ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened?

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ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened? Page 31

by Harvey Ardman


  “They’ll get used to the idea,” Callaway said, trying to persuade everyone, himself included. “I’ll see to it.”

  “I don’t think we can do this, Mr. President,” Wang said.

  “We have to try,” Pickett said. “If we fail…”

  Bourque interrupted. “Look at it this way, Mr. Wang—Eric, if I may—the damn truth is, them that don’t pluck don’t get feathers.”

  Veronica studied Bourque, as if that might reveal what the Southern leader meant. “Feathers?” She said. “We’re all going to get feathers, and the tar to stick ‘em on. Then we’re all going to be run out of town on a rail.”

  “They still do that?” Pickett asked.

  “No,” Veronica said, “but they can always revive the custom.”

  “Have you spoken about this with your legislative leaders, Buddy?” President Callaway asked.

  Bourque’s eyebrows rose. “Our gubmint operates on a simpler basis than yours, Charlie. I say what’s going to happen and that’s what happens.”

  “So you’re like a king—and the CSA Congress is mostly decorative?”

  “Our Congress is more of a voting society than a legislative body,” Bourque said. “And as for me, I’m more like an orchestra conductor than a king.”

  “So it’s your orchestra, and you dictate the tune,” Veronica said.

  “I wouldn’t use the word ‘dictate,’” Bourque said. “I’d just say they’re quite content to play any tune I suggest. That’s what they expect of me.”

  “So they’re not going to give you any arguments about reunion?” Veronica asked.

  “They won’t, at least nothing serious. But I ‘spect there’ll be plenty of bitching from other quarters.”

  The door opened and Marty Katz entered the room, followed quickly by Wang. “Excuse me,” Katz said, “This the loony bin? Still visiting hours?”

  The laughter was somewhat restrained.

  “I gather you’ve been brought up to date, Mr. Katz,” Bourque said with a smile.

  “Have a seat, Marty,” Callaway said.

  Katz did as instructed.

  “Well,” Veronica said, “what’s your opinion, Marty?”

  “I think you’re all nuts. With all due respect, of course.”

  “No one thinks this is going to be easy,” Callaway said.

  Katz calmly took a cigar out of his case, lit up, took a deep drag and blew a spectacular smoke ring. “Easy isn’t the question. Possible is the question, and in my opinion, it’s not.”

  “See, he agrees with me,” Veronica put in.

  “Mr. President, you know I think you’re a hell of a guy,” Katz continued. “But there’s a reason Lincoln let the South go. And there’s a reason no President in the last 150 years has even daydreamed about reuniting the two countries. But aid is another story, of course.”

  “At this point,” Bourque said, “providing us with aid is about the same as giving a double amputee a new pair of galoshes.”

  “What would you do if we turned you down flat?” Katz asked.

  Bourque leaned back in his chair and considered Katz’s question. “Well,” he said after a moment, “then I’d only have one choice left, wouldn’t I?” He let the remark linger in the air until everyone realized what he meant.

  “That’s a choice you won’t have to make, Buddy,” Callaway said. “However shocking, however difficult, however unlikely reunion may seem now, we’re going to make it happen. I promise you that.”

  “I’m truly glad to hear you say that, Charlie,” Bourque said.

  “I wish I could say the same, Mr. President,” Veronica said. “I hope you understand the risk here. If you take this on, full bore, and you fail—which I think is probable—you’re going to be dead in the water for the rest of your term.”

  Katz piped up. “And don’t even think about re-election.”

  “Mr. President,” said Eric Wang, “we can do most of this without reunion—military alliance, foreign aid, expert advisors. It’s just that word—reunion. That’s poison.”

  “Nevertheless,” Callaway said, unmoved. “Reunion is what I want—nothing less. And the word matters, Eric. In fact, that’s the most important part of it. It’s not just reunion, you know, it’s rebirth—rebirth of the America we thought was gone forever.”

  “You know,” Veronica said thoughtfully, “I’m told there’s a very thin line between bold and foolhardy…”

  “And you think I may be on the wrong side of it?” Callaway asked.

