Grey Phoenix

[Sovereign Dixie]

OOC: For those not in the know, I was without internet access for the better part of 3 months, which covers the last half of the Eire Crisis thread, from which this continues. Pershing's and the CSSD's absence won't be really mentioned in this, basically, it's assumed that relations between the South and the DSA remained at their current state of frosty stagnation.


IC:

 Pershing read the newspaper while absently fumbling for the breathmints in the upper left hand desk drawer. A wooden fountain pen sat atop the desk, with a tablet of a texture which nearly resembled parchment. An idiosynchrosy to say the least, and Frasier Pershing's assistants were not only baffled by such strange demands, but rather irriated as well, it was often said that the reason Pershing kept his assistants around was so that he would not have to suffer the ire of bemused office supply store clerks, allowing the poor interns to suffer in his stead.

 He found the breath mints, absently placing one in his mouth, tucking it under his lip as he took a swig from a glass of whiskey which set on his desk. His gaze never left the paper.

 :"That impotent bastard, fucking Fremont, what the bloody hell is this clown's problem?" He thundered to a room occupied by himself and himself alone. He then folded the paper up, setting it at the left hand side of the desk, with same hand thereafter grabbing the fountain pen, he hastily scribbled a reply to Pete Tar-Iliuim

 

 Your Majesty,

 Your words of support humble and encourage me, that such a mighty empire such as yours may still posess the moral fortitude to not lose sight of the basic things in this world that matter, freedom, and self determination. It is my earnest desire that your assistance shall not be required, but I shall not hesitate to accept your offer, shall it be deemed in the best interests of The Southland.

 In Sincerest Grattitude,

 Frasier J. Pershing

 Pershing carefully folded the paper, placing it neatly in a cream coloured envelope, affixing a note to the front, with instructions that it was to be sealed and sent to the Myrorian Emperor.

 He withdrew a pack of cigarettes from the inside left hand breast pocket of his dark grey suit jacket, lighting it, he walked out the door to the back stage waiting area.

 Fremont was slowly but surely over extending his bounds, Pershing laughed softly as the thought formed. It was Fremonts hypocricy and arrogance that would be his undoing, and give the South the second chance it so greatly deserved. He recieved the que from the stagehand, stepping out in beat to what the producer called the "hard hitting, urgent, yet blue collar" music which had been chosen to be the theme tune for what was now one of the most popular news commentary shows in the nation.

 "Good evening America, I'm Frasier Pershing, and it's high time for some truth!" Uproarious applause at this, his most famous and memorable phrase.

 "The truth is that Mr. Fremont is quite possibly the most collossal hypocrite in the history of this nation. One side of his face condemning Stephen Crofts for avenging the deaths of innocents and spewing the virtues of the Eiren cause, and out of the other, supporting the oppression of and the discrimination against his own countrymen here in the Southland.

 The truth is that Fremont doesn't want you to know this glaring character flaw, and that he thinks he has Americans in his pocket when it comes to his hatred of Stephen Crofts, and of the South, for that matter, but tonight, for you, and the world to hear, I have live via satellite, Inglo-Scotian Consul of War Mark Anderson.

 "Mr Anderson, it is both a pleasure and an honour to have you here with us tonight. We here in America are often ill informed of goings on 'across the pond' and I wanted you to come on my show, and explain what is REALLY going on in Inglo-Scotia, Eire, and how this relates to the wretched deceptions of the Fremont administration and life here in the South. Mr Anderson?"

[Prydania]

The graphic opposite Pershing switched from the Commonwealth coat of arms to the face of Consul of War Mark Anderson, the black face of Mark Anderson.
Somewhere in Washington Eliot Fremont let out a quite but very pissed off "fuck."

"Thank you for having me Mr. Pershing.
I would like to say that this means a lot to us here in the Commonwealth. We've been through hell and back, and the international community, lead by the vindictive Eliot Fremont, has shunned us in our moment of need. You have no idea how comforting it is to know that we have supporters in the States. Your moral support is doing more then you think.

