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These are the OCR results for the 1975 published version of the book Ecotopia written by Ernest Callenbach. The OCR Results have been produced with tesseract.
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<p>
Ernest gallenbach<lb/>
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ECOTOPIA<lb/>
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The Notebooks and Reports of<lb/>
William Weston<lb/>
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, BANYAN TREE BOOKS<lb/>
Berkeley, California<lb/>
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fecnmscng<lb/>
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“""~1 1;.<lb/>
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91:35”<lb/>
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UniVer '1" ‘ If"<lb/>
ngigbibfioaggfb'bhofha1<lb/>
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Distributed by Bookpeople<lb/>
2929 Fifth Street<lb/>
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Berkeley, CA 95710<lb/>
Telephone: (415) 549-3030<lb/>
FAX: (415) 848-6322<lb/>
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Banyan Tree Books<lb/>
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Berkeley, California<lb/>
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Copyright 1975 © by Ernest Callenbach<lb/>
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Library of Congress Catalog Card Numbef: 74—84366<lb/>
Printed in the United States of America<lb/>
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PRINTING: 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11<lb/>
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.-~;<lb/>
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Eco— from the Greek oikos (househoid or home)<lb/>
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-TOPIA from the Greek tapas (place)<lb/>
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In nature, no organic substance is synthesized unless<lb/>
there is provision for its degradation; recycling is en-<lb/>
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forced.<lb/>
BARRY COMMONER<lb/>
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<p>
WESTON’S NEXT ASSIGNMENT:<lb/>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
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<p>
The TimeS—Post is at last able to announce that William Weston,<lb/>
our top international affairs reporter, will spend six weeks in<lb/>
Ecotopia, beginning next week. This unprecedented journalistic<lb/>
development has been made possible through arrangements at<lb/>
the highest diplomatic level. It will mark the first officially<lb/>
arranged visit by an American to Ecotopia since the secession<lb/>
cut off normal travel and communications.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The Times-Post is sending Weston 011 this unique and difficult<lb/>
investigative assignment in the conviction that a candid, on-the-<lb/>
spot assessment of Ecotopia is essential—ZO years after its<lb/>
secession. Old antagonisms have too long deterred close examina-<lb/>
tion of what has been happening in Ecotopia—a part of the<lb/>
world once near, dear and familiar to us, but closed off and<lb/>
increasingly mysterious during its decades of independence<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The problem now is not so much to oppose Ecotopia as to<lb/>
understand it—which can only benefit the cause of international<lb/>
good relations. The Times—Post stands ready, as always, to serve<lb/>
</p>
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that cause.<lb/>
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<p>
(May 3) Here we go again, dear diary. A fresh notebook with all those<lb/>
blank pages waiting to be filled. Good to be on the way at last. Allegham<lb/>
ies already receding behind us like pale green ripples on an algae-covered<lb/>
pond. Thinking back to the actual beginnings of this trip—almost a<lb/>
year ago? Those careful hints dropped at the White House like crumbs<lb/>
for the President’s vacuum-cleaner mind to suck up. Until finally they<lb/>
coalesced into some kind of ball and came out as his own daring idea:<lb/>
okay, send some unoficial figure out there, purely informal—a reporter<lb/>
not too closely identified with the administration, who could nose around,<lb/>
blow up a few pretty trial balloonsccan’t hurt! A tingly moment when<lb/>
he finally broached it, after a big Brazil briefing session. That famous<lb/>
confidential smile! And then saying that he had a little adventure in<lb/>
V, mind, wanted to discuss it with me privately. . . .<lb/>
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<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
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<p>
Was his tentativeness only his habitual caution, or a signal that if<lb/>
anythin g went wrong the visit (and the visitor) were politically expenda-<lb/>
ble?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Still, an important opening in ourforeignpolicy—lots ofweighty argu»<lb/>
ments for it. Heal the fratricidal breach that rent the nation—so<lb/>
the continent can stand united against rising tide of starvation and revo-<lb/>
lution. Hawks who want to retake “lost lands of the west” by force<lb/>
seem to be growing stronger~need neutralizing. Ecotopian ideas are<lb/>
seepin g over the border more dangerouslymcan’t be ignored any longer,<lb/>
might be detoxzfied by exposure. Etc.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Maybe we can find a hearing for proposal to reopen diplomatic rela-<lb/>
tions; perhaps trade proposals too. With reunification a gleam in the<lb/>
eye. Even just a publicizable chat with Vera Allwen could be usefulhthe<lb/>
President, with his customary flexibility, could use it to fend 0}?" both<lb/>
hawks and subversives. Besides, as I told Francine—who scofl’ed, natural-<lb/>
ly, even after three brandiesWI want to see Ecotopia because it’s there.<lb/>
Can things really be as weird there as they sound? I wonder.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Have been mulling over the no—nos. M ust stay clear of the secession<lb/>
itself: too much bitterness could still be aroused. But fascinating stories<lb/>
there, probablywhow the secessionists filched uranium fuel from power<lb/>
plants for the nuclear mines they claimed to have set in New York<lb/>
and Washington. How their political organization, led by those damned<lb/>
women, managed to paralyze and then supplant the regular political<lb/>
structure, and got control of the armories and the Guard. How they<lb/>
blufled their way to a stand~ofl~helped, of course, by the severity of<lb/>
the national economic crisis that struck so conveniently for them. Lots<lb/>
of history there to be told someday—but now is not the time. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Getting harder to say goodbye to the kids when I take ofir on a long<lb/>
trip. Not that it’s really such a big deal, since I sometimes miss a couple<lb/>
ofweekends even when I ’m around. But my being away so much seems<lb/>
to be beginning to bother them. Pat may be putting them up to it;<lb/>
I ’II have to talk to her about that. Where else would Fay get the idea<lb/>
of asking to come along? Jesuswinto darkest Ecotopia with typewriter<lb/>
and eight—year—old daughter. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
No more Francine for six weeks. It’s always refreshing to get away<lb/>
for a while, and she’ll be there when I get back, all charged up by<lb/>
some adventure or other. Actually sort of exciting to think of being<lb/>
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ECOTOPIA<lb/>
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<p>
' totally out of'touch with her, with the editorial ofice, in fact with the<lb/>
whole country. No phone service, wire service indirect: uncanny isolation<lb/>
' the Ecotopians have insisted on for 20 years! And in Peking, Bantustan,<lb/>
BraZil there always had to be an American interpreter, who couldn’t<lb/>
help dangling ties fi-om home. This time there’ll be nobody to share<lb/>
Ilittle‘ American reactions with.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A nd it is potentially rather dangerous. These Ecotopz'ans are certainly<lb/>
hotheads, and I could easily get into serious trouble. Government’s con-<lb/>
trol over population seems to be primitive compared to ours. Americans<lb/>
are heartily hated. In a jam the Ecotopian police might be no help<lb/>
at alI—in fact they apparently aren’t even armed.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
V Well, ought to draft the first column. Mid—air perhaps not the worst<lb/>
place to begin.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
