Chapter 337 Nonviolent Revolutionaries
The game on the court was coming to an end, and the team led by Margaret won a small victory by one goal.
Gemma, who acted as a maid, brought the soda, and Margaret and the children raised their heads to drink the soda. Liquid flowed down the corner of the girl's mouth, slid down her fair neck, and finally disappeared on the slender collarbone. .
"Your mistress is very special, different from other white people." The young Mandela looked at the scene in front of him without concealing his surprise.
"He's probably the most special one." He Chi looked at the crazy girl on the field with her arms raised in the air, planning to play another game, and said in a slightly doting tone.
When it comes to being independent, Margaret is definitely an anomaly in the entire royal family. If it were her sister Elizabeth, she might get along well with these children, but that would be with top-down care. She would never Rolling on the grass with the children.
From another perspective, Margaret is more down-to-earth and more approachable to people at the lowest level, but she has not had the opportunity to use this advantage in the past.
He Chi looked at Mandela in front of him and said, "Did you just say you were a lawyer?"
"Yes, sir." Mandela nodded slightly. "You know, South Africa's current laws are very harsh on the indigenous people, especially the apartheid policy that deprived most people of their rights."
"I hope to do my part to rescue the people from this state, of course through legal means."
He Chi raised his eyebrows "Non-violence and non-cooperation?"
"Yes, I think that no matter what the circumstances, violence can only bring bloodshed and sacrifice, but cannot solve the problem. As long as the people in power see the power of the people, they will make the right choice."
He Chi didn't say anything, just picked up his bottle of soda.
Judging from his performance in the national liberation movement, Mr. Mandela, like his predecessor Gandhi, belongs to the "Southern faction" and aims to promote the political conduct of those in power through relatively mild means without bloodshed, cooperation, and violence. Improvement.
He does not want to judge whether this approach is correct, but whether it is India or South Africa in the future, a series of hidden dangers left by incomplete reforms are obvious.
"Mr. He Chi, you are not white. If you have time, I hope you can understand this." Mandela took out a printed bilingual leaflet from his arms and stuffed it over.
He Chi took the thing and looked at it, and found that it was actually a political party's policy platform.
"African National Congress of South Africa?" He Chi read out the name above.
"Yes, Mr. He, the purpose of our African National Congress is to improve people's living conditions step by step within the framework of the law and abolish racial policies. I personally hope that people like you can become our friends."< br>
"Mr. Mandela, I respect your choice, but I want to ask, you gave up the violent struggle, but what if one day the government uses violent means to suppress you?"
Mandela thought for a moment and then replied, "I still will not choose violence. If I can use my personal sacrifice to awaken more people's will for freedom, it will be a glorious thing."
"But what if the gun is not just on you? In the future, you may have a high social status, and those in power may not try to kill you for fear of the influence, but your followers may die because of this choice." He Chi asked, staring at the other party.
The black boy looked at the other person in surprise, "Are you serious? What you just said was like some kind of prophecy."
"It's not a prediction, it's just a speculation about what might happen."
"This... I'm sorry, I haven't thought about it yet." Mandela replied hesitantly, and it was obvious that he had not thought clearly about it himself.
He Chi probably understood the other party's current situation. In his youth, Mandela was probably just starting out in politics, and he was still relatively naive. It was not until the bloody Sharpewell tragedy ended ten years later that he gradually considered armed struggle. forms of resistance. "Let's talk about political matters later. Now I just want to accompany my mistress to manage this land well." He Chi ended the topic without leaving a trace.
——
From that day on, the villagers knew that a strange neighbor had moved nearby.
The hostess was very kind, not at all sarcastic like other white people, and was very popular with the children.
The man who calls himself the butler is responsible for running everything in the manor. He neither hires workers nor buys equipment, but goes out regularly every day to inspect the surrounding environment.
Some people say they are looking for diamonds, but can they really gain anything like this?
The villagers don't understand, but as long as the other party doesn't expel them, they are happy to live in peace, neither close nor alienated.
Lawyer Mandela, on the other hand, would often sit across from him and sometimes talk to the man for a long time.
One morning, the black boy came again.
"Sorry, He went out and won't be back until noon." Jima, who acted as a maid, opened the door.
"I want to visit Miss Erica today. It won't take up a lot of time." Mandela bowed slightly at the door. The Erica he mentioned was Margaret's pseudonym.
"Please wait a moment, the lady is performing a horse riding show for the children, I will go and report."
When Mandela arrived at the playground, Margaret, who was wearing a red outfit, had just pushed her horse over the last obstacle, and the children behind her cheered loudly for her.
Mandela looked at the girl in front of him who was as dazzling as the sun and was a little unsure of her identity.
He is also from the upper class and has a good education. He knows that there are very few female riders among the nobility. Even if there are women who learn to ride horses, they will sit sideways with their legs together. This way of spreading their legs and attaching them to the horse's back. There are almost no moves that aristocratic women would do.
It can be said that this Erica's behavior can be called rude in the eyes of some people.
But such a person can actually exude the aura of a superior person. He himself has local royal blood, but when facing this opponent, he will unconsciously put himself in the position of a inferior person.
This is really weird.
"Mr. Mandela, is there something on my face?" The hostess leading the horse tilted her head and looked at her.
"No, ma'am, I just thought you looked very chic just now." Showing proper courtesy, Mandela naturally changed the subject, "I just want to tell you that you may have been fooled."
"Fooled?"
"That's right, I just dug out the information about this area from the city council." Mandela took out a few pieces of paper written in English. "This mining area was completely exhausted a few years ago. If you want to mine diamonds again, it will take a long time." Buy a large amount of equipment, hire hundreds of workers, and find new mineral veins, but it is almost impossible for you to make money.”
When she heard the news, the hostess didn't show any surprise on her face. She said nonchalantly, "I have already given the work to He, and I don't intend to interfere in this regard."
"Madam, you are not professionals. It is completely impossible for Mr. He to search for mineral deposits alone..." Mandela looked a little anxious, fearing that his friendly neighbors would suffer.
"Are there any guests here?" He Chi's voice came from the door, holding a bulging small bag in his hand.
(End of chapter)