Will the Kemerskai Government ever Return Power to the People?
With August 8th behind us, it has officially been 15 years since the “986 Act for the Salvation of the Republic” was first introduced, giving President-Marshal Alexander Kemerskai absolute authority over the Republic and the suspension of the National Elections. Such an act was argued necessary for the preservation of republican ideals in the face of rising anarchy and the threat of foreign intervention in the newly liberated Duchy of Cloudbury. Until now, the President has been honorable in upholding individual liberty, freedom of the press, the separation of his civil and military authority, as well as continuing elections at a local level.
It does raise some damning concerns. Is this the Republican Ideal we dreamed of, fought, and died for all those years ago when we rose up against the Empire? Would the socialist traitors have left us – taking their army and wealth with them to form the Socialist Republic of Skynavia – had the government maintained its democracy? Most importantly, what does the future hold? At what point will our “Imperial President” graciously hand back the power of the people? Have we traded the tyranny of Emperor Grover for yet another would-be dictator? - See Page 3 for more
- Headline article of the Griffonian Republic National Newspaper, Der Republifaner (2nd Week of August 1001 Edition)
March 13th, 1002 ALB – Southern Refugee Camp, Cloudbury City, Griffonian Republic – Rikard POV
Rikard Astler had a tough hill to climb.
Support for the Socialist cause he championed – and left-wing ideals in general – were at an all-time low. Many saw the Left-Wing of the National Republican Party he led as just a branch of the Socialist Republic of Skynavia; little more than traitors eager to coup the Republican government. They were wrong, but it was understandable they would think so. He personally hated the SRS for its betrayal; both for the damage it did to the cause of Worker’s Revolution as well as the scars it left on the Republic. While the power-grab President Kemerskai had done was distasteful, it had been done legally with a 2/3rds majority of Parliament using powers in the constitution the Socialist cause and Asper Sickleclaw – leader of the SRS – agreed on. Democracy was compromise, and by running when they did not get their way, they left the rest of the country reeling in their wake. Bandit groups that had formed all those years ago still roamed the countryside to this day. Bandits that likely would have been crushed with support of Sickleclaw’s Red Army.
Of course, that was not to say The Left was completely without support.
There was a reason that many on The Left had close ties or support from Skynavia. They had succeeded! Communes and Workers Councils had sprung up all over the north and despite the frigid climate, they had carved for themselves a Workers’ Paradise. In addition, unlike the Republic, their National Assembly was comprised of members elected by the people. That was the sort of example that the Center or Right branches of the NRP and their militant regressive politics could not compete against. The exodus of radical Internationalists and Communalists to the SRS, meant the more moderate Democratic Socialists continued the work of supporting Unions, starting Worker Councils and championing charity and welfare efforts for the most disenfranchised. While the Center focused on the military and the Right made their compromises with the Royalists and the Capitalists, the Left was the only party left that still cared for the common griffon.
It was for this reason that he and a select few of his confidants were seated at a soup kitchen, handing out ladle-fulls of a hardy meat stew to the disenfranchised and the poor of the refugee camp on the southern end of Cloudbury City. Although it was called a “Refugee Camp” in reality, it was a slum. 99% of the people living here were native Cloudburians from other parts of the County that had been displaced as menial laborers following the collapse of the Duchy when the Republican Army had liberated them. With new technologies and collectivization and redistribution of the land, tens of thousands of peasants were no longer needed on farms and had moved into the City looking for work. 20 years later and now even their children had grown up into adults without education or steady employment their whole lives.
“We’re running low on potatoes Kamerad Rikard!”
Looking up from the clipboard in his claws, he found himself pulled from his thoughts and back to the large tent they had erected for their soup kitchen. All around him, chefs were working hard preparing the soup while the rest of the team busied themselves ladling them out to the large crowd lining up outside or switching out the empty pots with ones fresh from the kitchen.
He turned to see one of his chefs pointing to his right. Rikard turned and observed the dwindling bags of potatoes with concern. As the movement was self-funded by the very workers it was comprised of, they always were lacking. But that was the nature of being a champion of the poor. Those workers had been poor once, but the socialists helped them. Now they gave everything they had to hopefully change another life for the better. However, as former impoverished citizens of the Republic, they could not give much. It was a heavy burden on his withers to stretch the little they had as far as possible. Hopefully someday soon, they would reach a critical mass: where enough griffons had been brought out of poverty and with enough income to raise the rest of them back on their claws-and-paws.
