A fat man in a black suit and golden necklaces remarks, “You know who Chamyrs and Commoners are? Dumb idiots who are suitable only for mining our gold, making our money, building our villas, wiping our asses, and sucking our dicks like dirty whores they are.”
They sound and look like a more offensive version of Erzhan and his gang from my high school. It instantly takes me back to that moment when Erzhan and his gang put their cigarettes out on my skin.
They fancy themselves as the Servants of the People when in reality they made the people their personal slaves.
However, now they are nothing. I roar with my anger and point my right fist and my left middle finger at them, “You don’t seem to know who you yourselves are, former MPs who used to abuse their power but are nothing today. You only pretend to know how to run the country, useless idiots. You are the true burden on the people, not the Shyngys tribe members nor disabled nor oppositionists.”
“Who the hell are you to say that to us, you arrogant Chamyr?” an old MP with his face red from anger exclaims while cuddling with his trophy wife who is pale from extreme fear.
“I am your President, and I have overthrown your government that you used to obey and forced to lick its shoes. I have put every single one of you on trial for your sins, lazy cockroaches. Corruption is just one of the countless vices you have, the Morticians of the People who buried this country in swamps! I am shocked by your cynicism and total carelessness while people outside Volkan have nothing to eat!”
Another MP from the other side of the Parliament hall exclaims, “Do not listen to him, Dalabistanis! He is another traitor like Aibek Ospanov who serves his pocket and Western NGOs, not you hard-working Dalabistanis!”
“While our country is far below poverty, you are easing up on caviar and Dom Pérignon from taxpayers’ money! When you could have spent some money on building some businesses and opportunities for Dalabistanis. You live on your own in a completely different Dalabistan where laws never applied to you!”
“He is insane. He is a heathen piece of Satan threatening to destroy our beloved country! How much cocaine did you snort today, puppet of the Freemasons and Illuminati Jews?”
“All you do in this Parliament is clap and praise Babayev I or Babayev II and simply licking his shoes by focusing your entire energy on how to write an ode most skillfully to Babayev and on learning how to steal government’s resources from him. You are really nothing more than cowards, traitors, and failures! Scum of the Dalabistani people! Not a shred of honor or humanity! What a monstrous betrayal of our people! But all of you would pay, you would pay for your own sins and atrocities committed against Dalabistanis.”
“We are the Members of Parliament, the people’s elected representatives, and lawmakers, and we will not approve your bills written by Bilderberg Group and other dirty oligarchs from abroad that paid you to pull this country into chaos like they did in Syria, Ukraine, Iraq, Libya, and Afghanistan. It is an abuse of power! Didn’t you learn in your beloved America that your libtards idolize that the president must not be too powerful and abuse power?”
None of Dalabistani elections were recognized as free or fair by independent observers. There were no real alternatives to them during campaigning. I can clearly see through their bullshit, so I shout at them, “This Parliament of Dalabistan is dissolved because you all lost your legitimacy in the eyes of the people! The laws will be passed through the Rebuilding Council during the State of Emergency. There won’t be immunity of civil servants anymore, and there will be significant reductions in the government apparatus. You are all on trial for corruption charges, period!”
Hundreds of the MPs start to protest. Some even raise their fists and shout, “Who you are to arrest us and sue us?”
I shout, “What’s the point of Dalabistanis feeding you and wiping your ass while you cannot tie two words with each other? Why do we tie your shoelaces when you tie us in the hanging loops? Tell me any reason why we should trust you, embezzlers and Babayev’s whores and servants?”
One fat balding man is clearly not happy with the situation. He loudly says, “Because we are honest people like Babayev, the founder of this democratic republic, unlike you, the grant eater seeking to destabilize. Fuck off from Dalabistan and live your peaceful life with foreign whores, and don’t intervene in our business!”
I reply, “I don’t care about your opinion. The people’s opinion is the only one that matters. They want you to be executed for your crimes, useless MPs. You didn’t accomplish anything and won’t accomplish anything in the first place! You are a bunch of lazy asses who only know how to scroll your Twitter feeds and how to diss gays and boast about ‘patriotism’ when people outside the capital have nothing to eat! We don’t need you, parasites. You don’t care about the people anyways. Let us leave in peace after all these years.”
