The advancement of political power and involvement must therefore take on a reform mind to see the desired course played out. This has been a course that has fallen backwards in much of the world today. Where as responses to war and the near perpetual state of war or discord around the world states have drawn into themselves the legitemacy of their own power through the absorbtion of many or all communal assets through which they may excercise their political power. Or in the cases of civil war and ethnic turmoil the elimination of dissent and opposition. This dawns new areas where the case of power is to be studied so that they may be reformed, or identified so well that their use is more to popular benefit than to state or private benefit.

	The clearest institution of examination in this regard is that critical institution that has harried and condemned civilization, the private ownership of property. As it applies to the economic condition of the community, and thus its political power as expressed through the economy, the private ownership of property is a denial of the community that broad interest of sustainment and material means by which the entire whole can be positively affected. The history of private economics has concluded to an inevitable point that there are those by no fortune by bad luck that no matter how intensely they might labor they will never advance beyond their station, as they never recieve the full value of the labor which they produce. Where as, the party to recieve the fullest value for labor sustained are those who owned that labor.

	In the feudal tradition this was the realm of the feudal noble, who taking tithes of produce from the peasantry enriched his coffers on the backs of slaves, however their full legal position in society be deemed. These tithes drawn from the laboring parties were classified as rent, meant to sustain their existence on the land which they do not own. Though the reality is that that which is supplied to the noble or the magistrate as tithes does not often go to the sustainment of the labourer, as the world over the labouring proletariat as produced enough that he may sustain himself well on the efforts of his or her own work. The conditions by which he or she works is plainly an expression of power over the working serf or peasant, as either by claimed divine claim or through legalistic code the man who collects the tithe is recognized by the system of his own design to be the sole owner of that vast land by conquest, gift, or inheretence and all who live on it are in effect property of the noble, through a forced bondage of having to work off an unpayable debt of labor for the mere act of existence. The profit thus made off of the use of labor of the peasants is thus used not for the sustainment of the peasantry but for the enforcement of the noble's or magistrate's office through the maintaining and raising of an army or mercenaries.

	Raised across the national scale the model of imperial power is laid bare as a succession of tithe payments in a hierarchy of governance with the Emperor at the top. These tithes – as taxes – go to the outfitting and sustainment of the Emperor and his house. And to the raising and sustaining of an army. Often it may manifest down as works of infrasturcure, but rarely does this directly benefit the working prolestariat save only as a feature they must continue to pay for as an extension of the tithe and taxation system, and so more of their labor is reduced to see the fruits of other projects for the benefit of other nobles, or of merchants.

	Very much so: the deeds and guise of the capitalist is much the same as that of the noble, who buys and sells the labor of the peasant and the worker for his benefit. Though while the noble takes from the peasant as what he deems is share as a model of rent, the capitalist takes all and gives back a small sum as wages, handed out and earned not as compensation of total value produced but as time compensated.  The worker then may perform and produce more or less labor value, and he will always recieve a flat wage as recompensation. And to the capitalist bourgeoisie this is considered fare, for the worker is liberated from serfdom from birth and enters then into a free contract. A contract though that is devoid of any particular freedom, as it is often that the conditions of the contract do not change much between manufacturery and manufacturery. The labourer then becomes locked in a system set against him.

	Feudalism is not set far from capitalism, and it excercises very much the same force. Though from the influences of the European evolution of ideology into liberalism, to be a capitalist is to be much freer than a feudal noble. As to be a capitalist is to sustain a position through the merits of ones of labor and capacity to work. A capitalist may fall, but a feudal noble must never. For the two exist in two opposing fields of political philosophy. One ruled by merit, the other ruled by divine right. A count or duke may be a poor steward, and his lands may decay; but he will always be one. But the liberal bourgeoisie assert that a capitalist may not stand if he is a poor steward, and he falls with his lands. It is considered fare then, because as far as the dynamics of the class is sustained it is a shifting sea. The old might be swept out of the back door and the new ushered through.

