Sun Tzu's Art of War #3: It Started with a Small Rumor
It began as a small rumor. Rice, not bread or meat, suited Black bodies best. At first, they all scoffed, "What kind of nonsense is this?" America was rife with rumors about Black people, after all.
But the rumor started gaining traction. Black folks did eat rice because they were broke, for one thing. More importantly, both Republicans in the North and Democrats in the South secretly wanted every last Black person to clear out to the West—where someone's investments had turned rice farming into a bumper crop, after dumping everything into British stocks.
This wasn't just the masses, either. America was in the full swing of westward expansion. They wanted to ship the "darkies" out there to mine gold or lay tracks. The coolies had all gone home, leaving a labor shortage. They'd relied on cheap Chinese labor from the start, but now that they were gone, Black people had to fill the gap.
American capitalists thought the same. And so, the conclusion formed: Black people should eat rice. Black people should head West. Rich or poor, highborn or low, whites from all walks arrived at the idea that rice was good for Black folks. They began cherry-picking "evidence" to back it up.
Some praised rice's simplicity—no fancy prep, just steam it and eat—perfect for lazy Black people. Others touted its universality: anyone could eat it, so it had to be Black folks' staple. Facts didn't matter. The public didn't care that turning rice into proper white polished grains took serious processing.
Instead, a few "facts" got dressed up as truth and Pony Expressed across the nation.
"Rice itself symbolizes civilization in uncivilized nations. In the uncivilized East, rice brought civilization to the East."
"White polished rice is a miracle cure that whitens skin and soul alike. Exactly what Black people need right now."
No science backed it, but people slapped on plausible-sounding claims. Anyway, Black people needed rice. It was the only way to ship them off to the wasteland like Indians. Up to here, it was just public opinion. America churned out anti-Black gossip nonstop, after all.
But for the Black folks doomed to that wasteland, tragedy struck: something poured fuel on the fire. Rumors flew that those yellow hordes in Taiwan were forcing Black people into rubber plantations. The Vatican, suspicious—"Are these bastards pulling a Leopold?"—sent envoys to check.
And what they saw floored them. Black Christians praying every morning, thriving in communal life. For the first time, they glimpsed something white-like—civilized hope—in Black people. Even those supposedly unteachable, savage, godless Blacks couldn't help praying to the God who'd lifted them from misery to Ireland.
Their comrades found such prayers borderline blasphemous but pitied their poverty and ignorance, helping them settle anyway. Their Supreme Leader was an atheist unlike the theists, yet generous even to them—truly magnanimous. Priests, bishops, cardinals, secret missions, Templar knights: all wept at this pastoral miracle from God.
They'd boarded ships convinced of plantation horrors, so this thriving Black community faithful to faith and farm life felt like God's miracle to an unbeliever. Overwhelmed, they fired off statements home: "No Leopold here." Named after themselves, no less.
How could they not send them now? The Pope and Vatican—betrayed worst by Leopold after backing him to "save" Blacks—thanked God for "No second Leopold." Even if the Lord tested his lambs, two Leopolds in the world was too much.
In the end, the Pope himself proclaimed it to the world.
"That fucker Leopold can rot in hell."
"What do you mean Black people can't be civilized, you blind fool? The miracle's right there."
Ironically, this hit Protestant America too. Rice fits. Rice seems right? Rice was whitening Black people. They chalked Taiwan's progress—and Black "civilization"—to rice, not lack of exploitation.
Black folks who'd eaten rice couldn't deny the effects without seeming like the disobedient malcontents whites claimed. Those who hadn't couldn't say "I won't benefit." Black moms were even more zealous.
"Mom, too much rice!"
"You wanna end up like your dad, just good for brawls?"
Moms insisted it wasn't about white nonsense, but fed rice anyway. Funny thing: force-feeding it actually improved infant nutrition short-term. Rice was nutritionally near-complete compared to other cheap American foods.
