An Aboriginal Majority

Prime Minister Abouesse rubbed the temples of his forehead in frustration as he listened to the racket being played outside his office in the Parliament building. They were at it again, protesters demanding justice and an end to discrimination against White minorities. Looking out his window, he could make out signs saying things like ‘White Lives Matter’ and ‘Whites are Canadian Too.’

Outside, speakers were blasting out grievances on the megaphone, strumming up support and driving the crowd into a craze. “How is it that in the twentieth century, discrimination, prejudice and tyranny still occur in our great country? Whites are twice as likely to commit suicide, use drugs or end up in prison, and earn twenty percent less income than the average aboriginal, yet the government is doing absolutely nothing to mitigate the despairing challenges Whites face in our society. We need a system of fairness to provide Whites with the equal standard of living and equal opportunity that aboriginals enjoy. We will not concede to anything less!”

Ever since his government introduced the Caucasian Act in twenty-eleven, his government has faced criticism and scrutiny over the far-reaching effects of the legislation. Whites were given subsidized post-secondary education, wage subsidies and an army of counsellors, social workers and support networks, yet it never seemed to be enough. The government was already spending nearly a billion dollars a year on supporting services and welfare for Whites and it seemed like they were only throwing money down a deep well, never able to fill it up.

Ringing the receptionist, he let her know that he was going to take a break to eat lunch. “Yes Ms. Dearfoot, if there’s anything urgent, don’t be afraid to let me know.”

Opening his lunch bag, he took out a thermos of pemmican stew and a piece of bannock, which was flavoured with cinnamon to add a bit of sweetness. Opening the lid, the aromatic smell filled the office with notes of herbs and spices and he took a moment to savour the moment before digging into the stew. The meat was soft and tender, having been soaked in the braising liquid for several hours, absorbing all the flavours.

Ring!

“Sir, Mister Bell is here to see you. Shall I ask him to wait till you are finished?”

“No, no send in the minister.” Quickly gulping down several more spoonfuls of the delectable stew, he greeted Bell as he entered the office.

“Wow, something smells nice in here…I’m sorry to disturb your lunch Mister Abouesse but I’m sure you know about the demonstration happening outside the building? The group Caucasian Nation is requesting a meeting with you in person, but in my opinion, I don’t think you should meet with those rowdy characters.”

“And do we know what they want?”

“They want more financial support, especially for those below the poverty line, and to end discrimination by the police force towards non-aboriginals.”

“They might as well ask for control of the entire country. You’re right Bell, I don’t think meeting with these protesters is a good idea.”

Chewing on a piece of pemmican, he said good bye to Bell and looked once again at the crowd outside, wondering what it would take for the Whites to be satisfied.

At a press conference the day after, Abouesse addressed the issue of the protesters and whether he would agree to meet with them.

“We are committed to protecting Canada as a diverse, multicultural nation, and we are striving to protect the interests of not only the aboriginal people, but also the interests of minorities as well.”

“Prime minister, does this mean you will meet with the White nationalist groups?”

Pausing for a minute to contemplate what to say, Abouesse smiled as he said another politically correct answer. “We are willing to listen to the concerns of the Canadian people, but radical groups that promote anti-government policies have no place in our peaceful nation. Thank you, that’s all the questions I’ll be taking.”

Walking up the stairs and to his office, he gave a friendly gesture to Ms. Dearfoot before sitting down in his leather chair, giving a large sigh of relief that the conference was over. He spent the rest of the workday touching base with his Prime Minister’s Office staff and getting ready for the upcoming meetings, interviews and trips later in the week.

At the end of the day, he was driven back to twenty-four Sussex Drive, and greeted his wife Sue and kids who were glad he wasn’t working overtime again.

“How was your day dear? We saw your press conference on the news just now. There was a fly that kept landing on your hair in the background haha.”

In mock horror, Abouesse laughed it off as he took out his lunch bag and set the thermos and utensils to be washed.

“The pemmican stew was delicious dear, and I could eat that bannock all day.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Dinner will be ready in about half an hour. Do you want to wash up first?”

“Sure thing. Okay kids, when I come back I want to hear how you’ve behaved today for your mother. Kapeesh?”

Heading to the large master bedroom washroom, he washed up and turned off the ventilator, which sounded like it would need to be replaced soon. Reminding himself to tell the custodian about the fan, he came down the stairs to see his wife setting down a large turkey, with crispy skin and wrapped in bacon. Sitting down at the head of the table, he asked Sue how the kids had behaved throughout the day.

“Well, Jackson finished all his homework before I let him play his videogames, but Deborah wouldn’t do her chores even after I asked her twice.

“Deb, if you don’t listen to your mother again we’ll have to take away that phone of yours.”

