The Coup

England burned. All over the country the people took to the streets with lighter fluid and a blood lust; they’d had enough. They’d had enough of government ineptitude and tax breaks for the wealthy, they’d had enough of cutbacks while they struggled to feed and educate their kids, but most of all they’d had enough of this being the norm. This norm didn’t benefit them; it tried to keep them subdued for the benefit of someone else. They didn’t know who exactly, but they didn’t care: whoever it was had taken too much from them and enough was enough.

Scenes of rioting and looting and buildings ablaze, were shown on every channel, but with a different network logo in the corner. Identical images narrated in the same sombre tone by androgynous talking heads. The Apocalypse: brought to you by the BBC. The police were nowhere to be seen; they hadn’t been paid in months. Nor had anybody in the National Health Service, or the Fire brigade, or the Civil Service, or anybody who worked for the public sector, which amounted to one third of the work force.

“Thank God for the Army,” thought the Prime Minister “They put duty above all else. If it weren’t for them we’d be charcoal.”

He was right. A mob had descended on Westminster to voice their discontent. But for several water cannons and a few hundred soldiers in their way they would have been roasting chestnuts around a palatial blaze.

The Prime Minister had declared martial law and called an emergency session of Parliament. There had to be some solution they hadn’t thought of, some new source of revenue that remained untapped and they had to find it soon or the country would have to default on its debts. The IMF had refused another emergency loan. Europe couldn’t afford another bailout, especially of an economy the size of Britain’s, the USA too had decided that the UK was beyond their help, China held too many uncertain bonds to take on anymore, an arms deal wouldn’t pay for even a third of the amounts due, and one couldn’t be put together at this late hour anyway. The international community had turned their backs on Britain; they were on their own.

The MPs all sat in silence, too exhausted to talk anymore. It had been a long night of talking in circles and hurling blame at each other, but still they had not reached a solution. This was all a deluded exercise of course; there was nothing they suggest that the people would accept. They were leaders without followers. They were all still a little shocked by the speed of the change in public opinion; it’s not like they hadn’t been in this situation before. The people would grumble for a while at the tax hikes but then got on with the job, and the country survived. But this time was different. This time they were perfectly happy to step off the edge and see what happened next.
The Prime Minister sat in front of the dispatch box and fumed. It was supposed to have been a meeting to find a solution, yet most of the MPs had used this as an opportunity to pour hot tar over his head, to say that he was out of his depth and unfit to lead. The press was no better either; they portrayed this crisis as solely his fault, as if he’d stolen the country’s credit card and bought some magic beans. They ignored that it was a debt built through multiple tenures of mismanagement, not just his.

It was all Albion Carter’s fault. He had stirred up this feeling amongst the people, demanding that they hold the Government responsible for this crisis. Carter was founder of the Movement for Social Reform, a not-for-profit with a near fanatical following. They were a think tank, who would offer practicable solutions to national problems. They enjoyed the virtue of being able to promise a great deal without having to deliver it, and they rarely missed an opportunity to do so. The Prime Minister hated Albion Carter. Carter was an all-too-effective critic of his administration’s handling of the current crisis, yet he and his followers had been mysteriously silent on what they should do instead. When the Prime Minister had tried to point this out the newspapers ran with the headline ‘Prime Minister looks to Carter for Lifeline’.

When he first heard of Carter, the Prime Minister had dismissed him as another publicity hungry, rhetoric-spouting imbecile who would soon be crushed by the weight of his own righteousness. But it was not to be; Albion Carter lived his ideals and did not fall into any temptations. His influence grew quickly but he didn’t use it to vault himself into politics, as many expected. He said he would not descend to the tacky sound bites and trivial point scoring that politics entailed; he wanted to tackle real problems at their roots. As such he became a media darling and his words were spread like gospel. In a few short years Carter’s Movement had created enough policy to form a party agenda. A number of prescient backbenchers saw a bandwagon they could ride to success, and announced their intention to create the Social Reform Party. The Party ranks soon grew to be a sizeable force. Carter himself had nothing officially to do with them, but he had only to voice an opinion to have it proposed in parliament the next day.

