David Michael Newstead's Blog, page 17
February 7, 2023
Public Domain Heroes: The Press Guardian #5
David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving
“Okay, so what do you want to know?” The man asked as he lit an imported cigar.
Bartholomew Danor was a former army officer and currently the leader of the small, far-right Eternal Nation Party. Impeccably dressed, his face was nonetheless weathered and looked more like leather than human skin. After weeks of clandestine communications, the Press Guardian was able to smuggle him to a secure location for an interview with Cynthia Blake. It was deep background, totally secret, and he insisted on complete anonymity for obvious reasons – his own safety.
Cynthia studied her notes, while Perry Chase guarded the door from behind his mask as the Press Guardian. The room was cold and entirely concrete except for a small wooden table and chairs where they’d be having their conversation.
“First, I’m curious why you were willing to talk to us? On paper, your party seems like a natural ally of the New National Dream,” Cynthia said.
Danor laughed a little, “Not the case, unfortunately. Reporters don’t understand anything about politics, so I’m glad I have the chance to educate you.”
As she looked at him, Cynthia suddenly realized that Danor had a vein that went from the top of his scaly bald scalp down his forehead before disappearing into his haggard facial features. He smiled at her.
“What am I missing?” Cynthia said, “You’ve been advocating for some of these same policies for years now: stronger national defense, expelling all immigrants, demonizing the press, preserving our culture against the ‘evils’ of foreign values and homosexuality.”
“Listen, I know what you think of me,” he replied, “You think I’m a chauvinist, a misogynist, homophobic, racist, womanizing, warmongering Neanderthal, right? But I’m not really any of those things. The fact is, I tell people what they want to hear. That’s all. After the old regime collapsed, its most reactionary supporters didn’t just cease to exist. That’s the key fact left-wing intellectuals like you don’t want to acknowledge. Those people vote. More importantly, they donate money. Lots of it! You might find that part of the business uncivilized, but it’s a reality.”
“The business?” The Press Guardian interjected from the doorway.
“Politics, my boy,” Danor grinned wide, “It’s the business of people.”
“So, it’s all about profit for you, not those long held principles you talk about in your speeches?” Cynthia asked.
“Good god…” he replied, puffing on his cigar, “That’s what the whole song and dance is about in parliament. Small parties like mine are in an incredibly lucrative position. The Greens? Left-Labor? Their leaders aren’t living in the poorhouse either. We collect huge retainers every election cycle from all kinds of interest groups that want to hedge their bets.”
“Against what, Mr. Danor?” Cynthia said, coughing a little from the strong smoke.
“My dear… At least, historically, a small party on the correct side of the ideological spectrum has the opportunity to be a kingmaker in a tight election when the big parties are struggling to form a government,” he chuckled, “Think of it as insurance. Our donors certainly do.”
“And the New National Dream upsets the balance?” Cynthia followed-up, raising an eyebrow.
“Disrupting my income stream is just part of the problem, believe me. But yes, that’s how the animosity started between our parties. Krebtz and his goons are nothing but trouble. They are what I only pretend to be.”
“And what’s that?” Cynthia prodded him, wanting Danor to admit the truth about his odious platform.
The former colonel stared squarely back at her, “They’re autocrats, Ms. Blake. Pure and simple. Fascists who want all the spoils for themselves. You know this. They act with the thinnest veil of legality, but they’ve been dismantling parliament piece by piece for years now. And I don’t fit into their vision for the future anymore than you do.”
“So what has the regime been doing that most people aren’t aware of?”
“First off,” he explained, “… the size of the major opposition parties has actually worked to their disadvantage in this case. Every election cycle, they’re further infiltrated by moles and double agents. Those fresh faced, young candidates? It’s a ruse, my dear. I suspect less than two thirds of the big parties are still even made up of genuine legislators anymore. But I’m only estimating.”
Cynthia was taken aback, “You’re saying actual members of parliament, members of the opposition no less, are secretly agents of the regime?”
“Yes. A growing cohort of them, at least. It’s taken Krebtz a while to achieve it, but some parliamentarians and/or their staff members are puppets of the president.”
“Do you think this was achieved through threats of violence or blackmail?” Cynthia leaned in as she spoke.
“Both!” Danor responded, “Plus, good old-fashioned bribery! But I suspect a sizable number of them are true believers in the New National Dream, right out of the party’s training schools. Real members of parliament are terrified, of course, because they don’t know who to trust anymore from their staff, their own political parties, or anywhere else. Frankly, I’m not even sure I should be talking to you right now…” Danor paused to linger on his cigar, “My guess is the Greens will be the last holdouts. Those union murders have probably finished off the Left-Labor Party as a force in the legislature, which is a shame. Those guys were great card players and a lot of fun at the bar.”
“You say that like Krebtz’s victory is inevitable. If that’s the case, what’s to be gained by talking to us?”
“It is inevitable in the short-term. But there’s still hope for the country, in my opinion,” Danor replied, “Krebtz doesn’t have full control over the security services yet or the military. Especially the Officer Corps. There are people who believe in the republic and the rule of law and fair play. For now. That’s his main obstacle. Otherwise, he would have strangled our democracy six months ago.”
“So, why have you come forward now?” she asked. “Why not six months ago?”
