NationStates Jolt Archive

The Ed Smith Sports Complex in Sarasota had filled up faster than Reverend Ken Hanway had anticipated; lines to get into the arena went around the block, and traffic was through the roof. He felt like an ant standing on that centered stage, a sea of moving people surrounding him on all sides. Nevertheless, Hanway adjusted his tie and ran a firm hand through his thinning red hair, proud as he’d ever been and thoroughly energized by the excitement of the crowds around him. Today would be a new chapter in history, and he would forever be apart of it.

Suddenly a voice crackled over the PA system, hushing the obnoxiously loud mass of people and interrupting the good reverend‘s thoughts. “Ladies and gentleman! Please give a round of applause for Reverend Kenneth Hanway, leader of the Florida Fascist Association!” The silence was suddenly replaced by a roar of cheers as Hanway made his way over to a podium placed at the front of the stage. Numerous Florida state flags could be seen waving in the crowd, while several people held up large cardboard signs that read “Florida First” or “To Succeed We Must Secede”. It took a full five minutes to quiet the masses down before Hanway could speak. And as he did so, there wasn’t a Florida citizen in the arena who wasn’t paying attention.

“Friends. Family. Countrymen. I come to you today not with smiles, or kisses, or hugs, but with a grim face and a broken heart. Because we have been betrayed by our own country! Our very own government, the administration that our people, our citizens put into office, has dropped their pants and taken a good, hard leak on our heads! They’ve spit in our faces, and practically told us we’re on the bottom of their to-do list! And yet in doing so, they still use our ports. They still use our resources, our orange juice, our young men for their wars! They still use our land as a doormat for immigrants, and they use our money, the taxpayers money, to launch their rockets and weapon research programs! I don’t know about my fellow Floridians, but I have had enough! It is time for our so-called “leaders” to step up and start paying us some attention!”

“Hurricanes have ravaged our beautiful homes and left billions of dollars of damage in their wake! The fury of God has literally swept over the state of Florida, leaving dozens of counties powerless and with little or no supplies, yet our government can’t even muster the money to get us standing again! They’re too preoccupied trying to pass laws that allow men to marry each other! Too worried about giving women a choice in whether they can murder their unborn baby! And here we are, the proud citizens of Florida, sitting in the dark with no ceilings and getting looted by every immigrant who can breathe, waiting for something to be done!”

“Well if you want something done, you gotta do it yourself. Take Modern Texas, or Communist Louisiana for instance. They didn’t let our liberal, panty-wearing girl scout government push them around, and now they’re successful nations with important international ties and strong, sturdy economies! I say we Floridians take a page out of their books, and secede from this lying sack of filth we call the United States! I say as proud Floridians, we take our state back! Take it back from the Northerners who come down here to crowd our amusement parks and vacation homes! Pry it away from the cold hands of the snow birds who clog up our road ways and make traffic absolutely horrific! Drop your American flags, friends, and raise your Florida ones! We Floridians are a strong, united people, perhaps the finest in this sick mess of a country! Why should we be forced to endure the neglect of these Northern, left-wing, fruit-loving atheists any longer? The truth of the matter is we don’t, and we won’t!”

“I am calling for the secession of Florida from the Union! I am demanding that our governor, Daniel Ortega, recognizes the Floridians as a free people, and hands us our independence! Together we can build a strong and respected nation! Together we Floridians, the pride of the dump we call America, can pay off the damages God’s wrath inflicted upon our homes! It is time for a revolution, my friends! It is time for our independence!”

The Complex’s occupants gave out a mighty roar of approval, for many of them shared the reverend’s views. An overwhelming amount of them were right-wing extremists, like Hanway, and the references to God and the weak-minded liberal government had stirred up a sea of emotion inside of them. Reverend Hanway had that effect on people; he was a great public speaker, and though his views were often thought of as radical and opinionated, his charisma smoothed out many of the waves his speeches caused. Of course, no amount of charisma would be able to smooth out the political waves this particular speech stirred up. The reverend’s suggestion that Florida should secede was nothing short of treason, and would probably win him violent government attention. If he wasn’t assassinated by the end of the week, he would definitely be arrested. Despite the dangers, there was no doubt that Hanway had accomplished what he had set out to do. He had awoken the sleeping giant that was the Floridian public.