	But this does not address the totally unchanged dynamics expressed through the private ownership of property and the relationship between the owner and the rentor. Noble or Capitalist, the owner will always hold as is own that which he does not work, that which he does not share. While taxation becomes wages, the labor of all is never the labor of the one. And maintaining the relationship is no less changed. Whether through the coercion of promising raises for the most productive or the levee'ing of privledges on the most productive, or the use of force as through the police or the army; the worker will always be suppressed. As such, the fullest limit by which a society's and the state's power will never be broadly distributed and we can not say we have a fully involved society. 

	These divisions that arise between the people as classes too damages the society as a whole. That at any point the tolerance of this style of ownership – whether directly as slave, or indirectly by another means – is tolerated in the modern world is objectable. To be forward thinking and future minded for the body of the whole, as a collective shared among all individuals one would have to admit that this relationship is archiac, reactionary, and a crude weight to punish the majority for crimes they did not commit, only because they existed in one social rank over another.

	To maintain this too, even in the modern era these modern feudal barons, these false dukes and counts: the capitalist claims his power is rightly obtained. That he worked for it, that he labored hard to obtain it. But if it was so: there are millions of others more rightly deserving than you. Once born to wealth, the son of the wealthy buisinessmen will enjoy far more the advantages of that wealth than the impoverished. He will go ahead to foreign lands to study the best of fields and return to the home country, assuming all the property and power and wealth that his father enjoyed. It is work yes: but only such that maintains a facade of importance. For in the end the inheretince of these properties is none different from the nobility. It should be suggested, that in the case of economic property accumilated by a single individual, that on his death that property pass out of the single ownership of that individual.

	And how does this look? How might it be done? Perhaps if working all one's life one would accumilate property to the economic service of his own self, and he brings in cash renters to assist producing for him. And that when he dies that institution he creates is not passed to his son but to the workers, or the munincipality, or it is dissolved and liquidated. Or that more favorably: anything that grows beyond the man and is accomodate for more like minded individuals becomes an effort partaken by the whole as a common aim irregardless of who began what, where individual labor is rewarded to the fullest extent possible to maintain it. Where every individual at work there is a manager of his own abilities, and co-manager of the entire enterprise. That the power of a society as manifested economically is shared by all within it.

[right]On Power and Politics[/right]
[right]Hou Tsai Tang[/right]
[right]December 9th, 1954[/right]

[h1]China[/h1]
[h2]Tianjin[/h2]

	Stepping out the car, Nguyen Sinh Cung was greeted by a guard. Bowing low he greeted him to the home of Hou Sai Tang. Pleasantries were exchanged between he and the old man as he was guided around. They did not walk through the house, and instead walked around the outside. Coming onto the side of the house, he was lead to the garden. There under the veranda, in the shade, Hou sat at a stone picnic table, pillows on the bench seat for relief from the rough granite the entire piece was made of. Hou looked up as Sinh Cung was announced, and he turned from his seat, rising and bowing; welcoming him to his house.

	“Is my visit interrupting anything?” Nguyen asked, pointing to the papers laying across the stone of the table's surface. Hou looked down and shook his head, “Just light reading.” he admitted, taking his seat as his guest followed.

	“I am happy to see that.” the Vietnamese man said, “But it looks important.”

	Hou looked nonplussed, and shrugged. “Perhaps it is.” he admitted, “Depends on how you consider your open letters and articles.”

	“Oh, so you read those?” Nguyen asked, leaning in. The two were as contrasting as they were alike. Both appeared with a narrow frame. Though near to him, Nguyen Sinh Cung appeared the frailer figure to Hou. Sai Tang himself sat and stood slightly taller in comparison to his southern contemporary, and with paler skin.

	“I had to ask for translation.” said Hou, “I am afraid Vietnamese is one of those languages I never mastered. You are a determined individual, comrade Nguyen; that much I give you credit for.”