The nations of the world who consider themselves 'progressive' have condemned the Commonwealth regime as a criminal regime, an undemocratic regime. It is this type of bigotry, perpetuated by progressive socialists, that keeps the world ignorant of the truth of the Inglo-Scotian situation.
Stephen Crofts and the Action Party were elected democratically following a two year civil war. To say our new republican government was on shaky legs would have been an understatement. We all did what we had to do to preserve the liberty thousands died for. We have a parliamentary democratic system, democracy with a fist. Allow me to go on record, and I speak for the entire Commonwealth, the rumours of mass arrests, tortures, and prison camps only exist in the minds of progressives, liberals, and Marxists. We have executed only those who have killed innocents in the name of an old, tyrannical regime, or for independence of a province who frankly doesn't deserve that freedom. Everyone who has been executed in the Commonwealth had the benefit of a trial, something they themselves denied their victims."

"I assume you mean Erie when you mention a province seeking independents" Pershing asked.

"Yes. You see Erie was integrated into the Kingdom of Ingland in the 1100's. It was incorporated into the Empire of Inglo-Scotia in the 1600's. We're talking about an island that has been Inglo-Scotian for nine hundred years. And they want independence now? We can't be the only ones who think that's absurd. They were made a province with the formation of the Commonwealth. Legally speaking they're as equal as Ingland and Scotia. An independent Erie doesn't make any sense. It simply doesn't. Who does Eliot Fremont think he is, telling us we have to give up land that's been ours for over nine centuries.
Then the terrorists who lead the ERA blow up the most populated region of our capital with a dirty bomb, and Fremont celebrates the ERA masterminds as martyrs and condemns Stephen Crofts as a murderer. How can anyone with half a mind in their head accept that logic?
The fact is that Eliot Fremont is a plague sucking the life out of the southern region of his nation. Patriots like you Mr. Pershing are a godsend.
Rest assured that we in the Commonwealth support you, just as you and your fellow countrymen have supported us in our time of need."

[Sovereign Dixie]

 Pershing nodded, "Just as we too here find great comfort in knowing that our cries of outrage are not met with deaf ears by the international community. I for one, find it totally unacceptable that the Fremont administration mentioned not one word regarding the casualties of the radioactive bomb exploasion which was unleashed upon the innocent citizens of Inglo-Scotia, and yet had no shortage of words when Mr. Crofts put those responsible to justice."

 Pershing took a deep breath, exhaled, and looked dead into the camera. "Mr Anderson, It is my hope that as a man of your lineage and ancestry, a man who knows all to well the evils of bigotry and descrimination, both on the basis of colour and class, that you can offer your view point on this issue, not only to those here, but around the world.
 
 The leftists in this nation, encourage by the current administration, have been increasingly stereotyping Southerners as little more than incestuous bigots who live in substandard housing. What are your views on race relations in the Southern DSA as we near the end of the first decade of the 21st century?"

[Prydania]

"Mr. Pershing, I was born a slave under the old Imperial regime of Inglo-Scotia. I have lived through horrors my ethnic brothers of the Democratic States only know from tales of their great grandparents. I fought for my freedom, I fought alongside white Inglo-Scotians during our civil war on the side of Parliament.
Rest assured that from the bottom of my heart I wish nothing but the worst for anyone who condemns an individual based on the colour of their skin.
Yet I am a man who believes in moving forward. We as a people can not move forward toward equality as long as we let ourselves be consumed by hatred of the past.
I realize that the people of the southern Democratic States do not hold the same outdated patterns of thinking that their ancestors did. It is because of this that I, as a black man, forgive the southern people for indiscretions against the black race in the past. That was then. Things have changed. At least you did away with that heinous institution of slavery as society evolved, unlike the 'nobles' of my country, 'nobles' Mr. Fremont's Progressive Party supported during our civil war, by the way.
Look, cultures merge and evolve. The culture of southern blacks has evolved since emancipation, and it has coexisted with traditional white southern culture. Together these two components form a distinct culture, one very different from that of the rest of the Democratic States.
My brothers in the southern DSA, I lived through hells you have only heard of. I know the sting of a whip first hand. Don't let a whip from two hundred years back continue to keep you down through. You and your white countrymen have more in common then you think you do. Whites, your culture, one that has existed from before your Revolutionary war, is being threatened by progressive socialists who value political correctiveness over true culture. Southern blacks, your being kept under a veil of ignorance. The same progressive socialists have kept you wrapped in a frenzy of hate, unable to see the fact that they are keeping you from your own self-determination."