  She sighed. “Trouble is, you can’t tell in advance. Only afterwards. And then it’s too late.”

  For a moment, Callaway seem to be studying the table top. Then he leaned back and looked up with a faint smile. “Did I ever tell you about my debate with Gordon Bowman?”

  “The Prime Minister of Canadia?” Katz asked, confused.

  “I’ve heard the story a dozen times,” said Eric Wang. “I could tell it myself.”

  “Well, I haven’t heard it,” Veronica said, “and if you don’t mind, I’d rather you let the President tell it.”

  “All right,” Callaway said, “if you insist. It was back in ’89, when I was a senior at McGill University. Gordon Bowman was my roommate. We were both studying political science.”

  “That much I know,” said Veronica.”

  “Well, one day, Professor Carmichael decided to set us against each other, in a debate.”

  “Poor Gordon Bowman,” Marty said. “That’s a task I wouldn’t want.”

  “Don’t underestimate Bowman,” the President said. “He got a better grade than I did.”

  “In the debate?” Veronica asked.

  “No, in the course. I won the debate.”

  Katz was curious. “What was the subject?”

  “Ah. Now, we’re getting to the point,” said Callaway. “The subject was, was Lincoln right to let the South secede?”

  “Which side did you take?” Veronica asked.

  “We were assigned sides. I defended Lincoln. Gordon had to convince the class that Lincoln was wrong.”

  Veronica nodded. “That certainly sounds relevant.”

  “I already know who won,” Katz said.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Wang warned.

  “Oh, you’re right, Marty,” Callaway said. “I won, by four votes. But I also lost—because Bowman convinced me that Lincoln was wrong.”

  That caught Veronica off guard. “Really? How did he do that?”

  Callaway thought a moment. “Well, I relied on Lincoln’s argument—that the war would have killed tens of thousands and maimed many more, that both sides would be impoverished by the costs.”

  “Strong arguments,” Veronica said, “not to mention that history has proved you right.”

  “Yes, but he had three killer arguments against me,” Callaway said. “The first was moral. If we let the south go, slavery continues for decades.”

  “Well, that happened too, so he was right there.” Veronica admitted.

  “Yes. And Gordon’s second argument was economic. He said that if the south were allowed to secede, both parts of the country would be economically weakened, which also happened, although more to them than to us.”

  “You said there was a third killer argument,” Katz reminded the President.

  “Yes. Bowman claimed that if the north and the south became separate countries, neither one would ever be politically secure again,” Callaway said.

  “He was wrong there,” Marty Katz pointed out.

  “I’m not so sure,” Callaway replied. “The Mexican threat against the Confederacy seems pretty real. And what would happen here if we had a weak President and a bunch of Midwestern states threatened to secede over the abortion issue, citing Lincoln’s decision?”

  “Hmmm,” Veronica intoned.

  “The NAU could break up,” Callaway continued. “And the parts might be hostile to one another, or they might seek European allies.”

  “Well, I don’t know…�
� Marty Katz said.

  “You think it’s impossible?” Veronica said. “Well, I don’t. I think we’re damn lucky something like that hasn’t happened already.”

  “It was Bowman’s closing statement that convinced me,” Callaway said. He stood, took off his jacket and loosened his tie, making them wait for it.

  Katz was the least patient of the group. “Are you going to tell us what he said or make us guess?”

  “You know,” Callaway said thoughtfully, “it wasn’t so much what he said as it was that a Canadian was saying it.”

  “Saying what?” This time it was Veronica.

  Callaway took a deep breath. “Saying that the Founding Fathers had a great dream for America, ‘from many, one,’ that they believed freedom came from unity and strength from diversity,” he said. “Saying that we are a nation of nations, that we are the only nation that has ever been founded on an idea, that if we don’t hang together, we will hang separately. Powerful stuff.”

  “An emotional appeal,” Katch said.

