Left on Paradise (41 page)

“Turtle Beach,” Dr. Law explained, “represents the point where these two cultures clash. To the northerners, it represents freedom from bourgeois values and middle-class careerism. The beach is a place to find food and to eat it so that free living might be enjoyed. For the westerners, though, the beach represents a place of refuge from the cares and labors that consume them as they toil through their days. The turtles of the beach were an exempt species and their home a natural sanctuary—one spot where the desires of the belly and the needs of the market might be checked.”

The crowd grew more attentive. Eyes were fixed forward and ears cocked to the podium.

“There’s been a clash,” Dr. Law continued, “and while it’s difficult to sort out the details, I agree we ought not spend all afternoon fixing blame. It’d be far better to fix the problem.”

“Blame is the problem,” Ryan said as he stood. “The northerners are lazy and violent and they’re going to be our ruin if we don’t stop them.”

“See what I mean,” the sociologist said, “even Ryan has been driven to legal conservatism; he’s preaching conservative fictions of crime and punishment.”

Ryan threw up his hands and sat down as a murmur worked through the west neighborhood.

The sociologist stood his ground.

“We don’t have time,” Dr. Law declared, “to discuss the theory of the matter. I’ll present a paper in a few weeks. All we can do now is to address the problem as we are confronted with two possible courses of action: either we can hold a trial and mete out punishment like silent majority and moral majority conservatives or we can take progressive steps to alleviate the problem.”

Heads nodded throughout the crowd.

“I propose,” the sociologist said, “we help the northerners help themselves. What they need is shelter and food. We can build them a longhouse and fill their empty barns with gifts of food just as we’re doing with the southerners.”

“Do you actually mean,” Ryan asked, red-faced in anger, “we should reward them for being sociopaths?”

“What I mean to say,” the sociologist’s words came out slow and deliberate as his hands moved in perfect cadence to his speech, “is that we need to fix the underlying causes of their behavior. To address root causes. Our choice is between a war on people or a war on poverty. I choose compassion.”

Ryan turned to the assembly.

“And how often,” Ryan asked, “will we need to repeat this gesture? If we give in to their violence, not only will we never escape threats but they themselves will be destroyed in a vicious cycle of dependency upon the public dole.”

An Asian woman from the south camp jumped to her feet. “Oh lord,” she cried out, “Ryan has morphed into Newt Gingrich.”

“Gingrich,” Ryan shouted, “wanted to starve the poor. I only want to stop thuggery.”

Another woman’s voice rang out, this one from the northern village. “The new Newt.”

A third voice repeated her words. “The new Newt.”

A moment later, hecklers from the south and north neighborhoods were chanting, “New Newt. New Newt.”

Ryan seethed with anger and humiliation, but sat when Heidi returned to the podium. It took her several minutes to settle the crowd.

“Ryan is no Newt Gingrich,” she said, “but it’s clear there are two distinct paths before us. Do we wish to make an inquiry into this incident to punish it or initiate relief efforts? Or do we wish to do both? Or neither? I suggest we take motions for formal consideration.”

Heidi’s proposal was seconded and carried.

The next motion was made by a black-haired man, perhaps thirty years old, from the south—who handed a baby to a nearby woman before standing to speak.

“I wanted to say,” the black-haired man said, “while I don’t agree with their violence, I understand the desperation that motivated the northerners. I’ve heard men and women of my own neighborhood speak harsh words against other islanders since our lives took a turn for the worse. I recommend we forgive them for a bad solution to an even worse problem.”

A couple neighbors applauded and a tall Latino from the south village stood.

“I agree with Jon,” the southern Latino said. “Let’s make a clean start.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” a man from the east village shouted as he too stood.

Everyone looked to the speaker from the east village.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Alan repeated himself, “because you’re no better than they are. Some men steal with guns; others use the law. You’ve just confiscated our property and our labor, so it doesn’t bother you at all to see laziness rewarded. You people chose the life of nomads, so sleep in the rain. And they chose dope, so let them eat marijuana brownies.”

A dozen east villagers laughed and a few gave Alan high fives.

A blonde in her thirties sitting with the delegation from New Plymouth now stood. She wore ragged clothes and showed thin hair chopped unevenly around her shoulders. It was Janine Erikson, the staff psychologist, who now spoke.

“There are two sides to charity,” Dr. Erikson said. “One is the need of those who receive public assistance. All of us can agree that there is such a need even if we disagree about the causes of the crisis. The hungrier the northerners become, the more likely they are to erupt into violence. Why else do you think the elder Bush sent food to Somalia? It sure wasn’t compassion. He didn’t care about Afro-Americans, let alone Afro-Africans. Still, we also need to consider the effects of charity on what used to be called our own souls. As a materialist and a scientific psychologist, I’m not much of a believer in eternal souls, but I do have faith that generosity makes an impact upon our own lives. What drew me to the political left was its ability to make me a better person. I grew up trick-or-treating for UNICEF and sponsoring walk-a-thons for breast cancer and AIDS research. For the last few months, none of us have lacked for anything truly necessary and already it seems that our love grows cold. We who willingly endured heaps of bureaucratic waste and corruption in the United States hoping against hope that the smallest sliver of our taxes—months of labor, I hasten to add—might reach those in need now are quarreling over a day’s work to help our immediate neighbors. We’ve proven ourselves worse than the Amish—who pay federal taxes without collecting benefits and still sweat willingly for their kith and kin.”

Everyone listened, some with teary eyes and others with burning cheeks.

“We need,” the psychologist continued, “to help our neighbors whether or not they’ve made their own mess. None of us really believed welfare mothers and drug addicts were completely without blame, no matter what we were forced to declare in public. We simply insisted on forgiveness and a new start rather than starvation or jail or workhouses. Mistakes have been made and crimes committed, but I don’t see why we can’t assist needy neighbors to stop this cancer before it grows. I propose that ...”

