Socialist Commonwealth
Establishing Nation
Chapter One - Beneath the Surface
Maximo Park, about one kilometer south of the Dunay and pretty much at the center of Rijeka, was lively enough on regular weekends when thousands of young people flocked to the capital of Carentania to drown their daily worries in a sea of music, drugs and casual sex. It was the country's most famous entertainment district, a hub of urban youth culture. And it was a beautiful city district in its own right, filled with thriving green parks spanning the vast distance between the Dunay Promenades and the Savska Hills district.
But this weekend in March, it was even worse, as thousands of delegates from all over the world had arrived in Rijeka at the invitation of the Union of Communist Workers. Debates and seminaries were held at the central of Carentanias biggest labor union, down at the shores of the Dunay. Meanwhile, the evening programme was organized to take place at several clubs and bars in Maximo Park. Socializing and connecting on a personal level was just as important to succesful revolutionary organizations as political theory, those responsible for the congress knew as much.
Gasper Cerar had been working all day, following the debates and observing the exchange of ideas and opinions between Communists from all continents of Europe. He had taken notes on the events and eventually formulated them in an article for the Carentanian Public Broadcasting. Now the journalist was relaxing from a hard day of work, though not quite escaping the political debates, as he was discussing the results of the day with a delegate from Hajr over a glass of cider.
"The urban working poor are our 'natural' constituency," the man said with emphasis on the fact that the word natural here was not meant as biologism. "I agree as much and organization within the ever expanding shantytowns of the capitalist periphery has always been yeilding quite promising results. But any revolution will fail if it can't sustain an agricultural base. The participation of the peasants in the revolutionary process is adamant. Otherwise we may at best earn a socialist state without food, at worst we fail at the mere attempt of revolution."
Already slightly drunk, Gaspar ordered another glass of cider while pondering about a reply. To be honest, he was not even entirely sure wether he agreed of disagreed with the Hajri comrade. He was therefore not entirely ungrateful when another man, a tall black Kassiopeian in the uniform of a Custodian, entered into the debate, dramatically emptying a whole glass of bourbon before speaking up with a thick accent in his voice:
"Ya'll worry too much. Where there's oppression, the people will flock to revolution. It's logical, is all. Should we fail to convince some rurals in time for the great uprising, Kassiopeia will just feed their country until they do realize what's right and wrong."
The Hajri communist nodded, a wide grin on his face. "I'll take you on your promise once that day comes." He gulped down a mouthful of bourbon himself, shaking slightly as the alcohol passed down his throat, feeling as if it ignited him from the inside. "But what my point really was about, you see, is that we have failed to tap into the pool of revolutionary sentiment within the peasantry thusfar. We have thousands, if not millions of impoverished and desperate people on the countryside, yet we do not manage to organize structures in the same way as we do with urban poor or unionized workers."
"You know," Gaspar finally managed to speak up, having swapped his apple-wine for a sober cherry-soda as he had felt a bit too inebriated for the ongoing discussion. "I think one of the big problems of organizing people in rural areas is, that they are just too far apart from each other. You may have millions of landless workers, but they are literally scattered across the entire country and never meet each other. If you want organization, you first need communication. And it's not like we don't have the technology nowadays to connect people from all over the world instantly, it's just that there's an economic barrier preventing access for those who would need it the most."
Surprised at the sense his own words seemed to make despite the dizzy spin he felt in his skull, Gaspar decided that a reward for himself was in order. He pulled out a pack of Yuka cigarettes, Carentanias famous brand of marihuana cigarettes, and ignited one with his lighter. Puffing contentedly, he offered a cigarette to each of his debate-partners. The Kassiopeian soldier declined politely, while the Hajri man accepted the offer happily.
"Well," the Kassiopeian said. "Your country is the rich industry nation, so where's that free webphone you just promised us?"
Maximo Park, about one kilometer south of the Dunay and pretty much at the center of Rijeka, was lively enough on regular weekends when thousands of young people flocked to the capital of Carentania to drown their daily worries in a sea of music, drugs and casual sex. It was the country's most famous entertainment district, a hub of urban youth culture. And it was a beautiful city district in its own right, filled with thriving green parks spanning the vast distance between the Dunay Promenades and the Savska Hills district.
But this weekend in March, it was even worse, as thousands of delegates from all over the world had arrived in Rijeka at the invitation of the Union of Communist Workers. Debates and seminaries were held at the central of Carentanias biggest labor union, down at the shores of the Dunay. Meanwhile, the evening programme was organized to take place at several clubs and bars in Maximo Park. Socializing and connecting on a personal level was just as important to succesful revolutionary organizations as political theory, those responsible for the congress knew as much.
Gasper Cerar had been working all day, following the debates and observing the exchange of ideas and opinions between Communists from all continents of Europe. He had taken notes on the events and eventually formulated them in an article for the Carentanian Public Broadcasting. Now the journalist was relaxing from a hard day of work, though not quite escaping the political debates, as he was discussing the results of the day with a delegate from Hajr over a glass of cider.
"The urban working poor are our 'natural' constituency," the man said with emphasis on the fact that the word natural here was not meant as biologism. "I agree as much and organization within the ever expanding shantytowns of the capitalist periphery has always been yeilding quite promising results. But any revolution will fail if it can't sustain an agricultural base. The participation of the peasants in the revolutionary process is adamant. Otherwise we may at best earn a socialist state without food, at worst we fail at the mere attempt of revolution."
Already slightly drunk, Gaspar ordered another glass of cider while pondering about a reply. To be honest, he was not even entirely sure wether he agreed of disagreed with the Hajri comrade. He was therefore not entirely ungrateful when another man, a tall black Kassiopeian in the uniform of a Custodian, entered into the debate, dramatically emptying a whole glass of bourbon before speaking up with a thick accent in his voice:
"Ya'll worry too much. Where there's oppression, the people will flock to revolution. It's logical, is all. Should we fail to convince some rurals in time for the great uprising, Kassiopeia will just feed their country until they do realize what's right and wrong."
The Hajri communist nodded, a wide grin on his face. "I'll take you on your promise once that day comes." He gulped down a mouthful of bourbon himself, shaking slightly as the alcohol passed down his throat, feeling as if it ignited him from the inside. "But what my point really was about, you see, is that we have failed to tap into the pool of revolutionary sentiment within the peasantry thusfar. We have thousands, if not millions of impoverished and desperate people on the countryside, yet we do not manage to organize structures in the same way as we do with urban poor or unionized workers."
"You know," Gaspar finally managed to speak up, having swapped his apple-wine for a sober cherry-soda as he had felt a bit too inebriated for the ongoing discussion. "I think one of the big problems of organizing people in rural areas is, that they are just too far apart from each other. You may have millions of landless workers, but they are literally scattered across the entire country and never meet each other. If you want organization, you first need communication. And it's not like we don't have the technology nowadays to connect people from all over the world instantly, it's just that there's an economic barrier preventing access for those who would need it the most."
Surprised at the sense his own words seemed to make despite the dizzy spin he felt in his skull, Gaspar decided that a reward for himself was in order. He pulled out a pack of Yuka cigarettes, Carentanias famous brand of marihuana cigarettes, and ignited one with his lighter. Puffing contentedly, he offered a cigarette to each of his debate-partners. The Kassiopeian soldier declined politely, while the Hajri man accepted the offer happily.
"Well," the Kassiopeian said. "Your country is the rich industry nation, so where's that free webphone you just promised us?"