Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 679: Does it resemble a faction division?
United Nations Conference Room.

Today, things seem rather quiet.

A photograph of the Rossina favela in Brazil was spread out on a wooden table. French representative Pierre Le Maire pushed the photograph to the center of the table and then began his attack.

"Mr. Joachim Ribintrop!"

Pierre's voice, tinged with a Parisian accent, said, "Can you bear to look at these images? There are still unweaned babies buried in collapsed houses, and crying mothers holding children wounded by shrapnel. This is Mexico's so-called 'iron fist' against drugs. This is outright massacre!"

Joachim, sitting in the Mexican section, slowly raised his eyes. He was wearing a well-pressed dark gray suit and a neatly tied tie, but his eyes were bloodshot and he looked very tired.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead reached out and picked up the photo on the far right. In the photo, in a slum alley, several drug dealers in camouflage pants were pointing guns at a reporter holding a camera, and the wall in the background was spray-painted with graffiti that read "Red Command".

“Mr. Le Maire”.

Joachim scoffed, "You seem to have forgotten the community policeman whose hand was chopped off by drug dealers. His daughter is still afraid to walk alone at night. You only see the children in the ruins, but you don't see the fear in the eyes of those children when the drug dealers used them as human shields?"

"quibble!"

"That's sophistry!"

British representative David Cameron slammed his fist on the table. "You're confusing the issue! Mexico's support for the Brazilian president's offensive is essentially using violence to cover up its incompetence! You say those people are drug dealers, where's the evidence? Can you test blood for drugs from bullets? Can you prove that every body under the rubble has been stained with the blood of a drug deal?"

The meeting room erupted in discussion. The Italian representative tapped the microphone and said, "Mr. Ribbentrop, the 15 EU member states have received a petition signed by the Brazilian people. They want peaceful negotiations, not mortars! Mexico is fueling this from behind. Are you going to watch Latin America turn into a living hell before you stop?"

Joachim suddenly stood up. Instead of touching the microphone in front of him, he walked step by step to the center of the conference table, his gaze sweeping over every face that held doubt or anger.

"Mr. Cameron asked me if it was possible to test the bullet for poison by drawing blood."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was firm. "Then I'd like to ask you in return, when a drug dealer straps a bomb to a pregnant woman's belly, do you first authenticate the bomb? When a drug dealer hides drugs in a child's schoolbag, do you first analyze the composition of the powder inside?"

Joachim Ribbentrop took a stack of photographs from his deputy Arthur Zimmerman, picked one out, and showed it to the crowd.

"Gentlemen, this is the Rossinia slum. Several drug dealers are shoving AK-47s into the hands of fifteen or sixteen-year-old boys."

Joachim's voice was filled with suppressed anger. "That boy who was shoved with a gun was killed yesterday in a standoff with the Brazilian army. According to your logic, was he innocent? Yet the gun in his hand was already pointed at soldiers trying to rescue civilians! Your so-called evidence became accomplice to murder the moment the drug traffickers used a child as a weapon!"

French representative Pierre blushed and reached for the microphone, but Joachim's gaze was fixed on him in his seat:

“Mr. Le Maire, you just said that Latin America is turning into a living hell. Don’t forget that three years ago in Mexico, twenty children were losing their parents every day because of the drug war. The beaches of Cancun used to be littered with dismembered bodies of drug traffickers. We used violence to drive drug traffickers out of schools and hospitals. Now Mexican children can walk safely to school. Is that hell?”

"You always say that life is above all else, but do your lives only belong to those who haven't been harmed by drug dealers?"

Joachim's voice suddenly rose, "The Brazilian president doesn't want to compromise, not because he's cold-blooded, but because he knows that if we bow down to drug traffickers today, tomorrow there will be children with guns in the slums all over Latin America! Mexico supports him not for violence, but so that those children who haven't been corrupted by drug traffickers can have the chance to see tomorrow's sun!"

