Dusk of a Better Day

by biglomeg

The Speech

Excerpt from The Fall, published in 1043 by anonymous author.

Natalya Mavrikyovna Portnova was a rather young mare, especially considering her position. I cannot recall her exact age, but she certainly appeared to be in her early thirties, a foal in comparison to the aging former generals and politicians that had infected the upper echelons of power. I had seen her before her speech, in the endless military parades that frequented Stalliongrad, and the difference between her and those of similar ranking was uncanny. There was still an innate vigor to her movements, something that most of her crusty eyed, decrepit colleagues failed utterly to mimic. It seemed almost as though she had retained some sort of spirit, something that had been forgotten in the political drudgery of the post-changeling world. I always took it for simple youthful optimism, nothing more than a slightly delayed manifestation of the pervasive, sometimes irrational dedication of the college partisan.

When I first saw her in the morning of February 19^th, 1022, drawn by the sound of passionate oration, she was more energetic and determined than ever. It was only then that I truly got the sense that it was more than just political gain or pride or any number of the other trappings of government that drove her. The words that she spoke held a tone that was, at the time, practically foreign; untainted moral obligation. The kind of talk that was abundant in the earliest days of the Revolution.

It was a bizarre, fleeting idea, and one that I was too cynical to give much consideration at the time, but I allowed myself to wonder if, just maybe, the wheel of power could still turn. Perhaps the dangerous, practically subversive things she said might be worth notice. Maybe she was right.

Unfortunately, any documents pertaining to the speech were quickly confiscated by the authorities. They likely reside in one of thousands of classified storage sites now, safely under the protection of the government. The chances that they will ever see the light of day are slim to none.

However, I am not willing to let her message slide into the embers of history. What Natalya said that day concerns us now more than ever, and it must be allowed its proper recognition.

So, through the efforts of others present that day, as well as the sifting of my own memory, I have attempted to recreate her speech. I will admit that what I have pieced together may not be entirely accurate. I would venture to say, however, that it is as close as reasonably possible.

Perhaps now, in a world seemingly open to change for the first time in decades, she will be taken seriously.

---

Comrades. I come today not to talk of glory or triumph. I am not here to represent the establishment. My place in this moment is not among your rulers, but among you. There will be no manipulation, no posturing or demands, for I tire of that foul breed of debate. I ask only that you consider what I have to say.

I have supported the Revolution from its inception. It is something that I have accepted into my heart, as I am sure many of you have. The Cause is, quite simply, an integral part of me. So it is that I do not say the following lightly: it is time that we reevaluate the world that we have built. We must set aside all conflict, all internal bickering and debate, to take a thorough, critical look at modern Socialism. Because something within the very being of this nation has gone foul.

The picture that has been painted for you, of assured victory and enduring rationality, is but a facade. Reality cannot coexist with what is so often regurgitated by our vaunted leaders. The horrible truth, the thing that those in power will do everything to conceal, is that we, as a society and as a nation, have fallen.

It is most evident in the structure of our country, once the shining image of efficiency, now reduced to a pathetic collection of loosely bound decay. To attempt to make sense of the intertwining, intricate mess that is our modern legal system is an exercise in futility. A thousand different proclamations, none of them made with the consultation of the others, have conspired to create an unintelligible, lethargic, barely functional amalgamation that regularly collapses into madness. Our economy survives only through its sheer mass, and even then forever dangles on the precipice of catastrophe. Every sector of our nation, from agriculture to education, is in tatters.

And a look into the mysterious, clandestine world of our national decision making process is more than enough to demonstrate why.

Witness any political meeting in the Union, and behold as each and every composed official in the room transforms into a raging, murderous banshee. I have watched in awe as debates over the minutiae of land distribution become outright brawls that leave ponies hospitalized. I have seen a respected politician, who I will not name, fall into a fit of screeching, explosive hatred over a quite frankly juvenile insult from one of their peers. There is no progress, there is no order, only a thousand different opinions hurled forth by ponies who are meant to be the most collected, serene minds in the land. And it isn't even their fault. The issue at hoof is not that our officials are insane, equicidal maniacs, it is that the system that they are within is so inundated with tension that there is simply no other way. The heights of power are in a perpetual state of motion, over the yearly harvests, over the military quotas, and most of all, over the enemy.

But who is the enemy? You will be told by the government that it is the very concept of evil, or greed, or opposition to Socialism. We are to believe that every single battle that has been fought since the creation of the Union was in the name of pure saintly decency. By their account, every crushed nation was entirely devoted to the spread of darkness, depravity, and regression.

Needless to say, this is rather dishonest. At best, it is a cowardly attempt to sidestep the question. At worst, it is a complete lie. Whatever the case, it does not suit our purposes.