Another aging female in the red dress blurts outs, “Who the fuck are you to tell us what to do, you autistic retard? Get lost!”
I grab my electric megaphone and spit in it, “You. Are. Not. Our. Civil. Servants. I fired all of you, and I do not need your fucking approval!”
That aging female rebuts me, “And the mobs who are looting the streets of Dalabistan are the real enemies of the nation!”
A balding man argues, “Soon everyone will forget about you! And nobody in the West will need such a damaged, used material!”
A man with long hair and a beard stands up and claims, “How dare you accuse us of not working? Look at yourself and start with yourself, bigot!”
An obese woman knocks her fist on her seat and nags me, “You started this chaos to start a movement and to become a symbol! But you and your accomplices must look at what happened because of what you did and what it has led to!”
I point my gun at that fat whale’s face and shout, “Shut your mouth or you will lose your head right now!”
I fire some shots in the air. They seem to only understand this language of the bullet. As Vladimir Lenin notes, you can only knock on the palaces’ doors for justice with stocks of the rifles. I continue, “From this moment, the Parliament is dissolved. Only the Rebuilding Council has the authority over the country’s laws. My men, leave the scorched earth here!”
This is the same code that the Babayev regime loved to use as an order for either arresting or killing everyone present in an area. More of my loyal policemen and former Hovlyk Asker troops enter the Parliament. They raid the room to capture all of the MPs. The policemen point their guns at the expelled MPs and bark, “Surrender! Put your hands over your head, or we’ll open fire!” The armed men put handcuffs on their arms and drag the former MPs into the countless black vans to drive them to detention centers. The public would soon know their yachts in Monte Carlo and villas in Switzerland bought on the money that were supposed to be spent on healthcare, education, and developing the industry! The trial starts, and this is just the start of my Great Crusade on corrupt oligarchs, bribe-takers, and ineffective officials.
Chapter 17: The Inspection
The next day I board the private plane with Abzal, Sabit, Dmitriy, Alexandr Kuzmenko, and Almat. It is time to oversee the reforms in the Left Wing, in the Right Wing, and in the Central Wing of Dalabistan. First, I leave for the capital of the Right Wing, my hometown of Alakala. As I land at the airport and go down the stairs, I look at another gathering of young people waving flags and balloons.
In front of me comes the new Governor-General of the Right Wing, Saken Bekbolat, and shakes my hands, “Good afternoon, Mr. President. Ministers Kylyshbayev and Omarov asked me to show you around how the Revolution is affecting the Ring Wing and Alakala.”
“Thank you for greeting me, Governor-General Bekbolat. Let’s get to it.” This time I enter the car with Saken Bekbolat, and again I see the waves of my supporters welcoming me back home in Alakala! Along with that, they also welcome Sabit, Abzal, and other ministers in their separate black van. However, we are no longer driving through th
e wide marble avenues of Volkan. We are driving through the breaking asphalt roads with potholes, trash, cracks, and chunks of wood on the way.
“Pardon me, I should have ordered to clean the roads before you came! I didn’t have enough time,” laughs Saken in the car while sitting next to me.
I give a fierce look at him, “If it’s this bad here, I cannot imagine what it’s like outside Alakala in the villages. This isn’t how you do it, Sir.”
He starts to shiver with fear. I can only wait for what is about to come. Perhaps he has some more severe problems to hide from me. We drive to my former neighborhood. I can still picture small shacks made from rusted iron sheets in a slum on the Alakala’s outskirts.
Saken asks me, “I heard that you come from this part of Alakala, right?”
“Yes. But I temporarily moved to my relatives from the Chamyr tribe in Chamyr Aul. They saved my family from the Babayev-era racketeers during the 1992 raids.”
“Ah, I see.”
Entering the district, I cannot even find these poor shacks from rusted iron sheets. All I see are tents made out of cloth, wool sheets with holes, and remaining shards of these iron sheets. I tell Saken with horror, “I cannot recognize a single house here.”
