Ecotopia (12 page)

Americans are, of course, accustomed to believe that only economic and population growth can lead to improvement in life. The Ecotopian experiments, whatever their apparent achievements, have a long way to go in order to change this basic conviction. Ecotopian circumstances have been, after all, unusually favorable compared to those in the rest of the U.S.; the Ecotopians’ special advantages in fertile agricultural land, a backlog of buildings suitable for housing, and a more self-reliant western tradition, have all led them to focus on surpluses, not shortages—which they have encountered (or perhaps brought about) only in energy and metals.

Americans would find Ecotopian population policies alarming in that, along with Ecotopia’s decline in population, the nuclear family as we know it is rapidly disappearing. Ecotopians still speak
of “families,” but they mean by that term a group of between five and 20 people, some of them actually related and some not, who live together. In many such families not only eating and household duties are shared, but also the raising of children—in which men and women seem to participate equally as far as time spent is concerned, but within a strange power context. Ecotopian life is strikingly equalitarian in general—women hold responsible jobs, receive equal pay, and of course they also control the Survivalist Party. The fact that they also exercise absolute control over their own bodies means that they openly exert a power which in other societies is covert or nonexistent: the right to select the fathers of their children. “No Ecotopian woman ever bears a child by a man she has not freely chosen,” I was told sternly. And in the nurturing of children while they are under two, women continue this dominance; men participate extensively in the care and upbringing of the very young, but in cases of conflict the mothers have the final say, and mince no words about it. The fathers, odd though it appears to me, acquiesce in this situation as if it was perfectly natural; they evidently feel that their time of greater influence on the young will come later, and that that is the way it should be.

It’s difficult for an outsider to determine the bonds that hold the communal groups together, but children may be a key factor, though economic necessity clearly plays an important part also. In one such family I visited, I was reminded of the earlier American practice of having godparents—related or unrelated persons who assume a certain responsibility for children, take a special interest in them, and help to enrich their lives—or give them a refuge from their parents! Ecotopian children normally live surrounded by informal “godparents,” and a cheerier bunch of kids I have never seen. A willingness to help nurture children may well be the crucial qualification for membership in one of these “families.” But there are also “families” with no children at all. These have an entirely different atmosphere, tend to be larger, and are evidently more transient. Some are professionally oriented—journalist groups, musicians, scientists, craftspeople, or people concerned with an enterprise like a school or factory. Their members are mostly younger, whereas the families with children have members
who span a wide range of ages, (It is rare for Ecotopian old people to live alone, as so many of ours do; they mostly live in the families, where they play an important role in child care and early education.)

Americans are familiar with rumors of sexual depravity in Ecotopia, but I must report that the sexual practices of these families seem about as stable as ours. Generally there are more or less permanent heterosexual couples involved—though both male and female homosexual couples also exist, and I gather that same-sex relationships pose less of a problem psychologically than they do with us. Monogamy is not an officially proclaimed value, but the couples are generally monogamous (except for four holidays each year, at the solstices and equinoxes, when sexual promiscuity is widespread.) Single members of the families often take up with lovers from outside, and sometimes this results in the addition or subtraction of a family member. There seems to be a continual slow shifting of membership, probably something like what must have happened with our “extended families” a few generations back.

I have made extensive inquiries about Ecotopian attitudes on the kind of eugenic population planning which has been discussed so passionately in the U.S.—either the aiding of natural selection by deliberate breeding, or farther-out possibilities such as cloning, whereby actual genetic duplicates of superior individuals might be produced, or even modification of gene structures to produce a race of supermen. However, no Ecotopian scientist or citizen has been willing to discuss such matters, which they view with great distaste. Nor, when I have ventured the hypothesis that man may be only a “missing link” between the apes and a later, superior humanity, have I obtained any response except condescending incredulity. Their reluctance to enter into such speculations may show the extent to which Ecotopians have blinded themselves to the exciting possibilities offered by modern scientific advances. But it also shows that they are more willing than we to live with the biological constitutions we now possess.

