For a second, I thought that the revolution began. My heart started to race, my skin tingled. I took a deep breath, and inside I felt a light in my heart that was missing. A spark of hope, a ray of sunshine to shine over my mom’s old photos. I could barely conceal my delight when watching ordinary people stand up after all. This delight brought tears of joy into the eyes, realizing that maybe my mom and Bolat would be avenged! Maybe now Dalabistanis would finally unite their strengths as one single iron fist to drive out the tyranny, corruption, and stagnation? However, that thought turned dark, as I knew how effectively Babayev was at suppressing protesters.
The brave miners and oilers from the Alysh tribe in the petroleum rich Munai province by the Caspian Sea campaigned to resist the tribal inequality, corruption in the government, and unpaid wages! I heard them making bold statements like, “We shall overthrow this dictatorship and inequality now!” They, just like I anticipated, were massacred by the police when they stood up in the city square, despite the citizens carrying only posters and their courage against the armed squads. That day our President Volkan Babayev ordered the police, the Armed Forces, and the Hovlyk Asker, to detain or to slaughter every man, woman, and child who was protesting against Babayev. According to our laws, protesting against Volkan Babayev and his family is equivalent to treason and officially is punishable with lifetime imprisonment. Still, the protesters are often killed by the police, the Hovlyk Asker, or the military on the spot. The 2003 protests were the last and most significant ones up to date. After that, the only prominent oppositionist, a corrupt oligarch, named Aibek Ospanov, previously involved in money laundering for the Babayev’s regime, has fled to the United Kingdom to escape inevitable purges from the Volkan Babayev government.
On top of these political repressions, I faced intense bullying that I finally got rid of when I came to America. The difference between foreign college students and Dalab high school students was that the foreign students simply ignored me and left me alone. Yes, I was isolated from others, but at least that was much better than what most Dalab students did to me, given the fact that I was one of the only—if not the only—student not from the Three Elite Tribes. Even today in my sleep, I still see a dark scene from fifth grade come back again as if I am reliving that nightmare. The bully gang of Atasty and Janbek tribes tied me to the tree during recess to kick me uncontrollably. Nobody at our school did anything and just watched how Erzhan, the tall guy with dark skin who was the leader of that gang, beat me up and shouted, “You do not deserve to live, let alone study at this school, nerdy piece of Chamyr trash! Smarts do not matter; your tribe decides everything!”
Back then, I thought the only person I can tell everything to save myself from the bullies was the school’s director Abigail Walker. After the beating with my bruised cheekbones, I went to her cabinet, purple, burning with tears and blood. When she saw me, she just kicked me out of her room with her low-pitched voice about to roar, “It’s none of my business; the Dalab-American School has a zero-tolerance policy towards bullying. However, you have provoked them to cause such treatment of you. You clearly did something wrong against them that you do not want to tell me, and you clearly deserve the consequences of your choices. I’ll suspend you for today. Now please exit my office and apologize to them for what you have done!”
The moment I came from the Director’s room, still crying tears mixed with blood from the beating, I came across one of Erzhan’s friends, Kambar. He had dark skin, defined muscles, and only wore Gucci shirts to school. Standing next to him was a pale boy with glasses named Hamit, along with a few other kids. They both smoked Camels and looked at me as I came into view.
They suddenly pointed their middle fingers at me and began laughing, “Look at this fucking sissy, crybaby, tattletale! What a gay whore who will soon come out as a queer!”
Kambar pulled his lighter out of his pocket and ran towards me. I remember a fat kid named Ansar laughing so hard his cigarette fell on the ground. Meanwhile, Zhandos and Hamit found some rope nearby while Erzhan grabbed me by the neck and choked me. Zhandos was a short, skinny boy dressed in a red shirt with Volkan Babayev’s portrait. Hamit was much taller than Zhandos, but I fought as hard as I could, yet Erzhan had a tight grip. As I gasped for breath, Hamit calmly said, “You will not be able to escape us, woman!”