“But dad! S’not fair. Why doesn’t mom ask Jackson to do chores? Why is it always me?”

“When Jackson grows up, he’ll be responsible for chores as well, but right now he’s not ready for housework. Maybe in a few years he’ll be working just as hard as you Deb.”

Carving into the humongous roasted bird, Abouesse cut up enough for his kids and wife before serving himself a generous portion as well. Pouring gravy over the succulent meat, they all ate happily and were ready for second helpings.

After everyone was full and satisfied, Abouesse helped store the leftover turkey into plastic containers while the children helped mother clear the table and wash the dishes. Smiling at his youngest, he watched amusingly as Jackson tried his best to hand mother the plates from the countertop which was taller than he was.

Having finished the cleaning, the kids looked pleadingly with their mother who thought for a while before dismissing the kids to do what they wanted for the rest of the evening. Yelping in excitement and joy, Jackson headed to the living room where his videogame console was set up while Deborah went to her room to talk with her friends on her phone.

As Abouesse turned on the television to watch the nightly news, he sighed as the protesters were the main story once again.

Protesters continue to camp out in front of Parliament, with officers supervising the group to ensure everything was orderly and peaceful and to intervene if things got out of hand. Several members of the group are holding a fast, pledging not to eat until the Prime Minister meets with them formally. Aware of the protests, Prime Minister Abouesse made it clear that he would not meet with the radical group, citing the fact that government does not recognize the group legally due to their drastic and sometimes illegal activity.

The next morning back at his office, Abouesse looked over several proposals for the country to be carbon neutral in less than thirty years. The increase in cost for mitigating emissions meant that there would be a spike in taxes along with energy costs as the country seeks to phase out fossil fuels.

White members of parliament have expressed their concern over the disproportionate burden the policy places on families near or below the poverty line. Increasing fuel prices raises the cost of living; from driving and heating their homes to higher transport costs for food and staples which would be passed down to the consumer. The issue resonates with Whites deeply because they make up nearly sixty percent of families in the lowest bracket of income, meaning that the increased costs from climate action will affect them the greatest.

Heading for the House of Commons, Abouesse prepared for yet another tumultuous debate between the minority White MPs and his Nationalistic Native Party, which held more than eighty-five percent of all the seats in Parliament.

“When will the Prime Minister recognize the undue oppression of the White Canadians? This climate policy will mean hundreds if not thousands of White impoverished families will suffer even more than what they are going through now. The unequal access to clean energy between the poor and the rich is clearly discriminatory and should not be pursued by the government.”

Sitting back down, a handful of the members quietly applauded the rant but the majority kept their silence and waited for the rebuttal by Abouesse.

“Mister Speaker, the concerns raise by Mister Johnson is a legitimate issue, but we are doing more than enough to ensure that every Canadian, whether White or Native has equal access to social supports and safety nets to keep them out of poverty. The danger of ignoring environmental issues for the sake of keeping consumer goods cheap for the poor is a dangerous and costly choice, as the price of mitigating severe climate events will prove even higher.”

A thunderous applause by his fellow members followed his response and the discussion over climate action continued well into the afternoon before the session was concluded. In the halls of the Parliament building, reporters swarmed Abouesse, firing questions at him about the government’s decision to raise taxes.

“We know everyone wants lower taxes, but the truth is, we need more money to ensure the wellbeing of every Canadian is taken care of. Whether that be our present population or the generations to come, we need to raise the money needed to take the appropriate action now. People want all the goods and services that government provides, but no one wants to pay more for it. That will be all. Thank you.”

Speed walking down the hall to his ride, followed by a throng of journalists and cameramen, he got into his car and was driven back to his house where his family awaited his arrival.

“Dad! You’re back! Mom bought a large cake and said we can eat it after dinner when you come back! It’s an ice cream cake!”

“Ho ho, an ice cream cake eh? Well let’s get ready for dinner first then we can think about desert alright bud? Hey honey, did you do your chores like I asked you to today?”

Deborah nodded quietly, playing around with her braided hair.

“She was very hard working today, helping me out with lunch and some minor cleaning around the house.”

Patting her on the head, Abouesse was proud of his kids, as he knew that being the Prime Minister’s children could put tremendous pressure and unwanted attention on them. Making friends was also difficult, as sleepovers and birthday parties were very much frowned upon by the supervising officers for the family.

Watching as mother laid fresh cornbread on the table along with a fried trout and some mixed vegetables, they took a moment to savour the delicious looking dinner before diving in; eating and conversing at the same time.

“So, I hear on the news that a group of people are fasting until they get a meeting with you. Are you going to speak with them?”

“No. At least for now. The government doesn’t recognize or deal with radical groups that promote disorder and unrulily conduct. They are the same group that blockaded Young Street in Toronto a couple weeks ago.”