And so they sat, deadlocked and impotent and too tired to care. A distraction came in the form of a young aide rushed hurriedly into the chambers holding a note. He made his way to a rotund, moon-faced old man, Rompole, one of the founding members of the SRP.

‘Mr Speaker, it is clear that the Prime Minister has run out of ideas, just as his party has run out of influence. The country is baying for his head, and not unjustly. We are the laughing stock of the world, a once great nation that has been brought to its knees through myopic leadership. The solution to this crisis is clearly beyond him, Gentlemen. It seems to be beyond us all. I propose we open up this session to outside advisors. I’ve just received word that Albion Carter has consented to see us and is waiting outside.’

Electricity travelled through the room as his name was spoken. Albion Carter was here to save the day. He would have a solution.

Perfect thought the Prime Minister this is the end then, either Carter saves us and I’m finished, or he doesn’t and I’m finished. He stood up without any real conviction ‘Mr. Speaker, I really don’t think that the Right Honourable Gentlemen is correct in his analysis of our present situation. Britain is not on its knees. Nor do I feel that this session needs to be opened up to outside counsel.’ It was a futile attempt, but he tried it anyway. The Speaker was a dour Scotsman, the no-nonsense kind whom everyone professed to like in public but then cursed his inflexibility behind closed doors.

‘The Prime Minister will note that nobody here has spoken in the past five minutes and we must find a solution to this problem within the next hour to at least have a chance of meeting the deadline. I’m willing to allow Mr Carter into the chambers to at least here what he has to say.’
‘Mr Speaker, Albion Carter has stirred up a great deal of discontent in the past few months which is the primary reason for the looting and rioting that has occurred. Furthermore he’s neither a member of parliament nor indeed any kind of Government official and as such he cannot be extended the right to speak here.’
‘The Prime Minister should know by know that once I’ve made my decision I’m not minded to change it three seconds later. Please show Mr Carter into the chamber.’

The silence transformed into an awed hush as every head turned towards the heavy oak door. It opened silently and a thin man in a plain black suit walked through. He was painstakingly neat, not a hair out of place on his head, not a loose thread on his clothing. He had a youthful face and pale skin. His hair was as black as his shoes, which were also in immaculate condition. He walked at a brisk pace and stared straight ahead, but gave off an aura like he was strolling aimlessly through a park. He stopped in front of dispatch box.

‘Mr Speaker.’

His voice. That’s where the magic was, it carried across the whole room without him having to raise his voice. It’s not that he spoke loudly; it was just that it had a quality that seemed to mute other noises that got in its way.

‘Prime Minister, it’s an honour to finally meet you.’
‘And you Mr Carter.’
‘It’s a shame it had to be under such circumstances,’ Carter turned to address the chamber.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, we find ourselves in a predicament, one for which there is no easy solution. My organisation has been working on it day and night and has faced no greater challenge. The immediate remedy is easy enough; the difficulty lies in finding a way to prevent this from happening again. Our political system is designed to suffer from this flaw. We are too concerned with the present at the expense of the future. Our politicians pander to individuals, promising them instant gratification in exchange for the illusion of power. The party system makes every bill passed a toothless compromise that oftentimes acts against its original purpose. You’ve exhausted our credit time and again and there’s no way you can promise that you’ll change. History makes it clear that you can’t. It is clear to me, then, that things have to change. Not small changes, mind you, but wholesale, fundamental change to the very way in which this country conducts itself. I’m talking, of course, of revolution.’

The MPs looked around at each other, not quite understanding what had just been said.

‘My honourable Sirs and Madams, I do not use that word in the same watered down manner that you use it when speaking of transport reform and corporate regulation, but in its true sense. Your ineptitude and that of your forebears has plummeted our country into despair. You are the cause of all of our ills, past and present, and if you’re allowed to continue unchecked you will be the cause of all our future ills.’
Astonished mutterings spread around the room like waves signalling a coming storm. Carter was unfazed. He turned towards the door again and called out.
‘General.’