“Two reasons. I was vaguely aware of the role the Chessman was playing for the regime and I don’t have a death wish. Your masked friend took care of that concern, so here I am. Secondly, there’s a clause within the revised Political Party Registration Act that’s currently before parliament that would allow Krebtz to appropriate any parties’ bank accounts, which will effectively demolish the last organized opposition. Now, in theory that’s only for emergency reasons in defense of the republic, but since Krebtz will have discretion to define what an emergency is, I suspect my party will be robbed the day after this law passes.”
“Why hasn’t this proposed change received more attention in your view?” Cynthia asked.
“As I said, the Chessman…” Danor began to speak.
“But your own money is your main motivation, is that correct?” Cynthia cut him off mid-sentence.
“My livelihood, you mean? Yes! I’m not ashamed of acting in my own self-interest, but they just so happen to align with the interests of our glorious republic. So, you don’t have to talk to me like I’m some greedy asshole. That money is what fuels actual, practical opposition, my dear. That’s party workers’ salaries. It buys expensive campaign advertising and pays legal costs. In our system, informal groups of citizens don’t have the same abilities or standing as lawfully registered political parties.”
Danor continued, “Without parliamentary oversight, Krebtz is going to start transferring taxpayer money into the pockets of his cronies on an unimaginable scale.”
“How?” she asked.
“Military contracts, special tax incentives, subsidies, approved lists of government vendors and suppliers, construction deals, economic development funding, business licensing, registered political consulting, privatization schemes, nationalization schemes, and about a million other ways. You think my tailored suits and steak dinners are bad? We’re talking about 700 billion euro a year. Once that faucet is opened, I don’t know if it can ever be closed again. The New National Dream will essentially be moving as much of the country’s annual budget into their own bank accounts as possible. And there’ll be no enforcement of campaign contribution rules anymore or spending limits. They could install rabid loyalists to every position that matters. Classify anything that’s inconvenient to them. It’s a governance nightmare.”
He stopped to slip from a bottle of sparkling water before continuing on with comical hand gestures, “People mistake their opinions and their thoughts and feelings for opposition to the regime, but there are tangible mechanics at play, my dear. Gaps that can’t be overcome by editorial articles, viral videos, or clever protest signs. It doesn’t matter how social media savvy you are if you can’t win at the ballot box. That’s what Krebtz is preparing to destroy. And our elections will become a rigged boxing match if they succeed.”
Cynthia grimaced. Danor had a habit of calling her “my dear” in a way that was both charming and disgusting at the same time. As they spoke, he was visibly looking her up and down. His teeth were obnoxiously artificially white and his irises seemed to sparkle at her whenever she made eye contact with him. In the recesses of her mind, Cynthia groaned and sighed and screamed, but labored onwards in the interview. Fucking creep, she thought.
“What’s your personal assessment of the President?” she said, “You must have interacted with him during his years in parliament.”
“Have you met Alexander Krebtz before?” Danor asked sarcastically, “He’s a grimy little man. Another self-important jackass with no style or finesse. The one thing I’ll say about him though is that he knows how to turn any bureaucracy into a lethal weapon. He’s like a deranged accountant trying to kill you with papercuts. His little cabal will attack their enemies by any means within the law and outside the law and by changing the rules. And by the time you realize that fight is even happening, it might already be lost. I’ve seen it many times.”
“You’ve made a lot of serious allegations today,” Cynthia said, “If I may ask, how do you know some of these things?”
Danor chuckled again and didn’t talk for a few seconds, “I come bearing gifts, Ms. Blake,” Then, he handed her a thick folder of documents.
Cynthia and the Press Guardian locked eyes for a moment, amazed at this trove of evidence.
“We really must speak again sometime,” Danor said as he stood up, preparing to leave, “You’re such an engaging interviewer.”
They shook hands and Danor headed for the door. The Press Guardian checked down that long hallway decorated with pipes and conduits running along the ceiling. There was no one.
“Come with me, Mr. Danor,” he told him and Cynthia anxiously watched the two of them depart.
Citing Crime Wave, President Krebtz Launches New Security Initiative
By Andrew Andrewson | National City Bulletin
Surrounded by law enforcement and business leaders, the President signed an executive decree on Wednesday, designed to strengthen police and stop violent crime across Yaharza. “We will defend our citizens at any cost!” Krebtz told those in attendance before putting pen to paper. Considered a major escalation in the war on crime, the order will direct more money to local departments, make sizable investments in new electronic capacities and training resources, and greatly expand the powers of the Interior Ministry’s Special Office. CONTINUED ON PAGE B9
February 4, 2023
The Press Guardian: Weekend Reader
Journal of Democracy: How Viktor Orbán Wins
New York Times: How the White Press Wrote Off Black America
The Atlantic: The Threat to American Democracy That Has Nothing to Do With Trump
Washington Post: They Were Called Journalism Heroes, Then Came the Buyouts Came
Defense One: Putin’s Propaganda Machine Is What America’s Far-Right Wants
Al Jazeera: VPN Use Skyrockets in Russia
NPR: Exploring Burma Through George Orwell
BBC: The Librarian Who Defied the Taliban
Washington Post: How Journalists Can Spot the Signs of Autocracy
CBS Sundays: Putin’s Propaganda War Against His Own People
Human Rights Watch: Killing of Radio Journalist in Philippines Adds to Grim Toll
The Economist: The Stalinisation of Russia
NBC News: Journalist Killed in Mexico, 15th to Die So Far This Year
Al Jazeera English: African Autocrats Have New Allies – Street Goons
Poynter: We Asked, You Answered: Here are Your Favorite Journalism Movies
January 31, 2023
Public Domain Heroes: The Press Guardian #4
David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving
His fists were battering rams against teeth and rib cages. Legions of tattooed henchmen charged at him only to be sent flying backwards, bruised and unconscious. The city’s park was now transformed into a boxing ring in the final round! A warzone! A medieval battlefield! The Press Guardian delivered uppercuts and body shots that reduced towering goons to patients at the local hospital.
