100,000 Moldovan troops rolled into our country
in the quiet stealth of 3 am
70,000 entered our city, Washington,
while the rest sealed the perimeter.
My father, a mid-level government employee,
was taken from our home to the
Pentagon, which the occupation forces
now use as a detention center
An omnipresent whir of helicopters
and hum of drones hang overhead
like a canker sore, swelling and infected
Traffic is choked by checkpoints,
so we try to limit our time outdoors,
opting to work remotely if our
jobs haven’t been negated
I’ve been questioned by Moldovan forces many times.
Once I was blindfolded and brought into
a military Humvee. The questioner excoriated
me in a barely understandable English accent
He was sure I was guilty of plotting against
the occupation with “terrorist” forces
After I repeatedly insisted my innocence, he
relented but then asked me to condemn
my father as a “subversive agent for the American regime.”
That, I told him, I could not do. His eyes became fires that
threatened to scorch me with years
in the Pentagon’s dark basement cells.
But suddenly, he had a call on his two-way radio.
It was a major insurgent attack by
the resistance. I was abruptly thrown out
from the moving Humvee and, for the time being, forgotten.
Shortly thereafter, I wrote a petition to the Occupational Authority
asserting my rights as an American citizen and under
international law. I told them that this occupation and invasion
was illegal. Where was the due process
for detaining people? How could they brutalize detainees, who
are protected by the Geneva Convention?
Subsequently, I was arrested in the middle of the night
and taken to the notorious Pentagon prison. Here the conditions are
worse than one could ever imagine. Before interrogation, we
are sleep-deprived and placed inside a freezer for
hours at a time.
But, on the upside, I have made many friends
with other detainees. We discuss how we will mount resistance
upon release, that will bleed the occupation until they’re forced
from DC and all the United States.
Recently, I was interrogated by an erudite-looking Moldovan
intelligent officer. He inquired, not without irony,
“You complain of our ‘unjust’ occupation and our supposed
shoddy morality. But,” he paused, chuckling dryly,
looking at me straight in the eyes,
“we’re just following your country’s footsteps.
We are simply walking a path that you, yourself, have designed!”