Chapter 1410: Chapter 677: Does This Look Like a Camp Division?
United Nations Conference Hall.
Today, it seems rather quiet.
The photos of the Brazilian Rosinia Slum spread out on the wooden tabletop, French representative Pierre Lel pushed the photos to the center of the table and began to challenge.
“Mr. Joachim Ribbentrop!”
Pierre’s voice wrapped in a Parisian accent, “Can you dare to look directly at these images? Houses collapsed with babies still nursing buried inside, crying mothers clutching their children injured by shrapnel—this is xico’s so-called ‘iron-fisted drug control’, it’s outright slaughter!”
Seated at xico’s spot, Joachim slowly lifted his gaze, dressed in a neatly pressed dark gray suit with a ticulously tied tie, but his eyes slightly bloodshot, looking very weary.
He didn’t answer imdiately; instead, he reached for the photo at the very edge, showing a narrow slum alley with several drug traffickers in camouflage pants aiming guns at a photographer, with “Red Command” graffiti on the wall in the background.
“Mr. Lel.”
Joachim sneered, “You seem to forget the community policeman whose hand was chopped off by drug traffickers, his daughter still dares not walk at night, you see only the children among the ruins, but you don’t see the fear in the eyes of children when drug traffickers use them as human shields?”
“Sophistry!”
“This is sophistry!”
British representative David Caron slamd the table, “You’re confusing concepts! xico supports the Brazilian President’s strong assault, fundantally using violence to cover up inept governance! You call these people drug traffickers, where’s the evidence? Can bullets test for drugs? Can they prove that every corpse beneath the ruins is tainted by drug trade?”
The sound of debates erupted instantly in the hall, the Italian representative then tapped the microphone: “Mr. Ribbentrop, the fifteen countries of the European Union have received a joint petition from Brazilian citizens; they’re asking for peace talks, not mortars! Yet xico is fanning the flas behind, are you waiting to see Latin Arica turn into hell on earth?”
Joachim suddenly stood up, he didn’t touch the microphone in front of him but walked step by step to the center of the conference table, sweeping his gaze across each face filled with skepticism or anger.
“Mr. Caron asks , can bullets test for drugs.”
His voice was not high, yet very firm, “Then I want to ask you back, when drug traffickers strap a bomb to a pregnant woman’s belly, do you first authenticate the bomb’s identity? When drug traffickers hide drugs in children’s backpacks, do you first analyze the composition of the powder?”
Joachim Ribbentrop took a stack of photos from his deputy Arthur Zimrman, he picked one out and showed it to everyone.
“Ladies and gentlen, this is Rosinia Slum, several drug traffickers are stuffing AK-47s into the hands of fifteen- to sixteen-year-old boys.”
Joachim’s voice carried suppressed fury, “That boy being handed a gun, was killed yesterday in a standoff with the Brazilian Army, according to your logic, is he innocent? But his gun was already aid at soldiers trying to rescue civilians! The so-called evidence you speak of, becos an accomplice in murder the mont drug traffickers use children as weapons!”
The French representative Pierre turned red, reached to press the microphone but was nailed to his seat by Joachim’s gaze:
“Mr. Lel, you just said Latin Arica is turning into hell on earth, don’t forget, three years ago in xico, twenty children lost their parents to drug wars every day, on the beaches of Cancun, there were corpses dismbered by drug traffickers floating. It was us who used violence to drive drug traffickers out of schools, out of hospitals, now children in xico can safely walk the road to school, do you call this hell?”
“You all keep saying life is above all, but is your notion of life only for those not hard by drug traffickers?”
Joachim’s voice suddenly rose, “The President of Brazil doesn’t want to compromise, not because he’s cold-blooded, but because he knows, if he bows to drug traffickers today, tomorrow every slum in Latin Arica will have children wielding guns! xico supports him, not for violence, but for letting those children not yet polluted by drug traffickers see the sun rise tomorrow!”
British representative David opened his mouth, wanting to say sothing, but was interrupted by Joachim:
“You ask how to identify them as drug traffickers? I can clearly tell you in xico, every drug trafficker gang being targeted has complete transaction records, witnesses, and material evidence; before the Brazilian Army struck, seventy percent of civilians were evacuated, but drug traffickers? They locked civilians inside, using their lives as moral shields, while you wield their deliberately created ‘photos of ruins’, standing on a moral high ground accusing us of immorality!”
He suddenly leaned forward, hands on the conference table, “I know what you’re thinking, you fear the chaos of Latin Arica affecting Europe’s interests, fear our iron-fist breaking your so-called civilized order, but your civilization is watching drug traffickers exchange children’s blood for money, yet still talking about negotiations; it’s watching soldiers sacrifice to rescue civilians, yet still saying violence is wrong!”
“To hell with you, double-standard hypocrites!”
“Have you beco accustod to being high above, understand this, there’s no chance of compromise in drug control.”
The conference hall was silent.
Joachim straightened up, adjusted his tie, his tone becoming calm again yet undeniably firm:
“xico will not cease supporting the Brazilian President because we know, if we retreat a step today, tomorrow more children will die under drug traffickers’ guns. You can unite to strangle us, use photos and public opinion to call us tyrants, but as long as one drug trafficker continues to use children as weapons, our bullets will not stop!”
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