Chapter 10: The Return Strategy

 

The next time I visited Dr Rasuawahi’s suite, the atmosphere had changed completely.

Gone were the emotional delegates and their trembling pleas.

Tonight, the room felt… operational.

Churimaka, John Knowitall, and the eternally smiling local businessman were seated around a table covered with laptops, printouts, maps, and what looked suspiciously like polling data from Juburti.

This was no longer storytelling.
This was strategy.

Rasuawahi gestured for me to sit.

“Good, good. You arrived in time,” he said. “Tonight, you will see how nations are saved.”

The way he said “saved” made me think the nation might need saving from him.

The Four Pillars of Return

Churimaka clicked a projector.
A slide appeared:

THE RETURN OF DR RASUWAHI
Pillar 1: Narrative
Pillar 2: Religious Legitimacy
Pillar 3: Foreign Support
Pillar 4: Public Emotion

He pointed at Pillar 3.

“This is the most important. And we have secured it.”

I looked at Rasuawahi.

“Foreign support? From who?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“From America, of course.”

I nearly choked on my coffee.

---

How America Chooses Its “Democrats”

John Knowitall stepped forward confidently.

“You must understand,” he said, “the United States does not support leaders. The United States supports interests.”

“What interests do they have in Juburti?” I asked.

John smiled as if explaining simple arithmetic.

“Oil. Minerals. Strategic access. And above all, predictability.”

“And I am predictable,” Rasuawahi declared proudly.

“Predictable?” I asked.

He leaned back.

“I keep my deals. I keep their bases. I keep my mouth shut in international forums. I do not oppose them publicly. And I do not make the mistake of siding with their enemies.”

He paused.

“And most importantly… they know I can control my people.”

Control. He said it like a man reciting a virtue.

Churimaka clicked the next slide:

MEMORANDUM OF UNDERSTANDING
— CONFIDENTIAL —
Subject: Support for Transitional Stability

“What is this?” I asked.

John cleared his throat.

“A confidential note from a certain department in Washington. Non-binding, but significant. It indicates openness to recognising Dr Rasuawahi should he… return to public service.”

“In simple English?” I asked.

“In simple English,” John said, “the Americans prefer him to the current Juburtian leadership.”

I leaned back.
This was no longer exile.
This was foreign-assisted reincarnation.

Why America Wants Him Back

Rasuawahi stood up and began pacing like a lecturer.

“Let me explain why powerful nations love leaders like me.”

He raised a finger.

“One: I am secular enough for them to trust me.”

Another.

“Two: I am religious enough for my people to trust me.”

Another.

“Three: I stabilise chaos. Chaos is bad for business.”

And a fourth.

“Four: I open doors to American companies. No bureaucracy. No bidding. No questions.”

He smiled with satisfaction.

“You see? I am good for everyone. Especially myself.”

A thought crossed my mind—how easily global powers embrace leaders who guarantee stability over integrity, compliance over conscience.
It was a familiar pattern in many parts of the world.
I did not say this aloud.
Rasuawahi was not the kind of man who enjoyed mirrors.

Religious Legitimacy

Churimaka moved to Pillar 2.

He clicked, revealing a slide showing photos of Juburtian clerics with captions:

• “Leader chosen by God?”

• “Lightning: Divine Warning?”

• “Return of the Blessed One?”

Even I felt dizzy.

“Sir,” I asked, “is it wise to mix religion with politics at this level?”

He smiled, amused by my innocence.

“My dear lawyer, if you remove religion from politics, what will people cling to? Logic? Facts? Policy papers?”

He leaned closer.

“People want to feel safe and righteous. Religion does both.”

John added eagerly:

“Also, American evangelicals like him. They find him charming. And he knows how to quote Scripture when needed.”

Rasuawahi nodded modestly.

“Yes. Religion at home. Religion abroad. Let both sides feel I am chosen.”

The Masterstroke: A Return Framed as Divine and Democratic

Churimaka clicked the final slide:

PHASE 4: THE GRAND RETURN
Message:
‘The People Call. God Confirms. The World Approves.’

I stared at the slogan.

“That sounds… dangerous,” I said.

“That sounds perfect,” Rasuawahi corrected.

He lit a Havana cigar.

“You see, lawyer… the masses want a hero. The clerics want a sign. America wants a partner. The businessmen want access. The poor want hope. The frightened want order.”

He exhaled.

“And when all these desires align, a leader becomes inevitable. Even if that leader was once rejected.”

A chill danced down my spine.

People forget because someone constantly offers them a new illusion to believe in.

The Narrator’s Realisation

As the meeting ended, I stepped out of the suite with a heaviness that clung to me.

A single thought circled in my mind:

How do people forget their suffering so quickly?
Why do they return to the very men they once removed?

The answer was beginning to take shape:

People mistake desperation for revelation,
and confusion for divine signs.
They choose familiarity over reason,
emotion over memory.

And men like Dr Rasuawahi thrive not despite this,
but because of it.

Next: Chapter 11 – The Homecoming Ceremony

Integrasi, Bukan Asimilasi, Sayang !