He turned back to the chef.
“There will be enough for the next hour… we’ll need to get somegriff heading to the warehouse to pick up more bags.”
The chef rolled his eyes.
“Why not send the Herzlander then? It’s not like she has anything better to do.”
Rikard grimaced. Turning to the stations handing out the food, there was one that seemed unexpectedly empty. Dozens of pale-faced, thin and hard-looking griffons waited patiently at all the other stations for the one hot meal they would have in a week, but actively avoided this one. That was because those eleven stations were manned by fellow Cloudburian natives that could speak the language and had signs advertising as such. The twelfth station, however, was manned by a griffon that only spoke the Herzlander dialect from the Empire. This was by design to weed out any Herzlander-speakers in the slum.
‘As much as I hate to admit it, everything I do has an ulterior motive or I wouldn’t be able to grow a movement that can succeed politically in the Republic. This soup kitchen gives out food, spreads the Left-NRP cause and creates gratitude in the poor which will hopefully be returned as funding when they start working someday. It’s also a means to find anygriff that can speak both the Herzlander and Cloudburian languages who would be invaluable to the cause. Whether as clerks writing bilingual copies of books, educating others, or just as capable assistants to other bureaucrats, there’s a huge need. Over 95% of the Republican Government is held by griffons that only speak Herzlander – being exiles from the Empire – yet over 80% of the population of the former Cloudbury Duchy speaks only Cloudburian. If there is some way to mend the divide, it would be a huge political win for the party that achieved it.’
Of course it was easier said than done. Until the Republican Army liberated the former Duchy, Cloudburian griffons had been isolated from the rest of the Empire. They had lived simple lives and had looked at outsiders with suspicion and so had no need nor desire to learn another language. Even now they saw little point; they still had little say in how the government ran. Likewise, the Herzlanders were in the military or other vital jobs keeping the country together and had little time for anything else. So while Rikard himself could speak both languages thanks to his parents, he was by far in the minority.
He sighed before nodding his head at the chef in agreement. He turned his attention to the Herzlander hen only half-paying-attention to the operation of her station.
“Komerad Sylvie, we’re running out of potatoes. Can you head to the warehouse and pick some up?”
She smiled, life seeming to re-enter her body as she jumped up from her seat.
“Finally, something to do… but what about the station-”
He shook his head.
“I’ll operate it for now. Be there and back as soon as you can.”
She saluted.
“Understood Komerad Rikard!”
With that out of the way, he had little else but to do but sit at the station and review the information on his clipboard again. An hour passed with him tabulating Party resources, making notes of different Worker Councils he would need to talk with later, and reading the backlog of mail he had from concerned citizens that considered unionizing but were afraid for their jobs. As he began marking in the margins of the letters about what he could say to ease their concerns, a voice rose up from his right.
“Excuse me sir, can I have some food?”
It was not the content of the words themselves that surprised him, but the Herzlander language.
‘This is who I’m looking for!’
“Of course! Of course, please let me-”
As he turned to the source of the voice, however, he was shocked by who he saw. When he was planning this, he knew that bilinguals living in the slums would be rare; he had to keep his expectations in check. Perhaps they were Cloudburians that had served alongside Herzlander Republicans but had become wounded, or were drunks that struggled to keep a job despite their lucrative skills.
No, instead what he found was a chick that looked only five years old. Her yellow feathers and mop of unruly blonde hair made her look like a freshly born chicken. Of course, considering the rampant malnutrition in the slums, the child could have been as old as 15 for all he knew. No matter her age, he would not let paternal instincts get the better of him. He knew if he gave her food right away, she would run away without another word. While it was awful to withhold food from an obviously starving child, it would also be a disservice to her future if she never heard the opportunity he had for her.
“-ah, I see little one. But before I can do that, can you tell me where you’re parents are?”
Far from being angry or sad at having food withheld from her, she looked uncomfortable.
“I’m an orphan, but don’t think that means I’m just looking for a handout! While I might not have paid any taxes to earn your charity, I swear that I can be a productive citizen of the Republic! I can cook, clean, and do paperwork. I can read and write in two languages; I can earn my keep.”