Here the psychologist took a minute to choose her words. “I propose,” she said, “we both build a barn for the northerners and fill it with food and at the same time punish anyone who instigated violence and terror, of whatever camp he or she might be.”

Heads nodded and hands clapped as the slight-framed woman finished speaking. Within seconds, a dozen settlers seconded her motion, cast their votes, and accepted the final proposal by a margin of fifty votes. Even a few northerners voted for it.

“Now we’re showing the world how to live,” the psychologist told the crowd after the votes were tallied. “I’d like to propose we build the house tomorrow. If everyone helps, we can finish it in a day or two and have this problem solved.”

“Does,” Dr. Erikson asked, “the west neighborhood object?”

“We accept your proposal,” Ryan announced after a short consultation with west villagers, “to keep the entire island involved in this matter and we volunteer a month’s rations. We also suggest another month’s stores be taken from the central reserves for our neighbors to the north. All we ask is that the assault on Lisa be treated seriously and northerners respect our territorial limits and environmental protections.”

“They say good fences make good neighbors,” the psychologist said. “I propose we accept your proposal and request that members of the Small Council confirm border markings between the two territories while the rest of the assembly builds the longhouse.”

The crowd voiced its approval with scattered applause and words of encouragement as Ryan signaled for the floor.

“I’d also like to suggest,” Ryan said, “we establish a clear procedure for dealing with poaching. Maybe set up a Department of Natural Resources.”

“Good point,” Dr. Erikson said, “but let’s take this one issue at a time. First, let’s vote on the rations. How many of you vote to stock the north neighborhood with one month’s rations and to accept the west neighborhood’s offer of one month’s food?”

The vote was unanimous in favor of the proposal.

“Now I need a vote on setting up territorial lines in the north. All those in favor say yea.”

The crowd thundered its yea.

“Nay?”

A couple voices protested.

Dr. Erikson gave a thumbs up.

“Very good,” the psychologist said, “help is on the way. Now for the criminal matters. I’d like to say I’m personally offended by the behavior of Father Donovan and some of his camp followers. According to Lisa’s testimony, they assaulted a woman, destroyed a protected species, and poached from their neighbor’s property. And we know from the Small Council’s own testimony they attacked a peaceful delegation in defiance of public authority. I propose we punish Donovan with a month’s exile for inciting a riot and Chuck a month for assaulting a woman. The other two should be given a week for poaching.”

Donovan jumped to his feet.

“Slander and lies,” the priest shouted, “there are no witnesses and there is no proof.”

“You admit,” Heidi looked straight at him, “you ate turtle eggs, right?”

“From our beaches.”

“Then I suggest we go to your side of the beach to find one of the empty nests. If it’s there, we’ll commute your sentence to time served. If not, we’ll double it.”

Donovan said nothing.

“I know the place,” the psychologist testified, “where the nests were robbed and I guarantee they were within the western district. In fact, the only turtle nests on the entire island belong to the west neighborhood.”

A dozen settlers clapped hard and Donovan sat down.

“Poaching isn’t a crime,” Jason said as he stood. “You can’t punish us ex post facto. It’s unconstitutional.”

“What constitution are you speaking of?” Heidi asked. “We know no law but this people’s will. We’re not slaves to the political ideals and legal fictions of Puritan fanatics, Yankee traders, and Southern slavers. This assembly is the law and the constitution and the king and the sovereign. What we do is good and right and legal.”

“We came,” Jason shouted, “to preserve more rights than Americans, not fewer.”

“We also came for love and harmony,” Charles said as he stood to speak, “but you’ve proven yourselves exploiters rather than idealists, wreckers rather than builders. Do what you wish with your free time, but you need to support yourselves. We don’t have infinite reserves or indefinite patience.”

Jason sat down.

“The northerners,” Charles continued, “have turned a tropical paradise into a slum which we westerners now must support by our own sweat—not with the taxes of the idle rich, mind you, but the sweat and work of honest liberals. We’re glad to help once again, but this island is under no obligation to support its lumpenproletariat forever. Even Marx and Lenin understood that. Burn your marijuana till the smoke steams out your ass for all I care, but make sure you’ve provided for the munchies to follow.”

Now a cascade of voices and hands were raised. Half the island spoke their mind and almost all agreed the northerners had crossed the line. While some talked of peace and love and others of class obligation, everyone agreed Donovan and his compatriots merited discipline both for their own benefit and as a public example. However, a number of voices from south and north protested that the proposed punishment was too severe and justice needed to be tempered with mercy. Ryan and Charles protested clemency, but were outvoted and eventually it was decided Donovan should be sent to temporary exile (or timeout, as some preferred to call the punishment) to Big Motu Island for three weeks with no more than dried food, fresh water, and a few tools. The priest was to be denied recreational drugs for the first week of his sentence. Chuck was warned not to break the law again on pain of similar punishment while Jason was judged a little more harshly given the fact he was a repeat offender and betrayer of former neighbors: he was sentenced to two weeks on a small motu with minimal rations and no drugs and fined three ounces of marijuana (to be handed over for medicinal use).

However, when weather experts objected that even a light squall might wash Jason to sea, his sentence was commuted to a seven-day timeout at New Plymouth with his ration reduced to coconut and breadfruit for the full week. In addition, he was to be tied to a public bench with a loose rope and draped with a placard declaring him a thief. In light of Jason’s reduced sentence, it also was decided to exonerate Lisa for her defense of nature against Chuck’s eco-violence (though the assembly explicitly rejected the young woman’s misbegotten and heretical belief that fetal life of any species whatsoever might possess intrinsic value). Lisa was warned to submit future complaints to public authority for litigation, no matter how serious any particular concern might seem.