[Sovereign Dixie]

 For the last few minutes, every last person on the set had been silent, the words of wisdom from the Inglo-Scotian slowly making their mark on the psyches of not only those off camera, but upon Pershing himself. When Consul Anderson had finished, and his words hung about the room like a light which illuminated the minds of all present. Pershing was silent for a moment, then continued.

 "Mr Anderson, never before have the reasons for what we believe been made so eloquently clear. Time and time again the north has used the race card to sew discord in the south, and though I will be the first to admit that we have had our problems in that department, the past is indeed just that, the past.

 We here wish you and yours the best of foturnes in the weeks to come, and our condolences to the victims of the recent Eiren acts of madness. Thank you again for joining us, Consul Amderson."

 Pershings eyes cast a downward glance, staring down at interlaced fingers, moments of silence followed as disconcerted whispers among the camera crews began to display concern. When Pershing looked up, he seemed a different man, no longer a former General turned talk show pundit, but a man who was angry at the world around him, a pensive glare from his eyes shone directly into the camera, his words were deliberate and slow as he spoke.

 Ladies and gentlmen, that really is what it boils down to, isn't it? For nearly two hundred years, we have been used as pawns in a game that we didn't even know was being played. Kings and Queens and their knights in gilded armour bestroed grand ideals while keeping a bloody heel upon the neck of The South. And now... and now here we are. What comes next? What price do we pay for continued complacency?

 I, for one, do not want to find out. Southerners, and Americans who still remember Who They Are and What this Nation was supposed to Stand For, join us, join us now! Write your congressman, your governor, we must be heard! There is no alternative, no second place. When the consequences are so dire, victory has no rival.

 Everyone, think about the words you have heard here this evening, Goodnight and God Bless us all, we sure as hell need it."

[Democratic States of America]

Pershing's face vanished from the screen in the oval office in Washington. Elliot Frémont was livid. Southern secessionists sentiment had always been there. Frémont had made it Progressive Party police to deliver it its death blow, however. It all backfired. It had forced southern Americans to take sides. Frémont was a very capable public speaker, but he wasn't in Frasier Pershing's league, not by a long shot. That retired general had been a thorn in his side for the first two years of his presidency. Pershing had given the Federalists in Congress ammunition to question Frémont's will to contain the rising tide from the south.

"I want that drunken blow-hard off the air by sunrise" he said, calmly, but still very much pissed off.
"Um" Paul Rae, his chief of staff spoke up, "I would have to say FXX News would fight us on that. The First Amendment is hard to ignore."
"I don't give a rat's ass Paul!" the President yelled back.
"Call it whatever the hell you want. He's preaching hate, treason, and division. We can't let him stay on the air. Freedom of speech does not extend to treason."
"He's right Paul" Sam Heller, the Press Secretary, responded. "We could get him off the air."
"Just do it" Frémont demanded.
"Also," he responded, "have Senator Loren introduce a bill to ban the display of the Confederate flag. It's a symbol of violent acts of treason."
"Will do" Rae responded reluctantly.

"I'm off to bed" the President announced. "I want Pershing in the unemployment line by sun-up."

[Prydania]

Mark Anderson waited until the mic was removed before getting up.