	“My home is my life.” Nguyen said, “That much is true.” and it was no secret between the two of them at the table why the two were there sharing the same space. It was an issue which was of mutual interest, at least as Nguyen believed of Hou. While Hou collected the articles and Hou's notes he asked, “May I smoke?”

	“Feel free, we're outside. My wife doesn't like it outside though.” said Hou. Nguyen briskly lit up, and Hou broached the topic of the meeting unimpeded, “I am told your a hesitant man.” said Hou, “I am of the opinion that the Bureau could have approached others, but instead went directly to you. But as I have been told; you do not wish to go through. Can I ask to understand why?” Hou asked.

	Nguyen drew deep on his cigarette and exhaled a long stream of smoke before entertaining a response. His expression grew quickly melancholy. “Simply, history.” he said, “Our countries have been at long odds and competed with each other. Your people even occupied my homeland for a time.”

	“That is ancient history. We are in new times. There is no grounds that China would seek to enslave Vietnam again. As it matters now to the new world the slates are whipped clean. Together our two countries can liberate ourselves from our colonial pasts, and the foreign bourgeoisie of all of Asia, Europe, the world perhaps.”

	“And will China send its armies against the world?” Nguyen asked, “Where has it been for the passed ten years? Fifteen? Twenty years?” Nguyen almost growled, embittered.

	“Here nor there.” Hou dismissed, “I will be the first to admit to you that China's policies in regards to your homeland and towards others have been less than practical. I understand your frustration, for it has frustrated myself too. But it's a matter I have to be realistic about; I can't and won't call for total war on the war anytime soon. But I can now say we are in a position to start helping.”

	“And when China is done with us, what is the future of Vietnam then? I do not want to turn my country other for other's ambitions.”

	“That is up to you.”

	Nguyen nodded, and turned his head out towards the sea. It glimmered and shone clear to the horizon passed the posts and the poles upholding the canopy veranda. It blew it a soft sweet smell of salt that mingled with the flowers. “How far beyond your own country have you been, Sai Tang?” he asked.

	“I've never left it.” Hou admitted, “Though I've been all over it.”

	Nguyen nodded, “I am willing to admit that the people of China wish for nothing different from Vietnam, as of France; America. We are all one of the same type. A large extended family.” Hou smiled at the brief reference to his own writings, “Though I am critical of the Europeans by experience. I have seen their people to be immoral and lost to harmony, it's hypocritical of them to hold themselves up as the true beacon of civilization. While France held Vietnam and claimed to be civilizing it it did not destroy my home country's dignity. It did diminish its heritage, the strength of its ancient heritage. And I see it's done little to diminish your country's.

	“But...” Nyugen continued, trailing off into a thoughtful silence, “I must admit I have afraid of recruiting Chinese help in the matter. For I fear that they have done much to damage Vietnamese pride in the past. And you might convince me on the matter: but what about the rest of Vietnam? If my people see Chinese troops in their streets, and marching passed their fields; at their docks and on their shores what sort of conflict are you leading your people into?”

	“I'm under the impression it is not sending our armies, but preparing your own. Yes: your people deserve to have your country liberated. Yes: we are willing to see it through. But we not necessarily need to be the primary actor. There is much we can do, but there is things China needs before making an advance. Permission on your part to take on this roll, as an individual high in your community.”

	“And you want me to say yes?” he asked.

	“I want you to take the offer out and to see if it becomes a yes. At this point I am acting above what the Bureau wants. The Bureau wants you as a chief commander for a primarily Vietnamese army to invade Vietnam and wrestle control of the north from an as-of-yet unknown foreign power. If we were operating strictly along the guidelines the Bureau wants, it would be just that and I would be giving you all the honors I possibly can to convince you.

	“But I am not. I am making an open offer, based on what is deemed necessary by those it effects. If I am to arm them, I will. If I am to be a negotiator: I will. If there is to be negotiation between China and them to see things through if conditions change, so it will. To the best of my abilities I will find the balance to make this possible.”

