America 1982-Chapter 630 - 143: Multiple-Choice Questions in Political Science

Chapter 630: Chapter 143: Multiple-Choice Questions in Political Science

"Me? Fuck!" Glen glared at Dennis with rage in his eyes.

Dennis looked confused, "Why are you so angry?"

"Dennis, you motherfucker ask me to be collateral and then you have the goddamn nerve to ask me why the fuck I’m so angry?" Glen stared at Dennis as if he were an alien, "This isn’t West Point Military Academy, nor is it Turkey where I can safely find my way back to the base if I get lost. This is fucking Lebanon!"

"What about Lebanon?"

"What about it? Lebanon is the goddamn arsehole of the Earth! The dirtiest, smelliest, shittiest place!" Glen laughed mockingly at Dennis’s innocence, "In a country where Israel invades the south, Syria controls the north, and various armed forces are still fighting a civil war inside! You want me to be a hostage for armed terrorists? I have no fucking idea which organization my informant is from, whether his allegiance is pro-Israel, pro-Iran, or pro-Syria."

"I believe they share our faith, faith in the portrait of Franklin," Dennis said.

"Besides, I’m helping you, understand? This is an opportunity, Glen. You’re just one commendation away from a promotion. Think about it, an African American officer exchanges himself for civilians. If this news got back home, think of the impact it would have. You’d become a black man more famous than Martin Luther King. West Point might even erect a bronze statue in your honor."

"I refuse. Why not keep this precious opportunity for yourself? I sure as hell don’t want to become Martin Luther King, I don’t want a bronze statue, and I don’t fucking want to die in Lebanon."

"You’re useless even when given opportunities, Glen. You can only follow behind my ass, licking it with your black lips! Don’t ever think you can be my equal," Dennis, infuriated by Glen’s refusal, cursed him for his lack of ambition.

"Fine, because of your cowardice, we’ll adjust the plan. Tell your informant that I’ll bring cash to trade with him in person. You don’t have to be collateral, but you must make sure the other party isn’t tricking me with fake information while I deal with the cash problem. Otherwise, I’ll hang you at the gate of the Peacekeeping Base and blast you to pieces with a vehicle-mounted gun, putting the blame on Syrian forces. Don’t worry about anyone doubting it; the Israelis would gladly bear witness that they saw Syrian militants kill you."

Glen, already used to the abuse, mockingly laughed, "How about calling your good brother Tommy and borrowing some under the pretext of knocking up a woman?"

"It’s just fifty grand. Do I need Tommy’s help to prepare that? Get the fuck out and do what you need to do! Nigger! Just wait for the cash to show up in front of you!" Dennis cursed venomously at Glen.

"You’d be worth three dollars a hundred years ago, and no white man would pay the bill for trash like you! Only the kind Dennis Herbs would bother caring about you! And how do you fucking repay him? You refuse him! You refuse the kindness, the true friendliness towards niggers of him! Fuck!"

Before leaving, Glen looked at Dennis, emotionless, and asked, "So, how do you plan on making the cash appear before me?"

"Call Tommy," Dennis sighed.

"I knew it."

...

"Is this everything your high school friend experienced in Lebanon?" Condoleezza Rice, a political science professor at Stanford University, sat in her seat and asked Tommy with a smile.

Tommy shrugged, "I left out some parts, like some things that aren’t very interesting."

"Don’t worry, I’m curious about everything. Who knows, maybe I’ll find it interesting," Rice signaled her assistant to prepare another cup of hot coffee for Tommy, and then gestured for him to continue, adjusting her sitting posture to show she was listening more attentively.

Tommy took a sip of coffee and said with a helpless tone to his favorite professor of Susan, "Of course, no problem."

The professor was only thirty-six years old. Although she was thoroughly African American, she was more polite than 99.99% of the whites on Earth, thanks to the upbringing provided by her father since childhood.

Susan admired Rice, not without reason. In fact, many students at Stanford held Professor Rice in high esteem. This woman had been so well protected by her father until she was nineteen that she had no idea what racial equality was, didn’t care about politics, and was focused on becoming America’s greatest black pianist under her father’s supervision.

When she was eight, all the African Americans in the United States were busy demonstrating and marching for equality. Neighbors and relatives alike invited her family to join the demonstrations, but her father chose to guard his doorstep with a gun, keeping those black people away because their slogans might disturb his daughter’s piano practice.

She had also asked her father why he wouldn’t join the marches and demonstrations with everyone else. Her father told her to focus on her piano practice, informing her that Black people couldn’t gain true respect through group activities like appeals and demonstrations.

To gain respect in this world, which is unequal now and will forever be unequal, one needs to work doubly hard to make oneself stronger, strong enough for White people to recognize you outside of the Black community and respect you.

That respect doesn’t come because they pity you for being a Black woman, but because you deserve it.

As for those Black people who don’t want to work hard and hope to gain respect by merely shouting slogans in the streets, they will achieve the opposite effect.