"Excellent work Mark" Consul of Public Relations Tom Wilkiek said, saluting Anderson.
"I hope so. Anything to make that bastard Frémont sweat. I take it Field Marshal Theriot has finished Operation Avenge's preparation?"
"Yes sir" Wilkiek responded, acknowledging Anderson's position as head of government with Crofts and Destler in Irnotia.
"The war plans against the Democratic States have been finished. Every possible scenario has been explored and counted for."

"Good" Anderson responded.
"We go to a state of emergency as soon as Consul Destler returns."

[Sovereign Dixie]

 The air was mildly cold that night as Pershing sat on the deck of his home in upstate Alabama. the hour was quickly reaching dawn, but no matter what he tried, sleep would not come. He took a sip of whiskey, and leaned back in the chair, looking up at the sky.

 His mind wandered off in a million directions, and yet his heart could only go in one. Every ounce of his being weighed heavy with a sence of forboding.For all of his words, his fans, hell, even his money, all he could do was wait. The dance of the damned, he had often called it.

 The ring of his cell phone startled him to yell, feeling foolish and blaming the whiskey, he answered gruffly and was in turn greeted by the calm but strained tones of Michael Chamberlain boyhood friend and co councilor of The League of The South, a political movement focused on the preservation of Southern rights.

 "Frasier, Fremont's gone apeshit."

 Pershing's raised eyebrow was nearly audible as he spoke. "Mikey, he did that a long time ago, what the hell are you taking about."

 "He signed an executive order demanding that FXX take you off the air immediately."

 Pershing's laughed was booming and a tad nervous, only he knew the latter though. " Are you fucking serious? That ass clown actually took me off the air? The press is gonna have a fucking field day with this one. On what grounds?"

 "Treason, basically, I mean, there's a list of shit a mile long, but to sum it up, he says your show is treasonous."

 Pershing shook his head in silent dismay. "Wow, this guy isn't the longest french fry in the bag, is he? Fine, he wants to play hard ball, I'll play fucking hardball. I want you to call every talkshow from New York, to Dallas, to L.A. I dont care, I'll do them all, even that pompous fat ass Rhoda O'Doul. Get me air time Mikey, Call jack, have him call every fucking stadium, university, and kiddie birthday party he can find and get me in. I may not go down a hero, but I'll at the least go down as the man who wouldn't shut the hell up."

 Chamberlain seemed eased by Pershings grasp on the situation, a quick sigh followed by an assurance of even quicker results, and it had begun.

[Democratic States of America]

Office of Lee Bay, Editor in Chief, New Yorkshire Times
Bay had no idea why he was in his office just hours before dawn. He just had a feeling he should be there. Any other man would need more then a feeling to get up at 3 in the morning and drive across town, but Lee Bay got to where he was as a journalist by following his gut.

Suddenly the door to his office flew open, and Herb Coleman, his editor of the political section stood in the doorway gasping for breath.
"Thank G-d...you're....here...." he gasped.

"What's up Herb?" Bay asked.

"The Presi...the President....he just....kicked Pershing....of FXX."
"Shit...." Bay said half to himself. He wasn't necessarily a Pershing fan, but he knew a good story when he saw one, and this one was basically an early Christmas present. All he had to do was paint Pershing as a martyr, a man who went down fighting for what he believed in, and he would have trouble keeping issues in the news stands.

"Who else knows about this?" He asked Herb.
"The New Ustio Chronicle for sure" Coleman answered, referring to the top paper in New Yorkshire's twin city on Long Island.
"That's all I need. Get the night crew on this ASAP!" Bay demanded.

[Myroria]

Frasier J. Pershing,

I understand. Of all the things a modern monarchy needs to survive, personal freedom for all its subjects is likely at the forefront. Now, I do not want a war any more than the next man, but it may be inevitable if the South wishes to reform, or perhaps even gain their freedom from, the state that breaks its own values. Good day.

Peté Tar-Ilium

[Sovereign Dixie]

 The sleep in which Pershing entered was frought with the half conscious musings of his mind and the drunken ramblings of a fool. Time passed in the blink of an eye and the monumental caution of a glacier simultaneously. He was once again awakened by his cell phone, once again Chamberlains weary voice being conveyed to him.

