ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened?

by Harvey Ardman

  It took him almost two minutes to get the attention of the enormous crowd, a feat which would have been completely impossible but for the giant television screens. At last, however, the marching stopped and the shouting came to an end, more or less, and most of those in attendance were watching Poindexter, and his shiny head.

  “I cannot tell you how gratified we are that so many of you have come today, that so many of you recognize the importance of the work Our Country First is doing, that so many of you understand how dangerous Callaway’s foolish agenda is, how it could damage, even destroy the great country we love.”

  He waited for the raucous mixture of cheers and applause to subside, then resumed. “We must stop Callaway from tying our fortunes to the Confederate States of America, from making a stupendously stupid mistake, which will surely destroy us both, but not before bankrupting our great country and ripping apart the exceptional society we have created. Nothing is more important than thwarting our inexperienced and well-meaning President. Nothing is more important than showing Congress what the American people think before tomorrow’s vote.”

  More cheers and applause. And in the White House, another exchange of glances between Wang and Callaway. “Recycled from their TV commercials and newspaper ads,” Wang noted.

  Poindexter was holding up a hand again, asking for the crowd to quiet down, which, after a moment, they did. “And now,” he said, beaming, “it is my very great honor to introduce to you the woman who inspired this rally and who almost singlehandedly made it happen, a woman who has a deep understanding of the profound danger into which our President has put us, a woman who is willing to put her life and her considerable reputation on the line to stop this madness…”

  In the White House, Mary Katz joined the President and his Chief of Staff. He was sweating and out of breath. “Am I in time? Tell me I made it. I got stuck in traffic and…”

  “You made it,” Wang said. “Poindexter is introducing her right now.”

  “Shhhh,” said Callaway. They stopped talking and focused on the TV set.

  “…a woman who has selflessly devoted her life to public service, one of the greatest Americans of our time…”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Wang muttered, shaking his head.

  “…my very good friend and long-time colleague, Phyllis Iserbyt!”

  The entire street erupted in cheering and shouting, and Phyllis Iserbyt, smiling modestly, stepped up to the podium in real life and on all the giant TV screens, her face looming over the crowd, big-brotherish.

  “Thank you,” she told the cheering crowd, waving, “thank you.” That didn’t make the slightest dent in the cheering. “Thank you, thank you,” she said, holding up both hands. It looked like a benediction. The enormous crowd decided it had cheered enough and it was time to hear what the steely-eyed woman had to say.

  “Hello Americans!” she called, and she got a loud, ragged hello back in return. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for showing President Callaway how the American people feel. Thank you for showing how deeply we oppose this naïve, poorly-considered and ultimately gravely-misguided adventure, this terrifying threat to our nation and our society.” She paused to let the crowd applaud, which they did, on cue.

  “And most of all,” she said, when they had quieted down, “And most of all, thank you for coming here today—the day before Congress votes on this obscene iniquity they call reunion. May every Senator remember, as he or she rises to vote tomorrow, the roar of this enormous crowd, the true voice of the American people.”

  And at that, the entire crowd—a quarter of a million people, maybe more—let loose with a ragged but full-throated roar of approval that welled up out of Pennsylvania Avenue and overflowed the streets and alleys of downtown Washington, D.C.

  In the White House, although Ms. Iserbyt kept talking—indeed, she was just getting warmed up, the President and his aides watched her face disappear from the television screen. It was replaced by full-screen flashing words: SPECIAL BULLETIN, and her voice was replaced by INN’s ‘urgent news’ synthesized trumpets.

  Then came the calm, homogenized male announcer’s voice: “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we are now cutting away from our local programming in accordance with our contractual responsibilities to the Canadia Broadcasting System to bring you an announcement of national importance from Gordon Bowman, the Prime Minister of Canadia.”

  “What the hell?” Marty Katz said, flabbergasted. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Shhhh,” Callaway said. “Just listen.”

