NationStates Jolt Archive

The island of Gran Cienaga has always had a Spanish presence; in 1614, Spain conquered the island and its northern neighbor, San Ysidro. The Spanish reign over Gran Cienaga ended in 1632 when the British managed to forcefully take it over; however, they never managed to gain control of the larger island of San Ysidro. Although the British managed to gain control of the territory, they still had to deal with the significant number of Spanish settlers on the island. From that point on, relations had been uneasy between the rapidly-growing British population and the tapering Spanish colonists. For nearly two centuries, the two groups managed to live with each other with only a few violent incidents, but all this changed in 1809 when the colonial government, with British aid, ousted a significant portion of the Spanish in order to make room for Najan settlers; the remnants of the Spanish population were gradually absorbed into Najan culture. While the settlers were deported to San Ysidro, where they felt more at home with the Spanish-majority population, they were still upset over their removal. Now, in 1964, one can see that the descendants of the deportees still carry resentment of the Najan government's actions and are demanding reparations for the Deportation of 1809.

Esperanza, San Ysidro
January 19, 1964

Outside of the Najan embassy were hundreds of angered Ysidrianos, some waving crude banners and signs. Alienated from their own country generations ago, they were only now demanding reparations for the actions committed by Gran Cienaga. The scene was one of chaos, several cars laid on their backsides and police units were arriving from all over Esperanza in an attempt to calm the growing protest, which was quickly escalating to a riot. Several people had already been dragged off into awaiting vans, which fueled the anger.

Carlos Borrego had a relatively quiet term as Presidente of San Ysidro for the past four years, and with one left before the next election, he wasn't about to let his reputation be tarnished. In the distance, he could see smoke rising from several burning cars, the sirens of fire trucks and police echoing throughout the otherwise quiet capital city. He was jolted from his concentration on the riot from the shrill ringing of one of several phones on his large desk. Quickly he sat down and placed the black handset between his shoulder and ear. "Borrego speaking."

"The situation is out of control here," The voice on the other end of the line was shaky, and the sounds of shattering glass and shouting could be heard. "You need to send in the military... the police, they can't do anything."

Nodding to himself, Borrego recognised the voice as that of John Patterson, who headed the Najan embassy. "I'll dispatch some troops, they'll be there shortly. Stay calm." Tapping the switch hook and ending the call, Borrego dialed the number of his secretary, and told her to give the order to send in a squad of soldiers. After setting the handset down on the phone, he sighed and stood up once more to survey the damage. Soon, in the distance, two green trucks approached, the stopped traffic attemtping to move to allow them to pass. Silently he prayed they could stop the rioters before anyone was hurt-- he feared, however, it was too late for that.

The groups of military police disembarked, their superior officers blowing whistles and yelling in frantic Spanish to the group. All attempts at coercing them into settling down simply by yelling had failed at that point, and it was not too long until they began to climb over the wall surrounding the complex. The cracks of rifles could be heard through the long boulevard, and the screams and cries of the once unstoppable force were as equally loud, and slowly they began to scatter in a mad dash to escape. The police rounded them up and promptly arrested the few that had been brave enough to jump over into Najan soil.

As ambulances arrived and the bystanders lined the streets, the damage could finally be taken in: broken and burning hulks that were once automobiles, several wounded police officers and civilians, collapsed trees and the damaged entrance to the embassy. Borrego knew this was simply the beginning.

Esperanza, San Ysidro
January 19, 1964

“The path looks clear now.” Ambassador Patterson waited for one of his security personnel to double-check that statement before leaving.

He nodded back at Patterson and motioned for the other two agents to leave the building as well.

“Alright then, let’s head out.” Patterson took one last look around the embassy before heading towards the door.

Ambassador Patterson briskly walked through the glass doors that his security personnel had opened for him, surveying the chaotic scene around him. Rioters bolted off in the distance and the wailing sirens of police cars and fire trucks provided background noise for the soft crackling of the fires behind the barricades. Lying discarded on the ground was a plain white posterboard sign that read "We Demand Justice!" in block letters. Patterson looked contemptuously at the sign, kicking it away as he walked down the path to the awaiting Humvee.

One of the agents walking next to Patterson looked around, showing some signs of disinterest. “Some mess they left, yeah?”

“Yeah, and they wonder why we kicked their ancestors out of the country.”

All four chuckled at the remark as they entered the Humvee, headed on its way to the office of the Foreign Affairs secretary of San Ysidro.

Esperanza, San Ysidro
January 19, 1964

Traffic was still densely packed, an odd mix of both American and Soviet vehicles littering the finely cobbled roads. San Ysidro had been going through a tough economic period, and the fight between the two superpowers for a potential ally near Cuba, which had just been identified to be in possession of several Russian-made nuclear arms. In an almost comical race, they began attempting to sell more and more of their products to the medium-sized island for lower and lower prices. Slowly, the Soviet Union began to win the fight, but this did not mean Ysidrianos did not continue to enjoy the dip in costs they might not be able to experience again.

The GAZ-69 and two Willys' cruised along through a police-provided detour, several motorists giving perturbed glares at the drivers of the small convoy. Soon a roundabout was in sight, a monumental fountain in the centre, crowned by a statue of Saint Isidore looking cheerfully into the distance. Rotating around it for a moment, the vehicles finally made their way up a short road until reaching the entrance to the capitol's garden plaza, several armed guards ushering them through the open metal gate. The Willys' broke off while the GAZ pulled up the steps of the building, where the Secretary was waiting, the slight breeze blowing through his thinning, silver hair.

The driver stepped around to the rear of the vehicle and pulled the flaps back, allowing Patterson and his escorts to step out. The Secretary approached and gave a curt bow. "Welcome, Mr. Patterson, it's an honour to have you. Please, this way." With that, he turned around began to climb the steps.

Esperanza, San Ysidro
January 19, 1964

Patterson and his security detail walked down the halls of the building wordlessly. He usually remained silent when he was thinking of ways to handle difficult situations. As they reached the doors, he nodded his neck, indicating that they should go relax in the nearby area while he was in the room.

Walking into the room, he extended his hand to Foreign Affairs Secretary Pablo Rodriguez with a forced smirk on his face.

“How goes it, Mr. Rodriguez?”

After some brief small talk, Patterson initiated the subject of the conversation.

“Let’s get right down to business, shall we? I’ve got two questions for you and I’m hoping you have answers for them. First and foremost, just what triggered that protest in the first place? Second, how long have you noticed unrest among that particular group of ysidrianos anyway?”

Patterson leaned back in the plush chair and awaited answers from Rodriguez.

Rodriguez sighed and adjusted himself in the chair uneasily, obviously uncomfortable discussing the subject. Eyes darting, he considered it for a moment, and nodded ot himself. He gulped and allowed his gaze to return to Patterson. "I'll be frank, Mr. Patterson. I'm not suprised this happened, although I'm baffled at why it's taken so long..." He extended a shaky hand towards an end table and took a sip from a glass of water.

"I'd say, however, what triggered this... for a lack of a better term, riot, is your lack of cooperation with these, 'outcasts'. I remember back in December of '63 a petition among the Najans here was made clear to your government, one requesting reperations, and you flat out refused. We've been taking care of them and their future generations for more than a century. Caring for your people-- If anything, they're Ysidiranos now, honest, hard-working citizens who've more than earned their place in this country. And on behalf of the Ysidriano people, I kindly ask you to reconsider your decision." With that he stood up, more confidence inside him, striding over to his desk and picking up the phone. "I'll arrange a car to take you to the airport, now."