British representative David opened his mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by Joachim:

"You ask me how I can confirm they are drug traffickers? I can tell you very clearly that in Mexico, every drug cartel that is taken down has complete transaction records, witness testimonies, and physical evidence; before the Brazilian army launched its offensive, it had already evacuated 70 percent of the civilians, but what about the drug traffickers? They locked civilians in their houses, using their lives as a moral shield, while you, holding up photos of 'ruins' that they deliberately created, stand on the moral high ground and accuse us of being immoral!"

He suddenly leaned forward, placing his hands on the conference table. "I know what you're thinking. You're afraid that the chaos in Latin America will affect Europe's interests, and you're afraid that our iron fist will break your so-called civilized order. But your civilization is watching drug dealers use children's blood to make money, and still saying that you want to negotiate; it's watching soldiers sacrifice themselves to save civilians, and still saying that violence is wrong!"

"Fuck you, you hypocrite!"

"Are you used to being high and mighty? You need to understand that there is absolutely no possibility of compromise in the fight against drugs."

The conference room was completely silent.

Joachim straightened up, adjusted his tie, and his tone returned to calm, yet carried an undeniable firmness:
"Mexico will not stop supporting the Brazilian president because we know that if we back down today, more children will die at the hands of drug traffickers tomorrow. You can unite to strangle us, you can use photos and media to call us tyrants, but as long as there is one drug trafficker using children as weapons, our bullets will not stop!"

After a long silence, UN Secretary-General Boutros-Ghali cleared his throat and broke the silence: "Given the significant differences among the parties, this meeting is adjourned for the time being..."

Joachim ignored what was said next, took out his phone and sent a message to Casare: "The Security Council debate is over, and the EU has not taken any substantial action for the time being, but they will not give up."

A reply came quickly from the phone: "Okay."

More than an hour later.

As soon as the glass doors of the UN conference hall opened, flashes of light went off like a sudden downpour. Reporters crowded into the marble corridor, microphones and recorders reaching out like dense reeds towards the delegates who had just left the venue.

French representative Pierre Le Maire was surrounded in the center. He straightened the hem of his suit jacket, gave the camera a somber expression, and unconsciously rubbed his fingers against the photograph of the Rossina favela in his pocket.

"We firmly oppose using violence to solve the drug problem."

Pierre's voice echoed down the corridor through the microphone, his sharp Parisian accent carrying a deliberate air of compassion in front of the camera: "Three hundred kilograms of cocaine need to be eradicated, but not at the cost of babies buried in the rubble! The so-called iron fist of some countries is essentially a disregard for the right to life. The fifteen EU member states will continue to pay attention to the demands of the Brazilian people; peaceful negotiations are the only way out."

British representative David Cameron followed closely behind. He took a bottle of mineral water from a reporter, unscrewed the cap but didn't drink it, only holding up the bottle to emphasize:

“We have never denied the necessity of drug control, but there is a fundamental difference between precision strikes and indiscriminate attacks. Mr. Ribbentrop cannot prove that every body under the rubble is related to drugs. This vague presumption of guilt will only make more innocent people victims.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping intentionally or unintentionally toward the Latin American representatives in the distance. "The EU will consider passing a humanitarian resolution demanding that Brazil suspend military operations and prioritize the safety of civilians."

The Italian representative stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, showing a stack of signed papers to the camera: "This is a petition from the Brazilian people, with over 100,000 signatures. They don't want mortars; they want streets where their children can return home safely. Mexico's behind-the-scenes instigation of escalating violence is undoubtedly igniting the powder keg in Latin America. We call on the international community to exert joint pressure to prevent the situation from deteriorating further."

At the other end of the corridor, Joachim leaned against a pillar, watching the European representatives surrounded by reporters, the cigarette between his fingers burned down to the filter but he hadn't taken more than a few puffs.

Brazilian representative Carlos Alves walked over to him, pointed to the live interview with Pierre on the screen, and said with suppressed anger, "They didn't mention a word about drug traffickers using civilians as human shields, damn it!?"