The most obvious answer would be the River Federation. Indeed, they are the last remaining haven for Harmonistic thought that currently exists. Would the natural conclusion not be that they are our enemies? In fact, why are our soldiers not advancing for Rijekograd as we speak?

The reason is quite simple. They are a threat. An actual, tangible threat. Their military is strong, their position defensible, their population fervent. That could be overcome, however, if not for their weaponry. Under their command is an arsenal of magical armaments that our most intelligent scientists cannot hope to understand, a nigh infinite supply of heavy artillery, and, most of all, their very own, highly successful nuclear program. Were we to attack them, the ensuing exchange of ordinance could very well make victory phyrric in the worst possible way.

The fear of atomic annihilation, for now, calms any excitement that our generals may be possessed of. All talk of some hypothetical grand invasion aside, the Riverlands will not be ours in the near future. For all intents and purposes, we do not oppose each other yet.

So again, I ask, who is the enemy, at this very moment?

It sickens me to say that it is none other than the Griffon States.

The griffon situation may be the most baffling element of this chaos. We sent soldiers by the thousands to assist them in their victory, and when the time came for us to face the Diarchy, they did the same. Ponies and griffons joined together, fought side by side for what they knew was right. It was the first true union of species in this new wartorn era, and it seemed like it would last forever.

But it didn't. Somehow, somewhere along the line, we became the bitterest of foes. Anypony with any political presence whatsoever can tell you that we are just a hair's breadth away from total mobilization into their heartlands. Five years ago, a griffon traveler would be welcomed into any city. Now, they would be shot.

But why? We share the same vision! We fought and died for each other, for the common good!

I will tell you why. It is because, nestled deep within the their lands, there lies a massive wealth of crystal, iron, and oil. It is because exactly three insignificant stipulations concerning their factories differ slightly from ours. But most of all, it is because they aren't us. Their territory may lie under Socialist law, but it isn't ours. And now, with most of the outstanding threats defeated, there is room for a new, profitable enemy.

The Socialist movement has been perverted into a mechanism of war and profit, sustaining itself on an endless procession of threats, invasions, and annexations. The griffons are simply the next victims of that mechanism. As long as things stay the way they are, the fighting will never end. Once the Griffon States have been subjugated, the crosshairs will fall on the River Federation. And once they are gone, the only option left will be within. At the risk of doomsaying, I do not believe it to be impossible that a cleansing of the Union's very population is in our future. The cycle is without bounds or morals; it is an animal unto itself. And when it begins to starve, it will grow desperate.

Perhaps I sound delusional. Perhaps I appear as insane as some would have you believe. But consider the current situation. You have heard of the arrests, the mysterious disappearances and eternal departures to Zebrica. Undoubtedly, you will see another today. Ponies who intend to remain free do not dare say the forbidden words, “I am not content.” It has become accepted in near unanimity, that those who speak out will be punished, and that such things are to be expected. What would have been a heinous violation of equine rights has become so deeply rooted in society that nopony bats an eye. And some may be fine with that. It is tempting, even for me, to simply lie back and allow the future to come as it will. To break the status quo is to cleave away from the herd, from protection and warmth. Fear is indeed a powerful shackle, and to head into the night alone stimulates a terror like no other. In the face of that, to submit to the flow of events is understandable.

But I will not. Not any longer. I did not support a dictatorship. I did not support a cruel and mindless machine that uses the blood of those who should be our allies to fuel the fires of its horribly warped concept of progress. I did not support nuclear terror, nor conquest, nor intolerance, nor the cold, bitter-hearted abomination that our administration has become. Neither did you. And yet, just that lies before us, taunting us, daring us to challenge it.

The blame might be heaped upon General Secretary Serov. He is most certainly the most obvious agent of our current situation. The invasions, the bombings and acts of suppression, all of them can be traced back to his desk. But I do not feel secure in naming a single pony as some manner of ultimate enemy. Serov may have architected the descent of the Union, but he never would have even had a hope of doing so if not for the failures of those around him. The responsibility extends to his staff, to the generals that silently carry out his orders and the politicians that repeat his vision every waking moment. And I am ashamed to say that it extends to me as well

For years, I played my part magnificently. I gladly attended meetings that devolved into shouting matches within minutes. I spoke to great crowds of ponies, and deceived them with pre-conceived speeches and state sponsored drivel. I argued that the expansion should continue, that it was our solemn duty to become ever more aggressive until there was not an inch of land not under our banner. And I was happy to do it, because I thought that I was on the side of good. My eyes were closed to the horror that was wrought on those who we “liberated”.

It was only five weeks ago that I awoke, and saw the rot in full.

If you must have evidence of what we have become, then look no further than what remains of New Manehatten. Once, it was home to thousands of hard working, innocent ponies. Now, all that it holds is rubble, radiation, and despair. The bones of foals lie there, pulverized and cold. “Collateral damage,” as the General Secretary so eloquently puts it.