'WILLIAM WESTON ON HIS JOURNEY TO<lb/>
:ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
On board TWA flight 38, New York to Reno, May 3. As I begin<lb/>
this assignment, my jet heads west t9 Reno—last American city before<lb/>
.the forbidding Sierra Nevada mountains that guard the closed borders<lb/>
'o’f Ecotopia.<lb/>
' The passage of time has softened the shock of Ecotopia’s separation<lb/>
5‘from the United States. And Ecotopia’s example, it is now clear, was<lb/>
not as novel as it seemed at the time. Biafra had attempted secession<lb/>
from Nigeria but failed. Bangladesh had successfully broken free of<lb/>
Pakistan. Belgium had in effect dissolved into three countries. Even the<lb/>
Soviet Union has had its separatist “minority” disturbances. Ecotopia’s<lb/>
' secession was partly modeied on that of Quebec from Canada. Such “devo—<lb/>
lution” has become a worldwide tendency. The sole important counter-<lb/>
development we can point to is the union of the Scandinavian countries—<lb/>
which perhaps only proves the rule, since the Scandinavians were virtually<lb/>
one people culturally in any event.<lb/>
Nonetheless, many Americans still remember the terrible shortages<lb/>
of fruit, lettuceh wine, cotton, paper, lumber, and other western<lb/>
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<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
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<p>
products which followed the breakaway of what had been Washington,<lb/>
Oregon, and Northern California. These problems exacerbated the<lb/>
general US. economic depression of the period, speeded up our chronic<lb/>
inflation, and caused widespread dissatisfaction with government<lb/>
policies. Moreover, Ecotopia still poses a nagging challenge to the<lb/>
underlying national philosophy of America: ever-continuing progress,<lb/>
the fruits of industrialization for all, a rising Gross National Product. 9»<lb/>
</p>
<p>
During the past two decades, we as a people have mostly tried<lb/>
to ignore what has been happening in Ecotopia—in the hope it will<lb/>
prove to be mere foolishness and go away. It is clear by now, however,<lb/>
that Ecotopia is not going to collapse as many American analysts<lb/>
at first predicted. The time has come when we must get a clearer<lb/>
understanding of Ecotopia.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
If its social experimentation turns out to be absurd and irresponsible,<lb/>
it will then no longer tempt impressionable young Americans. If its<lb/>
strange customs indeed prove as barbaric as rumors suggest, Ecotopia<lb/>
: will have to pay the cost in outraged world opinion. If Ecotopian<lb/>
' claims are false, American policy—makers can profit from knowledge<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘ of that fact. For instance, we need to assess the allegation that Ecotopia<lb/>
has no more deaths from air and chemical pollution. Our own death<lb/>
</p>
<p>
rate has deciined from a peak of 75,000 annually to 30,000—still a<lb/>
tragic toii, but suggesting that measures of the severity adopted in<lb/>
Ecotopia are hardly necessary. In short, we should meet the Ecotopian<lb/>
challenge on the basis of sound knowledge rather than ignorance and<lb/>
third-hand reports.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
My assignment during the next six weeks, therefore, is to explore<lb/>
Ecotopian life from top to bottom—to search out the realities behind<lb/>
the rumors, to describe in concrete detail how Ecotopian society<lb/>
actually operates, to document its problems and, where that is called<lb/>
for, to acknowledge its achievements. By direct knowledge of the<lb/>
situation in which our former fellow-citizens now find themselves,<lb/>
we may even begin to rebuild the ties that once bound them to the<lb/>
Union they so hastily rejected.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 3) Reno a sad shadow of its former goodtz'mes self With the<lb/>
lucrative California gambling trade cut ofi" by secession, the city quickly<lb/>
decayed. The fancy casino hotels are now mere flophouses—their owners<lb/>
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ECOTOPIA<lb/>
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<p>
tong ago fled to Las Vegas. I walked the streetx near the airline terminal,<lb/>
asking people what they thought of Ecozopia out here. Most replies<lb/>
nonmmmittal, though I thought I could sometimes detect a tinge of<lb/>
bitterness. “Live and let live,” said one grizzled old man, “z’fyou can<lb/>
call what they do over there living.” A young man who claimed to<lb/>
be a“ cowboy smiled at my question. “Waaal,” he said, “I know guys<lb/>
who say they’ve gone over there to get girls‘ It isn’t really dangerous<lb/>
if you know the mountain passes. They’re friendly all right, so long<lb/>
as you aren’t up to anything. Know what, though? The girls all have<lb/>
guns! T hat’s what they say. That could shake you up, couldn’t it?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Had a hard time finding a taxi driver willing to take me over the<lb/>
border. Finally persuaded one who looked as if he had just done 20<lb/>
years in the pen. Had to promise not only double fare but 25 percent<lb/>
tip besides. For which I got a bonus of dirty looks and a string of<lb/>
reassuring remarks: “What ya wanta go in there for anyhow, ya some<lb/>
kind of a nut? Buncha goddamn cannibals in there! Ya’ll never get<lb/>
</p>
<p>
out alive—[ just hope I will.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
CROSSING THE ECOTOPIAN BORDER<lb/>
</p>
<p>
On board the Sierra Express, Tahoe-San Francisco, May 4. I have<lb/>
now entered Ecotopiauthe first known American to visit the new<lb/>
country since its Independence, 19 years ago.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
My jet landed at Reno. Though it is not widely known, the Ecotopian<lb/>
government prohibits even international flights from crossing its<lb/>
territory—on grounds of air and noise pollution Flights between San<lb/>
Francisco and Asia, or over the pole to Europe, must not only use<lb/>
a remote airport 40 miies outside the city, but are forced to follow<lb/>
over—water routes; and American jets for Hawaii must fly via Los<lb/>
Angeles. Thus to reach San Francisco I was compelled to deplane<lb/>
at Reno, and take an expensive taxi ride to the train station at the<lb/>
north end of Lake Tahoe. From Tahoe there is frequent and fast<lb/>
serv1cc.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The actual frontier is marked by a picturesquely weathered wooden<lb/>
fence, with a large gate, obviously little used. When my taxi pulled<lb/>
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ECOTOPIA<lb/>
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<p>
up, there was nobody around. The driver had to get out, go over<lb/>
to a small stone guard-house, and get the Ecotopian military to<lb/>
interrupt their card game. They turned out to be two young men<lb/>
in rather unpressed uniforms. But they knew of my coming, they<lb/>
checked my papers with an air of informed authority, and they passed<lb/>
the taxi through the gate—though only after making a point of the<lb/>
fact that it had required a special dispensation to allow an internal<lb/>
combustion engine to pass their sacred portals. I replied that it only<lb/>
had to take me about 20 miles to the train station. “You’re lucky<lb/>
the wind is from the west,” one of them said. “If it happened to<lb/>
be from the east we might have had to hold you up for a while.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
They checked my luggage with some curiosity, paying special<lb/>
attention to my sleeping pills. But I was allowed to keep everything<lb/>
except my trusty .45 and holster. This might be standard garb in<lb/>
New York, I was told, but no concealabie weapons are permitted<lb/>
in Ecotopia. Perhaps noticing my slightty uneasy reaction, one of the<lb/>
guards remarked that Ecotopian streets are quite safe, by day or night.<lb/>
He then handed me a small booklet, Ecotopz‘a Explains. This document<lb/>
was nicely printed but with rather quaint drawings. Evidently it had<lb/>
been prepared chiefly for tourists from Europe and Asia. “It might<lb/>
make things easier to get used to,”said the other guard, in a soft,<lb/>
almost insinuatingly friendly tone that I now begin to recognize as<lb/>
a national trait. “Relax, it’s a free country.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“My friend,” I countered, “I’ve been in a hell of a lot stranger<lb/>
places than this country and I relax when I feel like it. If you’re<lb/>
finished with my papers, I’ll be on my way.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