“I’m here for the Chessman!” The Press Guardian grunted, a line of blood running down his chin.
Then, he watched a small army emerge from the shadows to surround him. They carried handguns, lead pipes, brass knuckles, and knives.
“This is your last warning…” The Press Guardian said, but was greeted only by their laughter.
Perry grinned. He reached into his pocket and pushed a button. Suddenly, three explosions lit up the night sky! He could see panic in the gangster’s eyes now. Turmoil caused their ranks to break and scatter as fire and confusion took hold.
“What the fuck?!” One of them shouted, disoriented by the blasts.
The next instant, Perry knocked the guy flat on his back. Around them was the smoking wreckage of a yellow Lamborghini, a cluster of oil barrels, and a giant lamp post that came crashing to the ground. Men ran in every direction. The drug shipment had been interrupted and the noise of machine guns ripped through the relative tranquility of the capital.
It was all up to Baldwin and Cynthia now, Perry thought.
In the midst of the chaos, he made eye contact with the Chessman for just a moment, each man assessing the other. Seconds later, the crime boss’s security was anxiously rushing the old man into a black SUV, desperate to flee the scene before police arrived. But the mafia motorcade wouldn’t get far. Three cars went from 0 to 100 kilometers per hour and quickly encountered the military-grade tire spikes Perry had hidden before the attack. The first SUV stopped when its wheels disintegrated. Then it was rammed by the second carrying the old man, causing both vehicles to flip, while the third car swerved at the last minute into a tree.
The Press Guardian would have to fight his way to their position, but run-of-the-mill hoodlums were no longer his biggest obstacle. The Chessman’s bodyguards were all ex-special forces, expert killers now in the pay of organized crime. Perry’s only advantage was surprise and as he dove for cover amid an onslaught of gunfire, he realized that had finally been exhausted.
“Put one between his goddamn eyes!” he heard the unexpectedly animated old man yell to the huddled group of commandos.
Perry ducked down just as the tree trunk next to him burst apart.
“Jesus Christ!” he muttered.
Bullets whizzed by him, but the Press Guardian ran to safety under the cover of darkness, disappearing into the night. Meanwhile, the Chessman was encircled by nine men in suits, brandishing assault rifles. Their wrecked cars provided temporary cover, but they quickly began to move to the river in hopes of escaping by boat. It was at the water’s edge, however, that the Chessman understood the full extent of the situation. With fires burning all around him, the Chessman noticed a slight glimmer coming from the top of a lamp post on the far side of the park. Then, he saw another and another. The Press Guardian had planted cameras! The entire battle, the shipment of narcotics arriving… It had all been filmed and photographed and livestreamed. The Chessman and a few of his guards were surrounded by millions of euros worth of heroin and weapons just as police began to appear by land, sea, and air. SWAT teams closed in on them. Police boats blocked their exit. Helicopters hovered overhead, shining searchlights down on the disaster below.
Despite sporadic exchanges of gunfire, the battle was over and the old man knew it. TV news crews weren’t far behind since half the city was woken up by the fighting. Domestic and international correspondents reported live as the gangsters were led away in handcuffs by city police.
“Overnight, shocking footage from the heart of Europe! We bring you this special report with our chief international…”
“… a city on edge this morning after police dealt a major blow to organized crime in Yaharza.”
“… dramatic images that were livestreamed to major news outlets and for the whole world to see a police takedown of violent drug traffickers…”
“I’m joined now by Detective Nicholas Baldwin who is leading the investigation of the country’s largest drug bust in a decade. Detective Baldwin, I’d like you to comment on reports of…”
“… criminals caught red handed by police and a masked vigilante known only as…”
“Who is the Press Guardian? That’s the question on everyone’s minds this morning after news of a mysterious hero who helped authorities capture…”
Perry turned off the TV. The newsroom was still empty at that hour and his head was pounding. He groaned in pain, holding an ice pack against his lower lip. His knuckles were wrapped in bandages. Cynthia handed him a warm cup of coffee and she laid out a copy of that morning’s exclusive edition. Each article on the front page represented months of hard work, heart ache, and in-depth investigative journalism. But those headlines that day were just their opening salvos against the regime.
Capital’s Top Criminals Linked to String of Opposition Murders
By Cynthia Blake and Perry Chase | The Daily Review-Express
Perry took a deep breath and quietly studied the product of their labors.
“Cynthia… I think Richard would be proud,” he said as Perry managed to crack an ugly, swollen smile.
