How I Distributed Food in South America

Late one night, in the dead hours before dawn, Eugene Choi woke up and started bawling like a child.

Isabella found the sight peculiar enough to ask.

"Did you have a frightening dream?"

"No."

"A sad one, then?"

"No. I dreamed that San Marcos was eating well and living well, and I was enjoying a leisurely FIRE retirement."

"Then why are you weeping so bitterly?"

Eugene wiped the tears from his face and said, very quietly:

"Because that dream can never come true."

"..."

I've dressed it up a little — call it fifty percent embellishment — but it really happened.

Finding out I couldn't go home hit me pretty hard, you know.

But not anymore.

Where am I? San Marcos — the country America is bankrolling and Korea is investing in.

Who am I? The Acting President of San Marcos — the country America is bankrolling and Korea is investing in.

With two economic superpowers shoving me forward, fifteen years? Please.

I set myself a new goal: retire in ten.

Once I retire, I'll build a beautiful house with a view of the ocean and fish from morning till night. Then I'll slice the catch into sashimi and eat it right there. Throw in a shot of soju on the side? Ahhh.

Just thinking about it made my mouth water.

Of course, I had never actually been fishing, and I had never sliced sashimi either — but you figure that stuff out as you go, right?

Heh heh heh.

I was drifting along on that beautiful tomorrow, that bright and shining future, when—

"Your Excellency. We have a serious problem."

First thing in the morning, Isabella came bursting into the office with her face ashen. The Iron Lady, who hadn't so much as batted an eye during the civil war, looked genuinely rattled. I was on my feet before I knew it.

"Wh-what is it?"

"Please look at this."

She held out a tablet. CNN breaking news filled the screen.

"The United States federal government has shut down."

"Shut down?"

"The budget failed to pass Congress, and administrative functions have been paralyzed. And as a result..."

Isabella swallowed.

"The disbursement of the five hundred million dollars in aid that was to be sent to us has been postponed indefinitely."

"..."

A thunderbolt from a clear blue sky. I had just gotten through a civil war, closed the negotiations, and was finally about to see some money — and now their government had closed up shop.

"...And when is this supposed to lift?"

"As little as a week, I am told. As much as over a month. And even once it lifts, that is still a problem. The budget queue will be backed up down the line. There is no telling when it will even be introduced, let alone actually disbursed..."

"Hah..."

A long sigh escaped me all by itself.

And here I thought things were finally going well.

It wasn't as if we were out of money. Of the slush funds President Juan had stashed away, $6.3 billion still sat untouched in the Tortilla Company's accounts.

Honestly, how much could a few ships and a purchase of corn seed even cost? The only real expense had been a bit of drone money on account of the civil war.

Still, I was uneasy. This wasn't just anyone — this was Drumpf. There was no telling when he might change his tune.

"I didn't see this one coming..."

This wasn't going to work. I'd have to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠take it in goods, if nothing else.

I picked up the receiver at once.

The phone rang. Once, twice—

Ellen's voice came through before it had even had a chance to ring a few times.

Urgency and apology were tangled up in his voice. Of course they were. He had worked so hard to get San Marcos wrapped around his finger; the last thing he wanted was for us to get sulky and blow the Cevron affair wide open again.

"I saw it on the news. That's actually why I'm calling. Let me make you a proposal."

"Take your time with the loans. But the five hundred million in aid you were going to send us — could you give us that in kind?"

"I was going to take that money and buy goods with it anyway. Since it's come to this, I thought — why not take it as food?"

The way Korea once took wheat flour and cornmeal from the United States.

A brief silence settled on the other end of the line. Then Ellen's voice jumped a full octave.

"I have conditions. I need it arriving at a San Marcos port within the week. And you cover the shipping. That's doable, right?"

Ellen burst out laughing.

"And this time it's certain?"

"Ah — don't send it all at once. Five shipments, one every three months, if you would. I'd appreciate it."

The call ended. I set the receiver down and looked at Isabella.

"It's taken care of."

"..."

"It actually worked out better this way. If we'd bought it ourselves, we'd have been stuck with shipping and all the rest of that headache. They're going to deliver it for us."

At the mention of free shipping, Isabella's mouth fell open, her expression gone completely blank.

"I had no idea you would resolve it so easily."

"I just used my head a little. And..."

I set down my coffee cup.

"Now that it's come to this, why don't we really go big?"

"I do not understand what you mean by going big."