There was a time when the ponies who ordered that nuclear strike would be branded as war criminals. Now they are given medals, appearances in universities, and statues carved by the world's greatest sculptors.

This is not the Revolution. This is cruelty made manifest. This is destruction and death. This is evil. And it must be stopped.

Serov does not deserve to be punished. In the end, he truly seems to only wish for what is best for us all. But he cannot be allowed to continue putting his flawed vision into action. If we are ever to recover, he must be removed from office, and his policies struck from the books of law. Those who have supported and enabled him must be brought down from their positions, and their replacements must be both competent and moral. There can be no half measures. Only a complete renovation of our government will lead us back to the light.

It will be a long, punishing journey. But there is no other option.

Look around you. Look to the monuments, to the very platform on which I stand. Look to the heart of Equestrian Socialism. Look to the very beginning of our salvation, and ask yourself if the founders of Stalliongrad envisioned a world in which innocents are vaporized in nuclear hellfire by the thousands. Ask yourself if they were looking to create a world of conflict, misery, and political madness. Ask yourself if, were Steel Stallion alive today, would he be proud of what we have created? And should your answer be that he wouldn't, then ask yourself if you are willing to let what is happening continue.

Ask yourself if you will simply lie complacent under the yoke of this mockery of Socialism. Ask yourself if we are to become no better than the immoral beasts who gorged themselves on the blood of the Equestrian worker a mere six years ago. If, in this new world, the principles that make us equine are to be consigned to history. Ask yourself if that is progress.

Ask yourself if, when the time has come for you to make a stand, you will shrink away from duty, too terrified and stubborn to act! Ask yourself how much you will take, how far you will fold, before you cannot continue any longer!

Of course, I cannot force you to do anything. It will be your choice alone, whether to go on with your lives or take your place alongside me. Those of you who fear retribution, or still hold hope for the Union as it stands now, may return home. I will not bother you further. If, however, you see the injustice being worked upon this world, the potential being wasted even as I speak, and feel your heart light aflame with passion and resolve, then come! A better day is within our grasp, if only we should take it!

Tell everypony you can that there is still beauty on the horizon. Tell them that we will march together to that horizon, hoof in hoof. Gather those of like mind and then, when your numbers are too large to ever be supressed or ignored, demand exactly what you deserve!

Cry to the heavens, “No! I will not let this be!” Tell the world in unison, as one, that you refuse to slide into darkness like so many others! Scream that this bastion of light shall never fade! That now and forevermore, Socialism, true, honest Socialism, will live!

---

It will never be known if she had finished, because it was at this point that the stallions of the law intervened. They appeared like a malevolent spirit, a seething rush of drab brown tearing through the assembled ponies and up the steps of the Palace. In an instant they had wrestled Natalya to the ground, barking a jumble of barely intelligible orders at us to the general effect of “stay back.” We stood in mild awe as they clumsily tugged her down the street, then out of sight. In the silence that followed, not one of us left.

After an eternity, one of them returned, brandishing a megaphone in his hoof as he glared with a kind of stern contempt. We were told that what we had just seen were the ravings of a mare recently gone mad, with certifiable evidence to prove it. Considering the circumstances it would be pertinent to dismiss anything we had heard. The embarassing display that we had just witnessed was to be forgotten immediately. If it wasn't, there would be “severe consequences”.

That ended it. The crowd that had amassed disappeared instantly. It was as if nothing had even happened. There was not a face that held an ounce of emotion, not a single particle of care or recognition. The spell had been broken in an instant, a single crushing moment that turned everything that had been said into dust. It was grotesque, the ease with which we forgot and moved on. All too happy to maintain the status quo.

Natalya was right about many things. There was one part, though, that she stumbled over. She had far, far too much faith in equine nature. What she couldn't understand is that rebellions aren't fueled by resolve, honor, or inherent good. Rebellions are fueled by desperation. It was starvation that drove the Revolution, not some vague urge to make things somehow more moral. Until a pony is directly harmed by an injustice, they will gleefully turn it a blind eye. As long as they got their grain, nopony in that crowd would move a muscle.

I was no exception, I am ashamed to say. That afternoon I went home, slept soundly, and never once thought of Natalya. She had been a minor distraction, a deviation, yes, but one that didn't bear remembrance. The next time I recalled her would be years later, when the winter of 1025 passed but the times stayed hard. Only once the grain reserves evaporated, once I could easily pick out my ribs through my hide, once the militsiya started executing looters as foreign agents, did I remember that ill-fated mare who had stood atop the steps of the Palace of the Soviets and warned us of what was to be.

Of course, by then it was too late. We couldn't have done anything if we had tried. The next decade was the worst in our history, and all because we were too immersed in our beloved stagnation to listen to common sense.