  “You knew this was coming?” Wang asked, unbelieving.

  Callaway smiled.

  “What’s he going to say?” Katz asked.

  “Just listen,” the President repeated.

  The SPECIAL BULLETIN graphic lingered for a bit, then Gordon Bowman’s handsome face appeared on all the TV screens arrayed along Pennsylvania Ave., as well as the set Katz, Callaway and Wang were watching, not to mention every TV in the North American Union and Canadia that happened to be on at that moment.

  Bowman smiled his crinkly, boyish, thoroughly charming smile and his clear blue eyes twinkled. “Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Canadia and the North American Union, good morning. I hope you will forgive me for interrupting your morning, but I have news of the greatest national importance to both of our countries to announce…wonderful news, I believe, and I hope and believe you will all agree with me…”

  At this point, Phyllis Iserbyt, glanced down at the monitor on the platform, then at one of the giant screens on Pennsylvania Avenue and finally realized that she was no longer on television, and even worse, very few people were still paying attention to her. She raised her voice, which had no effect whatever. Panicked and confused, she looked toward Ed Poindexter, only to find that he was panicked and confused as well.

  Ms. Iserbyt turned toward Lori Newbold, “What’s going on here?” she demanded to know, but she couldn’t get the glamorous reporter’s attention. Newbold was shouting into her cell phone, trying to understand what had happened, trying to get the rally and Ms. Iserbyt back on television. By now, the lady in question was banging her hand on the microphone in front of her, soundlessly. And her hemorrhoids, which had been relatively quiescent today, decided that this was the perfect time to attack again.

  “I said,” said Ms. Iserbyt to Lori Newbold once more, sarcastic and demanding, “What’s going on here? I’m not on the television screens. Am I still being broadcast? Am I still on the air?” She stood there, hands on hips, sparks shooting out of her eyes.

  “Yes, no, I’m not sure,” Lori Newbold said. “I don’t think so. The screens are showing the network feed and if they’re not showing you, the rally isn’t on air.”

  “Why? Helmut promised…”

  Lori Newbold pointed to the onstage monitor and they both looked at Prime Minister Bowman…

  “I come before you today to tell you that the Canadian Parliamen, as well as my cabinet, the governors of our provinces and territories and myself have, in camera, made a decision of great and unprecedented moment, a decision destined, I believe, to alter the course of history, to change forever the trajectory of the English-speaking nations of North America.

  “We, the elected and duly sworn representatives of the government of Canadia have voted to petition the Congress of the North American Union, to join with you and to be admitted into your nation, as separate states, coequal with the existing states, in permanent and perpetual union.”

  Bowman paused, briefly, and encored his winning smile. And in the White House, the President’s advisors let out a collective gasp of surprise.

  Bowman continued. “We are presenting this petition because we have determined that a union between Canadia and the North American Union would create a country with the world’s largest economy, just ahead of Germany, an export powerhouse, a political counterweight to Europe, with one language and common values, an even greater force for freedom and democracy than we are separately.” />
  He paused again, to give his audience a chance to absorb his words.

  “We are making this proposal because we believe that Canadia’s vast oil fields, natural resources and wide open spaces are a perfect fit with the NAU’s technological expertise and manufacturing muscle, and because our laws and governments are based on the same principles and ideals. And we are more than willing to make any adjustments necessary to conform to the NAU constitution.”

  On Pennsylvania Ave., the enormous crowd of people gaped at the TV screens that had been set up for them, absolutely fascinated by what Bowman was saying.

  “Union with America has long been a dream of mine, a dream I shared with Charles Callaway when we were roommates at McGill University, nearly three decades ago,” Bowman went on. “Even then, we were convinced a union between our countries made perfect sense in every respect—economic, political, societal. We believed no border between us should have ever existed. And when New France broke away from the rest of Canada, reunion seemed inevitable. Of course, we had no idea then that we might someday be in a position to help make it happen.”

