by Kirk Adams
“Every one of you,” Ryan continued, “has devoted your life to this enterprise. Some have given much and others even more, but now we stand as equals: each one of us ready to sacrifice prestige, honor, and our very lives for the good of humanity. None of us has held back. What is owned by one is owned by all. What is given to one is given to all. No one will lack what he needs and no one will need what he lacks.”
Now the crowd roared so loud Ryan couldn’t be heard. He waved several times for quiet, but each time failed to quell the enthusiasm. Finally, he stepped away from the podium and waited several minutes for the crowd to settle.
“We have business to tend to,” Ryan said after a review of his notes. “As I explained in yesterday’s letter, the government of this island will pass from Russia to the community itself only after we’ve ratified a formal charter. Did anyone not receive a copy of the handout? Raise your hand.”
Two hands went up and Ryan asked Kit to pass copies to them.
“I’ll summarize,” Ryan announced, “the contents while you review. By international treaty, we need to submit a governing charter. Therefore, we intend—if you please, that is—to organize a basic charter while on this ship. A copy can be faxed to Geneva from the bridge and the captain himself will deliver the original when he returns to Russia. With that charter, we’ll cease being a party of idealistic dreamers as they call us in the old world and become a legitimate government recognized by international law—with formal rights and obligations. We are a people and we will become a state.”
Cheers broke out once more and Ryan was forced to wait several minutes for the noise to subside.
“And our government,” Ryan continued, “truly shall be of the people, by the people, for the people. That’s why we’ve been so careful to select only proven progressives and liberals who’ve marched against racism, campaigned against pollution, protested capital punishment, resisted militarism, and—I think that I can say it out loud in this room without fear—voted for Green and Democratic candidates. You weren’t picked on the basis of equal opportunity laws, but on the basis of your commitments and your character. Having given yourselves completely to humankind, a state of paradise now is entrusted to you. Brothers and sisters, look around. These are your executives and your legislators and your judiciary. Here are the only princes and kings and emperors and presidents and justices and mayors and bosses and fathers and mothers you’ll ever know again.”
The crowd again broke into long applause while Ryan took a sip of coffee and exchanged a few words with his wife. When he returned to the podium and raised his arms for quiet, the cheers slowed.
“Once upon a time,” Ryan said, “we tried to create a new society. In Selma and San Francisco. In Berkeley and Chicago. We knew no law in those days but love, as our artists and prophets sang. But politicians and lawyers and generals and bankers never could accept us. They wanted to keep their power, prestige, and profit. And they crushed us. We can be honest here: the sixties were a victory for conservatives and their silent majority. Nixon crushed our head even if we bruised his heel. And I’m not sure we did even that.”
The crowd fell silent.
“They called us a counterculture,” the speaker now dropped his voice so that many in the audience were forced to strain to hear his words, “as if freedom and equality could ever be mere dissent movements rather than the rightful inheritance of all humankind. They laughed at us, fought us, and even co-opted some of us. And now they’ve betrayed their own constitution to steal from us what is ours. They condemn the rise of illegitimate births in America. Well, we condemn the advent of illegitimate democracy. Dubya, Cheney, Powell, and the whole lot of them are bas ...”
Ryan stopped himself mid-sentence. “Well,” he said with a smile, “they’re illegitimate.”
A few catcalls and a couple whistles sounded from the crowd.
“Still,” Ryan continued, “our noble dream will become reality. There will be hard times, I’m sure. Many of us have left family and friend for the sake of this new colony and we’ll certainly miss them. But, as I explain in the letter, we’ve made provision to rotate in additional inhabitants after six months and to allow vacations to the United States after a year. That’s assuming, of course, that American authorities accept our passports. We’ll need to endure a full year without seeing the mothers who birthed us or the loved ones we’ve left behind. Look to your left and to your right. These are your fathers and mothers and sisters and lovers. Together, we’ll make a true paradise, so remember who you are and love the ones near you.”
As Ryan concluded his remarks, he stepped from the podium and hugged his wife, afterwards stepping into the crowd to shake hands with the men and kiss several of the women. The audience also turned inward. Couples embraced and strangers shook hands. Men and women spoke words of good cheer to each other, then embraced and kissed. Everyone hugged the children. Not one person was left alone, neither the plain nor the pretty. Every woman was adored and every man admired. Yet their love remained almost untarnished—for this night brought the reunion of mother and daughter and father and son and brother and sister.
Several minutes passed as Ryan let the crowd settle before returning to the podium. When he did, he was professional and to the point.
“Now,” Ryan said, moving his eyes over the assembly, “we have work to do. Hold your applause until the day’s work is done.”
The audience remained quiet.
“First,” Ryan said, “by a show of hands, who wishes to establish a democracy?”
The actor scanned the crowd and saw two hundred hands raised. When he asked whether anyone opposed democracy, not one hand was raised.
“It’s unanimous,” Ryan declared. “We’re a democracy.”
Ryan sipped from his water before continuing.
