Date: Sun, 13 Nov 2016 02:49:00 +0200
From: Jerry Jerry <arin12@hot.ee>
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."