No party politics is like fascism!
The laughter helped wind down the comment as the Cardinal of St. Louis, red from top to toe, lumbered awkwardly to the podium. Anne was seated beside Richard. Here was a leader of the church. The delegates began to nod, smirking, lightly applauding. Who better to speak for the faithful? He’d set them straight.
Saying nothing, in the shocked hush, he carefully removed the cappa magna (great cape), folded it carefully and placed it on the table next to the podium. He then tackled, clumsily and noisily (to laughter) the 33 buttons of his cassock, folded same and placed it over the cape. Then undid his collar and pleated chasuble and various undergarments. Lastly he removed his squarish crimson hat and carefully rested it atop the heap of clothing. He stood before the curious, startled crowd in his undershirt and boxer shorts, the latter covered with red hearts. Leaning over to remove his red slippers and socks, he stood aside from the lectern to grinningly display his large, hairless and flabby self to gasps from those below, laughter from the stands. At last, he spoke.
“I was elected Sidney Cardinal McCloud four years ago. Before that, I was Bishop McCloud, and before that Father Sidney McCloud. Now I am Mr. Sidney McCloud, although I did not come into this world Sidney McCloud. I was of the species homo sapiens, white male. Without a name, a stitch of clothing, a city, church, political party, neither rich nor poor. All these were added and shaped me in ways acceptable to my parents and my society.
“I was also born homosexual. My parents were Catholic, and when they sensed my preference, even before I had, were naturally distressed. I loved my parents, so I embraced the Church and sought to be faithful to its precepts, one of which was anti-gay. I never courted gays, touched a single man or, heaven forbid, a child.
“One day I read of the exodus of millions of my fellow Americans to join Richard and Anne and to serve Mother Nature. I thought of the short but profound Genesis 1/28. You all know it, but see it in the light of what we’ve—I’ll just—‘and he deepened his voice. ‘And God said unto them, be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.’”
To the quiet audience he sighed. “I so wished I might join the march, but I was tethered to my so-called beliefs, my vows and my flock. I say ‘so-called,’ for I truly served none of them. In my heart I always questioned my faith and the laws of the Catholic Church. And so I stand before you to ask; shall I stay as a sham officer of that institution, or go into the world as a simple, honest man? What say you? Stay, or go?”
The response was instantaneous, beginning with pleas of ‘stay, stay!’ but those were quickly obliterated in the gathering chorus, “Go! Go! Go!” ascending to a steady, rhythmic roar. He bowed, smiling and nodding. Collecting his clothes, he hooted as he moved back and forth balancing his load, then flounced off winking as he passed Richard and Anne. Weeks before, he had phoned to ask if he might address the Congress. He had already formally abdicated from the church, he said, to its relief. Richard wasn’t sure, but Anne was. He had reinforced Article six. Richard waited for the standing ovation to subside.
“We were the United States, but were we truly united? 50 distinctly separate states. flags, constitutions, laws. United? How many religions, ideologies, languages, political, social, cultural and racial divides? We fiercely defend our home teams against all others. United? In our new American Society there will be no antiquated rules or belief systems, no cults, gangs, flags, unions, organizations to mold us, hold us captive to its tenets or sway us from our uniqueness. We are only equal in our natural right to be different. In fact, there is no we. It is only you. And I.”
Richard’s simple words provoked a thoughtful hush.
Anne used it to call for Article Six, which was slowly passed. Once more baffled, Richard found it difficult to envision these people relinquishing their pampered lives, their grand homes, to live underground; give up their public eminence to work and share with others as equals. And yet they stayed! And agreed to these harsh concepts.
“Article Seven. Education. There will be no teaching, only learning. This will be explained. There will exist no education establishment, no tests and no grades. Amazing as it sounds, we will learn what we each want to learn.
“Many of our members had interests, passions they never pursued, having had to earn a living to raise families. Or those interests were not offered at school. They can now begin to study and master them. Our children are luckier. They will live with their parents until age five or six, then with other children under the supervision of counselors and guides. They will learn English, basic math, gardening, and what was once called Home Economics. Nothing else in the old curricula, unless they so choose. They’ll visit schools, studios, workshops, farms, restaurants, bakeries, hospitals, shipyards—everywhere there are masters of a trade! We’ve compiled a list of worthwhile pursuits and so far have reached eighteen hundred.
“But not for an office or bank or factory job; in fact no job whatsoever. Children will learn to work for themselves. With salaries and bonuses and pensions and bosses out of the way, they can focus on making something useful and special, or serve in ways they can be pleased. When they find something to do that’s both interesting and challenging, that is what they will learn. And without being taught or tested, or graded. Each child will learn at his or her own pace under the guidance of a master, learning by watching and listening and then practicing, practicing. Not with teachers, only with professionals in their chosen field.”
What about history and—and geography? Don’t they count?
“They did, certainly. Sir, can you recall what countries surround Namibia? I certainly can’t! And how many of the major battles of the Civil War can you name? And who cares? And how often do you use trigonometry?”
Even that gentleman joined the laughter ringing out. Anne stepped down and a professor from the University of Chicago who survived cancer with laughter walked slowly to the podium. He smiled, took a breath and spoke:
“Teaching is nothing,
Learning is all.
Building, baking,
Shoe and dress-making,
Farming, fishing or fashion
Whatever your call,
Make it your passion!”
Expecting more from this respected teacher-scientist, he sat down to light applause.
Suppose a kid wants to act—say, in a film, or direct one?
Richard stepped forward. “Before the twentieth century there was no film, radio or TV. There was only the stage. Theatres in every town, music halls, opera houses with vaudeville, operettas, plays, dramas and, what was his name, Shakes something—?”
Anne, behind him pinched him—g-get off, there’s so much to get through—but he wiggled and went on. “Unlike today, actors could appear onstage, even on Broadway and still have private lives. They didn’t make fortunes but they’d go one working. It was what they did, and loved doing. Today, because of film and television, actors become celebrities and are hounded by their fans or the press! They’re like royalty; ordinary people put on pedestals, earning fortunes. Or they become famous playing games with balls; golf balls, tennis balls, footballs—ouch,” and he disappeared to laughter.
We can only have our children for five or six years?