The Predicament of Redwood Paddock Page 3

  “I’m Betty,” she announced. “You must be new here, nobody goes straight to the counter, because Enrico likes to get citizens settled comfortably before they order. I have to go to the Council Office in a couple of minutes, they’re going to explain to me why it is that, if I claim this new benefit for older citizens I will lose some of my existing benefit, and that I might not be better off if I did that. It isn’t easy for me to understand, but Enrico will check out what they tell me so I’ll feel ok”

  “Well good luck Betty, I really hope you have good news when you return, nice to have met you.”

  She left and was immediately replaced by Enrico, who sat down and shook his hand, proudly welcoming him and asked how could he be of service? IR summarised his conversation with Reynarda, then Enrico said, “Mama Mia,” followed by a shrug of the shoulders, followed by, “this will take a lot of time,” followed by, “who are you?”

  After some fleeting consideration IR dismissed the notion that it would be prudent to feign some ‘university dissertation’ type façade, and just be up-front. Risky but straight, if he wanted honesty in return.

  “Councillor Richardson of Multicoloured Meadow”

  “Redwood Paddock, I see. Well, have a cappuccino or something and I will try to think when I have an evening free so we can talk.”

  ***

  The ripples had begun to appear and momentum was building amongst the media. Sarcasticus Exagerus, the mole who was the editor of the Daily Meadow, had received Sniffy’s text and immediately contacted his pals at Speak North TV and Wey Aye Radio. He was uneasy about the vagueness of the text, which was totally out of character for Sniffy, yet he didn’t want to miss out on the potential of a story which could run and run. He took the unprecedented step of suggesting a get together in the interests of consistency. The meeting had to be at very short notice to meet the deadlines of evening broadcasts and editions. They met at a tea shop appropriately named ‘Fresh Start.’ Cass L’Impotadur, the producer for Speak North was a long-serving champion of ‘innuendo without litigation’ and was considered to be a turkey in more ways than one. By contrast, Joe E Shorts was a deceptively likeable rat, who had come up through the ranks by getting the dirt on his bosses, one by one, until he basically ran the radio station. The discussion had to be brief and pithy to serve their purpose. It would be difficult to agree conformity when they all wanted to be first, and have a unique take. It didn’t take long to agree on the headline ‘Radical New Leader of the Council pledges that common sense is the way forward with policy, whether it involves change or introduction.’ The story could be individually tailored around this to fit the various media formats. They all agreed that they needed cohesive support for IR in order to build expectation, as well as the possible need to knock him down when it was deemed necessary.

  ***

  IR was blissfully reading through the History of the World, and concluded that although it was very interesting to know where and when Air Breathers branched away from Water Breathers, it would be better to skip forward to Civilisation Pyramidia in order to feel the structure of government emanating from the pages. He finally settled on the ancient philosophers as a valid starting point, when Enrico returned and said he could spare a couple of hours the next evening.

  “Come to the Old Oak please, and we can consult Mr Enoch Owl, if needed,” said IR.

  “Ok, seven-thirty, pronto,” replied Enrico, shook his hand and walked off, muttering to himself.

  Chapter 5

  As he left Enrico’s establishment the council leader was deep in thought when he was confronted by a hefty individual who introduced himself as Otto Nostalgia, new candidate for the ‘Belly-full of Nonsense Party.’ IR protested that he was in a real hurry but the BNP fellow was quite assertive “I only need two minutes of your time right now, the rest will wait.”

  “Well ok,” mumbled Richardson, “two minutes it is.”

  Otto the otter gathered himself and without pausing for breath, confidently enthused that IR’s election was a turning point, which would eventually favour other parties. And he felt that was unfair in a way, because the harder IR worked to his ideals on behalf of the citizens of Redwood Paddock, the more he would be torpedoed by his own party. He then taunted Richardson, laughing loudly, as he claimed this was a nailed-on certainty, precisely because the ruling party had nothing to offer. A vacuum of stalled implementation would ensue, then the electorate would turn in frustration to a more radical approach.

