Free Gift of Revelation by Robert Fleming

Muslim, especially hates Christians, and that’s you.”
    I watched the lines of marchers running toward the confrontation, eager and willing, determined to take a few blows to make their point. Surprisingly, a number of teens joined them, armed with nothing but their cell phones, to record the abuse that would be heaped on them. It was incredible to see them smiling and happy about going against the almighty protectors of the regime.
    â€œWho are the bad guys?” I asked. “I want to know the score.”
    â€œIt’s Sudan’s National Intelligence and Security Service who are keeping a lid on things,” she explained. “They’ve got a lot of dissidents behind bars, where they beat and torture them, and keep them incommunicado, without access to their lawyers or their families.”
    I was stunned. “Are those guys following us in the National Intelligence and Security Service?”
    â€œProbably,” she answered drily.
    Frightened, the driver let us off three blocks from the demonstration, suggesting that we walk the rest of the way. When we turned around, the driver was already backing up. Then he revved the engine and pulled down a side street. Nudging my arm, Elsa pointed to where the car that had been following us was parking at the curb. We watched as the two men who’d been inside it shoved their guns under their jackets, then ran to catch up with us.

9
    WONDERLAND
    Up ahead, the street was lined with two platoons of soldiers in riot gear, weapons and tear gas at the ready. Behind them stood three trucks of thugs wielding batons and clubs, prepared to punish and break bones and heads. I saw nearly fifty plainclothes officers standing near two armored cars, holding firm as replacements if the crowd got really out of hand, if the advantage of superior force couldn’t smash the protesters.
    â€œOh yes, oh yes. Let’s get it on.” Elsa chuckled, the joy upon her, as if she were a new religious convert. “President al-Bashir cannot say he’s honoring the right to freedom of expression and assembly. All lies. They want to break some heads, make some arrests.”
    This was like the infamous march in Selma or Birmingham, with Dr. King and his followers going head-to-head against the bigoted cracker sheriff, his armed redneck men, the powerful fire hoses, the vicious police dogs. I watched their stoic faces. They were unafraid. Their courage made you proud and humble.
    â€œI think the villains are going to give them a bad time,” I said, seeing the soldiers lift their tear-gas guns.
    Elsa looked me in the eye, inspired, too, by their bravery and boldness. “These people have got to do this, because if they don’t, the regime will never end,” she said. “Al-Bashir’s henchmen are taking them from their homes and arresting them at their jobs. No warrants at all. The president means business. He’s not going to give up without a fight, not like Mubarak in Egypt.”
    The rows of security forces prepared for the thousands of protesters marching toward them, taking a defensive stance, watching the stragglers on the sidewalks. Some of the men and women clutched pipes, rocks, and bottles. Other specially equipped troops were suspiciously eyeing the demonstrators who had blocked the street with hastily constructed barriers to keep out reinforcements. Their signs read DOWN WITH THE REGIME ! and PRESIDENT AL-BASHIR MUST GO !
    â€œThe government orders you to stop where you are, and if you do not, then we will be forced to disperse this crowd,” one man, with a chest full of military medals, yelled through a bullhorn. “We do not want to use extreme measures, but we will. Anyone who will not leave the area will be subject to criminal and disciplinary proceedings. Leave!”
    Suddenly, someone threw a rock at the Plexiglas shields of the soldiers, who then struck aggressive poses with their batons and moved forward in a