Children of the Sirian Socialist Republic in Quadrant 7,
What will become of us? Where can we go? Who will save us? In these times of trouble, to whom can we turn for succour? Where is the light in the our of darkness?
I can see you wondering. What has happened to the Secretary-General of the Politburo? Has he lost his faith? Is he downhearted, has he accepted defeat?
Of course not! Would I ever? Would you ever? Would we ever lose heart? Of course not!
Then why have I started this speech to you with such miserable words? Let me tell you.
When you heared these words, didn't they ring a bell with you? Haven't you heard these words before? Has nobody in your neighboorhood, on your block, in school ever uttered such words? And don't they make you feel terrible?
Didn't you feel horrified by the prospect of losing the war against the inhuman beast?
The hordes of drones, the slaughtering mammoths that pounded the surface of our sister planet Ultra as millions of defenceless men, women and children were murdered by the cold rational mind of the metal monster? The prospect of having to give in to a machine that'sbent on your destruction?
Are you feeling downhearted already? Someone at the back there is still full of fight. All right then, I'll continue just a bit longer, so you can really get scared.
Have you seen the pictures of their spaceships? Have you seen how dark they loom on the outskirts of our civilisation? These ships unmanned, save for hordes of robots that, unlike in the this worker's paradise, don not serve man but a humourless, gutless, emotionless mind that is solely bend on the destruction of mankind. And with mankind Socialism.
These machines then, were created, may I remind you, by men. Men said to be infinitely superior minds than we are. Forefathers they have been called, the fundaments of our civilisation. What forefathers they were. Destroyed by their own creation. Left us with the most dangerous of enemies. Some pretty, bloody superior beings they were. And now we're stuck with it. Stuck with the metal mammoths. The heartless killing machines. Thank you very much, mister!
Lost your appetite back down there as well haven't you? I thought so.
So this is where we are. Down on the dumbs. Depressed. Scared. Apathetic. I can hear a pin drop here.
But what for?
Why are you so downhearted? You all entered this hall in anticipation, didn't you? Okay, so you're worried about the Metal Menace, but who's not?
They're mankinds and Socialism most dangerous enemy encountered so far. But you didn't feel like you'd lost, did you? There was still a fight in you.
And where has it gone? Where is it now? Do you know?
I know.
The words have stolen them. My words have stolen your courage. My speech has made you feel scared. Through my mouth i have sucked the strength and determination from your bodies and minds and left you helpless and hopeless. I could blow and you'd all fall over.
You see how easy it is. Words. Just a bunch of words. I could count them for you but it's not worth the effort.
There weren't many words needed to turn you from a mass a worried, but hopeful young people into a bunch of wet kittens, unable to stand up for themselves.
Now be honest. You have all been Red Pioneers. You can survive for three days in the field, without your parents. Using what you know and what you have. Your utility tool, a piece of rope, a pencil perhaps, whatever. So you know how to take care of things. You can think for yourself. But you are also able to cooperate. To work as a team to accomplish the tasks set before you to bring in each Pioneer Brevet you have. And I can see all the colour patches on your chests. There must be a hundred thousand Pioneer Survival Brevets in this hall alone! So who said you can't do nothing?
And be honest. Hasn't the Sirian Fleet got fine ships? And are your brothers and mothers and sisters and fathers not on these ships? And didn't they tell you that they would take care of things? Aren't they guarding your homes, your planets, your toys, and... your future? Out there! With our allies: the Earthers, the Venerians, the Wolfers and all the others.
Haven't we beaten the crap out of those Iron Boxes everytime we stood together, like real Red Pioneers, side by side, using what we know and what we have? That's right, we beat them fair and square, and none remained to tell what we did to them. And we will do that again...
Because their just a big metal box. They can't feel. They can't really think. They can't cooperate, not sacrifice. They can't submit their individual needs to the larger part and give more than they have. Find sources of strength unknown to themselves because they BELIEVE in their cause. Like you believe in Socialism and the worker's revolution. They're just metal boxes. They are, they act, but not out of conviction. They'll continue to do what they do until told to stop by the cold mind that guides them on their evil path.