He snapped my passport shut, but held it in his hand “Weston,”<lb/>
he said, looking me in the eye, “You’re a writer. We count on you<lb/>
to use words carefully while you’re here. If you come back this way,<lb/>
maybe you’ll be able to use that word ‘friend’ in good faith. We’d<lb/>
like that.” He then smiled warmly and put out his hand. Rather to<lb/>
my Surprise, I took it, and found a smile on my own face as well.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We drove on, to the Tahoe station of the Ecotopian train system.<lb/>
It turned out to be a rustic affair, constructed of huge timbers. It<lb/>
might pass in America for a monstrous ski chalet. It even had fireplaces<lb/>
in the waiting rooms—of which there are several, one a kind of<lb/>
restaurant, one a large, deserted room With a bandstand where dances<lb/>
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VNVt—nwi-h-‘QHUH<lb/>
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mmmmwmexmm f ’~<lb/>
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ECOTOPIA<lb/>
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must be held, and one a small, quiet lounge with leather chairs and<lb/>
a supply of books. The trains, which. usually have only two or three<lb/>
cars but run about every hour, come into the basement of the station,<lb/>
and in cold weather huge doom close behind them to keep out the<lb/>
snOW and wind.<lb/>
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<p>
special facilities for skiers were evidentwstorage racks and lockers—<lb/>
but by this time of year the snows have largely melted and there<lb/>
is little skiing. The electric minibuses that shuttle from the station<lb/>
to ski resorts and nearby towns are almost empty.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
1 went down to my train. It looked more like a Wingless airplane<lb/>
than a train. At first I thought I had gotten into an unfinished car—there<lb/>
were no seats! The floor was covered with thick, spongy carpet, and<lb/>
divided into compartments by knee-high partitions; a few passengers<lb/>
were sprawled on large baglike leather cushions that lay scattered<lb/>
about. One elderly man had taken a blanket from a pile at one end<lb/>
of the car, and laid down for a nap. Some of the others, realizing<lb/>
from my confusion that I was a foreigner, showed me where to stow<lb/>
my bag and told me how to obtain refreshments from the steward<lb/>
in the next car. I sat down on one of the pillows, realizing that there<lb/>
would be a good View from the huge windows that came down to<lb/>
about six inches from the floor. My companions lit up some cigarettes,<lb/>
which I recognized as marijuana from the odor, and began to pass<lb/>
them around. As my first gesture of international good will, I took<lb/>
a few puffs myself, and soon we were all sociably chatting away.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Their sentimentality about nature has even led the Ecotopians to<lb/>
bring greenery into their trains, which are full of hanging ferns and<lb/>
small plants I could not identify. (My companions however reeled<lb/>
off their botanical names with assurance.) At the end of the car stood<lb/>
containers rather like trash bins, each with a large Ietter—M, G, and<lb/>
P. These, 1 was told, were “recycle bins.” It may seem unlikely to<lb/>
Americans, but I observed that during our trip my fellow travelers<lb/>
did without exception dispose of all metal, glass, or paper and plastic<lb/>
refuse in the appropriate bin. That they did so without the embarrass-<lb/>
ment Americans would experience was my first introduction to the<lb/>
rigid practices of recycling and re-use upon which Ecotopians are<lb/>
said to pride themselves so fiercely.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
By the time you notice you are underway in an Ecotopian train,<lb/>
you feel virtually no movement at all. Since it operates by magnetic<lb/>
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7<lb/>
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ECOTOPIA<lb/>
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<p>
suspension and propulsion, there is no rumble of wheels or whine<lb/>
or vibration. People talk, there is the cIink of glasses and teacups,<lb/>
some passengers wave to friends on the platform. In a moment the<lb/>
train seems literally to be flying along the ground, though it is actually<lb/>
a few inches above a trough-shaped guideway. '<lb/>
</p>
<p>
My companions told me something about the background of these<lb/>
trains. Apparently the Boeing company in Seattle, at the time of<lb/>
Independence, had never taken seriously the need to diversify its out—<lb/>
put from airplanes into other modes of transportation. The worid<lb/>
market for new planes had become highly competitive, however, and<lb/>
luckily the Ecotopian government, though its long-range economic<lb/>
policies called for diversification and decentralization of production<lb/>
in each city and region, took temporary advantage of the Boeing<lb/>
facilities to help build the new national train system. While the<lb/>
Germans and Japanese had pioneered in magnetic—suspension trains<lb/>
With linear motors, Boeing began production on the system only a<lb/>
year after Independence. When I asked how the enormous expense<lb/>
of the system had been financed, my companions laughed. One of<lb/>
them remarked that the cost of the entire roadbed from San Francisco<lb/>
to Seattle was about that of ten SST’s, and he argued that the total<lb/>
sociat cost per person per mile on their trains was less than that for<lb/>
air transport at any distance under a thousand miles.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I learned from my booklet that the trains normally travel about<lb/>
360 kilometers per hour 0n the level. (Use of the metric system is<lb/>
universal in Ecotopia.) You get a fair view of the countryside at this<lb/>
speed, which translates as about 225 miles per hour. And we only<lb/>
attained that speed after about 20 minutes of crawling up and over<lb/>
the formidable eastern siope 0f the Sierra Nevadas, at what seemed<lb/>
less than 90 miles per hour. Donner Pass looked almost as bleak<lb/>
as it must have to the Donner pioneer party who perished thefe.<lb/>
We made a stop at Norden and picked up a few late—season skiers-a<lb/>
cheerful bunch, like our skiers, but dressed in raggedy attire, including<lb/>
some very secondhand—looking fur jackets. They carried home-made<lb/>
knapsacks and primitive skis—long, thin, with flimsy old—fashioned<lb/>
bindings. The train then swooped down the long canyons of the Sierra<lb/>
forests, occasionally flashing past a river with its water bubbling<lb/>
blue—black and icy between the rocks. In a few minutes we slid into<lb/>
Auburn. The time-table, which graphically lays out the routes and<lb/>
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ECOTOPIA<lb/>
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<p>
approximate schedules of a complex network of connecting trains<lb/>
and buses, showed three stops before San Francisco itself. I was glad<lb/>
to notice that we halted for less than 60 seconds, even though people<lb/>
sauntered on and off With typical Ecotopian looseness.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Once we reached the valley floor, I saw little of interest, but my<lb/>
companions still seemed fascinated. They pointed out changes in the<lb/>
fields and forests we passed; in a wooded stretch someone spotted<lb/>
a doe with two fawns, and later a jackrabbit caused great amusement.<lb/>
Soon we entered the hilly country around San Francisco Bay, and<lb/>
shot through a series of tunnels in the grass—covered, breast-shaped<lb/>
green hills. There were now more houses, though rather scatteredw<lb/>
many of them seeming to be small farms. The orchards, fields and<lb/>
fences looked healthy and surprisingly well cared for, almost like those<lb/>
of western Europe. Yet how dingy and unprosperous the farm<lb/>
buildings looked, compared to the white—painted farms of Iowa or<lb/>
New England! The Ecotopians must be positively allergic to paint.<lb/>
They build with rock, adobe, weathered boards—apparently almost<lb/>
anything that comes to hand, and they lack the aesthetic sense that<lb/>
would lead them to give such materials a coat of concealing paint.<lb/>
They would apparently rather cover a house with vines or bushes<lb/>
than paint it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The drabness of the countryside was increased by its evident<lb/>
isolation. The roads were narrow and winding, with trees dangerously<lb/>
close to the pavement. N0 traffic at all seemed to be moving on them.<lb/>
There wasn’t a billboard in sight, and not a gas station or telephone<lb/>