President Krebtz Outlines Bold Vision for the Future
By Thomas Tomsky | The Rural Times-Tribune
For days, everything at the party conference had been building to this moment. Event organizers, panelists, and party activists eagerly awaited his arrival. But the moment that President Alexander Krebtz took the stage, no one could have been predicted the heartfelt outpouring of enthusiasm for Yaharza’s leader. The 20,000-person venue erupted in applause that shook the auditorium and inspired nearly a half hour of excited chants and cheers. Among his rank-in-file supporters, the President smiled and laughed, shook hands and took selfies, but when he finally reached the podium, the audience fell silent, ready to hear from their head of the state. “This is much more than a political party!” he declared, “The New National Dream is a great awakening for our people. It is a new beginning for this country. You are part of a movement. Every single one of you is now a co-author of this nation’s destiny! And we will not allow that great future to be derailed anymore. For too long, critics and outsiders have held our country back. They’ve held you back! They’ve made us all weak. And I’ve come here today to invite you to join me. Join me in creating a stronger Yaharza, a better Yaharza, and a purer Yaharza!” CONTINUED ON PAGE A4
January 28, 2023
A Newspaper
STEPHEN CRANE
A newspaper is a collection of half injustices
Which, bawled by boys from mile to mile,
Spreads its curious opinion
To a million merciful and sneering men,
While families cuddle the joys of the fireside
When spurred by tale of dire lone agony.
A newspaper is a court
Where everyone is kindly and unfairly tried
By a squalor of honest men.
A newspaper is a market
Where wisdom sells its freedom
And melons are crowned by the crowd.
A newspaper is a game
Where his error scores the player victory
While another’s skill wins death.
A newspaper is a symbol;
It is feckless life’s chronicle,
A collection of loud tales
Concentrating eternal stupidities,
That in remote ages lived unhaltered,
Roaming through a fenceless world.
January 24, 2023
Public Domain Heroes: The Press Guardian #3
David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving
There was a sea of families and park goers of all ages, walking and cycling. Capital Park was a sprawling attraction oriented to the east of the city’s center, forming a “green crescent” that hugged much of the riverfront running north to south. Generations ago, the park had actually been a baron’s personal estate when Yaharza was just another forgotten corner of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But in the turbulent century that followed, the city’s lasting achievement was safeguarding this public treasure through two world wars, a civil war, mass protests, and years of dictatorship. The park remained mostly unscathed during all that time and to many people it was the real heart and soul of the city.
For two months, Perry Chase had been conducting surveillance there, attempting to investigate a criminal syndicate that operated out in the open. There were the fairgrounds, the zoo, the aquarium, fountains and ponds, lush flower beds, long rows of hedges, public pools, football fields and tennis courts, playgrounds, skate parks, dog runs, cafés, food carts, book stalls, gardens, greenhouses, amphitheaters, music stages, gazebos, a maze of sculptures and tree lined walkways, and finally a shaded cluster of stone tables where old men and eccentrics played dominos and cards and chess all day long, every day of the year. This, Perry learned, was the territory of the Chessman. Some of those in attendance, he discovered, were there doing business with him or casually guarding the kingpin of the capital.
Under the veil of a photojournalism assignment to capture the extensive beauty of the park, Perry focused his camera lens, taking thousands of shots. In the background, however, gangsters could be seen hard at work, far from wiretaps or police. Numbers runners and bagmen made their regular drop offs. Heavyset bodyguards sat around idly reading the sports section. And after weeks of trying to get close enough, Perry finally determined who among them was the boss of bosses – the Chessman himself. Several times a day, two men the size of tanks would carry a cup of espresso and a fresh pastry from the nearest café over to the game tables where the Chessman played and plotted, negotiated and threatened. This modest looking older man arrived to the park at sunrise, leisurely strolling to the same seat every morning where he remained for most of the day. He permitted his men to smoke as long as they were downwind from him and absolutely no one dared to litter.
Cynthia Blake looked over the photos, “This is the crime lord of the underworld?! He looks like my granddad and dresses like a retiree on a cruise ship. For god sakes, he’s playing bocce ball in this picture.”
“It gets worse, I’m afraid,” Perry said, handing Cynthia a slim manila folder. “I got this from a source at the Ministry of Interior.”
Cynthia flipped through the file in disbelief. The record was incomplete and heavily redacted, but it told a disturbing story.
“When President Krebtz was Interior Minister ten years ago, he systematically dismantled organized crime in Yaharza,” Perry explained.
“I’ve seen the campaign ads, Perry…”
He continued, “According to these records, the Chessman ran one of the mid-sized syndicates back then. And he was arrested like all the other mafia leaders during the crackdown. But I’ve checked and he’s the only one who’s walking around free today.”
“What’s your working theory?” Cynthia asked pointedly.
“I think the Chessman is acting as an unofficial arm for the security services, doing what they can’t. And that Krebtz’s path to autocracy started much earlier than any of us realized. The consolidation of the underworld occurred first and I think the Chessman is the regime approved kingpin.”
Cynthia pushed back, “This is still too circumstantial to publish for now. Nothing you have here directly links these two men. At least, not yet. I need more.”