Unlike the armoury workers of Labour Unit 1385 'Vladimir Iljitsj' on F-Luent last month, who refused to go home after their shift because they hadn't reached their production target yet. Oh yes, they were tired. And yes, they would have liked to go home to their children and play with their proud Red Pioneers and see how they got on at school. Of course. They are loving fathers and mothers. But they are also good Socialists. And they believe in the promise of the Revolution and in the final Victory of Socialism.
Because that's inevitable. The workers combined cannot lose. So the workers of Labour Unit 1385 continued for six more hours until they had reached the production targets. And tell you what. They didn't go home after that. They held a fifteen minute break, sang the first three verses of 'Comrade Stakhanov is working beside me', and continued for three more hours! What heroes. How brave these workers were to refuse to go home and sleep and play with their children, nice little Red Pioneers like you, because that's what they would have rather done, believe me.
No, they sang 'Comrade Stakhanov' and continued for three more hours and broke the production record. And they went home and slept, and the next day they returned for work. All of them. Not a single woman or man reported sick. Or refused to come.
That's why we will win. Because all around the Sirian Socialist Republic, workers are prepared to sacrifice a part of their lives, their short-term happiness, their temporary satisfaction for something bigger, more endurable. For the production of the war material needed to defend their children, for the security of mankind, for the Final Victory of Socialism.
Which machine would do that? Which machine would be able to break through the limits of physical endurance? None. And that's why we'll win. It's inevitable.
So, feeling better now, are you? You think we can win again don't you?
Well...
YES, WE CAN. and YES WE WILL.
We will win. You and I, and all your sisters and mothers and fathers and brothers, and our allies: we together will win.
That's how easy it is. Words. Just a bunch of words and you believe you can win again. And you know it is true that we can win. Because you knew that all along. You KNEW that when you walked in here today. Because using what we know and what we have, together, we will always win. That's right, like Red Pioneers!
So when somebody talks to you that we're going to lose. That you're going to die in a horrible way, that the Metal Monsters come to take you away, don't you believe A SINGLE WORD of that. Because you KNOW we will win. Because we can't lose. It's inevitable. The Red Pioneers always win. They always succeed. And so the Sirius Socialist Party, of which, one day, you may become a member, will always win. It's inevitable.
So if you hear this defeatist talk, tell them to shut up. If your friends say we're going to lose, show 'em how the Red Pioneers win. And if your sister doesn't want to go to school because she says she's going to die anyway, don't believe her. We're going to win. And if your father complains of the work and the shifts. Tell him he can do it.
Together, with you and all the others, his colleagues. With the people and the party together. We can't lose. It's inevitable. Because we can reach beyond ourselves, beyond the call of duty. We're not machines. We're humans, more than that: we are Socialist Men and Women.
But you can see how dangerous words can be. A bunch of words can make you disbelieve what you know to be true. With the right words, the enemy can sap the strength of each of us. By defeatism, our ability to break the bounds of human power is lost. By rumour mongering the faith of everyone in the Final Victory of Socialism may be undermined. We must be vigilant. We must not let others: enemies of Socialism, defeatists, speculators, anti-socials and lazy people sap our strength.
We cannot allow the single edge we have over the Menace that threatens our very existence, AND the Socialist way of life, without which existence itself is worthless, to be blunted by despair, ill-will and laziness. To speak of Victory is a vital necessity, to stifle the bacteria of doubt, the larvae of defeatism, is a matter of survival. We can't allow ourselves to think of defeat, lest it defeats us.
Not to speak up against defeatism is a mistake. To let them sap out strength is a fallacy in itself. Not to be vigilant against the accomplices of our nemesis is an offence. To allow saboteurs to harm the war machine is a crime. To partake in strikes is treason!
And so I will repeat it a thousand times. VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY!
Repeat it until you can dream only victory! Repeat it until you can think only victory! And then we'll have victory! The Final Victory of Socialism.
VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY!
Dream victory! Smile victory! Speak victory! Breathe victory! BE victory!
[Standing ovation..cheering...271 children given medical treatment for hysterical fainting]