booth. It would not be reassuring to be caught in such a region after<lb/>
dark.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
An hour and a quarter after we left Tahoe, the train plunged into<lb/>
a tube near the Bay shore, and emerged a few minutes later in the<lb/>
San Francisco main station. In my next column I will describe my<lb/>
first impressions of the city by the Golden Gate—where so many earlier<lb/>
Amelicans debarked to seek their fortunes in the gold fields.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 4) General impression: a lot of Ecotopians look like oldrz'me<lb/>
westerners, Gold Rush characters come to life. God knows we have plenty<lb/>
offreakyJooking people in New York, but their freakishness is self—con-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
9<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="14" facs="0014.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
scious, campy, lheatrical—a way of showing of. The Ecotopians are<lb/>
almost Dickensian.‘ often strange enough, but not crazy-looking 0r<lb/>
sordid, as the hippies 0f the sixties were. Fanciful hats and hair-dos,<lb/>
jackets, vests, leggings, tights; so help me, I think I even saw a<lb/>
codpiece-either that or the guy was supernaturally endowed. T here’s<lb/>
a lot of embroidery and decorations made of small shells 0r feathers,<lb/>
and patchwork-cloth must be terribly scarce they go to such lengths<lb/>
to re-use it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
And their manners are even more unsettling. 0n the streets there<lb/>
are electrical moments when women stare me directly in the eyes; so<lb/>
far I ’ve looked away, but what would happen if] held contact? People<lb/>
seem to be very loose and playful with each other, as if they had endless<lb/>
time on their hands to explore whatever possibilities might come up.<lb/>
There’s none of the implicit threat ofopen criminal violence that pervades<lb/>
our public places, but there’s an awful lot of strong emotion, wilfully<lb/>
expressed! The peace of the train ride was broken several times by<lb/>
shouted arguments or insults; people have an insolent kind of curiosity<lb/>
that often leads to tifls. It’s as if they have lost the sense ofanonymity<lb/>
which enables us to live together in large numbers. You can’t, therefore,<lb/>
approach an Ecotopian functionary as we do. The Ecotopian at the<lb/>
train ticket window simply wouldn’t tolerate being spoken to in my<lb/>
usual way—he asked me what I thought he was, a ticket—dispensing<lb/>
machine? In fact, he won’t give you the ticket unless you deal with<lb/>
him as a realperson, and he insists on dealing with you—askin g questions,<lb/>
making remarks to which he expects a sincere reaction, and shouting<lb/>
if he doesn’t get it. But most of such sound and fury seems to signify<lb/>
nothing. There may be dangerous hmatt‘cs among the harmless ones,<lb/>
but I haven’t seen any yet. Just hope I can preserve my own sanity<lb/>
</p>
<p>
THE STREETS OF ECOTOPIA’S CAPITAL<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, May 5. As I emerged from the train terminal into<lb/>
the streets, I had little idea what to expect from this citywwhich had<lb/>
once proudly boasted of rising from its own ashes after a terrible<lb/>
earthquake and fire. San Francisco was once known as “America’s<lb/>
</p>
<p>
10<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="15" facs="0015.tif"/>
<p>
Hwy”)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
twan<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
v<lb/>
2<lb/>
</p>
<p>
«sh ':~‘: 9<lb/>
</p>
<p>
mw<lb/>
</p>
<p>
.91st \§»7>i‘o.\\\é w<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
favorite city” and had an immense appeal to tourists. Its dramatic<lb/>
hills and bridges, its picturesque cable cars, and its sophisticated yet<lb/>
relaxed people had drawn visitors who returned again and again.<lb/>
Would I find that it still deserves its reputation as an elegant and<lb/>
civilized place?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I’checked my bag and set out to explore a bit. The first shock<lb/>
hit me at the moment I stepped onto the street. There was a strange<lb/>
hush over everything. I expected to encounter something at least a<lb/>
little like the exciting bustle of our cities—cars honking, taxis swooping,<lb/>
clots of people pushing about in the hurry of urban life. What I<lb/>
found, when I had gotten over my surprise at the quiet, was that<lb/>
Market Street, once a mighty boulevard striking through the city down<lb/>
to the waterfront, has become a mall planted with thousands of trees.<lb/>
The “street” itself, on Which electric taxis, minibuses, and deliverycarts<lb/>
purr along, has shrunk to a two—lane alfair. The remaining space,<lb/>
which is huge, is occupied by bicycle lanes, fountains, sculptures,<lb/>
kiosks, and absurd little gardens surrounded by benches. Over it all<lb/>
hangs the almost sinister quiet, punctuated by the whirr of bicycles<lb/>
and cries of children. There is even the occasional song of a bird,<lb/>
unbelievable as that may seem on a capital city’s crowded main street.<lb/>
_ Scattered here and there are large conical—roofed pavilions, with<lb/>
a kiosk in the center selling papers, comic books, magazines, fruit<lb/>
juices, and snacks. (Also Cigarettes—the Ecotopians have not managed<lb/>
to stamp out smoking!) The pavilions turn out to be stops on the<lb/>
minibus system, and people wait there out of the rain. These buses<lb/>
are comical battery-driven contraptions, resembling the antique cable<lb/>
cars that San F ranciscans were once so fond of. They are driverless,<lb/>
and are steered and stopped by an electIOnic gadget that follows wires<lb/>
buried in the street. (A safety bumper stops them in case someone<lb/>
fails to get out of the way.) To enabte people to get 011 and oil quickly,<lb/>
during the 15 seconds the bus stops, the floor is only a few inches<lb/>
above ground level; the wheels are at the extreme ends of the vehicle.<lb/>
Rows of seats face outward, so on a short trip you simply sit down<lb/>
momentarily, or stand and hang onto one of the hand grips. In bad<lb/>
weather fringed fabric roofs can be extended outward to provide more<lb/>
</p>
<p>
shelter.<lb/>
These buses creep along at about ten miles an hour, but they come<lb/>
</p>
<p>
every five minutes or so. They charge no fare. When I took an<lb/>
</p>
<p>
11<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="16" facs="0016.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
experimental ride on one, I asked a fellow passenger about this, and<lb/>
he said the minibuses are paid for in the same way as streets—out<lb/>
of general tax funds. Smiling, he added that to have a driver on<lb/>
board to collect fares would cost more than the fares could produce,<lb/>
Like many Ecotopians, he tended to babble, and spelled out the entire<lb/>
economic rationalefor the minibus system, almost as if he was trying<lb/>
to sell it to me. I thanked him, and after a few blocks jumped off.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The bucolic atmosphere of the new San Francisco can perhaps best<lb/>
be seen in the fact that, down Market Street and some other streets,<lb/>
creeks now run. These had earlier, at great expense, been put into<lb/>
huge culverts underground, as is usual in cities. The Ecotopians spent<lb/>
even more to bring them up to ground level again. So now on this<lb/>
major boulevard you may see a charming series of little falls, with<lb/>
water gurgling and splashing, and channels lined with rocks, trees,<lb/>
bamboos, ferns. There even seem to be minnows in the water—though<lb/>
how they are kept safe from marauding children and cats, I cannot<lb/>
guess.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Despite the quiet, the streets are full of people, though not in<lb/>
Manhattan densities. (Some foot traffic has been displaced to lacy<lb/>
bridges which connect one skyscraper to another, sometimes 15 or<lb/>
20 stones up.) Since practically the whole street area is “sidewalk,”<lb/>
nobody worries about obstructions—or about the potholes which, as<lb/>
they develop in the pavement, are planted with flowers. I came across<lb/>
a group of street musicians playing Bach, with a harpsichord and<lb/>
a half dozen other instruments. There are vendors of food pushing<lb/>
gaily colored carts that offer hot snacks, chestnuts, ice cream. Once I<lb/>
even saw a juggler and magician team, working a crowd of children-uit<lb/>
reminded me of some medieval movie. And there are many strollers,<lb/>
gawkers, and loiterers—people without visible business who simply<lb/>
take the street for granted as an extension of their living rooms. Yet,<lb/>
despite so many unoccupied people, the Ecotopian streets seem<lb/>
