Date: Sun, 13 Nov 2016 02:49:00 +0200 From: Jerry Jerry Subject: The Aristocratic Party Email feedback welcomed at arin12@hot.ee2 October 2016 I took a deep breath, staring at the podium from my position on the sidelines. Reporters were still filing in; Lucas Skinner had that effect on people. Without his generous seven million dollar donation, we'd never have had a chance of seeing this project through its "pipe dream" phase, and now here we were -- ready to announce it as reality. In just over a year, what was once a drunken rant between a closet boylover and a chronic pot-smoker on a lazy Thursday evening was about to become part of American history. At worst, a very small, insignificant part that few people would be familiar with, but who knew? That was the great promise, and the great volatility, of the American experiment. Any idea, no matter how far-fetched, could take hold and sweep like a brush fire from sea to shining sea. Our idea, viewed the wrong way, might seem an attack on that experiment; I expected that reaction at first. But I was confident that we could put forth the merits of it in a way that showed it to actually be a preservation of our American democracy. If there was ever a time for that message to be well-received, this political climate was the time. I glanced to the clock. Three minutes after twelve. It was time to start the press conference. With a second steeling breath, I let my feet move from the sidelines to the podium. Josh was out somewhere, probably high again, which left it to me to be the public face of this thing. So be it, then. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," I said into the microphones in front of me. This had the predictable effect of stopping the noise in the room; the side conversations, the bustling for notes and equipment, all ceased, and I had the undivided attention of the American media. And by extension, the world. I cleared my throat, gathering my thoughts. "I'm sure I don't need to tell anyone in this room that this election cycle is arguably the most disappointing, unambiguously no-win scenario the American public has ever faced." A couple of sad chuckles. I nodded to one of the people who'd made them, a female reporter with the Los Angeles Times, to show my agreement. "On the one hand, we have a candidate who has been reckless with matters of national security, whose foundation dealings, at best, have the appearance of impropriety, and whose candidacy will ultimately set the womens' rights movement back by twenty years. If she does well, everyone will give the credit to her former president husband, and if she is unelected or does poorly, voices will shout from the rafters that that's what we get for putting a women in contention for the most powerful job in the world." "On the other hand, we have an indisputable narcissist who has stated repeatedly that he, alone, will save us all from ourselves. A person whose foundation dealings have no appearance of not being improprietous, who has repeatedly judged people themselves rather than their actions, and whose proposed policies seem almost intentionally designed to systematically rip away at the basic trust and respect for one another that is at the root of the American philosophy, and the American constitution." I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment. There was a lot more I could say there, but digression is the enemy of a press conference -- as the aforementioned candidate had so often proved. "Disillusioned with both of these candidates, America's current third-party establishments have received an unprecedented amount of attention, as people grasp at straws for someone to save us from this `basket of two deplorables', as one of the candidates might put it. And despite a proud tradition of putting forth viable alternatives, these parties have given us candidates that have, to put it mildly, failed to inspire us. Their very real chance at the presidency was squandered with gaffes of their own, and unpreparedness unfit for a potential leader." I took a moment to sip the bottle of water underneath the podium as I allowed my words to set. I wasn't thirsty; I wanted the pause to help transition me from the stage I had set into what we were proposing today. "On the day of the Republican convention, Joshua Winsor and I were sitting in our substandard two-bedroom apartment coping with the situation the way I'm sure most Americans were -- with alcohol." Quite a few laughs at that one, some of them conspiratorial in nature. Yup, a lot of people here couldn't clearly remember that night either. "Our discussion of the political climate meandered, as such discussions are wont to do, into the topic of dynasties. An argument was put forth that both major party candidates have gotten where they are, in part, because they were the only candidates who enjoyed significant name recognition before the campaign started. From Ronald Reagan's presidency through Arnold Schwartzenegger's governorship, there's a lot of evidence to support the argument that Americans go with names they know. The phenomenon may even go all the way back to the first father-son presidential team, John