The leader of the Left-NRP was stunned.
‘How could such a gem – a child genius eager to work – be left alone for so long- No, it makes sense, doesn’t it? This is just more proof of the incompetence of the other parties. While they focus all their energy on “sure bets” and “practical concerns”, they’re throwing the majority of the population under the gears of their “progress”. Just like the Empire or the Duchy before them, thousands of exceptional individuals like this chick in here have been left undiscovered. Their potential squandered.’
Rikard smiled.
“I believe you. I guess that means you have a choice. I can give you this food now – no questions asked – and you can go back to what you were doing… or I can hire you to do some work for me and you can earn enough to enjoy food like this every day.”
For the first time since they met, the chick smiled up brightly at him.
“That’s no choice at all! I’ll gladly work for you… at least as long as there’s the chance for promotion.”
Rikard could not help but chuckle. It had been a long time since he heard anygriff eager for promotion. That might seem hypocritical for someone who currently held the highest position in the party, but it was true. While he wielded the political power necessary to make lasting contributions to the cause of Democratic Socialism, it was a thankless job that earned him no praise or pay. For him to demand better pay would be taking food out of the mouths of the workers, and demanding thanks would be taking the hard-won glory away from his fellow proletariat. Like any good socialist, he did not subscribe to the “Great Griffon” Theory of History. The major, lasting changes in history were achieved not from the work of some Übermensch, but millions of determined workers focused towards a common cause. They were the true heroes of the revolution.
Still, he nodded along with her naivete. If she was as smart as she appeared, she would soon learn what “promotion” really meant… and hopefully she would take up the banner with eagerness.
He poured out a ladle of stew that the chick eagerly devoured.
“Of course, of course. I would not be surprised if you might one day surpass me! Then you would be the one handing out the food. So, why don’t you tell me your name and I can get you introduced to the rest of the team.”
She looked up from her strew, her face bulging with bits of meat and potatoes. With a big gulp, she swallowed the food and responded.
“Ah, I’m Tanya.”
He smiled.
“Well Tanya, as you’ve no doubt seen my posters before, I’m Rikard Astler, leader of Democratic Socialist branch of the National Republican Party. Let me be the first to welcome you to the team.”
March 13th, 1002 ALB – Left-NRP Party Headquarters, Cloudbury, Griffonian Republic – Tanya POV
Tanya’s second life had been a relentless struggle, but for a former Japanese Salaryman, that was nothing new.
Until recently she had been any other 9-year-old orphan: a yellow-feathered, chocobo-looking alien – a “griffon” in the local language – that received free-food and housing with the expectation that she would become a productive member of society. She used the valuable free time provided to learn and develop the skills she needed to survive in this new world: reading and writing. Compared to the reality outside the orphanage – of anarchy and death – any difficulties she had regarding being transformed into an alien of another gender were deemed unimportant.
‘It wasn’t like I particularly cared what gender role I Signaled to the rest of society. Male? Female? I’m a worker, and so long as I still had a path for advancement, that’s what’s important.’
It was with that in mind that – a few months ago when she turned 10 – she left the impoverished orphanage to seek employment. After all, it was not fair of her to steal the value and hard work the orphanage was providing with her care when she already had the skills to make her own way. As a die-hard capitalist, it grated on Tanya to take even one handout more than absolutely necessary to become a productive citizen.
Even with her preparations, the path up the corporate ladder was a thorny one. She had to compete with the other thousands of unemployed griffons all crammed in the city of Cloudbury. She learned the Herzlander language to get a job at a bank or store as a clerk or secretary, but she had been turned down everywhere she went. Whether it was her worn-out clothes, her accent, or her age, no one wanted to take her. Instead she was forced to stay employed by washing clothes with the other Griffon Hens on the river or carrying messages and items for people. The odd jobs never lasted but she could not risk looking elsewhere. Bandits and wild animals roamed freely in the countryside, ruthlessly butchering and thieving from anyone caught out on the roads without military escort.