*    *    *

(May 21) Everybody suddenly glued to TV sets. Ecotopian monitor systems, which seem to be extremely sophisticated for both nuclear and general pollution, have detected a sudden increase in the radiation level of air blowing in from the Pacific. Cause still unknown. Much speculation, on the streets and in media: Chinese nuclear blast gone out of control? Accident in a Japanese fission plant? Conflict on the Chinese-Russian border? Nuclear submarine accident offshore? People anxious, depressed, angry. They turn in a crisis to the TV, which they watch in tense groups, but not in the passive, dependent fashion of Americans—they actually shout at it, and the switchboards are flooded with picturephone callers. Vera Allwen and her foreign minister were obliged to appear within an hour and on the defensive, answering angry citizens who put pointed, difficult questions about why their government can’t do anything. (Also hotheads who think commando teams should be sent to disable plants in Japan, China, Siberia which emit wastes into air or sea!) Allwen says she is preparing a stiff protest to whoever turns out to be responsible. Meanwhile Ecotopian ships and agents are on a crash program to locate the pollution source. So far dead silence from the U.S. wire services, which are received in Vancouver and relayed here, though our satellite reconnaissance must have spotted what happened.

There is a widespread tendency to blame technological disasters on Americans, so I haven’t been made to feel terribly welcome in the last few hours. Groups I have been with, watching Allwen and other national politicos, seem to think the Ecotopian government is too tolerant of pollution coming in from outside. Talk about “reparations” on TV—apparently some international pollution-fine system is really being proposed. The Japanese will love that.

Have been watching all this mostly from Franklin’s Cove, where I moved today, at their invitation (and urged by Marissa, who doesn’t like hotels at all). “You’re a journalist, aren’t you?” they said; “Well then, you ought to live with us!” A welcome thought, and I guess I can find the time for their cooking and cleaning work crews. My little room’s on the top floor; dormer window looks out toward Alcatraz—a green hump looming out of the Bay, with its cheerful orange lighthouse tower. Hard to believe such a peaceful
grassy island once housed our worst desperadoes, and was covered with concrete and steel.

(Later) Have found the work crew experience a little unnerving. First time I joined one it was for after-dinner clean-up. I pitched in, American-style, scurrying around carrying dishes to the sink area. After a few moments I realized people had stopped their general chatter and were staring at me. “My God, Will,” said Lorna, “whatever are you doing, running a race?” Everybody else laughed.

I blushed, or felt like it. “What do you mean?” “Well, you’re hauling dishes like you were being paid by the dish. Very un-Ecotopian!” I looked around, suddenly conscious that everyone else had been working very leisurely by comparison. Lorna and Brit had developed a sort of game in which they took turns washing and giving each other little back rubs. Bert was meanwhile telling about a funny encounter he had had that day with a reader who threatened to beat him up. And Red was drinking beer and not doing much of anything; occasionally, when his attention fell on a dirty pot or something, he would bring it over to the sink.

“Don’t you want to get it done with?” I replied defensively. “When I have a job to do I like to get it over with. What’s wrong with a little efficiency?” “A little goes a long way, Will,” Lorna said. “Our point of view is that if something’s worth doing, it ought to be done in a way that’s enjoyable—otherwise it can’t
really
be worth doing.”

“Then how does anything get done?” I asked exasperatedly. “You don’t mean to tell me washing dishes is exactly fun?” “It is the way we do it,” said Bert. “Almost anything can be, if you keep your eye on the process and not on the goal.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try it.” So I goofed off in the Ecotopian manner—drank a little beer, tossed some knives and forks into the sink, told a joke I’d heard that day, then wiped a few tables. But it was hard to keep my pace down, and harder still to keep in good touch with the other people—I’d focus on the task, and blot them out. But they noticed this, and invented a game around it. “Hey
Will!” they’d yell, “we’re here!” And somebody would tickle me, or give me a pat. They’ll retrain me yet.