Adams and John Quincy Adams." "Why do we do this?" I pondered. "Is it a remnant of the monarchal system in some way, thinking that prominent names might make prominent leaders? Is it built into our DNA to give these sorts of things more attention?" I let the question hang for a second, and then I shrugged. "We don't know. What we do know is that, increasingly, name recognition in monarchal times came with an expectation of knowledge. People were literally born to do the job. They ran their lives, from its earliest stages, as if they would one day run their nations. They were largely free from scandal, understood that their mandate to rule came ultimately from their subjects, and they carried themselves with a grace learned early on in their formative years." Time to bring it home. "We need that, in this country. Ineptitude is a certainty in the White House for the next four years -- the only question open to us is which candidate will bring a lesser degree of it. But assuming we survive this `interesting time' we've all been cursed to live in, can we do anything to improve the dialogue? To give ourselves a better option? My hope is that we can, and with this in mind, I would like to announce the formation of a new political party: The Aristocratic Party of the United States of America." The announcement was met with gasps and loud murmurs as the reporters digested that idea. A few were already hastily scribbling notes on pads, undoubtedly ready to come at me with tough questions. I hoped I was prepared. But of course, I hadn't opened it up to questions yet, and I still had the floor. Time to make the case and cut off some of the questions pre-emptively. "Obviously," I said, holding up a hand to silence the room, "there are some obvious concerns. America is a country boasting with pride that anybody can be the next president -- is this the first step towards crowning a new monarch? The answer is no, of course it isn't. We're just one political party, at the end of the day we'll be putting forth one candidate, and that candidate will be vetted by the American electorate just like anybody else. If elected, the candidate will serve four or eight years as President of the United States and then stand down, with no expectation or guarantee that his or her children or other relatives have any kind of hereditary claim to the office." I smirked a bit. "The only difference between our party and any other political party is that I'm prepared to announce, today, who our primary candidates will be in the 2040 presidential election." I nodded to one of my staffers, who pulled down the projection screen that was hanging on the wall to my right. She handed me a remote to control the image display, and I clicked it. A screen popped up which displayed the words "Aristocratic Party of the United States" and underneath said "2040 Presidential Primary Candidates". "Our candidates," I told the reporters, "are currently eleven and twelve year old children." Another murmur from the group. "They were selected by our Exploratory Committee based on three points only: political mindedness, extreme intelligence, and yes, believe it or not, freedom from any kind of disqualifying scandal." There was a bit of a laugh at that. "Their actual political views were not taken into account: in fact, on most issues, we don't know their current views, and have deliberately asked them to refrain from telling us. In twenty-four years, they will be thirty-five years old: the minimum age of eligibility for the Presidency. Every eight years, the Aristocratic Party will recruit five new children of this age. They will be given the best classes and training possible on geopolitical matters, social issues, current events, world history, economics, and leadership, groomed from their eleventh birthday through their thirty-fifth to be President of the United States. In 2039 -- or maybe 38, who knows, the electoral cycle seems to start earlier and earlier every year..." I paused for the very sincere burst of laughter that came from the room. "...the five candidates will participate in a primary debate same as every other political party. Because the party has no unifying ideology, these debates will have the potential to be a lot more expansive and diverse than any other political party, because the opinions of these five individuals may be very different. The candidate with the most primary votes will serve as the nominee for the general election, and they are free to choose their vice presidential nominee from any political affiliation or discipline as befits their judgement as a world leader." "We believe strongly in the American political system and we hardly expect that this will produce the best candidate every time. What we do believe is that having a choice of someone literally raised to do the job will give us a viable alternative so we are not always choosing the less bad candidate for office instead of choosing a good candidate for office. That phenomenon, sadly, is not exclusive to the 2016 election." I took a breath; here came the tough part. "At this point, I will open the floor to a few questions." As expected, people were shouting at