“A lot has changed in Alakala while you were away. I’m just recently in power of this Wing after I was elected by the crowds while you were coordinating the operations in Volkan.”
While we pass the destroyed neighborhood, I shout at Saken, “If this is the case, then I assign the following work for Alakala and the Right Wing: build affordable, clean, spacious housing for all the Dalabistanis in your designated area with access to heating, clean water, electricity, gas, and the internet. Pave and repair all of the roads. Control every single aldan that is spent and watch the governors of the Right Wing’s provinces. That is all I ask you for now. I think we need a break now.”
We take a small stop at a nearby graveyard. I lay my red carnation flowers on the large family grave of my father, my mother, and my little brother. The tall gravestone is made out of red granite, with carved white letters saying “April 10 Martyr. Kuanysh Kaisaruly Karabars. Born 25 January 1992—Died 10 April 2004. April 10 Martyr. Kaisar Erasyluly Karabars. Born 31 October 1955—Died 10 April 2004. Zhansaya Azatkyzy Karabars. Born 13 June 1957—Died 15 July 1992.” After all these years, the graves are still not grown with weeds or rotting with trash. My fellow Chamyr tribesmen must have maintained the graves well while I was away in the United States. I bow my head out of respect for my deceased family.
After that, I tell Saken, Abzal, Sabit, Dmitriy, Alexandr, and Almat with tears in my eyes, “I have vastly underestimated the extent of Babayev’s stagnation. My beautiful garden city where I grew up is gone. And I thought these slums couldn’t get any worse!” I take a deep breath and look at my colleagues. Sabit mournfully bows his head. Abzal is surprised to see me cry. Dmitry, Alexandr, and Almat are waiting for what would happen next. Saken grabs his notebook and pen, waiting for further orders.
I scream into the air, “This country needs to recover quickly from decades of stagnation! First, we need to provide a proper living standard for all Dalabistanis. I assigned Saken several tasks to make the Right Wing get their shit together. Abzal, Sabit, Dmitriy, Alexandr, and Almat: I charge you with duties to watch all Governors-General of all Three Wings of Dalabistan during these efforts. You can fire them, order, and assign new tasks. You have my complete trust and approval.”
Abzal salutes me, “Of course, Mr. President!”
“Let’s see how shitty things are in other Wings of Dalabistan.”
We drive back to the Alakala International Airport. Before stepping on the boarding ramps to my Air Force One, I bid farewell to Governor-General Saken Bekbolat, “Good luck with your heavy duties!”
The ministers and I get up on the plane to fly to the Left Wing’s capital of Munai. Landing in the middle of nowhere, I see an even more messed up land. No proper sanitation systems resulting in the filthy smell of manure, urine, and rotting food scraps filling the air in the plane cabin. An entire city of tiny slums of barracks and tents visible from above. Unemployed oilers wandering across the streets and the airport building, having nothing to do. And people still wonder why Munai is the most rebellious part of Dalabistan? Any sane person would rather die than live in such a mess!
As I step down, Governor-General of the Left Wing Kenes Nurbekov hugs me and says, “Mr. President, we waited for such a ruler for so long. Please give us sanitation, employment, and hope for the future, the almighty Leader of the Nation!”
Kenes is on his knees.
I order Kenes, “Governor-General Nurbekov, I order you to provide proper living standards for all Dalabistanis in your Wing. Build affordable, clean, spacious housing for all the Dalabistanis in your designated area with access to heating, clean water, electricity, gas, and the internet. Install proper sanitation systems, sewers, and in all cities and villages of the Left Wing. Control every single aldan that is spent and watch the governors of the Left Wing’s provinces. The Rebuilding Council will finance all these projects from the national budget. My fellow ministers in the Rebuilding Council have been charged with inspecting all Governors-General of all Three Wings of Dalabistan during these efforts to rebuild the country. The rest will be under their control because I’m afraid I cannot help you solve your issues alone.”
“Thank you, Mr. President! God bless you! Allahu Akbar!” says the indebted man and bows at my feet.