ridiculously lacking in security gates, doormen, guards, or other<lb/>
precautions against crime. And no one seems to feel our need for<lb/>
automobiles to provide protection in moving from place to place.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I had noticed on the train that Ecotopian clothes tend to be very<lb/>
loose, With bright colors striving to make up for what is lacking in<lb/>
style and cut. This impression is confirmed now that I have observed<lb/>
thousands of San Franciscans. The typical Ecotopian man wears<lb/>
</p>
<p>
12<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="17" facs="0017.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
nondescript trousers (even denim is common—perhaps from nostalgia<lb/>
for American fashions of the pre-secession decades?) topped with<lb/>
an often hideous shirt, SWeater, poncho, or jacket. Despite the usually<lb/>
chilly weather, sandals are common among both sexes. The women<lb/>
often wear pants also, but loose-flowing gypsy—like skirts are more<lb/>
usual. A few people wear outlandish ‘skjn-tight garments which look<lb/>
like diving wet-suits, but are woven of some fabric unknown to me.<lb/>
They may be members of some special group, as their attire is so<lb/>
unusual. Leather and furs seem to be favorite materialsuthey are<lb/>
used for purses and pouches, pants and jackets. Children wear<lb/>
miniature versions of adult clothing; there seem to be no special outfits<lb/>
</p>
<p>
for them.<lb/>
Ecotopians setting out to go more than a block or two usually pick<lb/>
</p>
<p>
up one of the sturdy white-painted bicycles that lie about the streets<lb/>
by the hundreds and are available free to all. Dispersed by the<lb/>
movements of citizens during the day and evening, they are returned<lb/>
by night crews to the places where they will be needed the next day.<lb/>
When I remarked to a friendly pedestrian that this system must be<lb/>
a joy to thieves and vandals, he denied it heatedly. He then put a<lb/>
case, which may not be totally far-fetched, that it is cheaper to lose<lb/>
a few bicycles than to provide more taxis or minibuses.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopians, I am discovering, spout statistics on such questions with<lb/>
reckiess abandon. They have a way of introducing “social costs” into<lb/>
their calculations Which inevitably involves a certain amount of<lb/>
optimistic guesswork. It would be interesting to confront such infor—<lb/>
mants with one of the hard-headed experts from our auto or highway<lb/>
industries—who would, of course, be horrified by the Ecotopians’<lb/>
abolition of cars.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
As I walked about, I noticed that the downtown area was strangely<lb/>
overpopula’ted With children and their parents, besides people Who<lb/>
apparently worked in the offices and shops. My questions to passersby<lb/>
(which were answered with surprising patience) revealed what is<lb/>
perhaps the most astonishing fact I have yet encountered in Ecotopia:<lb/>
the great downtown skyscapers, once the headquarters of far-flung<lb/>
corporations, have been turned into apartments! Further inquin'es<lb/>
will be needed to get a clear picture of this development, but the<lb/>
story Iheard repeatedly 011 the streets today is that the former outlying<lb/>
residential areas have largely been abandoned. Many three-story<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
13<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="18" facs="0018.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
buildings had in any case been heavily damaged by the earthquake<lb/>
nine years ago. Thousands of cheaply built houses in newer districts<lb/>
(scomfully labelled “ticky-tacky boxes” by my informants) have been<lb/>
sacked of their wiring, glass, and hardware, and bulldozed away. The<lb/>
residents now live downtown, in buildings that contain not only<lb/>
apartments but also nurseries, grocery stores, and restaurants, as well<lb/>
as the shops and oflices on the ground floor.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Although the streets still have an American look, it is annoyingly<lb/>
difficult to identify things in Ecotopia. Only very smafl signs are<lb/>
permitted on the fronts of buildings; street signs are few and hard<lb/>
to spot, mainly attached to buildings on corners. Finally, however,<lb/>
I navigated my way back to the station, retrieved my suitcase, and<lb/>
located a nearby hotel Which had been recommended as suitable for<lb/>
an American, but still likely to give me “some taste of how Eeotopians<lb/>
live.” This worthy establishment lived up to its reputation by being<lb/>
almost impossible to find. But it is comfortable enough, and will serve<lb/>
as my survival base here.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Like everything in Ecotopia, my room is full of contradictions. It<lb/>
is comfortable, if a little old—fashioned by our standards. The bed<lb/>
is atrociousiit lacks springs, being just foam rubber over board—yet<lb/>
it is covered with a luxurious down comforter. There is a large work<lb/>
table equipped with a hotplate and teapot. Its surface is plain,<lb/>
unvarnished wood With many mysterious stains—but on it stands a<lb/>
small, sleek picturephone. (Despite their aversion to many modern<lb/>
devices, the Ecotopians have some that are even better than ours.<lb/>
Their picturephones, for instance, though they have to be connected<lb/>
to a television screen, are far easier to use than ours, and have much<lb/>
better picture quality.) My toilet has a tank high overhead, of a type<lb/>
that went out in the United States around 1945, operated by a pull<lb/>
chain with a quaint carved handle; the toilet paper must (be some<lb/>
ecological abomination—it is coarse and plain. But the bathtub is<lb/>
unusually large and deep. Like the tubs still used in deluxe Japanese<lb/>
inns, it is made of slightly aromatic wood.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I used the picturephone to confirm advance arrangements for a<lb/>
visit tomorrow with the Minister of Food, with whom I shall begin<lb/>
to investigate the Ecotopian claims of “stable—state” ecological systems,<lb/>
about which so much controversy has raged.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
14<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="19" facs="0019.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
'WWWfiWWM&W{mxfikézim‘aiwmmmemmfiwxwemmm; >>>>>mmxsm?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 5) Maybe they have gone back to the stone age. In the early<lb/>
evening I saw a group of hunters, carrying fancy bows and arrows,<lb/>
jump ofir a minibus, on which they had loaded a recently killed deeri<lb/>
Two of them hoisted it up, suspended on a long stick they carried on l<lb/>
their shoulders, and began marching along the street. (A large hunting<lb/>
dog padded along with them—first pet I ’ve seen in Ecotopia, where<lb/>
animals are evidently left as wild as possible, and people seem to feel<lb/>
no need of them as company.) A crowd gathered to watch them, little<lb/>
boys hung around excitedly. The hunters stopped near me for a rest—and<lb/>
also, I suspect, to allow people to admire their kill. One of them caught<lb/>
my eye and must have seen disgust in it. He rubbed his hand over<lb/>
the deer’s wound, still damp with blood, then ran his finger across my<lb/>
cheek, as if to implicate me in the hunt. I jumped back, shocked, and<lb/>
the crowd laughed in what seemed an ugly way.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Later, talking with some of the people there, I learned the group<lb/>
had been hunting just outside town—where, apparently, deer are nu—<lb/>
merous. The hunters looked savage enough (long knives, beards; rough<lb/>
clothes) but they were evidently quite ordinary citizens of on a hunt.<lb/>
The deer would be butchered and the meat divided: game is said to<lb/>
be a source of considerable meat in the Ecotopian diet; it is prized<lb/>
for its ‘ispiritual” qualities!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Whether such practices are forced upon them by scarcities, or are<lb/>
the result of some deliberate throwback policy, I don’t yet know. But<lb/>
the scene, in the gathering dusk, was ghoulish enough. (M 0st Ecotopian<lb/>
streets are pitch dark at night—evidently their power policies have caused<lb/>
them to curtail night lighting almost entirely. Can’t tell why this doesn’t<lb/>
lead to the crime panic it would bring among us. Have asked people<lb/>
whether they feel safe at night, and they reply Yes without hesita-<lb/>
tion—claim they can see well enough, and turn the conversation onto<lb/>
something irrelevant: how bicycle lights look, bobbing through the night<lb/>
