Kabul, Afghanistan, Zygarin
"Let me see the numbers again."
Though he spoke in Dari, he knew a few Ministers and Council members would not understand him. President Al-Hazajj had to rely on the translators standing near these people, relaying his words to them in Farsi and other forms of the Persian language, a handicap he knew they needed to fix.
The Head of the Council stood, bringing him several folders and bowing his head slightly as he presented them. The President took them, returning the slight bow, checking himself at just the right time before coming back up.
As the councilman returned to his seat, Al-Hazajj looked at the files he had already viewed a hundred times before. They had come to this very room many, many times over the past month to try and resolve this issue in a timely manner, but the way it stretched on seemed to throw a sense of urgency, desperation, and finally resignment into the mix.
"Employment is up. So is agricultural growth. Mining is returning higher profits for us, and military enlistment has finally slowed. Houses are beginning to fill, and better quarters constantly being rebuilt."
That was only the first page. The report went on and on, listing economic percentages and maps showing the new roads built to connect the country together, aqueducts dug for fresh water, the consensus of how many people still lived in poverty. Yet he put the reports down, every single one of them, because he'd read them before, he knew what they held.
Everything seemed to be going well for Zygarin for the first time since the revolution that had freed it from Byzantium's hold, fifty-eight years ago. There was not a single major blemish on this otherwise highly encouraging report.
Other than the fact that it couldn't last.
Al-Hazajj was not a fool. He knew that leaving things where they were now would only result in a snowball effect, a decline that could not be stopped and would bankrupt the economy, ruining everything the nation had worked for.
He looked up, eyeing the Council of State and Ministers seated before him at the large tables before his podium. They all stared back at him, wide-eyed, some with bags under the sockets and red veins around the irises. No one had been able to come up with a good plan that a majority could agree with. It all fell down to the President, and if he couldn't make a decision, the different camps in the Council would tear each other apart to get what they wanted.
He sighed, rubbing at his eyes before looking back at them, knowing they would not want to hear what he had to say.
"Zygarin has come a long way since it first broke from Byzantium. Almost sixty years of struggling to achieve our own freedoms, our own laws, our own nation. The Commonwealth has managed to stay alive so far. But for a country to survive, it must endure and prosper at the same time. We've endured for more than half a century, but it is now time for us to prosper."
The Council and Ministers stared at him, dumbstruck, unsure of where he was going with this. Not a single one could imagine what Al-Hazajj was about to ask of them.
"As President of the Commonwealth, I hereby bring forward the proposal to break our isolationist policy and extend offerings of peace and trade to foreign countries."
The words were met with an uproar, as the previously calm and cool, if a little stressed, politicians leapt to their feet or slammed a fist on the table, or just plain threw their hands in the air in surrender.
Finally, Al-Hazajj calmed them down, and facing their simmering glares he began to explain himself.
"Zygarin is not a nation that can sustain itself. We have neither the resources, nor the money, nor even the military strength. We barely have enough water to grow food -and- to keep the people from dying of thirst. Our soldiers are using equipment bought on the Black Market over the years, or from the revolution itself! Look at us, would you? More than half of our population can't afford to even live in a home with running water, we still use dirt roads as our highways, we are -still- replacing wooden buildings with brick ones, and the threat of a rebellion emerging from those depraved conditions grows higher every day."
Al-Hazajj exhaled, briefly, reaching up and taking off his reading glasses. He was farsighted, which made reading without the lenses impossible. The dramatic move helped to reinforce his urgency with the Council members, who were even now muttering among each other. What if this, what if that...
"The time has come to put aside foolish boasts and propaganda. This is no longer about restoring our dignity or proving how great a people we are. We accomplished that many years ago. What our current problem is about now is finding out how we survive."
He gently tapped against the podium again, biting his lip before asking "Can I call a vote?"
The Head of Council looked around, unsure, before he stood, clearing his throat and raising his gavel, knocking it against the wood pad.
"The vote to dispell isolationist policies and extend relations to foreign countries has been called. Who will second the motion?"
A hand raised, the Minister from Balochistan. "Balochistan seconds the move."
"The vote has been called and seconded. The vote for the end of isolationism is now open."
One by one, hands raised from the different provinces of Zygarin, each one saying either a yay or a nay. Al-Hazajj felt his skin become clammy, a lump grow in his throat and knot in his chest as the numbers climbed. There would be no tie. The Council and Ministers had an odd number of seats for that reason alone, offset by the Head of the Council being neutral. The president -had- to get a majority vote, or Zygarin would be doomed.
Finally, the number rested up at 'Yes' sixteen to 'No' nineteen, and there were only four left who had not voted. Not all provinces in Zygarin were represented, of course, only those that submitted for it. Representation put alot of responsibility and expectations on a region, and not all of them could live up to such things.
"Terahn says yes."
Seventeen.
"Isfahen says yes."
Eighteen.
"Qom says yes."
Nineteen. To nineteen. The vote fell to Rhamir Asbadel, the Councilman for Khuzestan, and the man was indecisive as could be. There would be no tie, even though this decision would have been incredibly close.
Rhamir tugged at his goatee, studying Al-Hazajj. The man was well into his sixties by now, and had served on the Council when President Falir had been in office. He knew politics and ecnomies, and he could obviously see the benefit of going with the break of isolationism. The question was, would he do it?
Finally, Rhamir raised his hand and said "Khuzestan says yes."
Al-Hazajj felt himself almost collapse in relief against the podium, as though he had just been sucker-punched. He could vaguely hear the applause from the Council and Ministers as the vote was announced again.
They would break isolation. They would survive.
When he could finally speak, Al-Hazajj cleared his throat, wiping his forehead of the sweat and replacing his glasses, taking a deep breath before saying "I hereby declare the Zygarin embassy to be open to foreign diplomatic relations. I want the message relayed to every press network in Zygarin, and delivered to whatever foreign reporters are currently in the country. Kurrapadh. Please get me a list of nations I will want to start speaking to."