 "We have you booked for a ralley in Raleigh Stadium the day after tommorow, followed by an interview for the New Yorkshire times, the latter seemed to want to get their claws in you pretty bad, I promised them your first press interview after the rally, hope you don't mind."

 The words streaked through Frasier's mind with the strength of a thousand hammers as he struggled to find their meaning through the haze of his thoughts and the lingering surrealism of his waking dreams.

 "That's fine..." He croaked in a raspy exhausted voice. As he answered the totality of his friends words and their results began to resonate in his conscious mind. "When do i need to leave?" He asked, still fumbling for his grip on matters of both time and place.

 "I have you booked on the 3am red eye, sorry Frash, it was the best I could do." Mike answered.

 "That's fine, fine by me, gives me a few more hours of shut eye."

 He flipped the phone shut, roling over to resume his slumber, upon awaking he threw on the bare essentials, a t-shirt, jeans, boots and hat, and fumbled his way to his truck parked out front, and hazily drove to the airport.

 His arrival was more than he could have expected. A throng of fans and reporters greeted him, he hugged and shook hands with the former, and ignored the latter altogether. Climbing into a rented SUV, he made his way to the hotel as directed to by Chamberlain in a phone call made later that day.

 Hours later, he was walking out onto the stage in the centre of Raleigh Stadium, the crowd was not as large as he would have hoped, only 50 % capicity of 35,000. It would do though, at this point, he reckoned, he could not affored to bitch about such petty things.

 He had no prepared words, no notes or que cards, he stepped up onto the stage and began to speak, the brim of his black hat covering the upper half of his face.

 "How y'all doin?" He asked, half stalling, half trying to set the mood, the thunderous applause said he had accomplished both.

 "As some of you know, that.... "gentlman" Fremont, pulled me off the air a couple of days ago. Now, yall can call me crazy, or whatever the hell else you want, but I could have sworn we have something called the 1st amendment!"

 The scene was one of rampant anger, the reminder of Fremont's actions inscenced the crowed like Pershing hadn't thought possible.

 "Treason.... that's what they're saying, that I'm condoning treason." He laughed slightly. "I've seen alot of things, but never in my life did I dream that a man elected by the people would turn and wipe his ass on our constitution. Now, what I'm about to say here, I've thought long and hard about, every alternitive conceivable has entered my mind, and been catagorically rejected. If the South is to survive, to regain her honour and pride, and secure a future of respect for her future sons and daughters, she has no other choice. We must secceede. We must do so immediately."

 The crowd reacted with a combination of stunned silence and uproarious approval.

 "Now, I know, alot of ya'll are thinking that there has to be another way, I say to you, that as sure as I stand before you, that there is no other way. If fate is to favour our cause, we must make it our mistress, and seize it wholeheartedly and without reservation."

 He continued to speak for another half an hour and as the combination of passion and personal pain flowed from him, he drew more and more applause, and less stunned silence.....

 He tipped his had, and turned towards backstage, heading towards his appointment with the Times reporter....

[Zimmerwald]

Well, this presents something of a dilemma, thought Aram to himself, pacing the now well-worn floors of his office.  He hadn't slept a wink that night, preferring instead to imbibe obscene amounts of coffee and to smoke several cigarettes (Viktor's Zuavka spiel hadn't been that convincing), while brooding over this latest foreign policy crisis.  On the one hand, America had performed an honorable role in Eire, standing up to Crofts and his minions.  This Pershing seemed to be colluding with the Inglo-Scotians, and legitimizing their imperialism.

However, on the other side of the coin, if the Southern States wanted sovereignty and self-determination, wasn't it a fallacy to deny it?  And wouldn't it be a fallacy for him to support Fremont against any secession attempt, as this speech transcript seemed to indicate would happen?  What was the best way to balance these problems?  How could Gallipoli-China maintain its position on anti-imperialism without becoming everybody's enemy?  Either, it seemed, he could support the DSA and Eire, in which case he'd alienate I-S and Dixie, or vice versa.

