Escalation 84: A Post-Nuclear Story of Humans and Ponies

by dafid25

Chapter 13: A tale of two peoples and four wars

Author's Note:

I know the topic of Arabs and Israelis will cause a shitstorm in the comments. My advice? Don't. Argue somewhere far, far away, and don't make death threats to anyone if you find me or someone else misrepresenting anyone. Please keep the comments civil.

"There can be hope only for a society which acts as one big family, not as many separate ones."

-Anwar Sadat, President of Egypt, 1918-1981

December 15th, 1984, 0900 hours
Private Hassam Amdiri
30th Guards Mechanized Infantry Division of the Soviet Army, Former Syrian Republican Guard & Egyptian 16th Infantry brigade
Border outpost 7 kilometers Northwest of Sire's Hollow

The border with the changelings of the Sire's Hollow section usually was quiet, and today will be no exception. The winter sun shone as snow piled up on the frozen field that is the no mare's land. Not even a single living soul could be seen on the horizon, but none of the soldiers here dared venture over for a look. Today was Hassam's second day being stationed at the Changeling-Equestria border.

"Fuck me," Hassam muttered, looking down at the border through the binoculars, "this place is empty."

"Come on, private, liven up a bit." Sergeant Shaamikh el-Amir tapped on Hassam's shoulders, "it's boring, and it's creepy, but at least we are getting paid for this."

Hassam replied as he continued surveying the barren horizon, "Yes, sir. But...do you ever think what if they eventually amassed enough of an army, then they will just come and overrun this place?"

"If they come, there's nothing we can do. Allah willing, we will all go down fighting." the sergeant lit a cigarette, "that's what I also told myself when I was back fighting in the Golan Heights, 1973 edition."

"Wait, you fought in the October War?" Hassam asked, "what was it like back then?"

"We got pushed back. Hard." Shaamikh leaned against the bunker wall, "and after a few years, Hafez Al-Assad is screaming that Sadat backstabbed us. In 1982, I was part of the Republican Guard that fought with the Soviet Army; we were pushing the Israelis out of the Golan Heights when armageddon came. It just never ends well for us, does it?"

"I guess it never does." Hassam put down his binoculars and said, "my uncle was one of the first soldiers to cross the canal. He died taking down three Israeli tanks with him."

"Anyways, it's about time that you go take a break; I'm supposed to take over now."

Hassam walked out of the bunker and into the trenches that connect to the main building, an empty farmhouse. He walked past numerous sandbag positions, all equipped with machine guns salvaged from who knows where. After walking out of the trenches into the farmhouse's backyard, multiple mortars are set up with a 57 mm Anti-air gun on its side. The outer wall was Soviet propaganda posters promoting friendship between all humans and ponies while warning the dangers of changeling infiltrators.

Walking inside, Hassam doesn’t need to look to know what is in front of him; the portrait of Mikhail Gorbachev, Hafez Al-Assad, and the two princesses hung above the notice board. The communique of the day should have been freshly printed and pinned on the wall right next to the photo of the outpost commander, Major Vasily Grolanpov, and the defense minister, Sergey Akhromeyev.

He entered the canteen, sat at an empty table, and took off his helmet. He looked at the white eagle of Saladin printed on it, the paint had faded, but it still is clearly visible.

When the alliance between Syria and Egypt broke apart, he was merely three years old and barely knew how to speak, let alone understand what pan-Arabism was. Something inside him wondered if the dream of Nasser was so unachievable that just wanting the Sinai peninsula back required Sadat to betray his allies and make peace talks with Israel. He heard of his father, that died gallantly fighting the Israelis in 1967, and his uncle in 1973. His family paid the price for what? A dream beyond reach?

Maybe without the original borders that everyone kept murdering each other for, there is some hope for having the Arabs finally coming together, a chance of unity. Maybe-

"Hassam!" His friend, private Badr el-Rashid, asked as he took off his helmet and sat down, "what's got you thinking, my friend? You have been staring at your helmet for quite a bit."

"Nothing, it's just...do you ever miss the days when we would unite just to try to achieve a common goal?"

Badr responded, "Part of me does, but really, it seems like everyone had a different version of what that common goal is. All I wanted was for my parents to go home from Damascus, but you knew how it ended."

"Sometimes I don't really know anymore. But in the end, I feel like after all this; we Arabs should finally get together. There are no more existing borders to stop us from doing that, so why not?"

"Good point. But are you sure anyone other than us would listen, Hassam? Look at the notice board. Do you see Nasser or even Sadat's photo there? No, it's just Hafez motherfucking Al-Assad, and I doubt he wants that if he can even have a crowd to listen to him speak."

Hassam leaned back in his chair, "That doesn't mean we should just outright give up! We are the same people still, right?"

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but don't you think there are much more pressing matters at hand?"