  “That is where we come in,” bellowed Otto, “you can see we are now much more sanitised in our rhetoric, while maintaining our policies and principles. We have gone from being an endangered species to an heir-apparent, purely because of the duplicity of the mainstream parties and the utter impossibility for them to unravel decades of superfluous layers of non-policy, without contradicting their own manifestos.”

  “Well,” mused IR timidly, “you’re still not perceived as………”

  “No?” interrupted the otter, “you’ll see, even our new adopted party anthem is – ‘The Way We Were,’ and our new respectability coupled with general frustration out there will symbiotically flourish, so you need to take this into account, or your tenure will be even shorter than you think. Anyway, I don’t want to exceed my two minute slot. You’ll contact me I’m sure. Here’s my card.” Otto vanished as abruptly as he had appeared.

  ***

  “Terrible weather for this time of year. See what comes of allowing all of these foreign elements into our formerly radiant society, hmmmm?” IR knew the voice. It unsettled him, but he was strangely unable to place it, in the ambient noise outside the café. Slowly he rotated himself to face its source and there was the fox from the Old Oak. The one who talked in riddles and couplets, eyeing him with that curious admixture of amusement and malevolence.

  “Good afternoon.” he responded. “It’s …it’s nice to see you again. May I help you in some way?” This public servant stuff wasn’t so difficult.

  “Can you help me? A very ambitious gesture for a mouse inside a maze.” Volpe sneered. “But let us not spend our time playing ‘catch the pleasantry.’ How goes your grand crusade against the infidels of PC and the unholy enemies of common sense?”

  IR decided there was no point in crossing verbal swords with this erudite creature, so he ignored the obvious sarcasm. “I still have much to learn, but I feel I’m getting to grips with where politics has gone wrong and where it has failed those that it’s supposed to represent. Putting things right won’t be a swift or easy task, but I’m optimistic that it is not a lost cause.”

  There was the slightest hint of a chuckle from the fox, and then his seemingly omnipresent smile vanished completely. “You sound like a freshly painted, plastic doll. Parrot can be a verb as well as a noun, you know.” Volpe eyed IR with contemptuous intensity, and continued, “Your gerrymandering of political reality is as truly laughable as your naïve intentions are laudable. Despite my hopes, you may yet make an effective puppet on a string.”

  “Now wait a minute, exactly what do you mean by that?” demanded IR, beginning to feel a little cross.

  “Every political issue, my young avis, is an economic one at heart. The entire spectrum of political thought and motivation rests upon one simple idea; how the limited resources of a nation should be divided among those who dwell within its borders. Economic power is political power, irrespective of who holds office. Citizens become aggrieved because something inside them, often subconsciously, is aware that they are not getting their fair share of the available wealth. What doesn’t ever seem to occur to them is that the reason they are so impoverished is because the vast majority of what they could have had has been taken by the rich minority. Those who control the politicians, and ironically, control the opinions of those they so cheerfully steal from.”

  IR considered what he had just heard. He was certain that Volpe was trying to lead him to some predetermined conclusion and he was loth to fall into a trap. “You’r
e saying that because a few rich citizens are so wealthy, everyone else is worse off than they could be. Well perhaps I can concede that such an issue needs to be addressed. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t other issues which also need to be tackl……”

  “And why, my feathered friend, do you suppose the disenfranchised masses concentrate their chagrin so much more forcefully on those ‘other issues’ than the root cause of their privation? Do you suppose it could be because our so-called free press makes scapegoats out of such citizens as immigrants and other minorities?”

  IR could feel himself heading into the same corner as in their last encounter. “Why would the press make scapegoats out of citizens in order to protect the super-rich?” he asked, and even as the words left his beak he could feel that he had erred.

  Volpe’s lip curled slightly, allowing one gleaming fang a smidge of fresh air. “I suspect that may be because the owners of the news media are the super-rich. What do you think?”

  “I can see your point, however there are laws for the press. They can’t just make things up. They have to report actual happenings.”

  A sigh of resignation escaped the fox’s mouth. “If each day it was truthfully reported that a creature with a beak had robbed a bank, but never that a creature without a beak had done so, what conclusion would you draw?”