  “More than that,” Callaway answered him. “An appeal to human ideals. An appeal to the best in us. It had a profound impact on me, and it continues to, twenty years later.”

  Veronica was watching the President intently. “So, when Bourque came calling,” she said…

  “I didn’t expect it to happen in my lifetime,” the President said. “And when Pickett showed up, I still didn’t believe it was possible. But when I saw Bourque was serious…”

  “I think I understand now,” said Marty Katz.

  “Believe me, I know how incredibly difficult it’s going to be,” Callaway said, “But I owe it to the Founding Fathers to try to revive their vision. I owe it to the citizens of NAU and the CSA. I don’t think I could ever be forgiven—or forgive myself—if I let the opportunity pass by. It may never come again.”

  Wang and Katz exchanged glances, and Callaway caught the look. “Listen, I can’t do this alone,” he said. “That would truly be impossible. I need the best you can give me. I need your wholehearted support or I might as well give up on the whole idea. Can you give it to me? Eric?”

  Wang regarded his Boss, a man he’d known and worked with—or for—for more than 20 years. “Don’t insult me, Charlie. You know where my loyalties lie. I’ve proved it a thousand times.”

  “Yes you have, Eric. I’m sorry. I know I can count on you.” He turned toward Veronica.

  “Don’t ask,” she said. “Your kind of idealism is why I’m here, Mr. President and you know that. We haven’t had a mentsh in the Oval Office in decades. Besides, there’s nothing I like better than a challenge. Just tell me something’s impossible and I’m itching to prove you wrong.”

  “As I remember,” Callaway said, “you were the one who said it was impossible.”

  Veronica laughed. “I’m entitled to a little kvetching, aren’t I?”

  “Before you get to me,” Marty Katz interrupted, “I want you to think back and remember how many times I’ve played Sancho Panza to deranged knights like you. You want to slay some windmills, pal? I’ll help you polish your armor and sharpen your sword.”

  “Deranged knights?”

  “Figure of speech,” Katz explained. “Poetic license.” He reached into a pocket, found a cigar and lit up.

  Callaway regarded his three advisors with affection. “I almost wish you’d been harder to convince,” he said.

  “You were hoping for a longer argument?” Veronica asked slyly.

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far.” President Callaway turned a keen eye on his Confederate counterpart. “Buddy,” he said, “I wonder if you’ve spent much time considering what you’re getting yourself into—how monumentally the CSA will have to change if we go ahead with this.”

  “Considerable time, actually,” Bourque said. “Truth is, it’s been eatin’ away on me for some years now.”

  “You’ll have to get rid of all those ‘colored only’ signs over the drinking fountains and the bathroom, for example,” Callaway said.

  “And the white and colored sections in restaurants and public transportation,” Katz added, watching Bourque’s reaction.

  “I know,” Bourque said. “And let blacks serve on juries, n’ vote and sue white folks if they think got a reason to. Yep. Mulled it over, all of it.”

  “Have you thought about the schools?” Veronica asked. “No more separate schools. Blacks and whites will sit in the classrooms together, like they do here.”

  “Yeah. Shouldn’t be too hard for the kids, ‘specially the young ‘uns,” Bourque said, considering the matter. “But for the parents, it’s gonna take some getting’ used to.”

  Katz lit up another cigar and regarded Bourque with interest. “Don’t forget housing and employment,” he said. “It won’t be legal to exclude people of color from renting or buying homes, merely on the basis of race. Same with jobs. And there’s the equal pay for equal work laws…Ready for all that?” He smiled, then took another puff on his cigar.

  “Am I ready for that?” Bourque asked. “No, I can’t say that I am. But I might ask you, Mr. Katz, are you ready to take on a health care and welfare system that’s in a shambles? Are you willing to step in and make our social security system solvent? Are you willing to station thousands of your young men and women in southern military bases, where some of them may be in harm’s way?”

  “Touché,” Katz said. “You’re right, of course. We’re going to have to spend a fair amount of our national treasure to raise the Confederacy and its citizens to economic equality with the North, and to build up its defenses.”