  The crowd along Pennsylvania Ave. was now completely silent, stunned by what they were hearing.

  Bowman took a deep breath and went on. “My efforts to make union a reality began last year, when I took office, but I have not discussed the possibility in public because I didn’t want to raise false hopes. I had to find out if my government, if our elected officials, and if our people agreed with me.”

  At the White House, Marty Katz was shaking his head in awe. “You and Bowman—you planned all this?”

  “Shhhh,” Callaway said, stifling a smile.

  Meanwhile, Bowman continued. “…I had to find out if President Callaway’s instincts and mine were supported by the facts. We needed to be certain that both nations would benefit from a union. In order to determine that, I asked an elite group of economists, sociologists, political scientists to study the question.

  “These experts spent nearly a year years sifting through the data,” Bowman said, “and they concluded a union of our two countries would result in a new entity significantly stronger and more viable than either one of us separately.”

  On the rally platform, Ms. Iserbyt was no longer berating Lori Newbold. She had taken a seat beside Ed Poindexter. Both were watching Bowman, dumbfounded and helpless. Ms. Iserbyt looked particularly uncomfortable, as though she were in pain.

  “In addition,” Bowman said, “In addition, we did extensive political polling on the idea of union, without revealing who was asking or why. I would now like to make public the results of those polls. In our territories, 76% of those polled viewed union favorably, while 18% were opposed. In our more populous areas, between 81 and 84% of those polled approved of union.”

  At the White House, Katz was just shaking his head. “I am truly astounded, Mr. President. I don’t think I’ve ever been this surprised in my life.”

  “You didn’t see fit to tell us?” Katz said. It was more an observation than a question.

  “Don’t go getting all insulted. I wasn’t sure it was going to happen until yesterday,” Callaway explained. “And you didn’t really need to know. Besides, I thought you might enjoy the surprise.”

  “I wonder how Phyllis Iserbyt is enjoying it,” Wang said.

  “Take a look,” the President suggested.

  Wang walked over to the window and picked up the pair of binoculars that were sitting on the sill. He focused on the platform on the other side of Pennsylvania Ave.

  “What’s happening out there?” Katz asked. “The old hag having a conniption?”

  “She just sitting there. She looks like she’s been beaten.”

  “That’s because she has,” Katz said.

  On the screen, Bowman paused for a moment, took a sip of water and continued. “Working in great secrecy, I shared this information with my cabinet, parliamentary leaders from both major parties and the governors of every province in Canadia—British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, as well as the Yukon and Northwestern Territories and presented my plan for union. Last week, we reached unanimous agreement to go ahead.”

  On Pennsylvania Ave., the demonstrators began dropping their signs. A few started drifting away, walking toward the buses, or wherever it was they’d managed to park their cars.

  “And now,” Bowman continued, “President Bourque and the Confederate States of America have given us an extraordinary opportunity to complete—to expand—our dream of a unified English-speaking nation in North America. As a result, I asked our experts to expand their studies to include the CSA. I was gratified to learn that this projected addition gives us all an even greater chance to grow and prosper. It has great advantages for all of us.”

  He stopped for a moment, looking directly into the camera, his expression his face practically filling the screen. “What we have here is a perfect fit, like the joining of three neighboring pieces in a jig-saw puzzle,” he said earnestly. “It will create a nation that stretches from the Arctic Circle to the Gulf of Mexico, and Alaska will no longer be cut off from the rest of the country.”

  Bowman paused again, once more letting the words sink in. Then he resumed, gaining speed.

  “ My friends, Canadia has vast natural resources and millions of square miles of sparsely-populated wilderness ready to be developed. The North American Union has the technology and the manufacturing capacity to make use of our resources and a huge population that could use the room to expand. The CSA has tens of millions of under-utilized workers and it offers a enormous nearly untapped market for manufactured goods. It’s as though we were always intended to be one country.”

  In the White House, Callaway and Wang exchanged meaningful glances. “He certainly makes a good case of it,” Wang said.