‘No, no, no, no, NO! Anything would be better than this! How could this happen- no I know why. I was actively avoiding the Socialists this whole time, so of course I wouldn’t know what their leader looks like. Then he tricked me…’
The building which housed the headquarters of the Democratic Socialist Party – also known as the Left Wing National Republican Party or L-NRP – was a small, unassuming concrete slab in the heart of the city. Based on the design of the thin horizontal slits and its squat form, it must have once been a large pillbox or similar military structure hastily assembled before the Revolutionary Republican Army swept its way into the city. It was small, but filled to the brim with paper and people. Every desk was filled with mounds of propaganda leaflets detailing “Underrepresented Worker Rights”, “What Soviet Power means for You”, and “The Plight of the Worker in a Capitalist World”. Every desk was also filled with a griffon rooster or hen mashing away at typewriters or writing notes in the margins of reports.
On the face of it, this new job was everything that the former Japanese Salaryman could have hoped for. A steady office job with no risk of violence was practically a miracle for a poor orphan like herself.
She clenched a claw in frustration.
‘I’m a steadfast capitalist; a firm believer in the Chicago School and the principles of the Free Market! The antithesis of everything that these Socialist psychos believe! Any knowledge I have of that intellectually bankrupt ideology either comes from reading that laughably naive “economic philosophy” text of Karl Marx Das Kapital I read as a foolish teenager, or researching the various concepts of Communism so that I could create a damning rebuttal of its “ideas” for an essay I wrote during my second year of University. That’s far more information than I needed, what with how self-evident its failings were time and time again. With Stalin’s Soviet Union, with Mao’s People’s Republic of China and more. The only result of their “utopian ideals” was a massacre of their supporters followed by decades of stagnation and corruption.’
Ignorant of her internal frustrations, “Komerad” Rikard smiled as he introduced Tanya to a group of his crackpot communist lackeys.
The first was an olive green hen with brown eyes and sporting a short mohawk.
“This is the first of our three undersecretaries: Komerad Clara Löwenkin. Don’t let her attitude fool you though. She might have plenty to talk about and will sound nice and sweet, but be careful. She’s the head of our branch of the Workers' International and despite what she might say, you don’t actually need to join all the marches she has planned.”
The hen rolled her eyes.
“You don’t need to warn off every griff that joins, you know. There was only the one time and I’ve learned my lesson. Besides, I’m not exactly jumping to get little chicks involved. I know what I do can be dangerous. I’m not an idiot.”
Quick to move on, Rikard turned his attention to a male griffon with blue feathers and a scar on his cheek.
“This is Komerad Jakub Poulsen. He was a prominent member of what eventually became the Skynavian General Assembly-”
Jakub huffed.
“Yes, and I don’t regret leaving for a moment. As an anti-war activist, you can imagine what I thought of crushing the innocent Tribesponies of the North in an act of naked imperialism. While I can recognize the need for violence in removing of the shackles of tyranny from those griffons left in bondage in the Empire and elsewhere, that does not mean to become little better than the fascists we aim to destroy. Those ponies led simple lives no different than the Communes we revere. Their only “crime” was being in the way. I hope this nation never finds itself going down the same path as those Skynavian traitors. While I’m here, I promise the Left-NRP will do better.”
The next person in the entourage, a black-feathered griffon, made a clicking sound with his beak.
“I’m Ernst Thälgriff, and while I might disagree with Jakub on some things, what I can agree on is that Socialism only works when it is chosen. It isn’t a hard “sell” for most. As the propaganda head and a former capitalist, I can tell you that what passes for “business” in this country is nothing short of exploitation. You’ll see that we’re doing a lot of good, even going beyond the politics.”
Rikard then pointed to the final person. She looked the total opposite of the other hen: a well-dressed, gray-colored, older griffon.
“Komerad Gisela Griffricht is a member of the Prywhenian Liberation Army down in Brodfeld. She lends what help she can, but her primary effort is keeping in contact with the PLA. They are an important stronghold in the great swathes of monarchical degeneracy and both our causes are better by staying in touch.”
The gray griffon’s face curled into a frown.
“The situation’s been tough. The monarchy has instigated famine after famine for years. Last year, they finally revealed their scheme when the king gave himself absolute power. The griffons there have had enough, but they don’t have any power of their own. If not for me and a few others in the other countries, no one would even be aware of what’s happening. I only hope we can get the help we need.”
Rikard patted her withers sympathetically.