“Next,” Ryan said, “those who prefer parliamentary democracy after the European style gather to my left. Those who prefer a checks and balances system after the American pattern move to my right.”
It took ten minutes for the crowd to separate in the crowded room, but after it did, the tally became clear. Every single citizen voted for parliamentary democracy, many shouting the Bush triumph was enabled by an archaic political system that thwarted the will of the people—a form of government originally constructed to line the pockets of Yankee capitalists and Southern slavers. It also was decided within the hour that all significant political decisions would be brought before the entire citizenry via direct democracy. Allowing every person to vote on critical decisions was judged the only way to ensure that all ethnic, gender, and even ideological distinctions were fairly represented. Moreover, the majority voted that everyone past puberty would be awarded the vote since the most crucial private and public interests come into being at the advent of sexual maturity. In short, the form of government was deliberated and determined before the first coffee break.
It took until noon to decide the legislative assembly also would serve as the judiciary. Trials of accused criminals were to be conducted before the assembled people—each of whom was to be instructed in matters of the law. In this way, political dominance by a legal class could be avoided. Several trial lawyers objected, but were outvoted and overruled. When the lawyers argued only legal experts could protect civil rights, majority spokespersons observed that a community of liberals wasn’t likely to face much crime in the first place, and if it did, the political ideals of its citizenry would prevent the unconscionable abuses that law-and-order conservatives inflicted on the American judicial system.
“Where will we find,” one young man articulated, “the poverty and prejudice that create crime? We need neither attorney nor judge. We must presume innocence, not guilt. For our judges and juries as well as the accused.”
Neither was an independent executive branch established (from fear of a Nixon-like imperial presidency). Instead, the citizens decided to create an Executive Council of the People’s Will—an executive and administrative body of five del
egates slated to serve two-week terms of office beginning on the first and third Monday of each calendar month. Four delegates would be drawn from each of the four neighborhoods and the fifth representative selected from staff headquarters. The Small Council, as the Executive Council of the People’s Will was nicknamed, was scheduled to meet weekly and submit a written report to each convocation of the entire electorate in a General Council of the People’s Will. The General Will, as the communal assembly soon came to be called, was to meet as often as necessary to resolve legal, constitutional, and political issues by public deliberation and direct vote. It alone was considered the final guardian of democracy and interpreter of law. Following Ryan’s recommendation, the assembly voted to name the new country the State of Paradise.
Lunch was served at noon and the rest of the day was spent dividing one hundred and two settlers into separate villages—or neighborhoods as they also were called. Though it had been decided to establish four twenty-four-person villages, considerable debate was needed to resolve the complexities of ethnic composition. Some voters thought racism best eradicated by integrating all peoples of whatever color while others thought is better to let each racial group live after its own fashion. A few even wanted the matter resolved by lot. After three hours of debate, it was agreed by a 68-20 vote (with fourteen under-aged children not voting) to integrate.
Ryan consoled the losers with remembrance that no minority would be oppressed within the wider community. He also reminded them that all inhabitants would be free to intermingle as they themselves chose. It also was decided that a neighborhood of professional staff would oversee and distribute a central store of critical and otherwise scarce supplies. This village would include: physician Dr. Marc Graves, nurse practitioner Cynthia Fallows, anthropologist Dr. Tomas Morales, psychologist Dr. Janine Erikson, sociologist Dr. Scott Law, and veterinarian Dr. Mary Vander Mare.
After organizing a framework for local communities, the people selected their neighborhoods. By voice vote it was decided to choose inhabitants by lottery rather than individual choice to guard against cliques and hurt feelings. Ryan loaded a laptop with a database that included every inhabitant’s name, race, age, family status, and personal preferences and the assembly set parameters for neighborhoods during an hour-long discussion. After consensus was reached regarding selection criteria, Ryan clicked his mouse and the computer’s screen flashed for an instant as the database configured several hundred possible neighborhoods—each one no more than fifty percent Caucasian and no less than fifty percent female. A kindergartner with blond cornrows and fair skin was asked to choose a number between one and six hundred twenty-four—and selected both of her favorite numbers: four and seventeen. Lucky twenty-one, as many called it, was used to select the actual inhabitants of villages from the many potential populations. The villages determined (as if by divine election), rosters then were printed and distributed to volunteers who called the neighborhoods into existence from the four corners of the room. During the next few minutes, most villagers introduced themselves in the cramped corners of the hall while the professional staff met in the middle of the room.
The day’s final order of business was conducted just before a late dinner: the colonists needed to divide their territory among the four villages. Ryan used old Russian maps and commercial satellite imagery to divide the island into four quadrants: as equal in their share of land, water, and beach as could be achieved consistent with clearly delineated borders—with the headquarters staff assigned a portion of land large enough to meet its own needs. A copy of the map was cut along the boundaries of assigned districts and the quadrants folded and dropped into the emptied purse of one of the younger men. A representative of each neighborhood took a single share back to the corners of the hall for review by the newly formed villages. With their portions of paradise in hand, neighbors used laminated maps of the island (and felt-tipped marking pens) to plan where to pitch tents and plant fields. A cartographer and two agricultural specialists provided technical assistance in map reading to those whose experience was limited to tourist guides and road atlases.