It was only after officially majoring in music at the university that she realized her musical talent, which was praised by her Black neighbors, was not worth mentioning here. Convinced she could not become the greatest Black female pianist, she considered changing her major. While sitting in on other courses, she happened to attend Professor Joseph Korbel’s international politics class, and the ideological differences and conflicts between the Soviet Union and the United States piqued her interest. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Later, while teaching at Stanford University, she told her students that she just had an idea at the time, a simple wish to discuss with the professor whether if the Soviet Union had Black people, they would also be oppressed, discriminated against, and even denied the right to vote. Then, before she knew it, she stepped into the door of political studies.

Although she only started studying political science in her sophomore year’s second semester, she still graduated on time with excellent grades. At graduation, she was already a member of the Phi Beta Kappa, the oldest academic honor society in America; the vice president of the Denver Chapter of the Alpha Kappa Alpha, a sisterhood promoting equal rights; and the secretary-general of the Lambda Sigma Gamma service fraternity.

It wasn’t odd for her to have affiliations with three major fraternal organizations—the odd part was that it was 1974, and she was a Black woman.

After earning her master’s degree in political science, she entered direct into an internship at The Federal State Department’s Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs and began her career. But because she despised President Carter at the time, she quit her cushy job after her internship ended and went to Moscow State University to study Russian, thereafter joining RAND Corporation, while simultaneously pursuing her doctoral degree.

In 1982, while eighteen-year-old Tommy was busy trading cigarettes to make money, twenty-six-year-old Rice had obtained her doctoral degree. She was hired as a researcher by the Stanford University Center for International Security and Cooperation and appointed as an assistant professor of political science that same year. In 1985, she spoke at an arms control experts’ conference at Stanford, and some of her ideas caught the attention of Brent Scowcroft, President Ford’s National Security Advisor. He subsequently began following Rice’s research and political philosophy. When President Bush took office, Brent invited Rice to be the President’s specialist on Soviet issues.

This thirty-six-year-old Black woman currently has two formal jobs, one teaching political classes to Stanford students and the other teaching the President.

And she can even complain in formal settings that working for the President has prevented her from teaching her course at Stanford accordingly to progress towards a tenured position.

Tommy also likes this woman. She doesn’t behave like a Black woman, more like a White man—probably the gender and race reversal of that fellow Charles.

"Uh, actually, after the fifty thousand, a few minor things happened, nothing worth mentioning," Tommy paused for a moment, looking at Rice, and tentatively asked a question,

"For example, a United States lieutenant, with his good-for-nothing soldiers, dressed in French peacekeeping uniforms, robbed the vault of a bank in Tyre, Lebanon, under the pretext of rescuing Israeli hostages."

After hearing this, Rice froze for a few seconds, then held her forehead with her hand, "So, two days ago, in the southern Lebanese city of Tyre, a pro-Iran terrorist organization went after a pro-Syria terrorist group, as well as the French-controlled refugee camps, causing thousands of refugees to suffer, and the whole world is analyzing why Iran would breach the ceasefire agreement. The reasons include speculation that a Christian militia organization supported by Israel is causing trouble in Tyre, the pro-Syria terrorist organization intercepting supplies, or even alleging that UN peacekeeping forces are trying to cross the line—and the real reason is..."

"That’s right, Dennis took the fifty thousand but didn’t buy information on the hostages. Instead, he bought another piece of information about the bank, and then robbed it. He distributed part of the gold, and the remaining money was enough to buy the real information on the hostages," Tommy sighed,

"What I have to...," Rice turned her head to catch her breath for a moment before resuming her seated posture and continued looking at Tommy, trying to stay calm, "France is our ally; they have intelligence agencies and will find out sooner or later. This will affect America’s and the President’s image internationally. Your high school classmate will end up in a military court. I’ve never heard of any country’s military with an operation aiming to rob a bank under the pretense of saving people."

"The situation is just as such. Dennis’ terms are simple—if the President wants the CIA to ultimately use intelligence to rescue the hostages, then...clean up his mess. The loot is already distributed among his platoon members. Those guys want to return home and be discharged, not caring whether it’s a honorable one, because what they did in Lebanon is enough to retire on. But he wants a face-to-face commendation from the President," Tommy exhaled deeply,

"If the President sees them as trash, Dennis will report the intelligence to the Pentagon Army Intelligence Agency according to the proper procedures. That way, he can keep the President out of it, and the Pentagon will be responsible for dealing with Dennis and his trash. The hostages can be saved, and of course, the American public will understand that the CIA intelligence system, which the President was in charge of, is crap—and he’s useless abroad."

"Politically, it’s not a tough choice—whether the President values his face more, or his votes."

Rice didn’t pay attention to Tommy’s rambling and quickly pulled her thoughts away from his pile of words, smiling at Tommy and asked,

"After saying so much, what do you want?"