like fireflies, or how fine it is to be able to see the stars even in the<lb/>
city. Good thing they don’t have cars, or the accident rates would be<lb/>
spectacular. )<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A little trouble with the maid last night, when she thought I took<lb/>
liberties. We had had a conversation about my picking some flowers<lb/>
on the street and bringing them up to the room. Evidently Ecotopians<lb/>
don’t pick flowers, preferring to enjoy them where they grow, and she<lb/>
rather playfully set me straight on this. Maybe she was just trying to<lb/>
</p>
<p>
15<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="20" facs="0020.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
be friendly, but seemed to be giving me the eye, yet wouldn’t play. Well,<lb/>
sublimation makes the pen grow stronger? (No, it makes me wish I<lb/>
could import Francine for a day or two.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I like dressing Well, but my New York clothes were making me stick<lb/>
out here; so have picked up a new wardrobe. Dark—green serape with<lb/>
a hood, soft but so tightly woven I am told it will keep ofi' the rain<lb/>
(andprobably make me smell like a wet sheep). A couple of loose shirts<lb/>
in .mz'tably gaudy colors, a vest, a floppy suede jacket, two pairs of<lb/>
denim pants. Also a pair of heavy shoes—my elegant Italian street shoes<lb/>
clearly won’t go here! I look in the mirror and laughwifl rang Francine’s<lb/>
doorbell in this outfit she’d call the police. (One game we’ve never played<lb/>
is rape by Ecotopian agent who sneaks into N Y and seduces woman<lb/>
ofpromz'nent journalist to gain secret information.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
From what I could determine on my brz‘efshoppz'ng spree, the clothes<lb/>
here do not include any nylon, orlon, dacron, or other synthetics. (”I<lb/>
need a couple of shirts, the drip—dry kind.” Incredulous clerk: “You<lb/>
mean some kind of synthetic fiber shirt? We haven’t sold them for 20<lb/>
years.” Followed by a lecture to the eflect that too much electric power<lb/>
and water are required in the production of synthetics—and also they<lb/>
can ’t be recycled) I noticed some garments with labels proudly declaring<lb/>
they were “re-used wool.” Both fabrics and garments all domestic-<lb/>
made—and the prices seem sky-high.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Don’t like the fetishistic avoidance ofsynthetics, but I had forgotten<lb/>
how nice a good cotton shirt feels to the skin. This quality is emphasized<lb/>
</p>
<p>
by the manufacturers—they make a point that the fabrics have been<lb/>
washed several times before being ofi’ered for sale. . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
FOOD, SEWAGE, AND “STABLE STATES”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, May 6. When i arrived at the Ministry of Food for<lb/>
my interview with the Minister, I was unhappy to find that she was<lb/>
too busy to see me. I was introduced instead to an Assistant Minister,<lb/>
a man in his early thirties, Who received me in a work overalls outfit.<lb/>
His office was also surprisingly unimpressive for a person of impor-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
16<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="21" facs="0021.tif"/>
<p>
emmaisxas<lb/>
</p>
<p>
{WWWNWKWX§§W§R®5§§W>§Wkw§§fi§$®fl%fli?&WfimfiflfiwésitxtflS¥§VR%ZXW§f§x‘E$W&$lwa‘éxwlfififixfi:x‘iémebm8&4mml¥??»&§i<8§s&22fixww>x}éz§¥2lmeimewiwlm<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
tance. It had no desk, no conference table, 110 soft chairs. Along one<lb/>
wall was a Cluttered series of wooden filing cases, bookshelves, and<lb/>
tables covered with papers in utter disorderi Against another wall<lb/>
was a kind of laboratory set-up, with testing equipment of various<lb/>
kjnds.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The Assistant Minister is, like many Ecotopians, unnervingly re-<lb/>
laxed, With a deep, slow voice. He sprawled on woven cushions in<lb/>
a sunny corner of the floor, under a skylight with some kind of ivy<lb/>
hanging near it, and his lab assistant produced hot water for tea<lb/>
on a bunsen burner. I squatted awkwardly, and began by asking my<lb/>
carefully prepared questions about Ecotopian agricultural output.<lb/>
These were ignored. Instead the Assistant Minister insisted on giving<lb/>
me “a little background.” He then began to discuss, not agriculture<lb/>
at all, but sewage. The first major project of his ministry after<lb/>
</p>
<p>
. Independence, he said, had been to put the country’s food cycle on<lb/>
</p>
<p>
a stablevstate basis: all food wastes, sewage and garbage were to be<lb/>
turned into organic fertilizer and applied to the land, Where it would<lb/>
again enter into the food production cycle. Every Ecotopian household,<lb/>
thus, is required to compulsively sort all its garbage into compostable<lb/>
and recyclable categories, at what must be an enormous expenditure<lb/>
of personal eflbn; and expanded fleets of garbage trucks are also<lb/>
</p>
<p>
needed.<lb/>
The sewage system inherited from the past, according to the<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Assistant Minister, could only be called a “disposal” system. In it<lb/>
sewage and industrial wastes had not been productively recycled but<lb/>
merely dumped, in a more or less toxic condition, into rivers, bays<lb/>
and oceans. This, he maintained, was not only dangerous to the public<lb/>
health and the life ofwater creatures, but its very objective was wasteful<lb/>
and unnatural. With a smile, he added that some of the sewage<lb/>
practices of earlier days would even be considered criminal if carried<lb/>
out today.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“In my papers over there,” he said, “you can find historical reports<lb/>
of great sums being spent on incinerators to burn up sewage sludge.<lb/>
Their designers boasted of relatively smog-free stacks. We were of<lb/>
course accused of ‘sewer socialism,’ like our Milwaukee predecessors.<lb/>
Nonetheless, we constructed a national system of sludge drying and<lb/>
natural fertilizer production. After seven years we were able to dispense<lb/>
with chemical fertilizers entirely. This was partly through sewage<lb/>
</p>
<p>
l7<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="22" facs="0022.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
recycling, partly through garbage composting, partly through reliance<lb/>
on some novel nitrogennfixing crops and crop rotation, and partly<lb/>
through methods of utilizing animal manure. You may have seen<lb/>
from the train that our farm animals are not kept in close confinement<lb/>
like yours. We like them to live in conditions approaching the natural.<lb/>
But not only for sentimental reasons. It also avoids the gigantic<lb/>
accumulation of manure which is such a problem in your feedlots<lb/>
and poultry factories.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Naturally, this smug account roused all my skepticism, and I<lb/>
questioned him about the economic drawbacks of such a system. My<lb/>
questions, however, met a flat denial, “On the contrary,” he replied,<lb/>
“our system is considerably cheaper than yours, if we add in all the<lb/>
costs. Many of your costs are ignored, or passed on through subterfuge<lb/>
t0 posterity or the general public. We on the other hand must<lb/>
acknowledge all costs. Otherwise we could not hope to achieve the<lb/>
stable-state life systems which are our fundamental ecological and<lb/>
political goal. If, for instance, we had continued your practice of ‘free’<lb/>
disposal of wastes in watercourses, sooner or later somebody else would<lb/>
have had to calculate (and bear) the costs of the resulting dead rivers<lb/>
and lakes. We prefer to do it ourselves. It is obviously not easy to<lb/>
quantify certain of these costs. But we have been able to approximate<lb/>
them in workable political terms—especially since our country is<lb/>
relatively sensible in scale.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I obtained the detailed analyses on which his assertions are based,<lb/>
and have studied them at leisure. Extensive objective research would<lb/>
be necessary to confirm or disprove them. They do appear to be<lb/>
surprisingly hard-nosed. Of course the Ecotopian situation has allowed<lb/>
their government to take actions that would be impossible under the<lb/>
checks and balances of our kind of democracy.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Next I asked the Assistant Minister about Ecotopian food production<lb/>
and processing. I knew he must be aware of the great achievements<lb/>