  “Been rehearsing for years,” Callaway said. “Decades.”

  On screen, Bowman continued. “So here is our offer, America: We want to join you—and the CSA—to build the greatest country on Earth. And we say to your Congress, vote tomorrow to let the Southern states rejoin the union and then approve our petition, so we can begin conforming our provincial constitutions to yours. Let us join you, as soon as possible, in a new era of peace and prosperity, for the good of all.

  “And finally, let me say this: It is our hope that if you grant our petition and the CSA’s, we can all agree to revive and adopt a great and revered name, a name that echoes a glorious past, a name that will apply equally to all of us and truly mean what it says: the United States of America.

  “Thank you for watching. God bless us all.”

  The SPECIAL BULLETIN graphic replaced Bowman’s face and the voiceover announcer said, “That was Gordon Bowman, Prime Minister of Canadia, with a special announcement for the citizens of his country and the North American Union. We now return you to our regular programming.”

  As is often the case with such interruptions, the INN’s regular program, at least to start, was a commercial, in this case for toothpaste.

  In the White House, Marty Katz turned to President Callaway. “That was the neatest political maneuver I have ever seen,” he said. “I am in awe of you, sir.”

  Callaway laughed. “There was a lot of luck involved, Marty.”

  Katz just shook his head. “Yeah, luck. Right.”

  “I think you just trumped the opposition, Mr. President,” Wang said. “I don’t see how they can recover.”

  “Certainly not before the vote,” Katz said.

  “I agree,” said Eric Wang. ‘After hearing Bowman, and knowing that practically everyone in America heard him, I can’t think of a single Senator who’d be willing to risk a no vote on the reunion.

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Katz said. “But it’s certain to soften the opposition.

  The door burst open and Veronica Tennenbaum sailed into the room, wind filling her sails. “Mazel tov!” she exclaimed. “That was absolutely wonderful!” She hurried to the President, threw her
arms around him and gave him the kind of hug grandmothers give their newly bar mitzvahed grandsons. It came with a warm nuzzling of the President’s cheek that left a distinct imprint of lipstick.

  Callaway tried to disengage. “Thank you, Veronica, but it’s Gordon who deserves the credit.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said. “How long have you two been working on it?”

  Callaway shrugged “Well, I suppose we…”

  “Hey!” Wang interrupted, even though the President was speaking. He was looking through the binoculars, toward the Our Country First rally platform. “You gotta see this.”

  Callaway took the binoculars and gazed out the window. “God damn,” he said quietly. “She’s having the mother of all hissy-fits.” He passed the binoculars to Veronica, although Katz also had his hand out.

  “Yep,” Veronica said. “Totally fermisht.”

  “Not surprising,” Marty Katz said. “Look at the crowd. It’s just… melting away.”

  They came close to the window and gazed at the scene. Katz got out a cigar and lit up, attracting Wang’s attention. But instead of complaining, he smiled.

  On the rally platform, Phyllis Iserbyt suddenly saw not only that Gordon Bowman was no longer speaking, but that all of the television screens in view were showing full-color, high definition view of her, scowling, snarling, waving her hands in helpless rage, her hopes shattered, her dreams destroyed.

  “Turn that off!” Ms. Iserbyt screamed at the defenseless Lori Newbold. “Get my face off those screens! My God, is that picture being broadcast? Get that camera off of me!” At that moment, she realized the Vicodin had worn off. During the speech, she had felt nothing but a distant thArthurbing. Now, it seemed as though her rear end was on fire.

  Herb Czeckjo, intrepid cameraman first class, could hear all of this. He could see the woman had come seriously unglued. He knew she was, well, no longer camera-ready. He was even aware that Lori Newbold had ordered him to stop shooting. He responded by zooming in on Ms. Iserbyt’s face, getting a particularly delicious shot of her trying to hid behind her raised hands. No one was going to shut him down.