Maybe that’s why so many Munai striking oilers from 2003 used Islamist slogans and brought their Muslim prayer rugs to their protests because they were very pious.
This time, business was quick to conduct without leaving the airport. Finally, it’s time to return to the Central Wing of Dalabistan. Before coming back to the capital of Dalabistan, I need to inspect the Central Wing’s capital of Karaorda. Arriving next to a dark gray building out of stone that they refer to as Karaorda Airport, I witness closed factories, tall buildings with broken glass and black smoke coming from them. My company just cannot do enough.
A man comes to me in his suit. Unlike the previous men I met, he doesn’t greet me and just stands there waiting for me to speak. I ask him, “Who are you?”
“I am Marat Temirbekov, Governor-General of the Central Wing. Appointed by the will of the people of the Central Wing the next day after the May 20 Revolution.”
“Governor-General Temirbekov, I order you to rebuild the factories and bring order to the factories. We will help you with that through the Rebuilding Council. You must start your efforts in your Central Wing immediately, otherwise, I may be forced to quickly remove you.”
“Of course, Mr. President!”
My ministers and I return to the Presidential Headquarters. The Rebuilding Council members go to their living quarters inside my residence. After a hard trail, I collapse on my bed in my suit.
Chapter 18: The Infestation
“Mr. President, get up! We have an emergency coming from Kuldar city!”
I open my eyes. It is still very dark outside. Then I rotate my head to the left and find Abzal standing in his dark green service dress uniform. He is wearing his black military cap, holding his light brown assault rifle in his arms. I walk to the Oval Room with Abzal. There, I find several Dalabistani military commanders, Major Evans, and some soldiers surrounding my table.
I sit in front of it, and Abzal starts to speak, “Mr. President, Governor-General of the Right Wing Saken Bekbolat called me yesterday to report on several riots against your presidency by several people in Kuldar. These counter-revolutionary elements are assumed to be members of the Karakoldar tribe. These former police and Hovlyk Asker troops loyal to the Babayev royal family are calling for you to resign and threaten with starting an uprising against our regime.”
I ask Abzal, “Please give me some documented information as of now.” Abzal hands me a red folder with the Seal of Dalabistan pictured on it. Th
e stencil red letters on the folder say: “CLASSIFIED MILITARY INFORMATION.” The folder’s lock was already unlocked by Abzal, so all I must do is open it. There is a marked map of Kuldar city.
Abzal instructs, “We currently have loyal police troops of Kuldar defending against destruction from the counter-revolutionary rioters. The areas shaded in red are the territories occupied by these rebels as of the last hour.”
I look at the other colors on the map and ask, “What about the green territories on the map?”
Abzal continues, “These areas are held by our police that are patrolling these territories, ready to defend.”
On another page, there are several photographs. One of them pictures men in black raising their swords and rifles up in the air. Abzal informs the commanders and me, “This is one of the propaganda shoots they just released. They are using these materials to promote their cause.”
Lastly, inside the folder, there is a flash drive with some vital information. I put the flash drive into my computer and open a video file.
Major Evans reports, “Mr. President, this is the manifesto made by these remaining elements of pro-Babayev forces.”
I play this video. There that same man in black robes, surrounded by burning houses and armed men in tracksuits, loudly tells in his uplifting voice, “I have a message for the putschist government of illegitimate President Alisher Karabars. Tonight, we will start the carnage not only against the illegitimate President but also against any traitors who will support him and his accomplices in destroying Dalabistan. Because of your reckless decision to take part in an unwinnable war on the Dalabistani people, our proud soldiers of the Karakoldar tribe will not simply destroy our enemies in Kuldar. In addition to that, they will also carry on and cause carnage wherever your people are found. Let the nightmare for traitors begin. Glory to Dalabistan!” Then all of the men in the video raise their guns and swords, extend their other arms into the air with a straightened hand, and shout, “Glory to the Great Khan Anar Babayev!” The video ends with dark footage of the waving Dalabistani flag. The video address signed off with a loud voice saying, “Defend your Motherland before she falls apart!”
The Outcast Presidents Page 15