I believe we can do it. We may be the only village breathing air poisoned by Pexton, but their pipelines pass through other villages and spill in them too. Soldiers are menacing innocents everywhere. The entire country is suffering under the yoke of His Excellency. Millions want him gone. That’s an opportunity right there. We can join forces with people who are as ready for change as we are. Rouse them to get out on the streets and demand a new country. I’ve studied such movements; they have happened in America and Europe. People have gone out onto streets and changed their countries by marching. It’ll likely take us months or even years to get multitudes of people marching, but with proper planning, we can do it.
We’ll start in Kosawa and the sibling-villages and travel as far across the country as we can. I’m confident that, once word starts spreading, people will start realizing that they don’t have to accept anything, they have choices, they can do something about their government. That’ll be the most crucial element for the movement, because only the people can uproot His Excellency. Only the people can free themselves. We need to open their eyes to their power.
Do you agree with me? I desperately hope that you do, as I’ve been musing on this idea for years, but it’s only now that I have total certainty that the Spirit has called for me to do it, for us to do it together.
I’ve discussed my vision with my friends here, and they’re excited about it. We’ve talked about past movements and the lessons I could gather from them. They’ve recommended books for me to read. One of them introduced me to his uncle, a man who was involved in a movement in America that led to the passage of laws that gave everyone in the country the right to be treated equally. The uncle said to me: if it can happen here, it can happen there; humans are mortal and so are the systems they build. Then, in a manner that reminded me of Teacher Penda trying to demonstrate how Americans talk, he added: you gotta never stop believing, baby. Change’s gonna come.
But Austin, whenever I discuss my ideas with him, tells me that I need to ignore the history of movements in Europe and America and instead closely study such efforts in countries that resemble mine.
What you’re proposing isn’t a small movement, he said, it’s a revolution.
Movement, revolution, I don’t care what it’s called, my country needs it, I replied.
But look at what revolutions have done to countries all around yours, princess, he countered. Look to the south of your country, a land where power once lay in the hands of a few. Good men rose up and fought so that wealth might be spread evenly. Did it happen so? Didn’t wealth simply pass from the hands of a few to a new set of hands of a few? Look at the country to the east of yours, where rebels stormed the presidential palace with guns given to them by their overseas backers. They desecrated the palace, sent its inhabitants into hiding. They put bullets in the chest of the man who for long had trampled upon them. They lifted their guns and cheered their new freedom: victory at last, victory at last. What happened next? Didn’t tribes turn against tribes, villages against villages, no strong man between them to force a peaceful accord? Look at how the children of that country are now wasting for scarcity of food. Look at how the women there have been turned into slaves for men who once fought for the liberation of all. If you were to ask these people, would they sing the praises of a revolution?
What makes you think your revolution will produce different results? he says. Why add to people’s woes with a pursuit that’s all but bound to fail?
It hurts when he says such things. It hurts more to know he’s saying it to keep me in America. I see the desperation in his eyes when he holds me and tells me that he can’t let me go. We’ve been together for almost eight years. It’s been wonderful, but he’s known from the very beginning that the part of my heart that belongs to Kosawa belongs to Kosawa only, though if any man could steal it, it would be him. I don’t allow myself to think of the day I’ll say goodbye to him. Just listening to him trying to dissuade me in an effort to protect me, wrong as I know he is, causes my tears to build up. But I can’t shed any tears. There will be no tears until the struggle is over.
I know what I’m suggesting in this letter sounds like a mission that will consume the remainder of our lives, but I’m willing to dedicate my life to it if you are. We might not live to see the day Kosawa or our country comes out of its darkness into light, but we’ll forge forward believing, because there’s no other way to live.
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