"We just got a year's worth of food for the entire population of San Marcos, for free. So what should we do with the money we were originally going to spend on food?"

"I would think we should spend it on other urgent needs."

"No. If we do that, we're just doing the same thing as always."

"Then..."

"Let's buy cattle and build barns. Slaughterhouses and processing plants, too. Let's flood the whole country with meat."

The people of San Marcos deserve meat on their tortillas.

For the people of San Marcos — a country that boasted a GDP per capita of $2,800 and an average monthly income of $300 for urban workers — meals were, for the most part, all the same.

Tortillas made from a mix of cornmeal and wheat flour. Burritos stuffed with whatever fillings one could find. The only difference was whether the insides were meager or generous; at least one meal a day was settled this way, if not more.

Recently, however, the people of San Marcos had found themselves in serious difficulty.

When the civil war broke out, food importers, wholesalers, and grocers had all raised their prices in unison. A few particularly shameless merchants had gone so far as to jack the prices up fivefold.

San Marcos was a poor country to begin with, and its people bought only what they would eat that day. They had no choice but to go hungry.

After the civil war ended and sales resumed, prices came back down. But the people who had watched their children cry from hunger were furious — and they had every right to be.

"What on earth is the government doing?"

"This never happened when President Juan was around..."

"Shh! Keep your voice down! You want to get dragged off to the mines?"

"Life is this hard and I can't even talk?! God, this is ridiculous!"

But then the day came, and the voices of criticism vanished in an instant.

As he always did, the East Asian man appeared on television. And his voice began to travel, riding the airwaves into every corner of San Marcos.

People began to stir. Cut grocery prices by how much? Half? How, exactly?

And then, one after another, the methods came tumbling from Eugene's mouth.

He first announced his plan to crush the food merchants who had gouged prices during the civil war. Then he announced his plan to supply the people with protein.

It was a gentle voice. A voice that did not belong to an iron-fisted dictator at all.

When the broadcast ended, a brief silence settled over the country.

People did not believe him. The dictator who had sent countless souls to the Gulag was suddenly Santa Claus? It made no sense.

But the following afternoon, when the government-issued half-price flour went on sale, the doubt vanished in an instant.

"Is this real? We can buy cornmeal at this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠price?"

"A buy-one-get-one? You buy one sack and they give you another?"

Only when they saw the abundant food flooding the markets did the people finally understand.

The dictator they had feared was, in truth, the savior who would deliver them from hunger.

"Viva Eugene! Viva el Presidente!"

"That man is our father!"

"Thank you, God! Thank you, Eugene Choi!"

It was the moment fear became awe, and awe became fanaticism.

At the same hour, in the presidential office, Eugene listened to a report that the response had been extremely favorable, and let out a short laugh.

"Good."

"It is not merely good. At this rate, even a one hundred percent approval rating would not be out of the question."

Isabella delivered the report in an excited voice. Eugene nodded and took a sip of coffee.

"The barns and the processing plants are going up properly?"

"Yes. Construction of large-scale livestock barns has begun on the southern grasslands of the Central Basin. The foundation work is already finished, and the main construction is underway. Completion is expected early next month, and the cattle and pigs from the United States are scheduled to arrive to match."

"Enough people to do the work?"

"More than enough. Corn farming has turned out to be less labor-intensive than expected, so we have a fair amount of idle manpower left over."

"Good. Farm during the peak season, tend livestock during the off-season... still, we're going to need dedicated staff, aren't we?"

Isabella answered with a peculiar little smile.

"We have already assigned personnel with prior experience in the livestock industry. There turned out to be quite a number of them — more than expected."

"No complaints?"

"When we told them it was for the nation, they all rolled up their sleeves and threw themselves into it."

"Oh-ho. Is that so? Looking at this, nature really does seem to have a power to heal the heart."

Eugene smiled, thoroughly pleased.

"And the slaughtering and processing? Where's that happening?"

"We have secured land on the outskirts of Libertad."

Isabella held out a tablet and showed him an artist's rendering of the plant.

"We plan to build a factory that will produce not only simple cuts, but processed meats as well — ham, sausage, bacon, and the like. Once the plant is complete, it is expected to create approximately three thousand new jobs."

"Three thousand... that's quite large."

"Yes. It will be a great help in easing the unemployment crisis."

"Good. That's very good."

And so, with everything falling into place, a happy Eugene was just sitting there when—

Ring. Ring.

"Hello?"

"...?"

And that was how he found himself on the receiving end of a completely unexpected praise call.