A hush fell like a sheet of cold ice on the room as the senior member of the Politburo rose to his feet. Everyone could see the gaunt features stretched like butter scraped over too much bread on his fragile, pale face. And yet when he spoke in his high-pitched Georgian accent it seemed like a lion stomped the grounds of the Nineteenth Party Congress. He took a deep breath and then launched his skiff into waters from which he would never return. “I am old, comrades, the time is now quickly approaching when others will have to continue doing what I have done. The situation in the world is complex and difficult. We have just begun our struggle with the capitalist camp, and that which lies ahead of us will test the mettle of the firmest communist among us. The most dangerous thing to do in this struggle is to flinch, to take fright, to retreat, or to capitulate. Cowards do not belong among us, we cannot capitulate. Comrades, we must be strong in this fight against capitalism, and it is you who must carry on the fight.” It was October 16th, as fragile as he appeared few would have guessed what would happen next.
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