I continued to fight, but it was no use. Kambar walked up to me with an evil grin and took a long drag with his cigarette until the cigarette’s end was bright red with heat. I knew what was coming. I tried my best to wriggle away, but the rope was tight, and the other boys held me down. Kambar pushed the smoldering cigarette into my flesh.
Pain flashed up my arm, somehow both hot and cold. Tears formed in my eyes, but it did nothing to deter Kambar and his goons. One by one, the boys took turns putting their cigarettes out on my arms. While students passed by, nobody helped. Some even laughed and joked about how weak I am.
I wake up and open my eyes to end this nightmare. My pillow is full of sweat. Caroline sleeps soundly next to me, placing her warm hands on my chest. She doesn’t need to know about my baggage right now, let her know nothing that I experienced back in Dalabistan. She doesn’t extinguish cigarettes on my flesh. I’m safe now.
Back then, I certainly was weak. Mentally weak for allowing people to treat me like trash. Strong people like Kambar and Erzhan would never have allowed that to happen to themselves. They were strong, powerful, and had a high social standing. Thus, they were treated well, swimming in love and admiration.
For the next six years, I was alone because of that especially humiliating incident. Students refused to sit at a desk near me. Girls would get up and leave if I tried to sit near them during lunch.
The people who extinguished their cigarettes on me were the very gang of Dalab bullies who threw the most pompous and exclusive parties every weekend with Dom Pérignon champagne, hookahs, foie gras, caviar, and occasionally drugs. They drove to the nightclubs in Mercedes Benz G-Class luxury cars, often violating the speed limits and throwing middle fingers at the police officers. Yet, because they were members of the Elite Tribes, they were almost untouchable. Most girls in our class were ready to sell their souls to the Devil and betray their friends just to party with that gang for a few hours. Of course, I wasn’t invited to such parties because I was a nerd, a member of an inferior Commoner tribe, and because I couldn’t stand up for myself. When I heard the words “boring,” “weird,” “gross,” “ugly,” “too short,” “weak,” “eww,” “dumb,” “autistic,” “Down’s syndrome asshole,” “undesirable genetics,” and “creep” straight into my face from the nearly all girls, I wanted to punch into their faces, slap their cheeks, and even break their bones! But I couldn’t do it because then I would have to face their boyfriends—my bullies, against whom I had no chances of survival, no matter how strongly I wanted to fight back and humiliate them in a violent clash. Over these six long years, I realized that I had to escape Dalabistan, so I did before these bullies could hold any sort of political office in the regime. Maybe they are already sitting in one of the Ministries or the Parliament, I forgot about it a long time ago.
Now here I am, sleeping in my villa with Caroline. But during these challenging years, the only sources of joy were future hopes, playing and watching soccer, and spending time with my little brother, Kuanysh.
It was in the eleventh grade that everything changed, my last year in Dalabistan. That’s when I got to know my close friends, Sabit Ahmetov and Zholan Diasov. Sabit was tall and very smart, and we had so many deep, intellectual conversations I lost count of. Zholan shared my passion for soccer.
Moreover, I finally met a teacher who fully understood me, Mr. David Kimmelman. He listened to me when I nearly broke down from all of the bullying and helped me realize my own worth.
The scene in my dream shifts to eleven years ago, the first day of my last school year. I saw an eye-catching girl in a stunning red dress. I asked her if she was lost or n
ot. She responded, “Hi, I’m Elena and I’m searching for Debate Club classroom, I would really love to join this. Do you know where Mr. Kimmelman’s class is?”
“Yeah, my name is Alisher. Let’s go there together.”
As I showed her around and we walked together to the classroom, I stared at her emerald eyes and long dark brown hair. When we entered the room, Mr. Kimmelman greeted us two and said, “Welcome to our school’s new Debate Club! So far there are only two of you, but I really hope more of you would join. For today, I would like to introduce this debate topic for today’s session: This House believes that dictatorship is preferrable to a corrupt democracy. I would flip a coin to decide who will get Affirmative and Negative positions to argue for. Elena, choose the coin side.”
She looked up, then at me, then at Mr. Kimmelman and responded, “I’ll go for tails.”