Doctors and experts chimed in: Rice works. Anyway, rice was right. Other rumors? Who knows. But rice boosted Black nutrition and might aid socialization. Even shrinks said so.
Yes. Black people needed rice.
Rice is the way, huh? Even politicians wondered, prowling bars, when a massive quake hit the American West.
"The Depression!"
"Earthquake, dumbass."
A true catastrophe. Massive property damage, deaths galore. But to some, it felt like God's stern will. Like Lisbon back then.
"Eat rice!"
"Feed rice to the Blacks!"
"God wills it!"
"Deus vult!"
The dazzlingly "developed" but still impoverished West was swimming in overproduced rice from someone's investments. Then God's will struck. White factory owners pledged rice rations per meal to Black workers via local papers. Wages cut a bit, sure.
Politicians flung empty promises of rice for Blacks. Whites hoping bread prices dropped swore votes. Black folks? Couldn't laugh or cry.
Rice-eaters couldn't claim no effect; non-eaters couldn't reject it. Time would tell—if rice-fed Blacks stayed malcontents, rice's uselessness would surface. Problem: rice was nutritionally solid, and now it was gone.
"What? No rice?"
"Fuck, earthquake here—got any left for outsiders? This year's crop's toast, next year's too!"
Rice shortage. Unthinkable for America. They'd figured West for rice exports only, never imports.
But people—no, the era—demanded rice. Buy it if none here. Everyone knew rice was cheap. So buy from rice's homeland, Korea. How pricey could it be?
Whites, eager to turn watermelon-heads into rice-heads, prodded pols and bosses: Import rice! The wave hit the three-term-seeking president. Before popularity, the innocent maiden quivered his mustache and spoke.
"Temporary tariff exemption."
Rice import duties scrapped. Ship rice across the sea. As planned, Daehan's rice fueled the American pig.
The Supreme Leader, orchestrating from shadows, knew. Vatican and quake were wild cards, but he knew. Nothing eternal like provisional government programs.
Would rice-cheapened Americans accept tariffs again? America wasn't rice-heavy anyway. Daehan had bred seeds grinding people since Joseon, now with pesticides, co-ops, tractors.
Rice needs little fertilizer; sans chemicals, Daehan's rice crushed wheat and corn starved for it. As Japan griped: violently productive.
His double-cropping dream half-succeeded from Joseon days, but Daehan shed agrarian skin, diets improved—no big issue. Just neighbors crushed by surplus rice weight.
How does Daehan outprice double-crop nations and crush their national efforts in the market?
Rice volume? Sure, double-croppers produce more. But volume barely sways price.
Rice prices were political, always. This Supreme Leader wanted Daehan's cheapest worldwide since Joseon. Not via output hikes—minimize labor.
Fewer rice-tied livelihoods meant less bitching over low prices, more crushing dissent with pinky force.
Solution: cheap-labor semi-subsistence now, corporate farms later handling all. So land reform bundled paddies into co-op blocks—Farmers' Co-ops—to preempt headaches.
Then eased members' toil: irrigation, pesticides, soldiers home for spring/fall harvests. Work shrank, but no gripes—income theirs.
Easier labor too. All his ploy. Tractor/pesticide advances freed "farmers" for side gigs. Main job capped at 6 hours; sides unlimited.
No red tape: report to side co-op only. Profitable sides? Ditch rice co-op, make it main.
Like boiling frog: state-encouraged sides shifted rural lives from farms painlessly. Now, rice-price-fixed, villages couldn't rebel.
Side-hustlers galore, uninterested in hikes. Old folks filling seats. Mechanized output steady, no exodus, cheap living—no felt pain. Rural pop was urban long ago.
In Daehan, rice farming yields not wealth, but heart-rich golden fields.
The Supreme Leader left foes breathing but powerless to resist. Farmers chose tractors from him over charging Pyongyang.
Still, shrinking mouths meant pocket money for elders. Not destitute, not rich—that spot their role.