"Used to it."

Joachim stubbed out his cigarette and threw it into the nearby trash can. "They said the same thing to us when Mexico was cracking down on drugs three years ago."

"At that time, they were eager to send troops to Mexico to help the drug cartels, but as it turns out, justice is always on our side."

"These people... for profit, they'd rather say drug dealers are kind. Just you wait, maybe it won't be long before a group of people start whitewashing drug dealers!" Just as he said.

On the third day of the UN conference recess, newspaper stands across Europe were packed with citizens.

The front page of the Paris Times featured the headline "Honest Man in the Slums" in bold black font, accompanied by a photo of a middle-aged man in a faded shirt sitting on a dilapidated wooden chair with his head down. Behind him, on the wall, hung a yellowed family photo. In the photo, a boy in a school uniform, a girl with pigtails, and an elderly man in a wheelchair clutching a faded cross.

In the article, the reporter conducted an "in-depth interview" with this drug dealer neighbor named Armando.

“He never raised his voice, and every morning he would help the old lady next door carry water,” the neighbor wrote tearfully. “His sister has congenital heart disease, his father broke his leg at a construction site last year, and the family couldn’t even afford bread. How could they survive without dealing drugs? When the police rushed in, he was still brewing medicine for his mother. How did he become such a heinous villain?”

"We're all honest people!"

Almost simultaneously, the British newspaper The Daily Telegraph launched a special report titled "The 'Innocent' Under the Gun: The Truth About Survival in the Slums of Rocinha," in which the reporter devoted a large portion to describing the daily life of drug dealer "Ronnie Malone": "He would give candy to children in the slums, help vendors watch their stalls, and even bring stray dogs into his hut on rainy days. He said that the cocaine found in his possession was just temporarily stored for a 'friend,' and he had no idea that the stuff would kill people."

At the end of the report, the reporter also attached a handwritten letter from Ronnie Malone's sister, whose crooked handwriting was full of pleading: "Please, please let my brother go. He did wrong things to support us."

These tragic stories spread like a virus through European media.

Germany's Der Spiegel published photos of drug dealers' families holding signs outside a slum that read "Give us back our loved ones," while Italy's Corriere della Sera published a commentary that "drug control should not come at the cost of destroying families," implying that the evil of drug dealers stems from poverty and desperation, while the "iron fist" of Mexico and Brazil is the root cause of human rights abuses.

Across the Atlantic in the United States, the Dallas Morning News, with its strong anti-Mexico sentiment, directly targeted Victor.

The headline on the front page was jarring—"The Killing Logic of Mexico's 'Tyrant': Covering Up Governance Incompetence with Bullets." The article quoted an "anonymous diplomat" who claimed that "there have been numerous acts of indiscriminate killing of civilians in Mexico's war on drugs, and that 30% of the so-called 'drug dealer corpses' were ordinary people who were resisting the government."

The newspaper also included a photo of Joachim angrily rebuking European representatives at a UN meeting, with a scathing caption: "This politician, who can even utter double standards, has no regard for the right to life."

In the gardens of the National Palace in Mexico.

Viktor stopped and gently brushed his fingertips across the neatly trimmed holly leaves beside him. "Autumn is coming again!"

Casare followed behind him, responded softly, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke:
"Boss, public opinion in Europe has completely gone astray."

Casare handed over the newspaper, his fingertip pointing to the photo of "Honest Armando" in the Paris Times. "Our intelligence department found that the 'exclusive leads' provided to these media outlets were provided by several organizations that claimed to be 'human rights organizations,' but they were all funded by established European conglomerates. They were the same ones that we dismantled in the Red Shoes incident, the same ones that took down the South American drug distribution network."

Viktor took the newspaper, his gaze sweeping over the glaring headlines, but a faint smile suddenly appeared on his lips.

He looked up at the bronze statue deep in the garden, a statue of Hidalgo, a hero of the Mexican War of Independence.