"Like what?"

Badr sighed, "trying to make ends meet, for starters."

"Really, that's all you are thinking now, Badr?' Hassam was mildly furious. "What would be of us without even a single bit of ambition or dreams?"

"I also used to believe in that dream, believe me. Like you, I also dreamt of the unity of all Arab peoples, but after all this...death and destruction, I don't think that's possible anymore."

After that, silence endured. Hassam then started to sing a tune to himself.

"My dear homeland, the greatest of homelands, day by day its glories multiply..."

Badr understood what that song meant. He knew the pan-Arab dream would be hard to rebuild, but perhaps a tune never hurts. He then joined in an also lowered voice, "...And its life is rife with victories, my homeland grows and becomes free. My homeland...My homeland..."

The other officers and soldiers quickly took notice of the song, and joined in, one by one, singing the song of the pan-Arab dream back when it all started.

"...Oh, my homeland, your love rules my heart, My homeland, the homeland of all Arabic people. You are the one who called for the ultimate unity..."
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December 15th, 1984, 1300 hours

Yitzhak Rabin walked down the streets of the Jewish part of Vanhoover downtown, trying to ignore what was happening around him.

"...This is all but another cleansing of the earth! God demanded this, and we must cleanse ourselves of sin to prepare our eventual return to the promised land, to Zion!" A Rabbi preached to a crowd in a park, standing on a soap box. The crowd cheered as they shouted various slogans, crying for the cleansing of sin and return to their homeland.

Meanwhile, across the street, someone on their apartment balcony shouted in Hebrew, "if god exists, why would he allow Jerusalem to be destroyed by the nukes? Stop misleading everyone!"

“Curse upon you, sinner!”

Rabin walked on to board the tram to Stadium-Humantown as the argument devolved into a shouting fit between two opposing viewpoints. The Israeli sat next to another human reading an Arabic newspaper; the other person looked at Rabin and immediately moved away from him, then said, "stay away from me, freak."

Rabin was just about to ask why until he noticed the pin of the Ba'ath Party flag on that man's collar, and looked down at his own Israeli flag pin. He said no more and remained silent on the entire tram ride.

The ride was uneventful, and after getting off at the Stadium-Humantown station, Rabin proceeded to make his way through Humantown Vanhoover, where humans had built up a shanty town that was starting to look like proper buildings. The flags of humanity, some from the soviet republics, some from Canada, some from Arabian nations, and from Israel, hung on shops, houses, and balconies. Rabin noticed, however, the flags of the Arabs never get hung on the same side of the street as Israelis. One restaurant with the Palestinian flag had a sign written in blazing red English and Arabic:

WE DON'T SERVE ISRAELIS
نحن لا نخدم الإسرائيليين

Meanwhile, across the street, a Jewish grocery store also had a sign written in bright blue English:

ARABS NOT WELCOME

Rabin sighed and kept walking towards the municipal government building. Equestrian posters of unity and friendship plastered on the walls were ignored by the pedestrians, and most of the ponies that wandered on this street looked confused over why the two sides of the road hated each other.

Rabin finally got to the municipal building after walking down the street for a few minutes and walking in. After entering the lift and reaching the meeting room on the 4th floor, inside waiting for him were Premier Nikolai Ryzhkov of the Soviet Union, Princess Luna of Equestria, and the mayor of Vanhoover, Cyan Collar.

"Thanks for making it." Ryzhkov welcomed Rabin as he took a seat, "you're right on time."

"Yes, Mr. Rabin, please, take a seat." Luna said, "now, we may start commencing the meeting. Mr. Mayor, would you please start with the complaints of the ponies living near this area?"

Cyan Collar adjusted his pince-nez and read from his documents. "we have complaints of good citizens being caught in the crossfire of Israelis and Arabs fighting each other. Not just one, but multiple. The hate between these two groups is also rampant, including refusing service to certain groups, distribution of racist and hateful material, discrimination, and more, which violates the Equestrian Equality Act of 990."

"...You should have just prosecuted the offenders, not having me listen to this while having tea," Rabin said to the mayor.

Luna explained, "I have come to Vanhoover with no fanfare and for one purpose, and that is to resolve the conflict between your people and the others.I believe that with enough understanding and friendship between the two representatives, the rest of your people would follow suit, what does everyone think of this?"

"I’m sorry, your highness, but I would have to disagree," Rabin sighed, "and...comrade Ryzhkov, judging by your presence, Hafez Al-Assad is still unwilling to even talk to anyone remotely Jewish, correct?"

"Hafez doesn't want to talk. Saddam, Mubarak, and Yasser are dead." Ryzhkov replied, "while most of the Jewish community leaders or Rabbis I tried to contact either turned our messengers away or hung up on us upon hearing we are the Government. You're the only one who didn't just hang up on us after I mentioned the Arabs."