“Alright,” said Mr. Kimmelman. Then we stared at Mr. Kimmelman who flipped the shiny coin.
Mr. Kimmelman looked at the coin and remarked, “It’s tails indeed! Choose your position, Elena.”
Elena thought for a second and decided, “Negative.”
Mr. Kimmelman sat down with his coffee mug and declared, “Alright. You both have fifteen minutes to prepare your cases, after which it will be the Affirmative side’s turn.”
I felt trapped. What arguments could I jot down for this topic? Knowing how personal this topic was, I could not think of potential reasons why a dictatorship is better than a democracy. In a democracy my mom would not have been killed by the thugs hired by the government. But I had to argue for a dictatorship, not for a democracy. Maybe I could just repeat the same propaganda stuff I heard? Could work out, especially the broken record about stability in a dictatorship.
I outlined my first argument: more stability. The stability that prevents a regime from collapsing, the country from succumbing to a civil war, and the people from losing their life savings overnight. Every time Aibek Ospanov tried to call for unsanctioned protests against Babayev, I heard everyone say to me, “Ospanov is the United States Department of State’s agent to destroy Dalabistan from within! Only naïve people believe in Ospanov’s bullshit! In America such protesters are being arrested for 15 years for ‘treason,’ but once these criminals are against Babayev, they become the saints!” Perhaps I should throw these propaganda motives combined with my logic?
What should I have included next? Another argument that Dalabistani propaganda used was higher safety standards. On Dalabistani news channels, I often witnessed fights between the American police and the violent protesters setting fire to buildings. Things that could not possibly happen in Dalabistan were a regular show in the “decaying West,” or at least I thought that was the case. Therefore, my second argument was better order in dictatorships than in corrupt democracies.
I thought that was enough for now. Maybe I can beat that girl with my facts and logic, unless of course she is a strong warrior of social justice for all. I wonder what Elena would come up with to defend a corrupt democracy.
Out of the sudden Mr. Kimmelman announced, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Today’s motion is: This House believes that dictatorship is preferrable to a corrupt democracy. I would like to invite the Affirmative side to speak first to begin this debate. Alisher, you have five minutes for your first speech.”
I stood up, grabbed my notes and pencil, and was ready to start my first debate. I looked at Elena’s warm glance, then at Mr. Kimmelman ready to annotate everything we would say, and then at my notes. At last, I took a deep breath and started to speak in my deep voice, “Hello, my name is Alisher, and today’s topic is This House believes that dictatorship is preferrable to a corrupt democracy. Therefore, the Affirmative side believes that this is the case.”
I took my breath. Elena was taking notes. Mr. Kimmelman pressed his stopwatch and started to time me. I hoped I wouldn’t fuck up my first time, especially in front of Elena.
I continued, “My first argument why dictatorship is preferrable to a corrupt democracy is in a dictatorship, there is more stability than in corrupt democracies. Corrupt democracies are more likely to fall into the cycle of chaos because of inner strife and the necessity to bribe the while maneuvering between groups of oligarchical political elites. This is what happens in Kyrgyzstan. On the other hand, having a dictatorship rule eliminates that negative outcome by having one centralized government do everything. For instance, a good example of a successful dictatorship was South Korea under Park Chung Hee because this unified leadership was able to carry out long-term plans for South Korea’s economic development. Without other competitors to disrupt their plans, South Korea was able to rapidly develop into a global economic powerhouse under his tenure.”
Elena carefully listened to me. Mr. Kimmelman jotted every single word of mine, occasionally adding some comments in red ink. These two people did not interrupt me, unlike many other teachers and students. What was that made them special?
My speech went on, “My second argument why dictatorship is preferrable to a corrupt democracy is that dictatorships guarantee more social order than corrupt democracies. In corrupt democracies, order is often absent or barely present, with corrupt elites fighting against each other while neglecting their constituents. As a result, the defunding of the police and law enforcement structures allows criminals to walk free on the streets and commit crimes without punishment. On the other hand, dictatorships have better social order because such a regime instills discipline in its people. By making sure that it is hard to get away from punishment, along with more power given to military and law enforcement structures, the people would avoid protesting, looting stores, or committing crimes anymore. Fear is an effective way to govern for this reason, because if you use force against your subjects, they will avoid disrupting social order in the future. Thank you very much for listening.”