“I can only hope the situation can stabilize for a few more years. Whether it is Skynavia or us, once griffonian socialism can get on its paws, we’ll do what we can for your people.”
Throughout the entire introduction, they all seemed to ignore the hole Tanya was burning into them with her baleful glare.
‘These damn socialists… this is just the typical cult’s playbook. First they lured me in with promises of good pay and a hot meal, sat me down and had a polite conversation… but the moment I let my guard down, they relentlessly use my guilt against me. First I feel obligated to hear out the job, then they begin to rationalize their delusional economic policy by ranting about the mismanagement of some non-capitalist autocratic regimes. If I was ignorant of economic reality, I might have fallen for it.’
Of course, she considered leaving the madmen to their madness again and again… but she hardly had many alternatives. The reason she had learned Herzlander in the first place was to get herself hired by a bank or store as a clerk and work her way up the corporate ladder. It was the most logical path forwards as a former economics major, but until now that path had been universally barred from her. Many of the managers she spoke with about a job took one glance at her Cloudburian looks or ragged clothes and turned their beaks up. The rest did not trust that a young chick like herself would know anything about economics and numbers and despite her insistence that they test her knowledge, she was turned away.
‘Damn that “Lord” of Chaos, he certainly was telling the truth when he said he didn’t care if I lived or died. He must really hate me if any of this was his plan. Being born in the slums of a barely industrialized society or in the body of an alien cat-eagle hybrid of another gender I could live with… but making a deal with Communists?! Even fighting on the front lines would be better than this… am I really willing to stoop so low? Even if this is only a temporary solution until I can find some other business to hire me, can I justify going along with this madness?’
As they left the group of Rikard’s pawns and their impromptu “tour” finally ended, Tanya was led to a small desk at the end of the cramped building. Really more of a side-table with a stool. Stacked high on one side was dozens of hardcover books.
“And here will be your workstation. On the left side here are a number of Party Documents and Socialist media from around the world that we received from our contacts in Skynavia. It will be your job to translate them all from Herzlander into Cloudburian.”
She grimaced at the thought of reading anything to help this mad cause.
Rikard smiled sadly at her. Thankfully he seemed to have the wrong idea.
“I know it seems to be a lot of work, but please take what time you need. In fact, I would be glad if you took the time to read into the information in these books. I know right now you might be hesitant or unconvinced about our cause. You came here to be fed… but you’re a smart chick. I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you can make good use of all this. That’s what Democratic Socialism is all about: helping each other up when we’ve been put down.”
Tanya wanted to scoff at such naive tripe – these “true believers” would not last for even a second once people like Mao or Stalin took control of the Party and purged them – but there was something about what he said that struck a cord with her.
‘He’s right in a way… after all, these idiots aren’t the self-interested “purging” type of Communists – the Stalinists or Maoists. These are “true believers”; the “convenient pawns”. While it would surely be impossible to convince these people that a Central Bank leveraging interest rates and regulation can offset the issues they think capitalism has, some of them might still be convinced to take a less radical approach. There’s no doubt numerous contradictions and fallacies waiting to be found in all this dogma; if I could use that to deprogram people, I would be making things better… at least enough to offset working here until I can find another job. After all, despite how idiotic it is, the idea of Socialism never really goes away. Even in a capitalist utopia like Japan, small groups still made the news. These true believers serve an important function in showing the rest of the world how stupid the idea really is.’
While there was plenty of bad things to say about the Griffonian Republic: the lack of national freedom, the disorganized mess of its politics, the lack of racial equality, the illiteracy, or the backwards economic and political mindset of most of the people in it, it was also the best nation on the continent. It had the potential to turn itself around like Post-War Japan. When its neighbors were described in the books she read as “knightly orders”, “aristocratic feudalism” or “autocratic slave-states”, was it any wonder that the Republic struggled with these radicals? She just needed to do her best in pointing them down the right path.
She smiled.
“Understood… Komerad Rikard. I’ll get to work right away. You’re right, us citizens all have to do our best to make the nation a better place. It might not have been the way I wanted, but I’ll do my best.”
Her new boss smiled, using one of his clawed hands to make a mess of the feathers and hair on her head.
“If only I had more griffons like you, the Socialists would be leading this country by now!”
As the man turned to leave, she frowned.
‘We’ll see about that.’