me before I'd even finished the sentence. I looked at the seating chart on the podium and called the name of a reporter from USA Today. "Mister Campbell," the reporter asked, "can you explain why you chose eleven for the age at which a candidate is recruited?" "Certainly," I replied. "The obvious downside to an idea like this is creating a silver spoon life with no ability to relate to the struggles of the common American. By waiting until a child is eleven, we ensure that they've already gotten a taste of the normal American life -- or at least as normal as it can be for a mentally gifted kid. We meet them where they are; other than pulling them into a special homeschooling program for half the day, we leave the rest of their childhood and young adult experience as intact as possible." I looked to another reporter. "Yes?" "You said that all of your candidates showed a `political-mindedness'. How do you judge the political-mindedness of a preteen?" "Each candidate expressed a political opinion on a single issue," I answered. "They did so through either a blog post or a call to a congressman or some other means which," I grinned, "I'm afraid you'll have a hard time finding now because they've been taken down. The last thing we want is a candidate in 2040 accused of flip-flopping on a position they held in 2016, before receiving the training and education that we intend to expose them to." "Can you tell us what the issue was?" the reporter asked, following up. I shook my head. "Each candidate expressed an opinion on a different issue," I clarified. "There was no unifying issue that the committee was looking at, or for. As to which issue each candidate was vocal about, I honestly have no idea. I was not on the committee and they've been instructed not to share that information with me or anyone else." I pointed to the next reporter. "Your organization has been bankrolled by Lucas Skinner in the amount of seven million dollars," a reporter announced, her eyes flicking back and forth between a pad she was holding. "Is that money a legitimate campaign donation and, if so, how do you expect it to last all the way to the year 2040? Also, why would Mister Skinner endorse your party?" I shook my head, holding up my hand. "First of all, I have to apologize for this one little bit of `politics as usual', but our organization didn't officially become a political party until today, so Mister Skinner's donation was not a political contribution because there was no political entity. I know that answer seems shady, but as the GOP nominee would point out regarding his federal income tax, government has rules and anyone working within those rules is playing fair, whether the rule is fair or not." I smirked slightly. "On that note, there is no rule that says we have to wait until 2039 to start collecting campaign contributions, so you'll find that on our website," which I of course gave the name of, "there is already a button there to take donations for the 2040 campaign, and using those funds to educate and prepare these five children is most certainly a fair use of those funds. Arguably a better use of it than most ways Republican and Democrat campaign funds have been used." I took a sip of my water again; this time I really was thirsty. "As for why Mister Skinner has chosen to kickstart the Aristocratic Party with this incredibly wonderful donation, any answer I gave would be an imperfect understanding, so I'd suggest you ask him directly. But I can tell you that, at worst, he donated to give five children a quality, first-rate education, and I don't think there's any way anyone can find fault with that." "Mister Campbell," another reporter interjected, and I had to hide a face of annoyance because I hadn't called on him. "What happens if any of these children decide later in life not to enter public service? Are they under some kind of a contract to run for president?" I shook my head. "As with any political party, any candidate can drop out of the race at any time. The only difference here is that these candidates have twenty-four years to decide to do so. In the event that a candidate drops out, their parents do become liable for the cost of some of their education and expenses, similar to any student loan program, but the last thing we would want is to force any of them to step up and not give their best, so the debt would not carry any kind of due date, would not affect their credit, and would not accrue interest in any way. It would serve solely as a lien on their estate when they pass away." I called on the reporter from the Washington Post, who finally asked the obvious question. "You said you were prepared to announce the candidates today, Mister Campbell." "Yes, I am." He waited a beat, and then asked, "So, who are they?" I gestured to the screen. "Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce you to the five Aristocratic candidates for president in the year 2040." I held up the remote. "Now, before I do so, I just want to say that the Exploratory Committee was instructed to be truly free from discrimination in their selection. When I say truly free, what I mean is that I wanted demographics to