"Casare, don't you think the current situation is very similar to the division of factions before World War I?"

There was no trace of anxiety in his voice. "On one side are the established powers that are unwilling to let go of their vested interests, and on the other side are the emerging forces that want to break the old order. It's just that back then they were fighting for colonies, and now they are fighting for a new world order. Right or wrong? It has never been important to them."

Casare was taken aback, not understanding why he suddenly brought this up.

"During the Red Shoes Incident, how many people's livelihoods did we cut off?"

Victor continued walking, his pace unhurried. "Those European conglomerates rely on South American drug trafficking to launder money and support their luxury goods empires; some American politicians climb the ladder by accepting political donations from drug dealers. They were hoping we'd make a mistake on our own, but now that they see Brazil's iron-fisted anti-drug campaign gaining momentum, they know that if they wait any longer, the problem will be eradicated, so they're going to take a desperate gamble."

He stopped, turned to look at Casare, and said, "As for propaganda, it's just their old trick. During World War I, Allied X called the Central Powers 'enemies of civilization,' and during World War II, Axis X claimed to be saving the world. Essentially, it was all about giving their own interests a moral cloak. Now they're portraying drug dealers as 'pitiful people' and calling us tyrants. How is that any different from back then?"

"But the current international climate is indeed unfavorable to us,"

Casare couldn't help but worry, "The Brazilian president called yesterday, saying that the domestic opposition has begun to use European public opinion to pressure for a halt to military operations. If the EU really passes a humanitarian resolution, I'm afraid they'll impose any means on Latin America."

"stuck?"

Victor chuckled and reached into his pocket to take out a cigar, which Casare immediately stepped forward to light for him.

Amidst the swirling smoke, his gaze grew even more resolute: "They've forgotten that Mexico was able to drive drug traffickers out of its country two or three years ago, never because of anyone else's consent!"

He took a puff of his cigar, slowly exhaling a smoke ring, his tone laced with a hint of jest, yet also revealing an undeniable confidence:
"Besides, you should be glad that France and Italy are the ones who have spoken out. You don't want to be teammates with people who only know how to surrender, do you?"

As Casare watched Victor's composed demeanor, his anxiety gradually dissipated.

"So, boss, what should we do next?"

"Public opinion comes and goes quickly. They like to make up stories, right? We'll just throw the truth in their faces and have the intelligence agencies compile evidence of collusion between those conglomerates and drug dealers, and hand it over to reliable media outlets. Let's have a public opinion showdown!"

He paused, then added, "Also, tell the Brazilian president that our military aid will arrive on time, and send another special forces unit to help them train in how to identify human shield tactics used by drug traffickers. As for the EU resolution... it's useless!"

"Casare, remember this: the fight against drugs is never a war that can be won through compromise. We were able to withstand the pressure and drive drug traffickers out of Mexico back then, and we can withstand public opinion and fight this war to the end now. Those powerful Western countries want to use public opinion to bring us down? They haven't figured out that what Mexicans fear least is the threat from others."

Just then, footsteps sounded in the distance, and the presidential secretary hurried over, holding an urgent telegram.

“Mr. President,” the secretary handed over the telegram, his face grave, “a shipment of weapons funded by a European consortium for drug traffickers has been discovered in the Rocinha favela in Brazil, including French-made anti-tank missiles. In addition, border patrol intercepted a shipment of drugs being smuggled into Mexico, and the owner behind it is a retired CIA official.”

"Also, something is not right about the situation on the ground in the United States."

"The melee has begun!"

Viktor took the telegram, glanced at it quickly, and his smile widened. He handed the telegram to Casare.

Casare looked at the contents of the telegram and said, "I'll make the arrangements right away and make sure this evidence spreads all over the world."

"Go."

Victor waved, watching Casare's hurried departure, then turned to look at the Hidalgo statue deep in the garden.

Justice will prevail!
……

(End of this chapter)