Dictators. You know who they are. Many of you work for one.
The problem with dictators is they always hanker after war. Hitler did. So did Mussolini. As did Pol Pot. Stalin did too. And before them, Caesar, Tamerlane and others of their dreadful ilk. Now today, we have a new crop: Putin, Kim and Xi, to name the most visible ones. Of course, if the dictators can’t find a suitable target they feel can be mowed down, there’s always the dictators’ own people, e.g, Pinochet in Chile, Stroessner in Paraguay, Maduro in Venezuela — and here in the USA, that ghastly wannabe, Trump.
But these creatures can’t commit their atrocities and depredations all by themselves. They’re only single individuals. Can’t imagine Xi flying a bomber across the Pacific to land an H-bomb on L.A. or Putin all by his lonesome in a sub, launching on London No, sir. They need accomplices. Men and women like you; people willing, nay eager, to do the dictator’s bidding. And you even go so far as to make them Presidents for Life.
You know what the next war will be like. Imagine your beautiful home town, your capital city, all reduced to glass-lined, radiating craters and everyone you loved, gone in glowing clouds of plasma. Nothing but ruin and death.
You know your dictator doesn’t give a tinker’s dam about you, your spouse, your kids. But you do. So why are you subservient to a man who would spend their live without a second’s consideration?
Why not kill him?
In the USSR, the subalterns who realized Stalin was about to put them in the meat grinder, laced his food with Warfarin (rat poison) and, sure enough, he suffered an enormous hemorrhagic stoke. Kaput. Finis. The murders stopped.
Boots are often part of the uniform-of-choice for discators, so here’s an idea that can work – it can even work for trousers. Get a long, thin piece of tempered glass honed to a fine point; it won’t show up on metal detectors or X-ray machines. Put some tape on the upper part to act as a handle and slide it into your boot (or down your waistband if you wear trousers).
When next in the August Presence to sing the requisite huzzahs and lick his boots, find an excuse (maybe to get a cup of tea or coffee, or a snort of vodka) to slip around in back of His Greatness. Grab him by his hair and lay his head hard over on his shoulder. Retrieve your glass shank and administer a good half-dozen strokes to the blood vessels in Dear Leader’s neck. It can all be done a mere seconds.
The other members of the inner sanctum will be shocked to inaction. Before they can do anything and El Caudio is gurgling his last, spread your arms wide and announce “We’re Free! We’re Safe! He’s dead!” No more knock on the door at 3:00 AM. No more meat grinder. No more Gulag. No more war. With the old misanthrope dead and gone, you, being the decent folks that you are, you can construct a better country. This is how Rome was rid of both Caesar and Caligula, Romania rid of Ceausescu and, as noted, the USSR was rid of Stalin.
Assassination. You should seriously consider it. Your lives probably depend on it. I mean it’s likely that your dictator will eventually come to suspect you disloyalty – they always do -and reward your years of abject servitude by having you dragged off to a dungeon and given a Drano enema. Sooner, rather than later, your dictator will tire of you so kill him while you have the chance.