"Well, Brezhnev did help Hafez try to take the Golan Heights and invade Israel from Lebanon. I suppose that is only normal with how many that had died in both regions and the nukes upon Jerusalem." Rabin drank from his cup of tea.

The mayor leaned forward, "but either way, Mr. Rabin, the fight must stop. It is affecting the residents, good pony residents, mind you, and damaging the values of friendship and love we hold dear to our hearts. The effects are tremendously bad, so I would like you to use your Soviet influence to solve this."

"Impossible, out of the question." Rabin quickly explained, "moderates like me are the minority of Israelis, Mr. Mayor. Most are extreme radicals with some wanting me dead."

Luna asked in curiosity, "pray to tell, Mr. Rabin? And premier Ryzhkov?"

"We have two main types of Israelis left, one that has their beliefs broken by the nukes upon the holy city, the other one has doubled down on their beliefs and claims that it's all god's plan to erase sinners." Rabin said, "both are not willing even to share a table with an Arab. The moderates are few, and even they are still skeptical that the Arabs can peacefully co-exist with them."

Ryzhkov then continued, "During the two days I have stayed here, I have seen numerous Arab posters that remind everyone of the Nakba and call for the Arabs never to forget Palestine, sometimes the Ba'ath party logo, the flag or anti-Semitic slogans are spray painted on walls. Not to mention portraits of known terrorists that committed atrocities before. Those included-"

"Mr. premier, time is a commodity." The mayor reminded Ryzhkov.

"...Right. Hafez also warned me that he may have abandoned the pan-Arab part of his Ba'ath party, but he would still be furious if I even made as much as a single concession to the Jews. Akrhomeyev has managed to restrict the Arabs under his command from acting out of line to the best of his ability, but he can't solve the rest of the issue. The destruction of Damascus, Baghdad, Beruit, and Cairo just put the final nail in the coffin we call coexistence. The Arabs are angry over what had happened to them, especially the Palestinian ones."

"In short, the war between the Jews and the Arabs predates long before the nuclear war, your highness. It's decades' worth of bloody conflicts and national hatred." Rabin concluded the premier's sayings. "No amount of tea and biscuits can fix it."

Luna thought momentarily and said, "still, have you tried promoting the concept of friendship to them? It may help!"

Both humans gawked at the nativity of the princess. Rabin then broke the silence and said, "I have a solution that I would like to propose, if I may."

“Go ahead, Mr. Rabin,” Luna replied.

"I believe that in the current arrangement, separation between Israelis and the Arabs is the best solution for avoiding more conflict and bloodshed. Humantown is already as divided as it is; we can work on that. Have borders drawn on the pavements, define which side of the street is Arab and which is Jewish, and have a police unit of a different nationality enforce law and order."

"We might as well have just copied off South Africa, but well, it is our best option," Ryzhkov said unenthusiastically. "I will tell Hafez nobody got anything more or less."

Luna was baffled at how far the humans would go with their hatred for each other, and tried to argue, “but segregation is wrong! It is unfair for people to be restricted where they want to go based on their appearance or specialty!”

“And let these two peoples with deep hatred against each other run free to fight wherever they want?” Ryzhkov leaned forward, “...Sorry, your highness, but before the Arabs and the Jews can stop hating each other to the level of constant bloodshed, segregation will have to do, no matter how bad it is.”

“Equestria is the nation of friendship, how can we allow this to happen?” Luna still insisted.

Rabin then said, “there is this saying that time is the best medicine to all wounds, your highness. Some say the best medicine is friendship and understanding, but at the end of the day, there are some wounds that are destined to be untreatable. The Arabs and Jews…is one of those untreatable cases.”

Everyone nodded, with Luna asking, "What about the hurtful slogans and posters? We wouldn’t possibly be also tolerating those, would we?"

Rabin replied, "No can do, your highness. Those people need some way to vent their anger, or their anger concentrated will just cause much more trouble than we can deal with. We can only hope they will just eventually give up on the hate.”

“B-but hate wouldn’t just dissipate itself with the hurtful messages being allowed to exist!”

“You highness, hate also doesn’t dissipate when it all ends with extreme bloodshed and violence. As we said, it’s not a good plan nor a good solution, but we will have to settle for this, or we will never see the end of it.” Ryzhkov said as he drank from his tea.

Amidst all this, the mayor didn't care; he just needed the votes from restoring law and order for the upcoming election season.

Luna compromised in the end, “If things really are this desperate between the two different groups…then we will have to take drastic measures that we may even dislike ourselves. Mayor? I would like the arrangements for these done as soon as possible. If…if anyone at this table has a better suggestion, don’t hesitate to report it to me.”