“You’re right. You’re right,” Perry acknowledged, pacing around Cynthia’s office. “But I’ve ID’ed several members of his entourage. They’re all convicted murderers and at least two of them are ex-military. They work in broad daylight, supremely confident and unafraid of anyone. Tourist visits to the park can just as easily be cover for foreign criminals meeting with the Chessman. It’s insane.”
Perry handed Cynthia more photo prints, identifying infamous Russian, Hungarian, and Italian mafia figures seated across from the Chessman for an amicable turn at the board, “Some of these guys shouldn’t have even been able to enter the country, much less take a walk in the park.”
“Jesus…” Cynthia said in intellectual horror. She let the implications sink in for a minute, then looked up at Perry.
“You have to keep digging, alright? Richard was onto something that we’re just beginning to scratch the surface of,” she said, “Only a few key people here know what you’re working on right now. If others find out, I don’t know what we’ll do.”
Perry Chase had embedded himself in the inner workings and natural rhythms of Capital Park. At different intervals, he had studied it, hidden in it, and observed it: morning, noon, and night. He was a tourist, a jogger, concert goer, a man flying a kite, whatever the situation called for to gain greater access. And every pedestrian bridge or old drain pipe in the park was of potential importance. Every landscaping crew and trash collector was a possible piece in the larger puzzle. Perry endeavored to map out everything he could, because his life depended on it, not just their investigation. During the day, as the Chessman sat at his table, plans were hatched and meetings were being held. At night, Perry Chase watched illicit products being moved into and out of the park via the river. He needed all this information, the photographs, and recordings to prepare for a multi-pronged attack, but above all, he needed it to persuade Detective Baldwin.
When they finally spoke, the detective seemed to know more than he had originally let on. The Chessman’s whole operation was an open secret, but getting the city’s police to do something about it was the real hard part.
“Don’t you think I want to help you?” Baldwin whispered as he looked around the bar, “We aren’t allowed to do anything about this shit! Other people have tried.”
“What if you had to?” Perry asked, sipping his drink, “I have information about a large drug shipment that’s coming into the country that the Chessman is going to personally oversee. He’ll be there.”
Baldwin flipped through the file Perry had handed him, “You don’t get it… So much gets swept under the rug now. If you’re going to make a move against the Chessman, then it has to be something no one can ignore. Whatever happens next would have to be so messy and fucking loud that it couldn’t possibly be covered up. Do you understand?” Baldwin told him, “That’s the only way anyone will care.”
Perry put down his glass of beer and got up.
“I have a plan,” he said, “We’ll be in touch.”
Summer in Capital Park: Residents Rejoice at the City’s Crown Jewel in Full Bloom
By Perry Chase | The Daily Review-Express
Capital Park is a timeless summer destination for locals and tourists alike, eager to shake off winter and enjoy all the free entertainment and natural beauty that Yaharza has to offer. That’s why this summer, we asked park goers young and old their favorite things to do and their happiest memories in our nation’s premium public park. CONTINUED ON PAGE D3
January 21, 2023
Lonesome Travel Guide to Yaharza
YAHARZA
OFFICIAL NAME: The Republic of Yaharza.
CAPITAL: Amtilica.
MAJOR CITIES: Amtilica (5 million), Yahel City (4 million), and Plkorfia (1 million).
POPULATION: 15 million.
OFFICIAL LANGUAGE: Yaharzan.
OFFICIAL CURRENCY: Euro (€).
TIME ZONE: Central European Time (CET).
ETHNIC GROUPS: 98% Yaharzan, 2% Other.
RELIGION: 90% Christian, 10% Other.
GEOGRAPHY: Located northwest of Hungary and east of Romania, Yaharza is a beautiful, but often overlooked corner of Europe. The majestic King’s River cuts through the center of the country, while the jagged Yaharzan Mountains dominate the west and rich agricultural plains makeup the east. Yaharza is also renowned for its sprawling fields of barley, which contribute to a proud beer drinking tradition that’s sure it entice even the most teetotaling tourists.
GETTING AROUND: Yaharza has an extensive railway system for travelling across the country. The capital, Amtilica, and Yahel City also have their own aging subway systems, bus services, and taxi companies. Yaharza’s narrow streets and limited parking make rental cars more headache than they’re usually worth, but there are rental options available. And after years of investment, Amtilica International Airport has been upgraded, expanded, and modernized for the 21st Century.
REGIONS: Six provinces as well as the Special Capital Region (SCR).
DEPENDENT TERRTORIES: None.
INDEPENDENCE: 1918.
GOVERNMENT TYPE: Semi-presidential parliamentary republic.
LEGISLATURE: Unicameral parliament.
PRESIDENT: Alexander Krebtz (the New National Dream).
PRIME MINISTER: Mylos Yander (the New National Dream).
SUFFRAGE: Universal, Age 18.
CONSTITUTION: First Republic (1919-1939), Second Republic (1939-1940), Collaboration Occupation Authority (1940-1945), Provisional Government (1945-1947), Third Republic (1947-1949), Fourth Republic (1949-1990), Fifth Republic (1990-Present).
POLITICAL PARTIES: Center Conservative Party, Social Democratic Party, the Green Way, Left-Labor Party, Eternal Nation Party, Independent Libero Party, the New National Dream.
CURRENT MAJORITY PARTY: The New National Dream.
