Âmsrêspûblîk - Commonwealth of Souls

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1

Mârîâ Köhên Memorial Park
Sëlândê Ward 2 (Îslmër)

Humans are social animals. For this reason it is no wonder that the fear of dying alone is so deeply rooted in our psyche, that it has been written about and pondered for centuries by some of the most renowned minds of the age. In their old age, modern man goes to great lengths to be surrounded by his loved ones, or at least some sympathetic hospital staff, when his final days are up.

My name is Jân-Bâtîstâ Föêrvâs. I work for the Prefecture of Sûsêfstâât-Sëlândê in the Division of Vital Records. My job for five years now has been to settle the affairs and estates of those individuals that died without any next of kin… and to attend this ceremony.

Every year since 1894, the city of Sëlândê has buried the accumulated remains of the homeless, friendless, and alone in mass graves according to their year of death. The burnt ashes are mingled and placed under the earth with a plaque and a sapling tree to mark the spot. A rabbi, a vicar, a Kardakhian priest, the prefect and about fifteen other bureaucrats gather to watch this interment. As the box of remains is poured into the hole, blessings are sung by the faithful, but silence is practiced by the majority. Then, the prefect makes a speech:

«These human souls met their end with no one to remember them. It is for this reason that we, servants of civil society, have taken upon ourselves for some 104 years to bury them in deference to the sanctity of human life. Their individuality may be forgotten, but their humanity will not. And perhaps these anonymous souls will find peace as their bodies are reconciled with creation just as they are united in flesh in this anonymous grave. Indeed, even if their souls don’t reach that eternal place that so many believe in, their essence will rejoin the cosmic cycle of life as these former humans, where they were alone in life, join together to give life to this tree» he says as two young men in suits kneel down to plant the tree.

After the speech, folk songs and glasses of wine are shared, then the motley crew disbands and we make our way back to the prefectural building. The rows of trees that remember unnamed dead give way to the modern walls of memorial, which in turn give way to the living park that surrounds the cemetery. Families and lovers picnicking in the shadow of aging trees and the crumbling monoliths, which serves to remind us at once of the impermanence of our individual lives, but also of the renewing cycles of natural and the eternal life of all creation.

2

Sânktâ-Mârî Roman Catholic Parish
Tschmûschâbûmtôpôlîs Ward 5 (Tschmûsch)

My friends didn’t understand when I didn’t start coming to Civic Rite classes at the community centre when I turned 16. I had been a Dovakhanese Young Pioneer as a kid and a Class Delegate in Second Form (junior high school), so there was no reason not to go to the Saturday courses in ethics, civic participation, and humanist philosophy. Indeed, taking the Civic Rite is a key ritual of passage commemorating and preparing for the first rights of adult citizenship. It is considered the natural step towards further participation in the youth movements and civic activities in general.

Nonetheless, I was to be the only one in my class not to carry around the Dovakhanese Civic Society’s manual on philosophy and adult life: Universe, Earth, Man. And, I was to be the only one in my class not to participate in the Ceremony of Civic Rites where my adolescent comrades, surrounded by their parents, teachers, and old Pioneer compatriots, would take the Civic Vow:

« We, young citizens of the Dovakhanese nation, like our fathers before us, renew our pledge to this land and its people. We are prepared to use all of our strength to build, dig, sow and fight to cultivate and defend our community, this nation, and all mankind in the name of peace, unity, and progress. Thus, in front of our whole community, who has protected, supported, and helped us to the realization of our life’s goals, we in turn pledge our loyalty and support, offering as collateral our life and our liberty as proof of this pledge! »

Instead, surrounded by a dozen relative strangers out of the ten million living in this city. I would eschew the civic communion of folks songs, garlands, speechs, and dinner parties in favor of a deeper, spiritual communion:

« Recall then that you have received the spiritual seal, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of right judgment and courage, the spirit of knowledge and reverence, the spirit of holy fear in God’s presence. Guard what you have received. God the Father has marked you with his sign; Christ the Lord has confirmed you and has placed his pledge, the Spirit, in your hearts » the vicar pronounced as our white-robed forms received our first communion as adult members of the tiny Dovakhanese Christian community. We, the new members of a tiny sect within the nation of Dovakhan and this city, would manifest our faith, despite the isolation it affords us. We would take a stand for what we believe, even though it means partial isolation from the pervasive secular life of our peers.