“Papa, what does fasting mean? Do they do everything very fast?”

Chuckling at his son’s logical conclusion, Abouesse corrected his mistaken understanding. “No Jackson, fasting means that a person abstains from something like eating or drinking for a period of time.”

Chewing on his piece of cornbread, the little boy digested the explanation from his dad and wondered why on earth someone would give up eating and drinking.

“So, what’s this ice cream cake I’ve been hearing about. I think it’s about time we brought it out, eh?”

On mentioning the desert, the eyes of his two kids instantly lit up and with excitement and eagerness to the amusement of their parents.

“It doesn’t take much to make them happy, does it?” Nudging his wife, they both laughed at the anticipation shown by the kids, like two birds chirping hungrily, waiting to be fed. Suddenly hearing a ringing from his phone, Abouesse excused himself and took the call, concerned at what may be so important so as to call him when he wasn’t working.

“Sir, sorry to disturb you, but there’s been a situation. The minister of Caucasian Affairs has been kidnapped. The group claiming responsibility is the same group fasting outside Parliament. We need you to make an official address as soon as possible.”

“I understand, thank you for informing me and I’ll be ready as soon as I can.” Regretfully walking back to his family, he gestured for them to start eating the cake and apologizing that he had to leave for an emergency situation. Kissing his wife and patting the heads of his kids, who were plainly disappointed, he rushed out the door to his waiting ride and was whisked away back to the Parliament where he would make an address to the nation.

“At ten o’clock this night, a group claimed responsibility for the abduction of Mister Cowell, the Minister of Caucasian Affairs. The location and health of the minister is not known and a ransom demanded for his release was received shortly after. I will reiterate once again, the government of Canada does not converse with vigilante, radical groups who believe their actions are above the law. I assure you, these groups responsible for the abduction will be brought to justice and the government will use everything in its power to bring Mister Cowell back safe and sound.”

Amid the flurry of camera shots and questions asked by the reporters, the Prime Minister walked back to the office where his lead aid workers were all meeting to discuss their next course of action.

“Well, the groups are asking for the release of several radicals that were arrested for terrorism related charges last year. It’s the same group of individuals that injured several aboriginal police officers at a standoff in Ottawa. They are giving us three days to comply with the demands.”

“They might as well ask for my head on a platter. It’s absolutely absurd. No, we will not concede to their demands. I want the RCMP to get a head start on investigating and please inform me of any developments in the case.”

Being driven back home for the second time that day, Abouesse was starting to get a headache, clearly frustrated with the unsatiable demands of the White radical groups.

The next morning, in the House of Commons, accusations were flying everywhere as aboriginal members of Parliament accused their White counterparts of inciting the kidnapping and encouraging the radical groups on social media.

“Will Mister Graham take responsibility for supporting the groups responsible for kidnapping Mister Cowell?

“Mister speaker, there is no evidence suggesting that me or any of our White MPs had anything to do with the kidnapping. The accusations are unwarranted and clearly out of place in this meeting. We suggest a motion to leave this issue and move on to other tasks.”

“Mister Bell, what do you suggest we do to deal with this issue of credibility?”

“Mister speaker, we would like an internal investigation of all White MPs in Parliament to see if they had used their position of authority to incite violence and radicalism.”

“Alright, the motion is granted, an investigation shall be started.”

As the RCMP started their case to try and link the accused MPs to the radical groups and subsequent kidnapping, Abouesse grew more and more worried as the time went by and neared the deadline put forth by the kidnappers. As the third day drew to a close, the Prime Minister could not sleep, constantly thinking of his friend and colleague whom he had personally appointed as Minister of Caucasian Services. Closing his eyes, the darkness engulfed his thinking, until an image appeared in his mind. The body of Cowell was lain on the ground, with multiple gunshot wounds to his chest and abdomen, bleeding a crimson pool of blood. On the wall behind the body, a message was written using the blood as ink.

Abouesse is next.

Reading the warning, the Prime Minister grew pale and tried running far away from the crime scene, running away to anywhere safe. Suddenly he was trapped on a rooftop with gunmen aiming their pistols at him. Walking backwards, he tried pleading for his life, but unintentionally tripped and fell off the roof, down thirty stories but woke up before hitting the ground. Sitting up perspiring, his beads of sweat rolled down his forehead as he wiped them with the back of his hand. Looking at his phone, he realized he had missed several messages.

Mister Abouesse, the RCMP found Cowell in an alleyway. He was shot multiple times in the chest and abdomen. The authorities are still looking for the murderers.

As his hands began to shake, the Prime Minister dropped his phone, realizing that the beginning of his nightmare had in fact, just begun.

The End