After a meal of vegetarian burgers and tofu fries, Ryan asked the conclave to consider the drafting of a state charter—recommending that each neighborhood spend the evening formulating key principles by which the community would govern itself. Ryan hoped these could be discussed and ratified the following morning and a new charter then proposed. Following his recommendation, it was suggested that a succinct document along the lines of the French Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen would prove a more useful document than an extensive constitution following the American model. This suggestion was seconded and ratified by unanimous vote of the assembly.
After the vote, everyone rose to applaud Ryan and Kit for their efforts before dispersing into neighborhoods for discussion and debate. Within the hour, casks of beer and cases of wine were opened and copies of political documents distributed for study, though many emigrants soon drifted toward the comfort and companionship of established acquaintances.
Assembly reconvened the following day. Each of the five villages—four territorial and the staff neighborhood—provided ten planks to debate. There was nearly unanimous regard for the rights to reproductive freedom, freedom of association, freedom from religion, freedom of speech, and freedom of conscience—as well as for legal and social equality. A majority of the citizens also accepted that there should be freedom both from conscription and pollution. Proposals dealing with marriage, artistic expression, weapons ownership, drug legalization, and animal rights also were reviewed. Before lunch was served, each proposal was voted into law or removed from immediate consideration. A constitutional committee headed by Ryan was empowered to draft a charter. Though several citizens wished to debate the social theory underpinning the charter, the majority proved more interested in limiting debate to immediate political and legal realities. Thus authorized, the constituent assembly worked through lunch while the citizenry enjoyed leisure on deck. The framers grouped like-minded proposals together, then simplified these to core principles and necessary issues. Afterwards, a political scientist and former writer of campaign speeches for several Democratic Senators and progressive advocacy groups penned a draft of the charter (which was debated and amended within the committee). Finally, the speechwriter rewrote the draft—to which Ryan contributed several stylistic changes. The revision was read before the re-assembled convocation at dinner. Everyone listened with undistracted attention and even the children were unusually quiet.
The Flower of the First of May Compact, as the document was called, was accepted almost without amendment. The only real controversy regarded guns. Several activists wanted the possession of firearms explicitly outlawed, but majority spokespersons pointed out the fifth and sixth provisions of the charter were clearly anti-NRA in concept and intent—forbidding militia membership, private gun ownership, and hunting with firearms. Besides, Ryan argued that because no such weapons were to be brought on the island there was very little danger of mischief with guns. He questioned whether the technological know-how even existed for arms production since not a single gunsmith had been selected for citizenship—unless, he quipped, Kit secretly had invited members of the Smith and Wesson families. After loud laughter, the objectors accepted his arguments and didn’t push a vote. Gun ownership was rendered a moot issue.
Of far more critical importance was a debate over Article I—which defined the members of state. Several women wanted confirmation that citizens needed to be born before inheriting political rights, thereby securing a woman’s right to an elective abortion through all nine months of pregnancy. Nearly everyone agreed with their judgment and the assembly voted by voice that the women’s interpretation of the clause was correct, though a few children of former Latino immigrants sought clarification regarding the rights of immigrants. Since the citizenship clause imitated the American Constitution in extending citizenship to the children of citizens and to soil-born immigr
ants, they feared a class of foreign-born immigrants might be excluded from citizenship on that basis—just as those born in Mexico or Haiti possessed no inherent right to vote in American elections. This modification was greeted with great celebration since it was the first time any government in human history had granted such comprehensive political rights: anyone living among them would be counted a citizen and anyone not living among them would not.
After this final amendment, the charter was voted upon. Everyone eligible to vote (only a few of the younger children were unable to exercise that right) ratified the charter. The constitution read:
The Flower of the First of May Compact
Being willingly gathered together to create a new society, we the undersigned declare that the citizens of the State of Paradise confirm the following principles to be our governing charter:
1. The political community is composed of nothing more and nothing less than free individuals. All persons living in our realm shall enjoy the privileges and exercise the responsibilities of citizenship. No restrictions shall be placed on the right of a woman to terminate pregnancy.
2. No person shall be restricted in the exercise of her or his own choices except to secure the freedom of others.
3. No distinction shall be made between persons before the law.
4. The right to freedom of conscience, speech, sexual preference, artistic expression, public and private association, and due process under the law shall not be curtailed.
5. The public authority shall possess the right to safeguard domestic tranquility and public safety and to regulate all armed and police forces. However, it shall possess no right to suspend, infringe, or otherwise abrogate individual freedoms and rights. There is no right to possess or use any weapon or tool except as authorized by public authority. Military service shall not be made compulsory.
6. Every person possesses an equal share of nature that is to be used and preserved. The harvesting of natural resources and the taking of animal life shall be regulated by public authority.