The doors opened and through it walked Conrad Bird, Chief of the General Staff, flanked by a score of soldiers. He could have been Montgomery reincarnated, people often speculated whether he was a clone of the great man. He marched towards the box and stood shoulder to shoulder with Carter, while his soldiers formed two lines and stood in front of the opposing benches, rifles at the ready. Bird didn’t bother to acknowledge the Speaker, nor did he look around to engage with any of the other ministers who tried to catch his eye.

The Prime Minister was outraged.

‘General Bird! What is the meaning of this? You can’t just walk in here with armed men.’

The General gave the Prime Minister a stare that could have bored holes through his skull, but he didn’t reply.

‘Prime Minister, there is no need for hysterics,’ said Carter ‘One must accept one’s fate with dignity.’

‘Be damned with you and your dignity, Carter. You have no right to be here let alone do this. You think the country will accept you seizing control? You think they’ll be happy to see the back of their elected officials?’

‘This is what revolution looks like, Prime Minister. The people have already taken to the streets. They aren’t protesting peacefully to make you aware of their concerns; they’ve said “to hell with law and order” and set their world alight. It’s the General’s men that stop them from throwing you out themselves. Follow my instructions and the history books will laud you as a visionary; do not and they’ll pile blame onto your corpse for the next thousand years.’

The Prime Minister looked around the chamber and saw a sea defeated faces. This post had been his goal for more years than he could remember, he was so sure that he would be the one to lead the country back to glory. He had thought he would concentrate on the big picture, pushing through the changes he knew his country needed. But he was blocked every step of the way. Rather than spending time on policy and real issues, he was bogged down in minutiae, fighting tooth and nail to preserve his reputation and thus his political capital to make the changes necessary in future. Then the crises came thick and fast, and he had to divert more and more resources from the important to the urgent. Now it seemed he was the one to oversee its demise. The majority of his obituary had already been written, he was painfully aware of that. History would remember him as the worst thing ever to happen to Britain, the man who bankrupted a nation. The man who limped from crisis to crisis until his people revolted against him.

‘You all have one last duty to perform.’ Carter said, ‘Parliament will now vote to give me emergency powers so that I can effectively manage this crisis. I’ve already prepared the Act and the statement that the Prime Minister will make.’
General Bird stepped forward and laid a folder on the podium in front of the Prime Minister.

‘I will do no such thing, Carter. I’ll have no part of this.’ He said.

‘Be realistic Prime Minister. You have no support, not even from your own party. The people have risen up against you, the military wants you gone. You are finished. You can decide whether that is to be in the literal or figurative sense.

The Prime Minister opened the folder and read his proposed statement. It was eloquent at least; he would finally get some style points from the press. He didn’t bother reading the proposed Act. ‘To hell with them,’ he thought, ‘if this is the fate they want then so be it.’ He took the statement from the podium and sat down.
The act was passed unanimously. The Prime Minister’s statement was broadcast on every channel and his words were greeted with unbridled joy. The talking heads dissected every word of his statement and congratulated the boldness of the recently passed law. In their minds there was no better candidate than Albion Carter to take on the newly created role of Defender of the Realm, whose mandate included the restoration of order to the streets and stability to the country’s finances. This was no time for political deadlock and backdoor horse trading, they said, at a time like this a single, unifying figurehead with enough clout to do what is necessary is exactly what is needed.

An hour after his appointment, Albion Carter addressed the nation.

‘The international community turned its back on Britain this day, and so we shall turn our back on them. Consider this notice to our creditor nations. For countless years we have helped you whenever it was needed, be it military support, humanitarian aid or financial loans, because we felt it our duty to help our friends. It is clear now that we were mistaken to do so, for when we make a simple request for more time to pay not only do you refuse, but you glory in that refusal. I say this to you. All Government debt held by international parties is hereby annulled. We will not bankrupt ourselves to satisfy your greed.’

That very night the army went around the country and collected all non UK residents. They were driven to the nearest airports and put on planes back to their countries of origin. Those UK residents who were out of the country were given 24 hours to return before their citizenship was cancelled. All foreign investments in the nation’s banks were frozen and restrictions were put on all forms of international communication. Carter hermetically sealed the country from the rest of the world, and nothing was heard from the island for the next ten years.