As I walked out of that church with my parents back to our apartment, I was not dishearted by the great personal coup I’d just staged against secular society. Quite to the contrary, I was elated, ready to face the world.

3

Letter to the Editor - The Dovakhanese New Star
Tschmuschaboumtopolis, Dovakhan

My family was larger than the average, even for the 1970’s. I was the youngest of four children, born in 1977 in rural Bövîa. This was during the first ten years of the left-wing Popular Front, which first encouraged smaller families with free contraception and easy abortion in 1971. However, the Republican natalist policies* were still strong in our part of the country where birth rates were stable at an average of three per woman, in contrast to falling trends in the rest of the county.

As I grew older, I sometimes resented that my peers had more opportunities in smaller families: more toys, their own room, etc. I also felt slightly ostracized as we learned about the virtues of family planning and small families in the revised Civic Rite. However, it was the way that I was raised and I have grown older, I have come to appreciate the idea of a large family.

Unfortunately, state policy has increasingly shifted to stricter population control since the 1980’s when I was in school. My wife and I recently celebrated the birth of our second child, but when we went to the doctor for his first check-up, the pediatrician took me aside:

«I feel it’s my duty to inform you and your wife about some opportunities that are now available. Thanks to new legislation, the Population Agency is giving out grants to couples where the husband has a free vasectomy after the second child. It’s pretty lucrative, they give out around 2,500,000 Lîröt** following the procedure and put into a high-yield savings account. Let me know if you want to do that so I can pull the paperwork together and refer you to a urologist»

This news shocked me, but it also tempted me. Even though my wife and I make a very comfortable living and easily provide for our two children, it’s hard to refuse that much money. Thus the age-old taunts came back to haunt me; was I irresponsible for wanting a large family? Was I, like my parents, robbing my children of the chance to have individual attention and all the opportunities they rightly deserved?

I spoke with a couple of friends at work and they told me that they had chosen to have the procedure and it was almost a necessity in these modern times. Children these days need to study abroad and have as many experiences as possible to succeed in our global world. And, indeed, it wasn’t the 1960’s anymore when the government gave discounted rail tickets to large families or publicly recognized particularly prolific mothers. According to them, this was the age of reason and self-control, and that, for the sake of future generation, of course I should have the procedure done.

However, I couldn’t help feeling extremely manipulated when I was put under for the surgery. These feelings didn’t go away when I received the check stub in the mail from the Population Agency, and I still wonder if I did the right thing.

Dânîêl Sâlâst
IT Engineer,
Ksânâdû

  • Following the restoration of the Dovakhanese Republic, Maximiliani Richelli and his centre-right Popular Republican Movement led Dovakhan from the late fifties until the Dovakhanese financial crisis of 1968. The Republican Party pursued economic growth through colonialism and natalist policies at home.

** 5000 USD

4

Ânâ Ölît was going through a few old things to put in her scrapbook when she stumbled upon a folder emblazoned with a Star of David and the flag of the Republic-Khanates.

150th Plenary Assembly (2006) - «Renewing the Voice of Dovakhanese Zionism»
Headquarters of the Dovakhanese Jewish Congress, Sëlândê

— Begin quote from ____

Dear Friends,

It is my distinct pleasure to welcome you all to the 150th Plenary Assembly of the Dovakhanese Jewish Congress.  It is truly a jubilee year for Dovakhanese Jews, as well as for all citizens of this great nation.  This year marks the 540th anniversary of the first Jewish arrivals on these hallowed shores, as well as the 150th anniversary of the Free City of Sëlândê’s entry into the Sun and Moon Empire.

