08-18-2019, 09:14 PM
Council Chamber, Grapevale, Kerlile
Friday 16th July 2019, morning
Councillor Rosemary Arnott glanced nervously around the Chamber. She was the youngest – although not the newest, given that Nirmala Patel had recently taken her imprisoned mother’s seat – and this was a momentous debate. The consequences of the decision made there today would affect the lives of millions in the years to come. It was a responsibility that the 19-year-old Rosemary struggled to comprehend. She hadn’t wanted to inherit her seat so early, but Kerlile was not a country where people had many choices.
The door opened, and Councillor Carmen Robinson entered, pointedly avoiding Councillor Pauline Pierre’s eyes as she took her seat. Carmen had taken to avoiding the Chamber recently, only turning up to the most important and contentious of debates. Everyone knew it was to avoid Pauline, even the young Rosemary, but naturally decorum meant that nobody would mention it.
Carmen still hadn’t forgiven those on the Council who had ordered her detention and interrogation, and when Pauline had been found not guilty, she had been devastated. All her plans, her careful collecting of information, all for nothing. She had betrayed the matriarchy, committed treason, all for nothing. She had wanted revenge for her family, anyone even remotely familiar with the Council knew that. Alas, her vengeance was still out of her grasp.
“If we are all present, we shall begin,” announced Councillor Lia Chiu. She stood, motioning for the others to do the same. Since Jennifer Hale’s return, the traditions of Council meetings had often been neglected, but for such a momentous debate, Lia had decided it was important that protocol was followed to the letter. “Who is present in this chamber?” she demanded.
“Councillor Rosemary Arnott,” said Rosemary, standing straight and looking dead ahead. “Descendant of Founder of Kerlile Nancy Arnott.”
“Councillor Electra Georgiou, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Phoebe Georgiou”
“Councillor Letitia Greenwood, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Wilma Greenwood.”
“Councillor Jennifer Hale, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Camila Hale.”
“Councillor Natalia Hart, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Edith Hart.”
“Councillor Nirmala Patel, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Sunita Patel.”
“Councillor Pauline Pierre, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Marilène Pierre.”
“Councillor Carmen Robinson, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Margaret Robinson.”
“Councillor Lucia Viallamando, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Martina Villamando.”
“And I, Councillor Lia Chiu, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Yijun Chiu. This session will now begin,” finished Lia. The Councillors all took their seats in unison, even Jennifer, who had fought so hard to discard pointless traditions.
“For the consideration of the Council of Kerlile, I propose the Prisons and Detention Reform Bill. I believe you all have paper copies in front of you, so with permission, I will let the discussion begin immediately?” Carmen asked of Lia, her hand resting on her own copy of the proposed bill.
“Granted. If you would like to begin, Councillor Robinson?” Lia asked of Carmen.
“I think we all already have our own opinions on the topic of prison reform,” began Carmen. “If you will oblige me, however, I ask even those of you who have previously voted against this to reconsider. I could talk about issues of morality, and you could ignore me. Those of you who subscribe to that kind of thought process will already support this bill. So instead, I would like to address this to those of you who may be convinced to change your mind.”
She paused, smiling pointedly in the directions of Lia Chiu, Letitia Greenwood, Nirmala Patel and Lucia Viallamando. She did not glance towards Pauline Pierre. Carmen would never look at Pauline again, if she could avoid it. “I believe the debate following this is on the topic of temporary rationing of certain goods, brought about as a result of the sanctions against us by a number of nations. We cannot act as if these are two separate issues. We all know, deep down, that the main reason other nations choose to sanction us is for our treatment of prisoners. These sanctions affect even us, in this room. They are directly linked.”
“Nirmala, your mother is rotting in a cell in Sanctaria. Why is that? Because of the way she ordered the torture of prisoners. We might call Anita’s situation unique, but can any of us say with certainty that something similar will not happen in the future? I have experienced life in a cell, on the orders of people in this room, and I know that none of you would enjoy the experience. Most of you wouldn’t even cope for a single day without breaking down in tears, knowing the lifestyle you are accustomed to. If we continue to mistreat our prisoners, we are all but asking for such an outcome.”