play absolutely no role. If the five best choices were blonde-haired, blue-eyed boys of European descent, then we wanted to see five blonde-haired, blue-eyed boys of European descent. I didn't want a racial mix for its own sake, any more than I wanted to see an all-male, all-white group for its own sake." I smiled. "Despite those instructions, the group that the Selection Committee assembled is unbelievably diverse, representing all backgrounds, socio-economic levels, races, genders and believe it or not, even potentially sexualities." That got quite the stir from the reporters, as I knew it would. "I'm sure you'll all try anyway, but I just want to make it clear that every candidate has been thoroughly taught to say `no comment' over and over and over again, because they are not yet fully trained and prepared to handle the press, so please save everyone a lot of time and headache and don't approach them with a bunch of questions at this very very early stage of the game. On each candidate's fourteenth birthday, they will give their first press conference, and invitations will not be extended to anyone who goes after them before then. I think that's more than fair, wouldn't you say?" I clicked the remote, and a young Hispanic boy appeared on the screen. He looked about as far from presidential as one can imagine -- I asked the committee for candid, playful shots of the kids, and he looked like he was grinning wide for a modeling job rather than trying to be a future Commander in Chief. I wanted to introduce them as the boy or girl next door. "This is Edilio Meansin. All of our candidates have skipped at least one grade, but Mister Meansin is the furthest along, a junior in high school right now and likely to be in college before the age of fifteen. As I said, I know none of his or any other candidate's political views, so I'm left with just personal facts to tell you about each of them, and I'll tell you that Edilio has a passion for classical music. He begs for symphony tickets the way most kids his age might beg to go see a slasher film at the movie theatre. He is a resident of Sibley, Mississippi, and his family is of middle-class income." I clicked the remote again, and described an African-American girl who loved the cello, and then again, describing a Native American girl living in near poverty who got our attention with her addiction to chess. The on to the fourth candidate, a boy of Asian descent who was beyond stereotypically good at math and economics -- despite being in middle school, he'd already made a fortune in the stock market using seed money he'd gotten on his ninth birthday. Then, of course, came my personal favorite. I clicked the remote one last time and the image of a god appeared on the screen. A red-headed, freckled farm boy wearing suspender jeans with no shirt, smiling at the camera from his position on a seat in front of a cow, where his hands were wrapped around the udders, milking it. "Our last candidate, Christopher McHale, lives just outside Huron, South Dakota. He was born on November 4th, 2005, and will therefore only be two days past the age eligibility date on Election Day. With his intellect, he could easily be in college now but despite urging from his parents and teachers, he has refused all but one attempt to get him to skip grades, stating that he can do outside learning to challenge himself academically while learning social skills and the value of helping others in his peer group at school. When the Exploratory Committee informed him that a scandal-free life was a concern for the party, this young man courageously announced to the committee that although, in his own words, he's still too young to be sure, he currently identifies as homosexual. Our representatives assured him that we were referring to scandals of actions committed, not personal feelings or preferences, and that it would be up to the American people in 2040 to decide whether his sexuality, in and of itself, was a disqualifying issue. It was his suggestion that we reveal his possible sexual orientation publicly now, in order that it `not surprise anyone later' or `look like we were hiding it'." I smiled, taking a moment to stare at the little beauty. "It's still far, far too early to be certain of a number of things, but I don't mind admitting that if the primary were held today, that kind of courage and forward-thinking would be worthy of my vote. However, all five of the candidates have displayed similar attributes, attributes that can be summed up in one word: presidential." I put down the remote, leaving Christopher's cute face on the screen. "It's unfortunate that blatant age discrimination in the Constitution prevents us from having a candidate ready for the next six electoral cycles, because I honestly believe some of them could be ready well before then. But the Aristocratic Party is in this for the long-term future of America, so the other parties out there, Republicans and Democrats, Libertarians and Communists, Constitutionals and Greens alike, we're putting you on notice: you've got twenty-four years to raise your game, because some serious competition is coming. Thank you very much."