Middle Eastern tyrants

Chapter 139 Disdain
Shuangzhi, Nur District, Ghanam.

This city, which had experienced war, was in a state of disrepair, and the gunshots and cannon fire seemed to be just a distant memory.

"A little to the left, a little higher! Yes, this is the position, hold steady!"

Abu Muhammad was shirtless, building roof beams with his elderly neighbor.

He carefully wedged the roof beam into the slot and said loudly to the old man, "Uncle, the foundation of your house is still good. Once the walls are built straight, it will definitely be stronger than before!"

"God help us, all thanks to you young people." The old man stretched his tired shoulders. "And we must thank General Amir, if it weren't for him..."

The name seemed to have a magical power, causing the young people around who were helping to straighten their backs subconsciously.

The changes in the city over the past two days are visible to the naked eye. A steady stream of convoys carrying supplies roared along the bumpy dirt roads, bringing food, medicine, cement, and steel from overseas and from Shuangzhi.

You can often see Americans on the roadside wearing strange T-shirts with foreign letters printed on them, holding blueprints and gesturing to help survey routes, lay water pipes, and rebuild houses.

Everyone's basic living needs are now met. Although life is still tough, Abu feels that the hardship and fatigue are nothing, because at least there is hope for life.

Just then, a clean hand suddenly handed over a bottle of crystal-clear mineral water.

Abu was so thirsty his throat was parched. Without thinking, he took it, unscrewed it, and took a big gulp, mumbling, "Shuklang (thank you)."

He wiped his mouth before looking up at the person who had come.

He was a middle-aged man in a well-pressed suit, with a formulaic smile on his face.

Several people followed behind the man, including two foreign journalists, one of whom was carrying a camera on his shoulder.

"Do you need any help?" the man asked gently.

“No need, sir, we can manage.” Abu waved his hand politely and continued to move another stone, but suddenly he stopped.

He could tell the man's accent wasn't local; there was a strange sense of familiarity about him.

Abu straightened up and carefully examined the group of people who seemed out of place in their surroundings: "What are you doing here?"

The man's smile remained unchanged as he calmly replied, "We are coordinators here to assist you with your post-war reconstruction efforts."

The man seemed to sense his wariness and stopped beating around the bush. He took out a document and a pen from his briefcase, his tone becoming more sincere: "Actually, we are collecting signatures. This is a petition expressing the sincere desire of the people of Ghanam to return to the great family of their homeland, Al-Iraq. You see, all you need to do is sign your name..."

With his other hand, he very naturally handed over a banknote worth 100 dinars, which, for an ordinary family, would be enough for a hearty meal.

"As long as you sign your name and express your identification with the motherland, these are yours."

Abu looked at the banknote, then at the so-called petition, and the muscles on his face slowly tightened.

He suddenly raised his head, stared at the other person, and said, "I don't know anything about the United Nations. All I know is that the governor here is General Amir."

A look of regret appeared on the man's face, and he said with a tone of pity, "Then I can only say that you missed a great opportunity to improve your life."

This condescending attitude of bestowing favors completely ignited Abu's suppressed anger.

At the same time, his male attendants, using the same method, carrying the same documents and banknotes, approached several bewildered people who were resting nearby.

Upon seeing this scene, Abu felt a surge of excitement rush to his head.

You think you're worthy?
Then he saw a piece of discarded steel bar on the ground. To everyone's astonishment, he picked up the steel bar and angrily rushed toward the oncoming SUV. Then he swung his arm and smashed it hard against the windshield.

"Clang-crack-!"

The glass was smashed to pieces.

Almost simultaneously, two burly men behind the man pounced on him and pinned Abu to the ground.

"Let him go!" The old man from the neighbor's house was the first to react, picking up a brick from the ground.

The man in the suit seemed startled as well. Looking at his wrecked car, he yelled at Abu, who was lying on the ground, "Damn it, why did you do this? You have to compensate me for my damage!"

He then prepared to reassure the UN reporters, but he suddenly realized that the atmosphere around him was not right.

Hearing the commotion, neighbors and craftsmen rushed in and stopped what they were doing. The men grabbed shovels and hammers, while the women protected their children, their eyes cold.

They silently surrounded them from all directions, slowly approaching the convoy of men in suits.

That invisible, unified anger turned the arrogant man pale instantly.

The soldiers following him also instinctively reached for their lower backs.

But then a whistle sounded from all around, and what followed was a chilling sight: the guerrillas had appeared in the surrounding buildings at some unknown time, with countless guns pointed at them.

"Get out of this city!" Someone shouted angrily.

"You're not welcome here! Go back to the other side of the river!" Immediately, more people echoed this, and the shouts grew louder and louder.

The man, trying to remain calm, loudly explained through a megaphone: "Our actions are legal. Ghanam belongs to Al-Ilag, as per a resolution passed by the UN General Assembly!"

But his steps were involuntarily retreating.

UN correspondent Wesley captured the scene on camera. Looking at the angry crowd and the disheveled, embarrassed man, she realized that the situation seemed different from what she had imagined.

She had previously learned that although Shuangzhi had helped Al-Irag reclaim lost territory during the war, he had directly stationed his troops there, ignoring the United Nations ban and seizing the city.

But now it seems that this is not the case.

The man in the suit knew that things couldn't continue today. He suppressed his anger and fear, gave his men a look, and signaled them to release Abu.

"let's go."

Before getting into the car, he didn't forget to smear the reporter: "You've seen it all! This is blatant mob behavior, the result of being incited and brainwashed by Amir and his backers!"

They have instilled fear in the people of Ghana a fear of the truth, a fear of returning to their homeland! Please, you must report the truth of what is happening here, their barbarity and resistance, to the world as it truly is!

Reporter Wesley stopped what she was doing, her gaze sweeping over the crowd who were still glaring angrily. She bent down and greeted Abu in fluent Arabic, "Are you alright?" before looking at the astonished man in the suit.

“I’ve seen a lot, sir,” her voice was clear and calm, without any bias: “I have indeed seen a lot along the way.”

She paused, seemingly organizing her thoughts, or perhaps giving the man time to process what she was saying.

“I have seen many cities destroyed by war, many displaced refugees, and various forms of ‘maintaining order’ and ‘aid’ where rulers often suppress the people with violence and fear. But what I saw in Ghanam was different.”

There are medical stations, relief centers, and foreign teams rebuilding the city. Although it's not exactly orderly yet, I can see that they have hope for the future.

You call this incitement, but based on my limited professional experience, force might subdue people, but it's very difficult to get a community or an entire city to defend a choice imposed upon them.

The scattered petitions on the ground said it all. She glanced at the man's increasingly grim expression and continued:

"What I see is that the people of Ghanam seem to have made a clear choice in their own way, and that's all."

She nodded slightly, turned around and led her cameraman to her car, leaving the man in the suit standing there speechless, his face turning pale and then red.

The surrounding crowd booed triumphantly, but with a hint of mockery.

The man, too ashamed to linger any longer, scrambled into the dilapidated car, and the convoy, amidst angry glares and disdain, slunk away from Ghanam.

As the dust settled, the streets and alleys returned to their previous bustling activity, as if the farce had been nothing more than a trivial interlude.

Inside the SUV, the man in the suit looked ashen-faced.

"Al-Iraq will not give up Ghanam, just as the Zionists will not give up Jerusalem."

The man calmed himself down and reported the situation on his end via satellite phone.

Although they were unwilling to have a direct conflict with Shuangzhi, territorial disputes have never been resolved peacefully since ancient times.

If soft tactics don't work, then hard tactics will have to be used; Ghanam must be reinstated to Al-Iraq's territory.

(End of this chapter)