“Which brings me on to my last point. You lot. The way you treated me. I see the looks on your faces right now. You think: what does it matter to me? I will never be in that position. I will never be treated like that. Well, you are of equal rank to me, and I was treated like that. You tortured a false confession out of me, and now act like I should just let bygones be bygones. You make me sit here and look at your faces, the way you made my mother sit here when she was young and grieving for her mother who was killed in this very room. You are the most immoral and irredeemable people I know, so I know you won’t vote for this out of the goodness of your hearts. So, vote for it to save yourselves in the future, if that’s what it takes.”
Carmen took her seat, blinking away a few tears that had formed at the corner of her eyes. The room was silent, with all of the Councillors avoiding Carmen’s gaze. Those who had voted in favour of her imprisonment in June had the good grace not to speak, and even Pauline couldn’t quite bring herself to look up. The Council sat in silence, until Lia cleared her throat.
“If you could refrain from insulting this Council, Councillor Robinson, that would be much appreciated. I understand that this is an emotional topic for you, however insults will not be permitted in this chamber.”
“Kick her out,” said Pauline.
“Councillor Pierre, I…” began Lia.
“No, I will not have her implying that my grandmother was a murderer!” Pauline shouted.
“She was a murderer!” said Carmen.
“STOP!” yelled Jennifer. “Are we going to do this now? This is a serious topic for debate, and the 1983 incident is not what is being discussed. Are we going to continue this debate on prison reform or not?”
“The debate will continue,” said Lia firmly. “If Councillors Pierre and Robinson wish to argue over historical events they may do so in their own time. Now, I believe Councillor Greenwood has points she wishes to raise.”
“Yes, I do,” began Letitia, “especially pertaining to the proposed closing of the Restricted Region. In the event that this legislation passes, there is going to need to be a lot of transfers out of the Region. We are, I hope, not planning to release terrorists and traitors? Which means we would need to address overcrowding in other facilities. What is wrong with keeping the prisoners in their present location but changing the way the facilities are run? Would that not address the concerns of the Reform Party Councillors without making matters worse?”
“There will be ample space in prison facilities after my mother announced those pardons,” replied Rosemary Arnott. “Which she intends to do soon.”
“She is a fool!” exclaimed Nirmala. “She wants to release traitors, who will undoubtedly work to overthrow us all as soon as they can.”
“She’s releasing people who spoke their minds. People who did nothing but speak, which they shouldn’t be locked up for,” said Jennifer.
“You would say that, little democrat,” sneered Nirmala. “You are the reason we are all in this mess with the Haven Accords.”
“I just want an answer to my question,” sighed Letitia. “Why can we not keep them in their present location but reform the way they are treated?”
“You know fine well that the way the Region is set up, that reform there would be impossible,” Electra Georgiou answered. “It must be shut down.”
The Councillors all began to speak over each other, their voices mixing together as Rosemary Arnott stood and subtly exited the chamber. She leaned against a wall and sighed. She was getting a headache – Council debates always did that to her. She wished she hadn’t been the eldest (and only) daughter of President Arnott. She hated being a Councillor. She wished she could just head back to university in Hazelton.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” one of the security guards outside the Chamber asked her.
“Fine, yes. Just… can you ask, um, I’m sorry I don’t know her name but I mean the minute-taker to tell me when they’ve called a vote? I just want a break.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Rebecca wandered down the atrium outside the Chamber, looking at the statues of the founders of Kerlile and enjoying the quiet. Sometimes the noise just got too much for her. It had always been this way throughout her childhood. It had got her in trouble more than once. She sat down on a bench, pulled out a small e-reader and sat down.
“Ma’am?” came a voice, about an hour later. “They have delayed the vote until Monday. They are moving on to discuss rationing procedures.”
“Thank you,” she said to the nameless civil servant who looked a little frightened to be speaking to a Councillor. “In which case, I will go home. It is not a contentious issue, we all know it is necessary, unfortunately.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Rebecca Arnott sat a little longer, finishing her chapter, then stood up and abruptly exited the building, her security noticing and following wordlessly. Her chauffeur opened the door to her car as she approached, and she got inside. She preferred to walk, but wasn’t permitted to while there was a security warning in place. She hated Trive for provoking the increase in security.
As the car drove through Grapevale, she absentmindedly stared out the window and began her favourite daydream – in which she was a normal 19-year-old, in a normal country, with no responsibilities at all.
