by David D. Horowitz
Husband Kills Wife, Three Kids, Self—
and the romance once seemed a beautiful dream. He had bought her bouquets of roses, cards featuring rainbows above fields, and a silver and turquoise bracelet. He drove a blue Toyota with papers all over the back seat, but he treated her at her favorite Mexican restaurant every Friday night, and he had a wonderful job at an insurance company. He was rising, and she would join and support him.
She ended several friendships of which he disapproved, but he was so sweet. She did not dare displease him. She admitted she could flirt a bit much, so perhaps he had a point. Anyway, she loved him, and how often does true love come along?
After the honeymoon in Rio, there were the occasional tantrum and slap, the shattered vase and flung trashcan—but, sigh, one tolerated episodes to keep love aflame. The unpaid bills, though, and the credit card maxed out under her name—she couldn’t tolerate that. She had her spending issues, to be sure, but she knew she’d hadn’t charged more than a few items recently. What was going on?! And his nights out drinking and coming home spoiling for argument—she spoke up and was slapped hard. Finally, he admitted he had been laid off—just as she had been promoted at the supermarket. His jealousy consumed him, and she started to feel afraid. Indeed, she started to contemplate escape, had contacted her mother about housing the kids in case she left.
He’d repeatedly, tearfully apologized. He pleaded for more time. Just yesterday, he claimed to have joined AA, and he bought her two scarlet roses in a vase with a pink ribbon around its neck. Now, this: her complaint about his having come home at dawn with whiskey breath and red-eyed accusation. A concerned neighbor called 9-1-1, and the police discovered the bulleted corpses in blood-spattered bedrooms.
Premier, in Speech, Demands Unity—
and denounces dissidents. The Premier also announced delay of promised reforms. Elections were postponed indefinitely, and enterprises would still need his office’s approval before hiring new employees. Paperwork, and people, had been known to disappear after disagreement with the Premier.
Two years ago his predecessor died. The Premier assumed power promising liberty and unity, elections and an unfettered news media. Once he assumed power, though, the press started criticizing him. His secret police began to bug, wiretap, and harass his opponents. A contentious newspaper editorialist died in a car accident one rainy night, and an investigative journalist was shot to death outside a restaurant by an assailant who escaped. The Premier still boasted of his commitment to freedom but in speeches before hand-picked party loyalists. Fearful former friends stayed home.
So, few were surprised when the Premier declared martial law, a day after ten thousand protesters marched peaceably to the capital building’s steps. Nor were many surprised army guards shot five protesters—or by whispers the Premier’s agents provocateurs had conspired with the guards.
One of the Premier’s former allies muttered to his wife in bed that night: I should have waited to see details of policies and evidence of deep commitment to media liberty. Otherwise, hopes are merely dreams, and a dream can quickly become a nightmare.