Gift of Revelation by Robert Fleming Read Free Book Online Page A

then introduced himself again as Reik Hasseem, editor of one of the four newspapers in northern Sudan. I dropped into it and watched him. He sat down behind his desk and launched into a discussion of the current situation in Sudan. He told me that democracy would probably not take root in his country, because there are two major factors militating against it, one tribal and the other spiritual. Muslim against Christian. Then he addressed the role that the United States had played in Sudan.
    â€œLike Clinton, Obama has no guts,” Hasseem remarked nastily in heavily accented English. “In two thousand ten Obama used the annual conference at the UN to bring attention to the crisis in my country. We thought he would bring peace. We thought he would do nothing like Clinton did with Rwanda. If he had pushed for a referendum to sever the country, to recognize the Islamist government in Khartoum and the largely Christian black population in the south, the current catastrophe could have been avoided.”
    â€œI think the president was battling some enemies at home. The GOP in Congress was trying to prevent him from making any progress on his domestic agenda,” I answered. “He was also trying to fix the sick American economy. The previous president has wrecked it with two wars that the United States could not afford.”
    â€œBut Obama, as a black man, must have realized the importance of Africa,” the editor suggested. “After all, he’s part African. This was a golden opportunity for him to do something great.”
    â€œObama had his hands full,” I said, watching his two aides, who were staring at me from their posts near the door. “He was putting his fingers into too many holes in the dyke. He ran out of fingers.”
    Hasseem snorted. “At least Bush did something. His people got an agreement from both sides, ending the conflict between the government and the rebels. He also got assurances from us that we would allow the southerners to vote in five years on whether they would remain part of Sudan or would gain their independence.” I was starting to feel like a stupid American. “Do you know your Sudanese history, Reverend?”
    I sat up in my seat, my expression betraying my surprise. “How did you know I was a pastor?”
    The editor waved some press clippings at me and told me that they had done their homework. “I know everything about you, what happened to your family, what happened to you at your church in Harlem, what happened to you in Alabama. If I know all this about you, you can be assured the government’s security forces know more.”
    I was stunned. I smacked my hand against my sweaty forehead. “Oh, man, maybe that is why I was followed here.”
    â€œAs a Muslim, I support the government. Not in everything it does, but most of its actions,” he said, nodding his head at his aides. “You know about Darfur. Some terrible things have happened there, but still our president, Omar al-Bashir, must do what is necessary.”
    â€œThe West doesn’t like it,” I countered. They especially didn’t like it when the Islamic Sudanese government showed their might against Darfur’s non-Arab people in 2003, launching a full-scale ethnic cleansing. The West called it genocide, which is what it was. Your president allowed it to happen.”
    â€œHe doesn’t care about the West and what it says,” Hasseem answered. “Do you know why he doesn’t, my American pastor friend?”
    I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
    â€œ Our president still ignores the will of southern Sudan to govern itself. Also, there is oil there in the south. Some eighty percent of our country’s oil reserves are there, so the war continues.”
    â€œThe UN doesn’t like it, none of it,” I argued. “There is genocide occurring there, full-scale genocide.”
    He leaned back, snapped his