Dr Rasuawahi from Juburti – Chapter 9: Signs from Heaven

I reached Dr Rasuawahi’s suite earlier than usual that evening, though I told myself it was because of KL traffic and not because my curiosity was defeating my common sense. When the door opened, I saw three unfamiliar men in the room—two elderly, one middle-aged, all dressed in traditional Juburtian attire.

They looked nervous.

They looked desperate.

And they looked at Rasuawahi the way pilgrims look at a saint’s relic.

“Lawyer,” he said, “meet the delegation from Juburti.”

Delegation?

I thought it would be a couple of political operatives.

Not three men who looked like they had spent the day weeping.

The eldest among them stepped forward. His hands trembled as he held a folder wrapped in cloth.

“Your Excellency,” he said in heavily accented English, “we bring news… and signs.”

I immediately sensed trouble. Any sentence containing “news” and “signs” rarely ends with logic.

They began speaking rapidly in Juburtian.

Rasuawahi nodded gravely, occasionally glancing at me as if to ensure I was absorbing the emotional choreography.

Finally, he turned to me.

“They say the people are praying for my return,” he translated. “The situation has become unbearable. Prices are soaring. Businesses are collapsing. The military is divided. And…,” he paused for emphasis, “they believe heaven is giving signs.”

“Signs?” I repeated.

He nodded.

“Yes. Apparently, Juburti had a sudden dust storm last week. The clerics interpreted it as divine displeasure at the current leadership.”

My eyebrows rose on their own.

“And yesterday,” he continued, “a lightning bolt struck the Presidential Palace gate. The people say it is a warning. Some believe it is a call for change.”

I swallowed.

I could see very clearly where this was going.

The middle-aged man stepped forward, speaking slowly as if choosing each word with spiritual care.

“In the mosques, the imams are saying our suffering is because we turned away from the leader chosen by God. They say Juburti will not heal until you return.”

He looked at Rasuawahi with teary devotion.

“They say you are the one sent to restore balance.”

I wanted to ask:

Which balance? The corrupt balance? The manipulative balance? The balance of power that benefits him?

But I held my tongue. Wisdom, I am learning, sometimes means selective muteness.

Rasuawahi remained composed.

He lowered his head slightly, as if humbled by divine mention.

But his eyes—his eyes glowed with the satisfaction of a man whose script was unfolding perfectly.

“Lawyer,” he said gently, “this is what you must understand. Religion is the heartbeat of society. When people are afraid, they look to heaven for answers. And when heaven is silent, they choose a human symbol.”

“You?” I asked.

“No,” he said, placing his hand on his chest modestly.

“A symbol of hope. If that symbol happens to be me, then I must bear the responsibility.”

The responsibility.

This man could turn a coup into charity work.

The oldest of the delegation now opened the folder wrapped in cloth. Inside was a petition—handwritten signatures covering page after page after page. The first line read:

“In the name of God, we ask Dr Rasuawahi to save our nation.”

I felt cold.

“These signatures,” the man said, “were collected outside mosques after Friday prayers. People cried as they signed. They believe your return is not political… but spiritual.”

Spiritual.

The word hung in the air like incense.

I suddenly realised why authoritarian leaders throughout history love religion—not for God, but for legitimacy. God does not vote, but His name is politically priceless.

“Sir,” I whispered, “is this… ethical?”

He smiled sympathetically at my middle-class moral anxiety.

“Ethical? My dear lawyer, ethics is a luxury reserved for those outside the battlefield. In politics, ethics is whatever keeps the nation from tearing itself apart. And if the people need a spiritual narrative to unite… who am I to deny them?”

I blinked.

He continued.

“Religion is powerful because it reaches the heart faster than logic. When the heart moves, the nation moves. A leader only rides the wave Heaven already sent.”

I almost coughed out loud at that theological acrobatics.

The delegation spoke again, pleading with him to return.

One of them began to cry softly as he described children eating scraps, and mothers skipping meals to feed their families.

Then he said the line that froze my spine:

“Your Excellency… when the lightning struck the palace gate, the people said it was God calling His true leader home.”

I looked at Rasuawahi instantly.

His expression did not change, but his shoulders rose slightly—as though accepting a divine appointment letter.

He took a deep breath.

“My beloved Juburti,” he said to them, “has always been under divine guidance. If what you say is true… then perhaps destiny is speaking.”

The delegation dropped their heads, whispering prayers.

As I left the suite that night, I felt something far heavier than before.

Not fear.

Recognition.

I realised that political manipulation through religion works because:

• people are frightened,
• people want meaning,
• people crave saviours,
• and people mistake emotion for revelation.

And I finally understood the most frightening truth of all:

A desperate people will see God in any man who promises relief.

Even if that man once caused their suffering.

The fickleness I once blamed on ignorance was now clearer:

People forget because pain erases memory.

People believe because fear reshapes truth.

People surrender because hope, even false hope, is comforting.

And the most dangerous leaders are those who know exactly how to weaponise all three.

Next: Chapter 10 – The Return Strategy