AFFILIATIONS: European Union (EU), United Nations (UN), North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO).
MAJOR TV NETWORKS: News Prime, Public One TV, Enterprise News.
MAJOR RADIO STATIONS: Public One Radio, Capital Radio, Vector All Channels, Turbocast Radio, BBC World Service.
MAJOR NEWSPAPERS: The National City Bulletin, The Daily Review-Express, The Rural Times-Tribune, Reporting Collective Online Service, Action Alternative! Newspaper.
NOTABLE CITIZENS: Football legend Leonard Yarth (1950-2000), celebrated painter Yon Yovo (1905-1983), Human Rights campaigner Archbishop Henri Yartar (1932-2010), opera singer Alice Yo (1970-2020), and award-winning poet Jeremiah Yonla (1966-Present).
TOURIST ATTRACTIONS: Yaharza has plenty to offer to world travelers. If you’re hungry, enjoy rustic food tours through the agricultural heartland and explore a burgeoning farm-to-table gourmet restaurant scene in Amtilica or Yahel City. For the culturally minded tourist, visit the historic Amtilica Operahouse or stroll through Capital Park. And for more outdoorsy activities, you’ll find superb hiking and world-class skiing with a trip to the beautiful Yaharzan Mountains.
ACCOMODATIONS: Depending on your budget, Yaharza has historic 5-star hotels and charming countryside villas. There are some decent and affordable options available in larger cities as well as youth hostels and more spartan motels if you’re short on money. But if money is no object, check out the high-end resorts on the King’s River or luxurious mountaintop spas.
HISTORY: In the Yaharzan language, the country’s name comes from the word “in-between” and that is a perfect description for a place wedged into an awkward pocket of Central and Eastern Europe. That geography has also defined much of Yaharzan history as more powerful neighbors have routinely dominated the small nation by force or economically. Around 1850, intellectuals in Yaharza aspired to break free from this cycle of foreign control and began organizing a grassroots independence movement. This long struggle was reflected in Yaharzan literature, music, and folktales, while also characterizing decades of uprisings and labor strikes against the ruling Austro-Hungarian Empire. For a time, these agitation efforts were interrupted by the outbreak of the First World War, which devastated the entire country. However, the war would ultimately secure independence by shattering the empire and positioning Yaharza’s energetic diplomats for success at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919. The young nation’s democratic founders would go on to lead Yaharza for a generation, fulfilling many of their long sought after ambitions. These included building Amtilica’s famed university, instituting land reforms, and elevating Yaharzan language education.
Sadly, the Second World War ended this prosperous era and unwillingly thrust the country into the middle of the largest conflict in human history. Years of German occupation and aerial bombardment from both sides wrecked havoc across Yaharza, which emerged from the war as a fragile state on the verge of starvation. Rival political factions in the provisional government bitterly jostled for power in the aftermath. Eventually, these forces fought a brutal civil war that ended with the establishment of a new dictatorship, which ruled the country from 1949 until the peaceful Orchid Revolution in 1990. Since then, Yaharza has been transformed from a stale dictatorship to a vibrant democracy, garnering foreign investment and rapidly growing its economy in the 21st century. Many of Yaharza’s leading citizens today are proud veterans of the dissident movement that helped change the country forever and usher in a new era of peace and freedom.
NOTABLE WARS AND INSURGENCIES: The Great Yaharzan Uprising of 1911, First World War, Second World War, Yaharzan Civil War, The Orchid Revolution.
January 17, 2023
Public Domain Heroes: The Press Guardian #2
David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving
On Monday morning, everyone discovered the newsroom in shambles. Within thirty seconds, Cynthia Blake was on the phone with the police department, while frightened staff looked over the extent of the damage: broken windows, a few stolen computers, and general pillaging.
“Who would do something like this?!” One of the interns exclaimed.
“At least, we have our next headline…” Perry mumbled to himself.
At the same time though, Perry was carefully surveying his surroundings, peering over each desk and floor tile. And then it occurred to him. Someone had definitely been inside Richard’s old office. It wasn’t ransacked like the others, but the papers had been moved around. The intruders had tried to obscure their real focus. This wasn’t a robbery at all, not really. If Richard’s office hadn’t sat untouched since his disappearance, perhaps Perry wouldn’t have noticed. But disturbing this informal memorial was the first clue. On closer examination, an entire section of papers from Richard’s filing cabinet were missing. Perry spent the next twenty minutes walking the length of the newsroom, searching and studying every centimeter.
“The police are useless!” Cynthia told him, “They’ll be here in an hour. Un-fucking-believable.”
She paced back and forth, while she went over the same details with the operator again and again.
Eventually, two police officers did show up. They spent hours questioning each staff member individually and examining the scene. After all that though, their conclusions didn’t inspire much confidence. The building’s security cameras had been damaged right before the break-in, so there was no video. The cops told Cynthia and Perry that it was likely that drug addicts had stolen several laptops to sell.
“I don’t understand. Wouldn’t drug addicts have left fingerprints?” Cynthia asked, her tone indicating her mood.
The officers shrugged. They handed Perry a yellow slip of paper if staff wanted to call to check-in on the investigation. Then, they left. Cynthia walked down the hall muttering about how the whole day was wasted and all the work they had to catch-up on for the next issue. She wasn’t wrong, Perry thought. But the idea that something Richard had been working on could be the motive behind his murder had preoccupied Perry all afternoon.