	“Can I think?” Nguyen asked.

	“You can.”

[h1]South China Sea[/h1]
[h2]Golf of Tonkin[/h2]

	Adrift in still moonlit waters, the small Chinese ship containing the agents sat waiting and at watch over the horizons for their target. The deck was alive with silent observers as the two agents lay with their heads against the cut stumps of the masts. They drifted in and out of sleep, occasionally looking up into the sky to check the moons and the stars. Occasionally a sailor would step out onto the deck and try to make measurements of their position based on the sun and stars and sometimes the engine would start up to correct where they were if they had moved. But in general all was quiet and still. No one reported any lights in the distance, no dark shape moving across a sea glowing soft moon-light blue, sparkling with the reflection of the bright band of the Milky Way across the night sky.

	By early in the morning when no light had yet to breach the horizon, but the moon was sinking low a sailor came out on deck with a teapot and poured for the watchmen hot cups of tea to compensate for the time and the relatively cool night. Terse hush words were exchanged with each, offering condolences for the bad watch, or simply just laughing at the piss poor luck of them. Then the sailor would return.

	By the first breach of sunlight still nothing had changed, and with their backs turned on the eastern sun a long shadow of the ship stretched out onto the sea and they could see their reflections stretching far out across a languid and still ocean and the early morning ripples. A light breeze blew across the deck, bringing the taste and smell of the sea which by now they had grown numb too. An early breakfast was served, a  tasteless noodle bowl with broccoli; but no one took their eyes off the distance as they waited in the shipping lane.

	Huang Du checked his watch. Five in the morning. If the ship hadn't left now it soon would be. He wondered about the sailing speed of a large freighter, and tried to calculate how long they might see it if left that moment. He didn't know all the variables. And settled on a vague guess of the next five or twelve hours. It was very helpful. He prepared himself to settle back into another day of monotony.

	As the sun continued to raise, there was no ship yet to be seen. Distantly on the horizon one of the spotters made a comment about catching sight of an airplane on patrol over the ocean. But it may have also been a bird. It didn't matter much. By about this time the rest of the crew was on duck attending to the normal duties of their post, if simply to keep busy. The deck was cleaned from bow to stern. From below the sound of maintenance on the engine could be heard while the motor was silent and mute. It was over soon.

	But still, there was no ship on the horizon.

	“I have something!” a sailor called out excitedly, and suddenly after nearly twelve hours of waiting. There was a sudden jolt of energy on the deck as boots raced across to see. Huang Du and Arban shot up, and muscling through the crowds made their way to the side and squinted out over the horizon.

	“Binoculars, looking glass, something!” Huang Du called out. A pair of binoculars were dutifully brought to him.

	Pressing them against his eyes Huang Du looked out over the ocean waves to the faint suggestion of a ship. Sure enough, it was a ship. But the details were still far too distant to make out, anything small too blurry, to splotchy. With a raised voice he gave the call to sail for it, and the engine was fired up and the boat puttered and rumbled towards the ship on the distant horizon.

	Moving along the deck Huang Du kept following it to the point that he was the compass arrow for its direction. Periodically holding the binoculars to his eyes to get a better view, or to find it. The skipped over waves, and the boat rocked back and forth. A sudden recurrence of nausea came back to Arban who retired as quick as he could to the rear of the boat and cradled himself to puke into the wake of the rickety vessel.

	As the two practically set a course towards each other, the distance between the two rapidly diminished. It came to a point that Huang Du was sure by now the other boat could see them. He directed the Helmsman to keep a distance, and get around the sides of the ship as if to pass. They might perhaps find evidence of who owned the ship.

	Passing alongside, Huang Du looked out over the ship and saw flying its flags. There above the bridge was the flag of the Philippines, and on its hull its name. Huang Du shouted to Arban, they found something.

(At this point, if [@Letter Bee] is in any position to respond if he so wishes then he may, and depending on what happens may be viewed as an option of a possible collab)