of our food industry in recent decades, not only in the introduction<lb/>
of synthetic meat and other protein foods, but also in pre-cooking<lb/>
and packaging generally. I was curious to see how he Would justify<lb/>
the regressive practices that, according to many rumors, had returned<lb/>
Western agriculture to the dark ages, and cooks to their Chopping<lb/>
blocks and hot stoves (microwave ovens being illegal in Ecotopia).<lb/>
</p>
<p>
18<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="23" facs="0023.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
f3<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
-_WW?MW§EXWm?MW(fiwfi5w¥9§$§iMmWWemekwtkwmfimwfihfimhwwRmefilfiwfhfiwm»?!fmwswhimwwxoivfifififiitéfiéfifl£§§§<§§i¥¢2§§i§¥§i®h¥h§$§§hfi<lb/>
</p>
<p>
g .<lb/>
g?<lb/>
g<lb/>
g?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Again I quote his reply at length. It is, I am discovering, characteristic<lb/>
of the way in which Ecotopians justify extremist policies.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“You must remember,” he began, “that Ecotopia at the beginning<lb/>
was faced with a stupendous surplus of food production capacity.<lb/>
California alone had produced about a third of the food eaten in<lb/>
the United States. Oregon and Washington had enormous fruit and<lb/>
grain production. We could produce, therefore, something like five<lb/>
times the amount of food needed by our own population. With food<lb/>
export to the US ended because of the political crisis, our problem<lb/>
was how to shrink our agricultural output drastically. At the same<lb/>
time we wanted to end extractive and polluting practices in farming.<lb/>
Luckily, the new employment policies, which reduced the normal work<lb/>
week to about 20 hours, helped a lot. Also we were able to absorb<lb/>
some surplus farm labor in constructiOn work required by our recycling<lb/>
</p>
<p>
_ systems. Along with simplification in food processing, we also achieved<lb/>
</p>
<p>
many economies in food distribution. As your grocery executives know,<lb/>
a store handling a thousand items is far less difficult and expensive<lb/>
to operate than one handling five thousand or more, as yours do.<lb/>
But probably our greatest economies were obtained simply by stopping<lb/>
production of many processed and packaged foods. These had either<lb/>
been outlawed on health grounds or put on Bad Practice lists.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This sounded like a loophole that might house a large and rather<lb/>
totalitarian rat. “What are these lists and how are they enforced?”<lb/>
I asked.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Actually, they aren’t enforced at all. They’re a mechanism of moral<lb/>
persuasion, you might say. But they’re purely informal. They’re issued<lb/>
by study groups from consumer co-ops. Usually, when a product goes<lb/>
onto such a list, demand for it drops sharply. The company making<lb/>
it then ordinarily has to stop production, or finds it possible to sell<lb/>
only in specialized stores.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“But surely these committees are not allowed to act simply on their<lb/>
owu say-so, without scientific backing or government authorization?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The Assistant Minister smiled rather wanly. “In Ecotopia,” he said,<lb/>
“you will find many many things happening without government<lb/>
authorization. But the study committees do operate with scientific<lb/>
advice, of the most sophisticated and independent type imaginable.<lb/>
Scientists in Ecotopia are forbidden to accept payments or favors<lb/>
from either state or private enterprises for any consultation or advice<lb/>
</p>
<p>
19<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="24" facs="0024.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
they ofler. They speak, therefore, on the same uncorrupted footing<lb/>
as any citizen. Thus we avoid the unfortunate situation where all<lb/>
your oil experts are in the pay of the oil companies, all the agricultural<lb/>
experts in the pay of agribusiness, and so on.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This was too much. “No doubt,” I said, “it is scientists of this type<lb/>
who have frittered away the great industrial heritage you possessed<lb/>
at Independence, and wrecked your marvelous street and highway<lb/>
system, and dissolved your fine medical centers. What benefits of<lb/>
civilization are they prepared to undermine next?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“I will not speak to any but food questions,” he replied. “I can<lb/>
provide you with whatever evidence you require to prove that<lb/>
Ecotopians eat better food than any nation on earth, because we grow<lb/>
it to be nutritious and taste good, not look good or pack efficiently.<lb/>
Our food supplies are uncontaminated with herbicides and insecticides,<lb/>
because we use cultivation for weeds and biological controls for insects.<lb/>
Our food preparation practices are sound, avoiding the processing<lb/>
that destroys food values. Most important of all, our agriculture has<lb/>
reached an almost totally stable state, with more than 99% of our<lb/>
wastes being recycled. In short, we have achieved a food system that<lb/>
can endure indefinitely. That is, if the level of foreign poisons dumped<lb/>
on our lands by rain and wind doesn’t rise above the present inex-<lb/>
cusable figures.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The Assistant Minister scrambled to his feet, went to his shelves,<lb/>
and pulled'down a halfdozen pamphlets. “You will find some relevant<lb/>
information summarized here,” he said. “Let me recommend that,<lb/>
after you have digested it, you follow Ecotopian ways in not wasting<lb/>
11.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This bad joke took me by surprise, but it did break the tension,<lb/>
and I laughed. He led me to the door. “You may phone if you develop<lb/>
further questions,” he said gravely.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I returned to my hotel and read the pamphlets. One was a highly<lb/>
technical discussion of the relations between sewage sludge, mineral<lb/>
fertilizer requirements, groundwater levels and run-off, farm manure,<lb/>
and various disease organisms. Another, which struck me as particu-<lb/>
larly depressing because of its moralizing tone, surveyed food habits<lb/>
that had been common before Independence, analyzing the health<lb/>
hazards involved. Its humorless approach seemed to imply that soda<lb/>
dn'nks had been some kind of plot against mankind, Apparently, over<lb/>
</p>
<p>
20<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="25" facs="0025.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
~ 14inmewwmmekfifmwmflt1&1}:flxgfimkweszéfi331%93w.wégiehxexiegtgixxeim2e>§é>§§sfiz€esw emem<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
a 30-year period, American soda manufacturers should have been<lb/>
held personally accountable for some 10 billion tooth cavities! This<lb/>
relentless tendency to fix responsibility on producers is, I begin to<lb/>
see, Widespread in Ecotopian life—to the complete neglect of the<lb/>
responsibility, in this case, of the soda consumers.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
My room boasts a trio of recycle chutes, and I have now, like a<lb/>
proper Ecotopian, carefully disposed of the pamphlets in the one<lb/>
marked P. It is a good thing Ecotopians do not have chewing<lb/>
gum—which chute would that belong in?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 7) The stable-state concept may seem innocuous enough, until you<lb/>
stop to grasp its implications for every aspect of life, from the most<lb/>
personal to the most general. Shoes cannot have composition soles<lb/>
because they will not decay. New types of glass and pottery have had<lb/>
to be developed, which will decompose into sand when broken into small<lb/>
pieces. Aluminum and other nonferrous metals largely abandoned, except<lb/>
for a few applications where nothing else will serve—only iron, which<lb/>
rusts away in time, seems a “natural” metal to the Ecotopians. Belt<lb/>
buckles are made of bone or very hard woods. Cooking pots have no<lb/>
stick-free plastic lining, and are usually heavy iron. Almost nothing<lb/>
is painted, since paints must be based either on lead or rubber or on<lb/>
plastics, which do not decompose. And people seem to accumulate few<lb/>
</p>
<p>
p goods like books; they read quite a bit compared to Americans, but<lb/>
</p>
<p>
they then pass the copies on to friends, or recycle them. Of course there<lb/>
are aspects oflife which have escaped the stable-state criterion: vehicles<lb/>
are rubber-tired, tooth fillings are made of silver, some structures are<lb/>