Richard’s house was at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac on the outskirts of the city. Since his death, the two-storey residence had sat abandoned just like his office. His niece in Boston wouldn’t be able to travel back home until the end of the semester, so the house should have been empty. What Perry was shocked to discover though is that it wasn’t. In the darkness, he could see silhouettes moving around the interior. The intruders were trying to stay silent, but failed every time they bumped into an old piece of furniture or knocked over a stack of books. Their search of the home was sloppy and loud. There wasn’t much time, Perry concluded as he hastily prepared to catch them in the act. From behind a swath of trees, he pulled a makeshift red mask across his face and charged forward. He slipped in through the side door and carefully progressed through each room, while his mind replayed memories of Richard’s house during better days: team dinners and late night editorial meetings.
Then, he found them: three giant men carrying flashlights and desperately digging through Richard’s papers. Before Perry could say a word, two of them pounced on him. One tried to pull his arms behind his back so that the other could pulverize Perry’s abdomen. He absorbed a few hits, then pivoted hard, throwing one man into the other. They tumbled over and their combined body weight tore a bookshelf apart on the way down. Something made of glass shattered against the hardwood floors. The third man looked up from behind Richard’s desk and pulled a handgun. Its mussel illuminated the room with each earsplitting bang, but the shooter missed. In the final flash, he would only see Perry’s knuckles burst out of the shadows and hit him directly in the nose. The others panicked. They threw a cigarette lighter onto a mound of discarded files. The whole house was a tinderbox.
The room quickly lit up and the blaze spread from the desk to the curtains. The intruders rushed to escape, sheets of paper falling from their arms as they ran. Perry tackled one of them and they wrestled over a manila folder he was carrying. But Perry only managed to pry away two papers before the burglar punched him in the face, then disappeared out the front door. At that moment, the rest of Richard’s work was kindling as the inferno enveloped everything in the house. Perry crumpled the files in his palms, holding on for all he was worth, and sprinted for the exit.
Later that night, he would recount the whole ordeal to Cynthia Blake. His mask and two half singed pages were laid out on her kitchen table, while Perry iced his right eye. Now, they knew that Richard had been investigating something worth killing for, but what exactly? Perry had recovered unintelligible notes and out-of-context references he didn’t have any idea about. Neither did Cynthia. It wasn’t much to go on, he thought in complete exhaustion.
“Follow what you have,” Cynthia told him reassuringly, “That’s all you can do right now.”
“We have to make those bastards pay,” she added.
Perry started immediately, opening his laptop and researching methodically. He had little success, but he kept going. It was late at night when he finally got a lead, dialing the burner phone for Detective Baldwin.
“I told you to stop calling me,” The detective answered, “We can’t keep talking. It’s too dangerous now.”
Perry just needed some information, he explained, confirmations, insights. He asked twenty questions that led nowhere. But on one of the slips of paper that Perry had saved was the name “Chessman” circled several times in blue ink. During his hours of database searches that night, he couldn’t find anyone in the country with that last name: no law firm or business or even an avenue.
Baldwin sighed and grumbled curse words under his breath. Perhaps, they were prayers.
“You’re all mixed up,” The detective told him, “You read it right, but Chessman isn’t someone’s last name. It’s an alias. Literally, Chess-Man! I only know a little bit, but we shouldn’t talk about this over the phone. You’ll find what you need at the chess tables in Capital Park…” Then, he hung up.
After Tragedy Strikes, A New Editor Takes the Helm
By Nathan Darms | The Daily Review-Express
For weeks, the Review-Express has mourned the loss of veteran editor Richard Dayu. It is a tragedy that took all of us by surprise and was deeply felt. But during that dark time, the business of journalism did not stop or pause or allow for proper reflection. Instead, national affairs and world news continued marching forward. And because our readers have come to rely on our work as investigative journalists, that mission can not and must not cease. This commitment was the foundation of Richard Dayu’s life and it is a legacy we honor every single day. That’s where Cynthia Blake came in. For years, Ms. Blake has been an award-winning reporter and a perennial fixture within the pages of this newspaper. In the aftermath of her predecessor’s untimely death, Ms. Blake quickly took on the role of acting editor-in-chief when no one else could. It is a job for which she is pre-eminently qualified and many people have taken notice of Cynthia’s sterling work and natural leadership abilities. This week, our paper’s owner went one step further and made it official, proudly announcing that Cynthia Blake has been named the new editor-in-chief of the Daily Review-Express.