Friday 16th July 2019, morning
Councillor Rosemary Arnott glanced nervously around the Chamber. She was the youngest – although not the newest, given that Nirmala Patel had recently taken her imprisoned mother’s seat – and this was a momentous debate. The consequences of the decision made there today would affect the lives of millions in the years to come. It was a responsibility that the 19-year-old Rosemary struggled to comprehend. She hadn’t wanted to inherit her seat so early, but Kerlile was not a country where people had many choices.
The door opened, and Councillor Carmen Robinson entered, pointedly avoiding Councillor Pauline Pierre’s eyes as she took her seat. Carmen had taken to avoiding the Chamber recently, only turning up to the most important and contentious of debates. Everyone knew it was to avoid Pauline, even the young Rosemary, but naturally decorum meant that nobody would mention it.
Carmen still hadn’t forgiven those on the Council who had ordered her detention and interrogation, and when Pauline had been found not guilty, she had been devastated. All her plans, her careful collecting of information, all for nothing. She had betrayed the matriarchy, committed treason, all for nothing. She had wanted revenge for her family, anyone even remotely familiar with the Council knew that. Alas, her vengeance was still out of her grasp.
“If we are all present, we shall begin,” announced Councillor Lia Chiu. She stood, motioning for the others to do the same. Since Jennifer Hale’s return, the traditions of Council meetings had often been neglected, but for such a momentous debate, Lia had decided it was important that protocol was followed to the letter. “Who is present in this chamber?” she demanded.
“Councillor Rosemary Arnott,” said Rosemary, standing straight and looking dead ahead. “Descendant of Founder of Kerlile Nancy Arnott.”
“Councillor Electra Georgiou, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Phoebe Georgiou”
“Councillor Letitia Greenwood, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Wilma Greenwood.”
“Councillor Jennifer Hale, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Camila Hale.”
“Councillor Natalia Hart, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Edith Hart.”
“Councillor Nirmala Patel, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Sunita Patel.”
“Councillor Pauline Pierre, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Marilène Pierre.”
“Councillor Carmen Robinson, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Margaret Robinson.”
“Councillor Lucia Viallamando, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Martina Villamando.”
“And I, Councillor Lia Chiu, descendant of Founder of Kerlile Yijun Chiu. This session will now begin,” finished Lia. The Councillors all took their seats in unison, even Jennifer, who had fought so hard to discard pointless traditions.
“For the consideration of the Council of Kerlile, I propose the Prisons and Detention Reform Bill. I believe you all have paper copies in front of you, so with permission, I will let the discussion begin immediately?” Carmen asked of Lia, her hand resting on her own copy of the proposed bill.
“Granted. If you would like to begin, Councillor Robinson?” Lia asked of Carmen.
“I think we all already have our own opinions on the topic of prison reform,” began Carmen. “If you will oblige me, however, I ask even those of you who have previously voted against this to reconsider. I could talk about issues of morality, and you could ignore me. Those of you who subscribe to that kind of thought process will already support this bill. So instead, I would like to address this to those of you who may be convinced to change your mind.”
She paused, smiling pointedly in the directions of Lia Chiu, Letitia Greenwood, Nirmala Patel and Lucia Viallamando. She did not glance towards Pauline Pierre. Carmen would never look at Pauline again, if she could avoid it. “I believe the debate following this is on the topic of temporary rationing of certain goods, brought about as a result of the sanctions against us by a number of nations. We cannot act as if these are two separate issues. We all know, deep down, that the main reason other nations choose to sanction us is for our treatment of prisoners. These sanctions affect even us, in this room. They are directly linked.”
“Nirmala, your mother is rotting in a cell in Sanctaria. Why is that? Because of the way she ordered the torture of prisoners. We might call Anita’s situation unique, but can any of us say with certainty that something similar will not happen in the future? I have experienced life in a cell, on the orders of people in this room, and I know that none of you would enjoy the experience. Most of you wouldn’t even cope for a single day without breaking down in tears, knowing the lifestyle you are accustomed to. If we continue to mistreat our prisoners, we are all but asking for such an outcome.”