Rabin knew that this wasn’t a solution to the problems, but right now, he could only pray that with time and some miracle, things could perhaps de-escalate to the point where Arabs and Israelis could talk to each other again.
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December 17th, 1984, 1300 hours

Tara Charendoff couldn't understand what was happening.

Standing at the crossroads of Humantown, there were now checkpoints on both the left and right of it. Police officers, ponies, and humans alike stood guard at the checkpoints. The officers also were increased in the main road in the middle, which was divided between two flags. The pavement on the left was painted in blue and marked as "Israeli Zone," and the pavement on the right was marked as "Arab Zone" in red. There were also more flags hanging, and even photos of people she didn't know of hung on the exterior of buildings. Shouting in languages she didn't know or understand could be heard from both sides, and it was only getting louder and louder.

Tara's mother held her daughter's hand and walked toward the left. Tara complained, "Mom, that stationery store I like is to the right! Why are we going to the left?"

Her mother explained, "I'm sorry, sweetie. But we can't go over there now. It's too dangerous now. There is also a good stationery store over there, how about I take you...Tara? Tara!"

The child ran off and attempted to get to the right-hand side of the road, only to bump into an officer's leg.

"Ow! Sorry...Wait, Tara?" the officer turned and looked down, then kneeled to the level of her height, "good to see you here, kiddo!"

"Mister Chris, you gotta help me; I wanna get to the store that I like; it's over there!" Tara pointed at a distant sign on the Arab side of the town.

The officer looked around and lowered his voice. "Now, I'm afraid you can't do that. You shouldn't do-"

"Tara Lyn Charendoff! You come back here this instant, right now!" her mother shouted, picking up Tara in the process, "I'm so sorry, officer Brown. She just didn't know what was going on."

Sergeant Christopher Brown reassured the mother, "don't worry, I understand, Ms. Charendoff. A pretty bummer rule, I know."

"But mooom! Lady Julie was so nice! She gave me an extra eraser! Why is she dangerous?"

"Oh hush, Tara, I will get you a comic book you like later. That side isn't safe anymore, okay? Those people now hate us." Ms. Charendoff hugged her daughter, then took her to the side of the Israeli zone as the sound of Arabic shouting and chanting grew louder and louder.

Tara complained and groaned all the way as she followed her mother to the Israeli zone while the sergeant just watched in pity. He then turned to see hundreds of Arabs protestors holding flags of their nation and the Ba’ath party, raising signs written in English and Arabic calling for avenging the Nakba. The crowd also paraded around with the portraits of Gamal Nasser, Saddam Hussein, Michel Afraq, Hafez Al-Assad, and Yasser Arafat while shouting slogans and chanting the Takbir. RCMP-GRC officers wearing riot gear ran past Christopher and into the Arab zone.

On the other side of town, A rally was held to call all Jewish peoples to find the new Zion, playing the national anthem of Israel, portriats of David Ben-Gurion and Theodor Herzl hanging in the back. The rally attendants also chanted songs like "Lay Down Your Arms." At the same time, a Rabbi denounced the Arabs, called for the cleansing of sin and eventual return to the promised land, and shouted that they would beat the Arabs again "to avenge all our boys who died on the Golan heights and Lebanon in 1982.”

"Will time ever heal this scar?" Christopher asked himself in the middle of this entire charade.

"Give peace a chance."
-Yitzhak Rabin, Prime Minister of Israel, 1922-1995

Comments

[Escalator]

"Give peace a chance." -Yitzhak Rabin, Prime Minister of Israel, 1922-1995

Amen

[Jmunoz13]

11541301
Agreed.

[Alden MacManx]

In one of my stories, I have an Arab and an Israeli character who are great friends and shipmates. Both of them share the opinion that the fighting between the two sides is incredibly stupid and anyone who advocates more fighting is either meshuggineh or the Arab equivalent. They both sit back and laugh at the foolishness of the rest of their peoples.

Let not the past be a straitjacket for the present or the future.

[Kyuubi325]

Peace is rarely made in a day, it takes years, sometimes generations to cultivate. The people of both sides have to want peace, if they don’t, any treaties or deals are just a cease fire. In this case you have two groups who have been fighting each other for generations and this festering hate reached criticality with he nuclear war. I’ll leave it at that to avoid potentially starting any unwanted extreme political debate.

[Turquoise pony]

I'm disappointed that Luna and Celestia having more than a thousand years of governance between them coupled with Luna's dream walking powers could not have come up with a better solution than the same old same old.
I think Luna's dream walking would be a great asset in this situation. A lot of the lingering hatred is because people keep having PTSD from earlier conflicts. Luna could alleviate thousands of people's nightmares so that they wake up in the morning with the conflicts in their dreams being re
solved allowing for a clearer mind to think of how to resolve conflicts in the waking world.
The author may have come up with Solutions in later chapters that I haven't read yet.
Great story by the way.