  “You know, Buddy,” Callaway said, “we didn’t get to where we are overnight. I’m talking about racial equality and prosperity. We’ve done pretty well, but we haven’t reached Nirvana yet.”

  Bourque put a hand to his chin. “Let’s get back to those social changes, Charlie. Do you really expect us to go to sleep as fish and wake up as fowl?”

  Callaway glanced around the table, at Katz, Wang and Veronica, as if assuring himself of their support. “No. That would be asking the impossible. But you’d have to start immediately, by nullifying all of the Jim Crow laws and dismantling all of the external evidence of discrimination. Of course, I know some things will take time—like school desegregation. We might give you six months to complete that. As for the social attitudes…

  “Those are gonna take awhile,” Bourque said. “But for everything there is a season, or so we’re told. Maybe I’ll live to see it, maybe I won’t. But I think I’ll see its beginnings.”

  “The change is already happening,” Pickett said. “This will accelerate it. The CSA has reached a dead end and we all know it, at least in the back of our minds.”

  “You know, you’re going to have to change too,” Bourque told Callaway. “You’re going to have to accept 75 million rednecks as full-fledged citizens of America. I’d say that’s going to take a considerable attitude adjustment.”

  “When your request for reunion goes public,” Veronica told Bourque, “I think a lot of Americans will be deeply impressed. They’ll come around. Most of them.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Callaway said.

  “You do realize, I hope,” said Marty Katz, “that you’ll have to give up the very name of your country. It can’t be known as the CSA or the Confederacy any more. When people speak of that part of the country, they’ll call it the South.”

  Bourque shrugged. “A rose by any other name…”

  “Maybe so, Mr. President, but the plain fact is, the Confederacy will have to give up its identity,” Katz said.

  “Mr. Katz,” Bourque said, “you’re makin’ me feel like I’m the defendant and you’re the persecutin’ attorney.”

  Callaway laughed. “He’s more like the defense attorney, preparing you to take the stand.”

  “Asking me the tough questions eh?” Bourque said.

  “Something like that,” Katz agreed.

  “Okay,” Bourque said, “let
’s talk about this identity business. I wouldn’t say we’ll be giving up our identity. I’d say we’ll be cutting out the gangrene so good healthy tissue can grow.”

  “Is that what you really think?” Callaway asked.

  “It’s what I’d like to think,” Bourque said. “What I’m trying to think.”

  “He’s getting there,” Pickett said.

  “And anyhow, the South will always be the South,” Bourque said. “We’ll always have the bayous and the plantations, tree-lined streets in Charleston, the golf courses in Georgia, gorgeous Atlantic and Gulf beaches. We’ll always have grits and jambalaya. We’ll always say y’all. We’ll always have our cotton and our orange groves and Southern hospitality. We’ll be getting’ a haircut and a makeover, but Lord knows, we’ve needed one for a very long time.”

  “You’ll be dissolving the government of your country,” Katz said. “Your country will cease to exist, except in the history books.”

  “Now you keep your pants on for a minute,” Bourque responded. “You can’t just wipe out the gubmint…

  “If we reunite,” Katz warned, “we won’t need a Confederate President any more. You’ll be out of a job, unless you intend to become part of the Callaway administration.”

  “No, no, no, you misunderstand me,” Bourque said. “When reunion is complete, I intend to retire from public life, except maybe for a few speeches to fill the coffers. No, what I meant is that you’re going to have to switchover from one gubmint to the next. I’m sure you don’t want the South in a state of anarchy.”

  “He has a good point, Marty,” Callaway said. “We can’t just erase the entire governmental infrastructure. We’re going to need it. Especially the state governments.”

  “We’ll have to have new elections, with universal suffrage for everyone over the age of 18,” Wang said.

  “Yes, and we’ll need them soon,” Katz said, “before the old power brokers can stack the deck and find ways to scare away the voters—and the candidates—they don’t like.”

  “I might be able to lend a hand there,” Bourque said.

 

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