So much for states, he thought to himself ruefully.  There was no middle ground there.  However, there were personalities to consider.  After all, Fremont didn't seem like the type to take his nation to war over a diplomatic offense, while Crofts was definately more touchy.  He could afford to offend him.  He might even appeal to Fremont's sense of guilt.

Pershing, on the other hand, was another matter.  Aram didn't know if his friendlyness with imperialists were an "enemy of my enemy" strategy or a manefestation of actual sympathy.  Nor did he think that Pershing would be too grateful of aid from a Communist.  Still, he had to do something, otherwise he'd be alienating everybody, and that would never do.

Notes, notes, notes...my entire life at this point consists of writing notes.  I wish I could do something more proactive, Aram thought to himself as he began typing.  Notes were effective, as far as they went, but it felt very bureaucratic all the same.  By the end of the hour he had two notes composed.  Well, one diplomatic note and one personal letter.  At that point he fell asleep, and had to delete several hundred erroneous "y"s from the end of the second note before sending them.

To: President Eliot Fremont, Democratic States of America

President Fremont, let me first say that I have the utmost respect for the American constitution.  Its First Amendment inspired Articles 49-51 of our Constitution, while other Amendments correspond to other Articles.  That said, I find it hard to understand why you decided to censor certain television programs and networks based in your nation yesterday.

Such an action only weakens your hand in foreign relations.  I watched, too weak to do anything, with an unconstituted government, while America did its utmost to defend the rights of the Eirean people to self-determination and freedom from imperialism.  I applaud your efforts.  However, your actions hurt your moral position on this issue, as with all issues of imperialism in the future.

Furthermore, such actions only legitimize the calls for secession.  If your people see these actions, however you spin them, they will see tyranny at work, and will support those who oppose you.

I have no interest in seeing the might of America curbed by internal strife.  Doing so would only strengthen the forces of imperialism around the world.  I urge you to rescind your order of censorship, not so much out of concern for my nation, but out of concern for yours, and for the oppressed nations who look at America as a nation that may someday help them to be free.

Yours respectfully,
Aram Caros, Foreign Relations Committee Chairman, Gallipoli-China

Dear Frasier Pershing,

I write this, not as diplomatic correspondance, which would be illegal under your nation's Logan Act (OOC: this act, which prevents private citizens from carrying on diplomcay, actually exists in RL, and since the DSA is basically the USA, I thought it would have it as well), but as a personal message of solidarity.  I, and my whole government, knows what it's like to have press censored, liberties revoked, and rights abridged.  So I feel a special kinship with you, who must, like our people, struggle to regain those liberties and rights.

I wish to let you know that my nation shall bring full pressure to bear on your government to restore your right to speak.  If that fails, I cannot make any promises, but our people care greatly about the rights of the oppressed in Eire, in Ryazania, in Bustos' colonies, in Vakour's colonies, in the Mercantilist Dominions, and in Dixie, and will want to...sympathise with your cause.

I understand there might be a certain reluctance to accept...sympathy from a Socialist nation, but I urge you to put that aside, and to remember that politics makes strange bedfellows.

Keep in touch,
Aram Caros

[Myroria]

Peté walked the tiled halls of his Georgian country home, the Monet, in the small town of Georgetown, west of Novrith, glasses perched precariously on his nose. He was reading the transcript of the meeting at a stadium in the Democratic States where Pershing urged his fellow Southroners to declare their independence. Tar-Ilium was not afraid of war with America, oh no, their teenagers seemed to him and his countrymen to be just as much a threat to the government as Myroria's armies were. However, he did not want to recognize Southron independence until it had actually been declared and a government made; doing so before would be akin to recognizing one of Rakata's many warring factions as the legitimate government.