“Which brings me on to my last point. You lot. The way you treated me. I see the looks on your faces right now. You think: what does it matter to me? I will never be in that position. I will never be treated like that. Well, you are of equal rank to me, and I was treated like that. You tortured a false confession out of me, and now act like I should just let bygones be bygones. You make me sit here and look at your faces, the way you made my mother sit here when she was young and grieving for her mother who was killed in this very room. You are the most immoral and irredeemable people I know, so I know you won’t vote for this out of the goodness of your hearts. So, vote for it to save yourselves in the future, if that’s what it takes.”
Carmen took her seat, blinking away a few tears that had formed at the corner of her eyes. The room was silent, with all of the Councillors avoiding Carmen’s gaze. Those who had voted in favour of her imprisonment in June had the good grace not to speak, and even Pauline couldn’t quite bring herself to look up. The Council sat in silence, until Lia cleared her throat.
“If you could refrain from insulting this Council, Councillor Robinson, that would be much appreciated. I understand that this is an emotional topic for you, however insults will not be permitted in this chamber.”
“Kick her out,” said Pauline.
“Councillor Pierre, I…” began Lia.
“No, I will not have her implying that my grandmother was a murderer!” Pauline shouted.
“She was a murderer!” said Carmen.
“STOP!” yelled Jennifer. “Are we going to do this now? This is a serious topic for debate, and the 1983 incident is not what is being discussed. Are we going to continue this debate on prison reform or not?”
“The debate will continue,” said Lia firmly. “If Councillors Pierre and Robinson wish to argue over historical events they may do so in their own time. Now, I believe Councillor Greenwood has points she wishes to raise.”
“Yes, I do,” began Letitia, “especially pertaining to the proposed closing of the Restricted Region. In the event that this legislation passes, there is going to need to be a lot of transfers out of the Region. We are, I hope, not planning to release terrorists and traitors? Which means we would need to address overcrowding in other facilities. What is wrong with keeping the prisoners in their present location but changing the way the facilities are run? Would that not address the concerns of the Reform Party Councillors without making matters worse?”
“There will be ample space in prison facilities after my mother announced those pardons,” replied Rosemary Arnott. “Which she intends to do soon.”
“She is a fool!” exclaimed Nirmala. “She wants to release traitors, who will undoubtedly work to overthrow us all as soon as they can.”
“She’s releasing people who spoke their minds. People who did nothing but speak, which they shouldn’t be locked up for,” said Jennifer.
“You would say that, little democrat,” sneered Nirmala. “You are the reason we are all in this mess with the Haven Accords.”
“I just want an answer to my question,” sighed Letitia. “Why can we not keep them in their present location but reform the way they are treated?”
“You know fine well that the way the Region is set up, that reform there would be impossible,” Electra Georgiou answered. “It must be shut down.”
The Councillors all began to speak over each other, their voices mixing together as Rosemary Arnott stood and subtly exited the chamber. She leaned against a wall and sighed. She was getting a headache – Council debates always did that to her. She wished she hadn’t been the eldest (and only) daughter of President Arnott. She hated being a Councillor. She wished she could just head back to university in Hazelton.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” one of the security guards outside the Chamber asked her.
“Fine, yes. Just… can you ask, um, I’m sorry I don’t know her name but I mean the minute-taker to tell me when they’ve called a vote? I just want a break.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Rebecca wandered down the atrium outside the Chamber, looking at the statues of the founders of Kerlile and enjoying the quiet. Sometimes the noise just got too much for her. It had always been this way throughout her childhood. It had got her in trouble more than once. She sat down on a bench, pulled out a small e-reader and sat down.
“Ma’am?” came a voice, about an hour later. “They have delayed the vote until Monday. They are moving on to discuss rationing procedures.”
“Thank you,” she said to the nameless civil servant who looked a little frightened to be speaking to a Councillor. “In which case, I will go home. It is not a contentious issue, we all know it is necessary, unfortunately.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Rebecca Arnott sat a little longer, finishing her chapter, then stood up and abruptly exited the building, her security noticing and following wordlessly. Her chauffeur opened the door to her car as she approached, and she got inside. She preferred to walk, but wasn’t permitted to while there was a security warning in place. She hated Trive for provoking the increase in security.
As the car drove through Grapevale, she absentmindedly stared out the window and began her favourite daydream – in which she was a normal 19-year-old, in a normal country, with no responsibilities at all.
LIDUN President 2024 | she/her | Puppets: Kerlile, Glanainn, Yesteria, Zongongia, Zargothrax