Elena and Mr. Kimmelman applauded. I did not fuck up after all. I glanced at Elena to see her reaction. She stood up, full of confidence and energy to display, her emerald eyes shining with readiness to attack my arguments. Mr. Kimmelman looked at his stopwatch and then remarked, “Thank you very much for your speech, Alisher. Now it’s time for the Negative side’s first speech. Elena, start when you are ready.”
Elena grabbed her notes and started to speak with conviction and bold persuasion, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am the first speaker on the Negative team. Today’s motion is This House believes that dictatorship is preferrable to a corrupt democracy. I would like to present Negative arguments.”
I felt immediately alarmed by this bold debating attitude. This was when I noticed the early menace to me in this debate. She continued her fiery debate speech, “Our first argument for that is lack of accountability under dictatorships. Despite the fact that in a corrupt democracy the rule of law is not always followed, a corrupt democracy still has more chance of the rulers being held accountable. Because of that, even corrupt politicians may bear personal responsibility for their unconstitutional actions under a democratic regime. On the other hand, this is not possible in a dictatorship. Because of this, the country’s stability may also be threatened since the country’s prosperity is dependent on the dictator’s wisdom and desires. By placing the people to have blind worship of the dictator’s government, the country may not progress due to relying too much on a dictator. Dalabistan is a good example of that whereby placing faith in the Babayev family we have overseen injustice, inhumane acts of tribalism, and even deeper economic stagnation. Hence, a corrupt democracy is still preferrable to a totalitarian dictatorship.”
Elena took a small sip of water and then continued, “The Negative side’s second contention is that a corrupt democracy has a greater chance to change into a transparent democratic regime, whereas a totalitarian dictatorship is not likely to change. The reason for that is even in a corrupt democracy, its democratic institutions benefit the citizens, no matter how weak. For instance, a corrupt democracy may st
ill enable citizens to actively exercise their freedoms of speech and choice; have necessary checks and balances. A dictatorship is inherently unable to provide these necessary institutions or rights for its citizens by its very definition. As a result, a corrupt democracy is more likely to turn into a more sustainable regime than a dictatorship.”
Her slow speech and clear articulation of every word signaled confidence. Her long hair proudly waved in the classroom’s air conditioner like a banner of victory. Perhaps I found my girl with whom I could have intellectual discussions? But will she judge me for my tribe or appearance like many others?
Elena concluded, “Ultimately, our team believes that corrupt democracies are better than dictatorships because of greater accountability and possibilities to change into transparent democracies. Hence, please vote Negative. Thank you.”
That was the moment when my brain sank. She intellectually outmaneuvered me! How did I allow this to happen? Perhaps she is a very experienced intellectual girl. Could she be bullied in the past for her smarts like me, or that doesn’t apply to her because of her tribe? These thoughts in my head played as I struggled to say anything in response.
This very session got me interested in politics and debate. I started going to the Debate Club every Tuesday and Thursday. It became my community, and Mr. Kimmelman’s classroom became a temporary shelter for me where no Dalab bully could threaten me. The scene switches to what unfolded an hour later. After that first debate, Elena and I walked to our lockers before leaving school. It’s just the two of us. While grabbing her textbook, she looked at me and remarks, “Alisher, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m happy to finally know such an intelligent mature gentleman.”
I shrugged my shoulders and said, “You know, you must be a really interesting girl to discuss so many things. I would love to attend future Debate Club sessions with you!” She smiled at me and wrapped her soft arms around me. At that moment, I felt she was kissing my soul’s wounds away with her gentle personality. I thought she was the person I searched for a very long time, and I was very glad that I finally found her. Two small tears of joy dropped on her shoulder as we hugged. She did not seem to notice it and just kept on embracing me for a very long time.
The Outcast Presidents Page 3