  IR blinked, then blinked again. Then answered, “That beaked creatures were responsible for most bank robberies.”

  “Phenomenally astute,” said Volpe, “and so you demonstrate with such clarity how an easily swayed mind can be driven to a false impression merely by the selection of which truth to tell and which to keep in the closet which skeletons call home”

  IR felt he was shrinking by the second. “But you can’t be suggesting that gagging the free press is a course worth pursuing,” he protested. “That would lead to all sorts of corruption!”

  Volpe smiled slyly. “I am unsure as to whether I should be pleased or disturbed that you have said something which I would consider not particularly stupid. No, the press itself is not the problem here. The problem, somewhat bluntly, is the power, both economic and political, of the press barons. For their own gain they sweep countless honest pawns like yourself and a good few less reputable pieces down the river of what becomes known as common sense, common decency, and traditional values. The tragic beauty of it is of course, that you have no idea that you didn’t set sail of your own accord.”

  IR started to say something and then stopped. Volpe looked at the budgerigar with what could have been mistaken for pity. “I suggest you train your mind to look at our newspapers with a critical eye. Ask yourself why certain reports are being sensationalised. What motive could there be? Perhaps it’s not too late for you to actually make a difference. You need not spend your career being a lapdog to a master you can’t even see, as your Holo-benefactor did all those years ago.”

  With that the fox was about to stride past Richardson. He didn’t hesitate when IR said, “Thank you for your insight. Although it was similar to our previous conversation it has reinforced the important and somewhat subtle points you make. As you are a self-confessed theoretician, it isn’t surprising that you offer no solution that has practical implementation detail, other than for individuals to be more aware of the spectre you have identified. Nevertheless, I’ll keep in mind what you’ve conferred to me, and you’ll surely realise that there are issues that simply have to be dealt with, in the presence or absence of such a demon as you have revealed. Also, I’ll discuss this further with you, when I’ve actually experienced what you predict, and maybe some possible gaps in your analysis. Until then.”

  Volpe simply waved his arms as he disappeared around the corner, intimating that he had not heard a word of this. IR’s head was so full of information and ideas that he temporarily forgot where he was going. He realised that most of the overcrowding in his cerebral region was not due to his own thoughts, but other citizens’ influence – he reflected on this, ‘maybe that is how it should be, but I have to prioritise what I intend to do about any or all of it.’ He wanted to visit Enoch again, but admitted to himself that he had to set the agenda then perhaps consult. He went home to his little abode and did some speed reading through the History of the World. He stopped at a declaration which intrigued him. It claimed that the most significant change in civilisation (excluding natural disasters and disease) had come when individuals, and then groups, graduated from nomadic societies to agricultural ones. He felt that the phrase, ‘the price was such that a surplus had always to be won from nature,’ becomes mandatory for survival. It utterly was profound, albeit obvious. Immediately after reading it, his thoughts raced. Most citizens believe their bread comes from the supermarket, and they cannot function without a mobile communicator. They get depressed if they cannot get their credit extended to five times as much as they can afford, from a mere three times as much as they are currently earning!!! He thought of Mosey and detoured to persuade him to come to his home for tea and banter.

  Mosey Barracuda arrived almost instantly and realised that IR was facing mental gridlock. “You must stop thinking as someone who has been elected, and remember who elected you and why, then you will remember the important issues facing your citizens. You must not emulate the P.M. (Pompous Maximus) in trying to shape your legacy. That will evolve outside your direct control”

