[MDP] Liberty or Death

Day 2,273, 19:36 Published in Canada Canada by Muglack

As most of the members of our little community who have been here for a while know we are on the brink of a wipe.

Our country will soon see itself completely removed from the map. We will not have territories, and we will not have any of the in game benefits that come as a result of them. We will quite literally be a people without a land to call our own.

But fear not, for this is not the first time this has happened. Our history is littered with wars and conflicts that have seen us in this position. It is one of the downsides to being as small a nation as we are in a world that is dominated by a handful of superpowers that see us as nothing more than easily dominated resource bonuses.

But fret not, for with each wipe has also come liberation. We have worked together, organized resistance wars, and saw ourselves back on to the map from which others fought to have us removed.

What we lack in strength of body, we more than make up with strength of spirit. We shall not be broken by this, and when we rise back onto the global stage we will be better than ever because that which does not kill us makes us stronger.

As the Dictator of the MDP I ask that any member of our community that wants to fight, but can't. That anyone who needs a tank to hit but can't afford one. That anyone who has energy to use but no food to restore it to send me a PM and I will see that you get what you need.

We will see the foreign powers who laugh amongst themselves pay the price for underestimating the true strength of those they seek to oppress.

And to that end I leave you with this:

Not like the brazen giant of SPoland fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty man with a tank, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Father of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The conquered regions too numberous to name.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries he
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my gun beside the golden door!

MDP - Ever Forward