Pushing open an ajar door, he entered his study, still reading, and sat at his desk, almost not needing to look up at all. Dropping the paper on his desk and flicking on the banker's lamp in the dark room, he read the last few sentences before sitting back in his chair. He knew the DSA wouldn't let the South go free without a fight - it violated a Supreme Court case issued shortly after the War Between the States - rather, the First War Between the States, as he sensed it would soon be called. This would give them some international support, he assumed - they had the law on their side. But at the same time, they were violating their own constitution left and right, and one Supreme Court case wouldn't change that.

The army was currently on Myrorian Army Preparedness Code (MAPC, pronounced "Map" for short, no one knew what happened to the "c") one, the lowest it could be. Once the DSA showed any sign of trying to prevent the South from seceding, it'd be bumped to MAPC two - hopefully that'd be enough a threat, but if they continued, war was not out of the question. Myroria harboured Muslims - they'd be branded as a terrorist nation, he knew, especially after the attacks. Peté always ran large situations in his head, exploring every possible thing that could happen.

Peté decided not to issue an official statement - yet. He decided that as soon as the South formed a constitution, likely after they declare their independence, he'd recognize them. And with that, he retired to bed.

[Prydania]

Admiral Thomas Paine, Field Marshal Andrew Theriot, Air Marshal Conway Jordan, and Consul of War Mark Anderson occupied the conference room usually reserved for Council of State meetings.

The doors opened slowly, and Lord Protector Stephen Crofts and Consul of Foreign Affairs Erik Destler, just returned from Irnotia, entered. Crofts took his seat at the head of the table, while Destler stood in the corner, puffing on a Bowser & Fern cigarette.

"I hadn't seen your appearance on Pershing's show, but I herd you were very persuasive" the Lord Protector mentioned, complementing his Consul of War.
"I would like to think so" Anderson responded in a humble yet confident manner.

"I take it the Project has been completed then" Crofts enquired to his General Staff.

"Yes sir" Theriot responded.
"Every possible situation has been accounted for in painstaking detail."

"Destler" Crofts asked, despite not turning to face his Consul of Foreign Affairs still puffing away in the corner of the room, "we officially recognize the Confederacy the moment they set up anything resembling a working government. Understood?"
"Most definitely" Destler responded, finishing off his latest cigarette.

"Make no mistake about it gentlemen" Crofts gravely stated, "this Commonwealth will be at war. We can not allow the Confederacy to collapse.
Long Live the Victorious Revolution gentlemen."

[Democratic States of America]

Senator Daniel Loren of Wisconsin (P) sipped his glass of ice cold Moxie-Cola. Other then water, and the occasional ceremonial glass of wine, he only drank Moxie. He didn't drink alcoholic beverages if he could help it.
He was up late, and yes it was technically Sunday by now, but he wanted the feeling he had gained to never go away. Not only had the President effectively exiled Frasier Pershing from the airwaves, but he had rammed a law through the senate banning the display, manufacture, and sale of the Confederate flag.

It was a particularly great feeling. The southern senators (mostly Federalists) and even some northern Federalists had heckled him, threw insults at him. They cried out that he was "raping the Constitution."
Daniel loved it. He generally believed in the concept of human equality, and the Social Progressive Perspective that taught respect for all viewpoints, but when he compared his views, and by extension the views of the Progressive Party, to the views of the more conservative Federalist Party and the League of the South, he couldn't help but feel a sense of superiority. The Progressives knew how to move America forward, and if the Constitution needed to be ignored now and then to reach that promised land of Progressive ideals, then so be it. Order would be restored at the end of the day. 

"That Mark Anderson is a traitor to his race" Loren said to himself, referring to Stephen Crofts' Consul of War.
"If the African-Americans of the south take his advice they'll all end up in chains again."

The victory was extra sweet considering what happened in the House. The Senate had passed the bill in a relatively easy manner. The Progressives controlled most northern states, and they outnumbered the southern states. Considering each state got two votes he had the numbers.
In the House however, the more populous southern states had put up a fight. Still, New York and California alone gave the Progressives the numbers they needed to push the ban on the CSD flag through.

"It won't come to war" he thought to himself.
"It's all talk. You can't lead a backwards thinking horse to water."