have a ticket for later that afternoon. Suffice to say, the ride itself was rather comfortable, with the highways a clear improvement from the slipshod, often-dirt road conditions seen more than a few timelines. The countryside itself though proved to be as surreal as Salisbury. Miles of carefully maintained ranch and farmland seemed to stretch out into the horizon, broken here and there by the occasional town, industrial complex and checkpoint belonging to the British South Africa Police. If not for the African fauna and a handful of huts that might very well be just for show, the scene wouldn't be out of place in a ride through the Midlands. I imagined that many of those farms and factories were still run by the settlers' descendants. But from the looks of the largely mixed people around me during that ride and from what I saw in those villages passed by, I wondered even more just how far that drive for a single, Rhodesian people went.
No matter, I thought to myself upon arriving at Bulawayo's colonial-themed bus terminus. I arrived just in time for dinner, it seemed due to the shorter than expected travel time, but that had to wait. Quietly making my way through the rather well-preserved heart of the city, I tried to make my way to an innocuous building near Hume Park. Thankfully, there weren't as many of those portraits on display. The weirdly frequent of BSAP patrols out and about made up for that, however; though many of the men and women in those khaki uniforms also looked more clearly of Anglo descent compared to their Salisbury counterparts, they were often led by the same sort of indistinguishable mix. Eventually I reached my destination, which turned out a deceptively quaint two-story house not much different from the others around it. By the front door was an aging, rugged-looking African man in a walking suit with red, yellow and green stripes. One who didn't look particularly enthusiastic as he approached me.
"You're late, Mr. Jones. I almost thought you wouldn't show up," he chided with a tinge of impatience. His coarse accent sounded more recognizably Shona yet with more than a hint of South African and Estuary. "Well, I suppose it couldn't be helped with you lot. Though it's better if we continue this inside."
I nodded as Matthew Sibanda, leader of Rhodesia's Opposition led me into what was evidently his home. Despite the colonial-style exterior, however, the interior was a melange of various documents, envelopes and indigenous artifacts. There were also a few others with him, including a couple of blond Afrikaners to my surprise. All off whom seemed more than adept with their firearms, which made keeping a straight face a tad bit harder.
"I hope you don't mind the mess. When I'm not in Parliament, I'd rather do my business in the safety of home," he shrugged before offering me a seat across from his makeshift office. "Speaking of work, I take you've been around Salisbury."
"Yes, I have," I replied cordially before clearing my throat. "It's definitely not what I imagined it'd be like, if you don't mind me saying."
"Not at all. It's all well and good to see White minority rule for oneself and the seeds of what's replacing it. But of course, it's another to be in that everyday."
"What makes you say that? Surely, much has been done to make Rhodesia great."
"Great, eh?" Sibanda scoffed. "They're still trying to act like it's all in the past. The beatings and persecutions. My father lived through that. He even faced down the Vana Mudengu Muneyi in the early Smith years! Now, I won't deny that he made deals with the Soviets for their backing, as much as it must have abhorred him to turn to other White men. Nor deny that the bread and circus have improved for many since then, from Betchuanaland to the mighty Zambezi. But as a young man, I remember just how thorough UDS was. The education and upbringing so charitably brought upon us were supposed to uplift our standing. But so pervasive it all was that my ancestors' way of life was being erased before my very eyes! Even my accent now, while not some caricature of British media, is nowhere close to what I heard in my childhood. My political career is a way to honor what my father tried to defend by more legitimate means."
"I mean no disrespect. But surely you could say that it's not all bad then, right?"
"That's one way to look at it. We at least have the right to assembly, which we in the Opposition have used to continue fighting for those forgotten by all that talk of becoming the new Britannia. Not always successfully, but among our means it's better we use their own system against them than play into their propaganda." The man laughed bitterly. "I wonder if even Her Majesty will balk if she ever realizes the full extent of what's happening here means. What better way to curb resistance to whole White minority rule problem than to erase the minority - and eventually the majority with a monolithic race of obedient Coloureds?"
That helped explain in part why Sibanda and his retinue were a more varied bunch than I anticipated. It was also, I realized, the first time the term "Coloured" was openly uttered at all since coming here. Nonetheless, I kept calm. "I take that explains the Whites then? It seems like with the One Rhodesians angle, you've left the old Black majority rule cause behind."
"Yes and no." There was a fire in those few words, which continued to simmer as he continued. "Take those Afrikaners you've seen. They're the children of refugees who sought shelter here in the '80s when South Africa fell to civil war. Smith, for all his work, did nothing while his supposed compatriots fell into bloodshed. Though no doubt he may have been honest with that line about keeping security, I suppose their long-awaited Apartheid reforms were too much of an embarrassment to the Commonwealth. Maybe it hit too close to home, or perhaps even those particular Whites weren't Anglo enough. Either way, you wouldn't hear that from the Rhodesian Broadcasting Service, Mr. Jones. Nor would you hear of how the Coloureds are been deliberately cultivated through an ever larger quota of mixed unions, generous economic bonuses, and even more subtle indoctrination. Then again, I wouldn't blame you, not when most criticism nowadays against the government and companies is so conveniently dismissed as some Socialist ploy or the ramblings of madmen. Though really, it's not that big of a stretch to imagine that we are all on the same boat against a common enemy."
"You mentioned earlier that those tensions aren't all in the past, and that you have other means," I finally injected, the back of my mind only growing more convinced at what the answer might be. "What exactly are these other means?"
"If you're thinking of underground cells ready to strike, I'm afraid we have none of those. There are rumours, however, of assemblies being hosted by Barotseland as well as those warlords that to the regiments and private militias' credit have kept north of the Zambezi. But those are just rumours, like all that talk of renegades hiding out in the Azanian Union to the south, still hoping to come in like saviors when they're not fighting the Volkstaat or that American-based Cape Republic. Of course, if there's any truth to those, no one will admit. Not even the Kremlin, which even we've disavowed long ago. Mark my words though. Black or White, no one wants to be replaced." Sibanda smirked as he lit a cigarette. "There's a popular song here in Rhodesia, extolling the people to preserve their little nation for their children's children too. Well, who am I to stop them?"
All I could say to that was a simple "Who am I to judge." Once all that was done, sufficed to say my stay had to be cut even shorter. Whatever the future held, I wouldn't want to stay for much longer to find out.
KitFisto1997
Banned
I suppose it's my first post here in several years. But at least I owe EBR this much.
Commonwealth Realm of Rhodesia
R H O D E S I A N S
N E V E R
D I E
In all seriousness, nice work. You gotta start contributing to AH.com again.
R H O D E S I A N S
N E V E R
D I E
In all seriousness, nice work. You gotta start contributing to AH.com again.
Thanks! I guess I'll take it one step at a time.
As for what chapter this falls under...I guess I'll defer to EBR.
...Speaking of which, thanks to you as well, EBR!
KitFisto1997
Banned
Thanks! I guess I'll take it one step at a time.
As for what chapter this falls under...I guess I'll defer to EBR.
Also, is Queen Margaret ITTL the same Margaret Windsor of OTL?
- Status