OOC: Oh, just bloody great. Another Nazi nation on the rise. Bit of a tip: If you don't want to be hated, don't act like Decisive Action.

And a bloody good bit of writing!

Hey, all you Fascists... Join The Fascist Haven Region Today!!!

OOC: Hey, thanks a lot man, I appreciate the compliment. Coming from such an active nation as yourself, that means a lot! And while I think I might go for the fascist angle, I plan to do things a little bit differently than Decisive Action. Thanks again!

OOC: No denying a good speech or a good narrative when I see one; sadly it can be rather a rarity these days.

Any btw, may I be the first to say, welcome to NS :)

From his office in the capital building in Tallahassee, Governor Daniel Ortega watched footage of Reverend Hanway’s powerful speech on a small television set, a frown apparent on his tan face. He was young for a governor, about thirty-eight-years-young in fact, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew if trash like this was allowed to continue slandering America’s name, the Florida citizens would start buying it. Their brains were sun-baked; they didn’t know any better. This Hanway character would have to be made an example of, and quickly too. The longer he was allowed to breath, the more dangerous his idiotic speeches became. Turning to his assistant, Sarah Remlinger, Ortega sighed angrily. “Get this crap off my television,” he grumbled, a hint of a Spanish accent barely evident. “In fact, I don’t want to see this ‘freedom’ garbage on any television set. You let a guy like this spill his guts on the tube and before you know it, he’s got a private army of rednecks at his disposal.”

Ms. Remlinger nodded and immediately exited the office, leaving Ortega alone with his Lt. Governor, a portly man named Russell Bannister. “She’s a hottie,” Bannister growled in his booming voice, as Ortega closed his office door. “I’d pork her.” The governor snorted, as if he found the matter mildly amusing. “I already did. On my desk. You should’ve seen the office, man. Almost every paper in here was soaked through completely, and we broke the swivel chair.” The two had a brief laugh at the joke, as if they were common working men who frequented shady bars and strip clubs. In a high stress position like Ortega held, such crude jokes and gestures were required to keep the agitation down. However, the two quickly got back to business, realizing that the matter at hand was more important than defiling Remlinger’s body.

“Did you get the file on Hanway?” Ortega asked, stroking his pencil thin mustache. “Yeah, I got it right here,” Bannister replied, producing a thin manila enveloped from his thick suit jacket. “His story is pretty simple. Nothing fascinating about it. He grew up in the sticks, out by Everglades City, to a farmer and a stay-at-home mom. Got smacked around by his old man a couple of times, decided he was going to leave. He served two years in Vietnam, before he got injured and was eventually shipped back here. At about twenty-two he started working for a local newspaper, which he quit when he turned twenty-eight. He wrote a book called “America: The Weak” at age thirty, which basically criticized American society for criticizing Vietnam. Huge patriot. The guy had his nose so far up America’s ass, it ain’t even funny. After a couple more piss-poor attempts at writing books, he finally gave up and decided he wanted to be a man of God. He became a reverend at thirty-eight, and that’s what he’s been doing since.”

Ortega nodded thoughtfully as Bannister rattled off the facts, before he finally spoke again. “How’d he get to be so obnoxious?” Bannister cracked a sly smile, revealing a nearly toothless mouth. Ortega made a mental note to find the man a better dentist. “Well, he’s always been a racist. His racism can be traced back to that dumbass book he wrote. That’s probably why it wasn’t received well by critics. He’s also a little forceful about his religion. To tell you the truth, the guy’s been obnoxious since birth. I don’t know what else to tell you.” Ortega nodded once more as he stood up from his desk, straightening out his dark suit in doing so. “Call the president and tell him the situation is under control. Oh, and get me the army, would you? Time to exterminate this roach from the human race."

((OOC: I swear if you touch one Cuban out of genocide, you are going to die. No, no excuse you're dead. Shh, you're gonna die, that simple. Eh, kidding, have a nice stay here. Just don't touch the Cubans...))