The first Jewish families arrived in the free port at Sëlândê on the last night of Sukkot in the year 1466.  With new outbreaks of the Black Plague emerging from Paris, these former Frenchmen had feared a revival of the violent anti-Semitism that plagued their grandparent’s generation.  Thus, they had forsaken their fortunes and worldly possessions to leave Europe and find a place where they would at peace.  These ragged souls presented themselves at the town hall where the mayor famously told them «Give me your tired, your poor; here they will find solace, peace, and prosperity».

Thus this twice-scattered people rebuilt their lives with the help of their new-found comrades and countrymen.  By the time Sëlândê officially joined the Sun and Moon Empire in 1856, there had been five Jewish mayors of the free city and the Central Synagogue in Sëlândê was the largest in the hemisphere.  To protect this now-established Jewish heritage, the last mayor of independent Sëlândê, Jêsûa Rösêntâl, created the Dovakhanese Jewish Congress with the blessing of the community, the nation, and the Emperor.

As he told it on Unification Day 1856, «The Dovakhanese-Jewish people are inscribed in the history of this nation, a part of the soul-seed that germinates our common soil.  I say with pride that, along with our fellow Dovakhanese, we can join in the chorus of those cheering our national motto from the rooftops: ‹We are the people, this is our land!›».  Thus was born Dovakhanese Zionism, for our people, by the grace of G-d, had made a new covenant co-authored by Him and the rest of the Dovakhanese people.

A century and a half later, we, the descendants of these brave souls, join with our fellow Dovakhanese to renew and rekindle the covenant we made with them before G-d and all Creation: to breath new life into this nation and in return to fashion a home for ourselves among this people on this great land.  Thank you so much for being a part of this special moment.

Cordially,

Jânâs Sîlvêstën
President

— End quote

5

Dânsânk Cooperative Textiles Community Centre
Dânsânk, Kêrâl-Prêfêktûr (Mârîÿâ)

Keral was the oldest port city in Dovakhan, founded even before Tschmuschaboumtopolis. It was the mercantile center of the Mariya Khanate and then the Sun and Moon Empire until the 16th century when it was surpassed by Tschmuschaboumtopolis and Selande. In modern times, the stately ancient wharves gave way to the textile quarters as tramway lines radiated out toward these company towns.

One of such towns was Dânsânk, a plain streetcar suburb like so many other industrial towns on the periphery of every Dovakhanese city. The old yellow tram creaked to a stop at the south end of the town square, near the community centre where Mârîânâ worked.

Mârîânâ Fîsâl was originally from Tschmuschaboumtopolis, where her well-to-do parents had an apartment right on the peninsula. Her upbringing among the opera-and-brandy urban elite came with high expectations that she too would seek a professional degree and take up residence in one of the city’s gleaming peninsular high-rises. However, Mârîânâ was always her own person and forsook an engineering degree for teaching.

Unfortunately, few opportunities were available in the coveted primary school positions. Thus, Mârîânâ had to find a stop-gap job with the Dovakhanese Civic Society. Starting at the bottom, she would move across the country to work at a community center in Dânsânk. More specifically, Mârîânâ would teach of the Civic Rite… to surly textile kids.

«So, who will define the social contract… Kârl! So help me Kârdâkh, if you don’t stop making those noises, I will pull your father off the floor to explain to him in detail why you will not take be receiving the Civic Rite!» pleaded Mârîânâ

«Now Ms. Fîsâl, the first chapter of Universe, Earth, Man says that the Civic Rite doesn’t concern itself with Kârdâkh or any deity because ‹the limits of human senses cannot possibly define the vast expanses of the universe, and therefore our study is limited to the confines of universal truths as they relate to human societies›» remarked the supremely glib student in the corner.

That was the final straw: «Alright, no more foolishness. It’s time we had a serious talk about the nature of our work here. Your parents have sent you to learn the Civic Rite for a reason. They want you to realize your full potential as individuals in our liberal democratic society. If you understand the political and ethical systems that affect your lives, you can rise above your birth to become whatever you want. I mean, you can aspire to inherit the heddle and shuttle from your parents, but I’m sure many of you realize you’d only be cheating yourselves»

The clock struck 4:00 PM, «Can we go now?» asked a girl in the front row.