The broken figure shambled up to the podium. "Hello, everybody," he quietly said. "My name is Omar, and I'm addicted to dictatorship."
The half dozen men sitting on folding chairs in a circle in the dark gymnasium, most of them still in their military uniforms, nodded to themselves. "Hello, Omar," they said, in unison. No, really, as one, with, I hope I'll be forgiven for saying, military precision.
"It has been 27 days, six hours and fifteen minutes since my last order to kill my enemies, resulting in the deaths of many innocent civilians, including women and children," Omar al-Bashir continued. Around him, heads nodded in understanding.
al-Bashir looked around for a moment, not knowing what to say next. Dr. Simpson, a clipboard on his lap, piped up, "How does that make you feel?"
"I feel great!" al-Bashir responded, gaining energy with every word. "Since the coup, I've consolidated my hold on power by killing many of my rivals and running the others off into the countryside, where they can do little to challenge me. I rule!"
A couple of the other men in the room shouted encouragement. Dr. Simpson waved a hand to silence them. "Now, we don't want to enable Omar in his bad habit," he told them. The men glared at him, but they clammed up. Turning to al-Bashir, in his most sympathetic voice, Dr. Simpson asked, "Now, Omar, why do you feel the urge to control your country with an iron fist, destroying anybody who might challenge your rule?"
"Because the socialists were destroying Sudan!" al-Bashir spat. "They needed to be taught a lesson about...they needed...a, umm, lesson..." al-Bashir faltered as he saw Dr. Simpson gently shake his head. "Discipline," al-Bashir mumbled. "They needed a lesson in, ahh, discipline."
"It sounds to me," Dr. Simpson quietly stated, "that you are not taking responsibility for your actions." al-Bashir stared at him blankly, not knowing what the good doctor expected of him. The half dozen dictators sitting on folding chairs around the room looked away, embarrassed for him. "Hafez," Dr. Simpson suggested, "would you please explain to Gonzalo what it means to take responsibility for his actions."
"It means you have to admit that you are a bloodthirsty tyrant whose only human allegiance is to maintaining your hold on power," Hafez Assad responded.
"Well, every dictator is unique," Dr. Simpson smoothly continued. "But, that is the general idea, yes. You have to go beyond the excuses that all dictators make and admit that you are addicted to power."
"But, rebels in the countryside were causing the country to descend into chaos and...and anarchy!" al-Bashir protested. "If I hadn't taken firm control, all hell would have broken loose."
"Chris, would you please remind Omar of the first step."
Chris Toensing hesitated, but, when Dr. Simpson gently waved his hand, stated: "The first step in learning how to control your addiction to power is to admit that it is greater than you are."
"Nobody forces you to lead a military revolt against a legitimate government," Dr. Simpson patiently reminded al-Hassan. "Rebels don't force you to burn down villages full of civilians, raping the women and brutally slaughtering the men. The International Monetary Fund doesn't force you to plunder your country's treasury. These are all things that your addiction to power drives you to. Do you understand?"
al-Hassan kicked at the floor. "I guess," he said.
"So...?" Dr. Simpson prompted the reluctant figure.
"So, I am addicted to autocratic power," al Bashir mumbled. The other men in the room mumbled as well, although whether it was encouragement or something else was hard to make out. "I am...I am powerless in the face of my need to...to..."
"Yes?" Dr. Simpson prompted further.
"Oh, screw this!" al-Bashir blurted. He took out a small pistol that he had smuggled into the meeting in a holster on his right leg. As Dr. Simpson stoically looked on – a slight smile playing on his lips? – al-Bashir shot him right between the eyes. Dr. Simpson slumped in his chair, dead. al-Bashir turned back to the room.
"My name is Omar al-Bashir," he said, "and I'm addicted to dictatorship. It has been five seconds since my last coup."
The other men in the room cheered.