"I don't like the look of this," mused a back-bencher as he watched the TV with his colleague. "I don't like this at all. As if there weren't enough of these sorts wandering about already."
"Yes," agreed his portly companion, "it is rather worrisome." He sighed. "What will happen, do you think?"
"Oh, nothing much," grumbled the first. "Probably a lot of noise, a few swastika-waving young Hitlers in the streets, nothing too serious. And even if it did become serious, there's always North Brazil." The two chuckled at that.

We so no problum in this nation becomming independent. We hope that you will not bring chaos to the Gulf of Mexico or to my nation. We do support soverinty, but not if that new nation is going to be hostile.

To find against this threat, I would like to propose a non-aggression pact. This maybe will bring forth possible trade agreements between our nations in the future.

Premier Bobby Jindal
New Orleans, Louisiana, CL

"Mr. President, have you heard about this?" questioned a young, clean-shaven man, handing the President a thin document.

As the President flipped through the pages, he murmured to the young man, "Have Minister Lought keep an eye out for this..."

(OOC: Trying to protect my people, TIOR? Also, Fascist Florida, simply to inform you but the USSNSR holds the Florida Keys [We have for a while actually]...though at this moment I won't mention this IC due to being cautious and seeing how you wish to do this. Just letting you know.)

A tap on a door lead to a man sticking his head through. Looking up with dark brown eyes, Adin nodded. Stepping in, the man of 5'6, skinny body clad in a simple suit, walked to the desk before dropping a manila folder on Estridge's desk.

"Sir, we've a situation.."

The voice was of Premier Estridge's security advisor George Buchanen. Watching his advisor, the head of Neo-Soviet Russia then began to scan through the folder. A rising facist power...interesting.

"So I see. Anything extreme happen yet?"

"Negatory. No outbreaks of violence, no shocking massive actions. Nothing"

Nodding, Estridge stayed silent. Fingers moved paper after paper. Taking the info in, he then looked back to Buchanen.

"I want to be briefed as things progress."

Major General Kerry Gordon grimaced as he stood before Governor Ortega, his hand quietly withdrawing itself from a salute. The army major was a reasonable man, and rare was the time he didn’t follow out orders exactly as they were given. But these governor types had heads bigger than buildings; they never listened to logic. “Look, Mr. Ortega, I’d love to help you out,” the general started in his husky voice. The two were standing outside the capital building in Tallahassee, Ortega in his darkest suit and Gordon in a military officer’s uniform. “But this ain’t no military matter. You want somebody arrested, you call the police. I can’t waste my men, or my time for some nutty reverend. That’s not what I do. If those Haitian bastards in the south start firing missiles up your ass, that’s when you call me. Or when there’s a couple hundred thousands Cubanos trying to swim their way into Florida. But if a reverend like Mr. Hanway loses his marbles and starts rambling to the public about God and Florida and whatnot, you have to understand I ain’t the man to call.”

Ortega snorted in disgust as he and the general began to walk down the street. These military apes were trained to take orders, not question them! Who was this Gordon fellow to undermine the authority of such a prominent political figure like himself? “This man is a traitor to the United States of America, a revolutionary, general! Not just some mumbling fool! The man attracted over 10,000 people to one of his ‘fascist’ rallies. That’s 10,000 potential soldiers! 10,000 potential fascist recruits! And this isn’t the first rally. For the past three months he has been preaching about fascism as if he gave birth to it. Only now has he openly called for Florida’s secession. That is a red flag, general. He’s starting to nest in people’s ears. You either take him out early, or you end up with a major problem.” Gordon shrugged before lifting a massive arm to rub his buzzed head. Clearly he wasn’t convinced.

“So arrest him. The man most likely isn’t armed. He doesn’t have chemical weapons in his house. Unless he’s got a private civilian army we don’t know about, his arrest is really a waste of my time, talent, and resources. Leave it to the Sheriff.” The Hispanic governor rolled his eyes and hissed almost silently, clearly annoyed by Gordon’s argument. Gordon was probably a fan of the reverend’s, Ortega thought, as he rolled up the sleeves of his suit jacket and shirt. The Florida heat was starting to get to him, and perspiration along his hairline was becoming apparent. “I want him to be arrested at one of his rallies, so as to let Floridians know who’s in charge. By factoring the U.S. army into the reverend‘s arrest, we’re letting people know that the president, his cabinet, and congress still run the show, and that any who oppose U.S. law and jurisdiction will be crushed like a bug! You and a portion of your forces will also be needed just in case the crowds at his rally decide they don’t like the reverend’s arrest, and try something stupid. I’m not asking for your whole division, general. Maybe two or three tanks and about two dozen of your men.”