Beginning her career with an internship at the Rural Times-Tribune, Cynthia Blake is a graduate of Amtilica University’s renowned journalism program and she has covered national elections, major corruption cases, and the Bank of Yaharza scandal, among many others. CONTINUED ON PAGE A7
January 14, 2023
The Original Press Guardian
David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving
The Press Guardian is an obscure superhero from the Golden Age of Comic Books. Created by Jack Binder, the Press Guardian first appeared in the anthology-style Pep Comics #1 in January 1940, but was only featured in eleven issues before disappearing from publication. During the writing process, I was lucky enough to find a reprint of the series, which allowed me to incorporate aspects of and references to the original. I think the 1940 version is definitely fun, action-packed, and sometimes funny without intending to be. For example, in one issue, the Press Guardian is working at his own desk in the office of his secret identity, but he is still wearing his full superhero costume and tries to really play it off when a bunch of criminals burst into the room to attack his alter ego. Throughout these 66 golden age pages, the Press Guardian fights gangsters, spies, and corrupt politicians. He even battles a parody version of Nazi Germany called Moronia, but the Press Guardian’s main adversary is a crime boss named the Claw. Interestingly, this was all published by MLJ, which was the precursor to Archie Comics. The original Press Guardian was edited by Abner Sundell with artwork by Mort Meskin whose names often appear in the header. Meskin is also noteworthy for being posthumously inducted into the Will Eisner Hall of Fame in 2013 for his contributions to comics.
Contrasting the new version with the original, I decided to make a couple of key changes. In the original Press Guardian, the characters are based in pre-war America, Cynthia Blake is the hero’s secretary, Baldwin is his chauffer, and the newspaper where he works, the Daily Express, is owned by his father. I altered some of these basic ingredients for dramatic effect and to modernize the story. Most notably though, I relocate the whole thing to a fictional European country with a backsliding democracy. That’s not meant to minimize the very real problems with journalism in America or democracy in America. Instead, I wanted to make something distinct from that, bringing together different elements from around the world.
Learn more about the Press Guardian
Learn more about Creator Jack Binder
January 10, 2023
Public Domain Heroes: The Press Guardian #1
David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving
First, the windows of their office were smashed to pieces. Later, some of the paper’s reporters were beaten up. But it wasn’t until their senior editor disappeared that Perry finally acknowledged what was happening. Since his earliest memories, freedom and democracy had been ascendant across the country. Once unleashed, people’s enthusiasm became a tremendous force for change, transforming everything and sweeping away the last vestiges of the dismal dictatorship that preceded it. But the slide backwards was a more subtle process, a slow motion tragedy for the nation. Only much later did Perry realize that this was death by a thousand cuts. First, the legislature succumbed to it, then the courts, and soon the opposition. These all continued to exist, of course, but now as an almost lifeless parody of their former glory, a performance to conceal a democracy dying in plain sight. Every new law after that, Perry thought, would be like a vice tightening around the republic until there would be no republic left at all. From behind his desk at the newspaper, Perry Chase had watched this dark decade play out, culminating in his editor’s kidnapping a week earlier.
“Your boss is dead,” Perry’s police contact told him tersely.
They were in the shadowy corner of a bar, far away from anyone who might be listening.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, taken aback by the news.
“I saw them fish his body out of the river,” Detective Baldwin replied, “He’d been tied up and stabbed.”
“Do you think…” Perry started to ask before Baldwin cut him off.
“You know the answer. He wasn’t even the only one we found like that this month.”
The disheveled detective was visibly exhausted, pretending to be more calm than one look in his eyes would reveal. He smoked and drank and spoke to Perry while football highlights flashed across the TV above the bar.
“Who else?” Perry asked.
“Couple other reporters. I recognized one of them from those talking head shows. Calvert something? Then, there were a few union guys. And a lawyer,” he stopped to finish his beer, “We think the security services are cleaning house. And everyone is ending up in the city morgue. Supposedly, there’s a list.”
“But they can’t…” Again the detective interrupted him.
“They are! I’m telling you that they are.”
There was a long pause. Then, Baldwin broke the silence, “I don’t know how much longer we can meet like this. I don’t think I’d be much help to you now anyway. But I wanted to warn you. Tell your colleagues to watch their backs.”
Perry’s walk home that night was oddly quiet, the streets deserted. It was late by then, after midnight, but he still periodically checked to see if he was being followed. His editor, Richard Dayu, was the person who had hired Perry at the Daily Review-Express fifteen years earlier. He had mentored him. Perry and his colleague, Cynthia, were working late the night Richard left the office, never to be heard from again. Richard deserved more than that, Perry thought as anger boiled inside him.
Perry Chase’s apartment was a sad storage closet for work in progress, piles of half read books, and a bed buried in papers. An investigative reporter whose work was his life, his profession had become a canary in the coalmine for their democracy. Perry felt like he had to do something, take some kind of action, but what? He lingered on that question for hours and couldn’t sleep. He just stared up at the ceiling, knowing that he had to do something.
Obituary for an Editor
By Perry Chase | The Daily Review-Express
Last week, our paper lost more than an editor-in-chief. Richard Dayu was like a father to me. He helped train and shepherd a generation of young journalists who now populate newsrooms across Europe. Under his watchful eye, each of us would learn that our university degrees were really only the start of our education. The lessons he taught me over the years proved to be invaluable, both personally and professionally. Moreover, the stories he told from his long career were legendary. So was his sense of humor. It’s these things that helped many of us through hard times and they’re what I’ll miss the most. When I was eager to prove myself as a reporter, Richard was always there to guide me, displaying a patience and depth of character one rarely encounters in life. That’s why in recent days I’ve tried my best to remember his example, to think back on his words of wisdom. Amid the recent crime wave, his murder went unnoticed by many, but not here in our office. To his colleagues, Richard Dayu was a great man, a role model who deserved a better ending than the one fate dealt him. He will be missed.