  Richardson’s abode was simply furnished, almost minimalist, yet the order and neatness impacted Mosey, whose shelter was primarily ‘an ebb and flow’ contest with the elements, and never surrendered misplaced possessions easily. IR contemplated, digested and concluded that Mosey was much better ‘qualified’ than himself to do this job, and had a quick panic attack, took several deep breaths, and then resolved to get back on track. He was jolted by a flash of insight, and declared to Mosey that he must cut across sectors of society and initiate a purge on things which attracted common objection, and things which caused decay of long-accepted pillars of community and family living. “The starting point is PC,” announced Richardson, “It has the potential to dismantle the wall by attacking the cohesive mortar. The bricks consequently form a haphazard pyramid, ripe for exploitation.” He further proclaimed “We are more concerned about offending someone than we are about preserving pensions. We sponsor fifty languages in schools, yet we deprive some citizens of medication to prolong their lives on the basis of cost effectiveness. We must, we will eradicate this misguided ethos, promoting harmony and tolerance without such irresponsible cost. The citizens who have come here to live, must be assumed to have been attracted to our culture as well as social benefits, therefore they must be strongly encouraged to become part of the wealth generation and not merely beneficiaries of it. This applies to all citizens. Multiple sectarian policy cannot be encouraged without upholding the minimum common denominators of law. The pervasive doctrine of P.C. is akin to a common cold being allowed to mutate to attack the bone marrow of education, the workplace, sport et al, and worse still, the architects are invisible advisors to central government. This allows the viruses to outrun the development of antibiotics. We have to produce a politically sterile environment for P.C Mandarins”

  Mosey was totally silent for almost a minute. “Targeting an invisible enemy with a strong foothold may be a very difficult battle to win. I seem to remember the wise old owl did something similar all those years ago and lost. Maybe you should talk to him first.” It was getting late and IR really wanted to hear from Enrico first but Mosey had a point, Enoch needed to hear his er… plan??? Off to the pub.

  Chapter 6

  Sniffy was a little disappointed that the media ran with such a safe take on the situation, and decided he needed to throw a spanner in the works. ‘Reluctantly’ he let it be known that he was contemplating a direct meeting with Richardson’s predecessor, the defunct council leader, Deprived Jimmy, a mouse who never roared!! The grapevine swung into maximum bandwidth and within two hours he had both Jimmy and Otto Nostalgia (BNP) on the
line to express concerns over the obvious naivety of the new incumbent. Neither was genuine of course, but it convinced Sniffy that it would be an intriguing prospect to get them both on screen to debate the issue live. He set it up (it was a setup, albeit in a noble cause!) but the radio and press were furious at their exclusion. Sniffy used all his influence to manipulate the timeslot in order to give the offended parties licence to innovate their own slant on the debate, before it got going. With two loose cannons that would hopefully guarantee a fiasco.

  ***

  Enrico explained to Betty that she wouldn’t receive the benefit she’d hoped for, another example of government complication, purely to seek good PR without really improving the situation for elderly citizens. He then filled out the form for her as she was totally baffled by the almost legalese jargon. He rang Reynarda and mentioned his date with IR, suggesting that they should both attend. She felt it would be difficult to help the new council leader but agreed that they must at least try.

  ***

  Sarcasticus Exagerus felt confident that Joe E. Shorts would meekly follow his plan, predicting that the debate would favour Otto, mainly because the mouse had always been fodder of one kind or another, and anyway, nobody really listened to ex-politicians. The dilemma was whether to emphasise this inevitability or bring out the dirt on Otto. Whichever they chose, it was absolutely essential that they themselves appeared as ‘a beacon of objectivity,’ only reporting items that were in the public interest. Yeah right. Joe E squirmed a little because his first priority in life was deniability, and this did not really hit the mark. Sarcasticus Exagerus bullied him further by agreeing to go with the morning edition, then Joe’s radio could pick up with the listener’s views on the article. This was more like it, so Joe E. Shorts feigned reluctance but concurred. They briefly discussed dirt digging on Otto and even on IR, but quickly concluded that Improbable Richardson did not yet have a political life of note, and of course there would be a much better time for this, considering the public interest in exposing Otto. So it was decided then, Jimmy and his impotent time in office would be the focus of the first round, providing a gaping opportunity for Otto to play the part of a circling vulture. The headline was to read ‘Back to the Future’ underpinned by ‘Ex-Council Leader Jimmy to detail what could have been achieved during his tenure but for Red Tape.’ This handed the mouse a difficult task in coaxing the TV audience to sympathise with his personal agenda, which was to create thin ice under IR. It also gave the whip hand to Otto, for now.