Gordon hesitated. It wasn’t like him to question authority; he either nodded his head or dropped a barrage of “yes sirs” when asked to do things. But the truth of the matter was, he’d never liked Ortega, or that fat useless pig Bannister, and he didn’t feel honest about using tanks and soldiers to arrest a man of God. Gordon happened to be a Christian also, so that played a part in his cautiousness too. But he figured Ortega would make waves with the president and Gordon’s commanding officers, so he gave in after a brief verbal struggle, ashamed of what he was being asked to do but not to the point where he was going to forfeit his job. “I suppose I can arrange something, but not without the approval of my commanding officers and the president. I’m not doing anything until you ring them up on the phone and pass it by them.” Ortega smiled slyly, and placed a ring-smothered hand on Gordon’s shoulder. “It’s being taken care of as we speak.”


***************************************************

Barely two days passed after Hanway’s first outrageous speech before he was at another Florida Fascist Association rally in the St. Petersburg area, at the Al Lang Stadium. Dressed in the ugliest turquoise suit on Earth, which clashed violently with his bright red hair and narrow features, this time the respectable reverend watched from backstage as another member of the Florida Fascist Association, Ned Weidman, gave a long and inspirational speech. Weidman wasn’t nearly as charismatic as the reverend, and was in fact a staggering twenty years older than him! But the old man had heart; a weak, gasping heart that would probably collapse in a couple years, but none the less a heart. When the Fascist Association received word from television stations that Governor Ortega was outraged and would crush this growing fascist movement, Ned simply laughed in his gravelly old man’s voice and said, “Let’s hold another rally and stick it to these hippies.” The reverend casually peeked his head out from behind the curtain as his elderly but reliable friend Ned continued to sputter out a clever speech, those dangerously narrow Hanway eyes scanning the crowds for a good guess as to how many were attending.

Eight, maybe seven thousand he thought. Less than the previous day’s, but government intervention had to be taken in account. Like the pigs they were they had yanked Hanway’s golden words of wisdom away from the people, and replaced them with the sour and sallow face of Daniel Ortega. He had known from the moment he called for Ortega to deliver Florida its freedom that the Governor would be on the offense. Ortega was as slimy as politicians came, after all. He pretended to be a God-fearing Christian while at the same time lobbying for the deaths of babies and trying to pass a law in Florida that would allow his son, Ricardo Ortega, to marry another man. He flip flopped on nearly every issue, and he allowed other states to rape Florida of its natural resources. The reverend had given Ortega a chance, a chance to fall into his plan and secede from the states. He had given the arrogant Hispanic millionaire an opportunity to relinquish his old ways and start with a clean slate. Ortega had thumbed his nose at the idea, proving all along he was just as inferior as the reverend had thought him to be. Now he would pay.

Already other nations were trying to form pacts and alliances with Hanway. They knew of Florida’s destiny, and they accepted it. So did the people of Florida. The only remaining thing to do was to remove Ortega from his powerful position. And with a whole army of civilians waiting patiently for his speech, and state-wide support, that would hardly be a problem. His thoughts suddenly came to an end, as the crowd erupted into cheers and Weidman headed offstage. Passing Hanway, he smacked his colleague on the back and whispered softly, “Go get ‘em tiger.” Hanway nodded and boldly headed for the podium his friend had just been standing at, the energy from previous rallies returning to him immediately as he was greeted by thousands of cheers. “Ladies and gentleman, please give a round of applause for the president of the Florida Fascist Association, Reverend Kenneth Hanway!”

And then suddenly machine gun fire broke out, as stage was suddenly swarmed by a platoon of U.S. soldiers.

OOC: Fookin' 'ell! This is good stuff, really good stuff!