(May 23) Marissa’s got positively hypnotic powers: when she’s here I lose track of time, obligations, my American preconceptions. She exists in a contagious state of immediate consciousness. Somewhere far back in her head must be the forest camp, her responsibilities there, her plans to return tomorrow. But she seems to be able to turn them absolutely off and just
be.
She seems capable of anything—she’s the freest and least anxious person I’ve ever known. To the extent I can get in on this, I begin to feel high and a little strange, as if I was on some kind of drug. I keep thinking she is like a wild animal: of course she responds to the influences and constraints of the other animals around (me included) but these are not inside her head, somehow. She’s highly unpredictable, moody, changeable, yet wherever she is, she’s always right
there,
with me or whoever it is. (I don’t know how to deal with the jealousy I feel when she turns her attention, like a beautiful searchlight beam, on somebody else. But I bear it.)

Not that we lie around in bed all the time—have actually been fairly busy, wandering around to visit people she knows, taking expeditions so she can show me her favorite San Francisco places, eating at peculiar little restaurants, laughing, sometimes just sitting and watching people or birds or even trees. She has special trees all over the place, and they’re really important to her. (Thinks I should write a column on the trees of Ecotopia!) She studies their characters, revisits them to see how they’ve grown and changed, likes to climb in some of them (she’s agile and sure-footed), is immensely happy if they’re thriving and cast down if they’re not. Even talks to them—or rather mutters, since she knows I think it’s kind of crazy.

I realize I am growing terribly attached to her. What seemed at the beginning like a lark, the usual brief liaison of a travelling man, has quickly gotten terribly serious. Marissa is clearly a powerful and remarkable person: sees through my bullshit, but sees something valuable under it. By comparison I look back at Pat as almost an artificial person, vapid and rigid and horribly, horribly
controlled. Even Francine, my beloved nutty Francine, with whom I’ve had such giggles and pleasures, begins to seem lightweight. With Marissa I get into feelings I never knew were there: a deep, overwhelming, scary sharing of our whole beings, as well as our bodies. There’s no denying it—we’re beginning to love each other. And despite her free ways, and her still living with Everett at the camp, she has some fierce possessive streak for me—gets angry whenever my return comes up.

Went sailing on the Bay yesterday, with a couple of people from the Cove. Marissa invited her brother Ben. Older brother; turns out to be surly and viciously anti-American. As soon as we had pushed off he came right at me with arguments and charges. I tried to parry politely but it didn’t help. It’s early in the season and the wind doesn’t come up strongly yet, so we veered around trying to set the sails for a while. Then everybody lay down on the foredeck, getting some sun and watching the water go by. I went aft to sit with Ben, and offered to take the tiller. He scowled and said abruptly, in a low voice, “What the hell are you messing around with my sister for? Goddamn Americans can’t keep their hands off anything!” I answered mildly, “We like each other—what’s wrong with that?” “You know what’s wrong with it, you stupid bastard—you’re really getting to her, and then you’re going to take off.” “I’ve never concealed my intentions from anybody, Ben.” He looked at me. “I ought to just push you overboard, and not turn back!” He made a sudden movement with his hands. I grabbed the rail, thinking he might really try something. He grinned wickedly. “You creep!” I said. “What do you mean, trying to run your sister’s life? Making threats? Think you’re the Mafia or something?” At this the others, hearing us, sat up and came back aft. Ben and I exchanged mean looks. “We were just having a little argument,” he said. I got up and sat beside Marissa on the other side of the cockpit. She looked at me, then at Ben. “I’ll tell you about it later.” I said. “So will I,” Ben shot back.

We sailed on, over to an abandoned whaling station on the east side of the Bay, and put in there for a while. It’s a museum now, with chilling exhibits about whaling and the extinction of mammals
generally. Ben lost no chance to point out how Americans and their technology had been in the forefront of this tragic and irreversible process. And indeed I hadn’t realized how far it has gone: it
is
a horrible story. Our role in it was heavy, and thousands of marvelous creatures that once inhabited this earth have now vanished from the universe forever. We have gobbled them up in our relentless increase. There are now 40 times more weight of humans on the earth than of all the wild mammals together!