built of concrete, and so on. But it is still an amazing process, and<lb/>
people clearly take great delight in pushing it further and further.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(I was wrong to think more garbage trucks needed: actually Ecotopians<lb/>
generate very little ofwhat we would call garbageHmaterial that simply<lb/>
has to be disposed of in a dump somewhere. But of course they do<lb/>
need more trucks to haul away material from the recycle bins.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
These people are horribly over—emotional. Last night after supper I<lb/>
was sitting in my hotel room writing when loud screams began in the<lb/>
</p>
<p>
21<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="26" facs="0026.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
corridor. A man and a woman, threatening each other with what sounded<lb/>
like murder. At first I thought I ’d better keep out of it. They went<lb/>
0;?“ down the hall and I figured were probably going out or returning<lb/>
to their room. But they drifted back, yelling and screaming, until they<lb/>
were right outside my door. I finally stuck my head out, and found<lb/>
three or four other hotel guests standing around watching, placidly, and<lb/>
doing absolutely nothing to interfere. It seemed to be a matter of a<lb/>
passionate aflair coming to a bitter ending. The woman, hair half-cover—<lb/>
ing her teary but beautiful face, screamed at the man and kicked at<lb/>
him viciously—still no action from the onlookers, some of whom in fact<lb/>
actually smiled faintly. The man, his own face red with anger, took<lb/>
the woman by the shoulders as if he was about to bash her head against<lb/>
the wall—and at this, finally, two of the Ecotopians present stepped<lb/>
forward and put restraining hands on his shoulders. Instead of knocking<lb/>
her brains out, therefore, the man was reduced to spitting in her<lb/>
face—whereupon she unleashed a horrible stream of curses and insults,<lb/>
things more personally wounding than I have ever heard (much less<lb/>
said) in private, not to mention with a bunch of strangers looking on.<lb/>
But the man did not seem humiliated 0r surprisedwand indeed gave<lb/>
back insults just as dreadful as he got. The scene had gone on for<lb/>
perhaps 15 minutes, with more spectators gathering. It was more<lb/>
theatrical than anything I ’ve seen in Italy. Finally the man and woman<lb/>
evidently ran out of fury. They stood limply) looking at each other,<lb/>
and then fell into each other’s arms, crying and nuzzling each other<lb/>
wetly, aha' staggered 0,?" down the corridor to their room. At this the<lb/>
spectators began exchanging lively observations, making the kind of<lb/>
appreciative and comparative remarks we make after a particularly<lb/>
vicious round in a boxing match. Nobody seemed to care what it had‘<lb/>
all been about, but they sure got a kick out of the expression of intense<lb/>
feeling! Evidently restraints on interpersonal behavior have been very<lb/>
</p>
<p>
much relaxed here, and extreme hostility can be accepted as normal<lb/>
behavior.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Maybe I ’m not as good a traveler these days. Don’t have much appetite<lb/>
for the sugarless Ecotopian food, despite their pride in their “natural”<lb/>
cuisine. Find myself worrying about what I ’1! do if I get sick or have<lb/>
an accident. The Ecotopians have probably turned medical science back<lb/>
fifty years. I have visions of being bled, like in the middle ages.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
22<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="27" facs="0027.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
' wmwmngemmmmmxgxmwmmstwwfiwgé ~{-' i » «<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Even began thinking almost fondly, last night, of my years with Pat<lb/>
and the kids. Maybe I’m beginning to miss the comfort of just lying<lb/>
around at home. ( Why should this particular jaunt make me so confused<lb/>
and tired? It’s an exciting story, an unusual opportunity—all my col-<lb/>
leagues envy me. I just can't quite seem to get my hands on it.) Kids<lb/>
used to come into bed with us Sunday mornings, and play Bear Comes<lb/>
over the Mountain~giggly and floppy and lovable. Afterwards, when<lb/>
they’d gone out, Pat would infallibly ask when I was going away again.<lb/>
No man can live with reproaches before breakfast. But I loved her in<lb/>
</p>
<p>
my fashion.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The Ecotopian work schedule and the intermixture of work and play<lb/>
can make the simplest things practically impossible to accomplish here.<lb/>
Went to the wire ofl‘ice to file my story yesterday. It has to go via<lb/>
Seattle and Vancouver, since there have been no direct transcontinental<lb/>
connections since secession. Diflerent clerk in the ofice, picked up the<lb/>
copy, started reading it, laughed, tried to argue with me about the way<lb/>
I quoted the food guy. “Look,” I said, “I’m just doing my jobw—how<lb/>
about you just doing yours? Put it on the fucking wire!”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
He looked at me with real hurt, as if I’d just told him his ofice<lb/>
smelled. “I didn’t realize you were in such a hurry,” he said. “We don’t<lb/>
get American reporters in here every day you know, and what you’re<lb/>
writing is really interesting. I wasn’t trying to be booris .”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
You can ’t argue with these people. “Go ahead, read it, ”I said, figuring<lb/>
to shame him into quick action. But he gave me an appeased glance,<lb/>
said “Thanks,” and settled down to read. I drummed 0n the counter<lb/>
with my fingers for a while, but Ecotopian leisure time had clearly set<lb/>
in. Finally he finished, went over to the machine, sat down, turned and<lb/>
said, “Well, it’s okay for a beginning. I’ll send it real fast for you.”<lb/>
Then he zapped the thing out at about 80 words a minute! And came<lb/>
back to hand me the copy with a broad, pleased smile. “My name’s<lb/>
Jerry, by the way. I went to school with George (the Assistant Minister)<lb/>
and you got him down very wet.” I suppose I believe him. Anyway,<lb/>
couldn’t help smiling back. “Thanks, J erry, ”I said. “See you tomorrow. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="28" facs="0028.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
CAR-LESS LIVING IN ECOTOPIA’S<lb/>
NEW TOWNS<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, May 7. Under the new regime, the established cities<lb/>
of Ecotopia have to some extent been broken up into neighborhoods<lb/>
or communities, but they are still considered to be somewhat outside<lb/>
the ideal long-term line of development of Ecotopian living patterns.<lb/>
I have just had the opportunity to visit one of the strange new minicities<lb/>
that are arising to carry out the more extreme urban vision of this<lb/>
decentralized society. Once a sleepy village, it is called Alviso, and<lb/>
is located on the southern shores of San Francisco Bay. You get there<lb/>
on the interurban train, which drops you off in the basement of a<lb/>
large complex of buildings. The main structure, it turns out, is not<lb/>
the city hall or courthouse, but a factory. It produces the eiectric<lb/>
traction unitSMthey hardly qualify as cars or trucks in our termswthat<lb/>
are used for transporting people and goods in Ecotopian cities and<lb/>
for general transportation in the countryside. (Individually owned<lb/>
vehicles were prohibited in “car—free” zones soon after Independence.<lb/>
These zones at first covered only downtown areas where pollution<lb/>
and congestion were most severe. As minibus service was extended,<lb/>
these zones expanded, and new cover all densely settled city areas.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Around the factory, where we would have a huge parking lot, Alviso<lb/>
has a cluttered collection of buildings, with trees everywhere. There<lb/>
are restaurants, a library, bakeries, a “core store” selling groceries<lb/>
and clothes, small shops, even factories and workshops—ail jumbled<lb/>
amid apartment buildings. These are generally of three or four stories,<lb/>
arranged around a central courtyard of the type that used to be<lb/>
common in Paris. They are built almost entirely of wood} which has<lb/>
become the predominant building material in Ecotopia, due to the<lb/>
reforestation program. Though these structures are old-fashioned<lb/>
looking, they have pleasant small balconies, roof gardens, and veran-<lb/>
daSMOfICIl covered with plants, or even small trees. The apartments<lb/>
themselves are very large by our standards—with 10 01' 15 rooms,<lb/>
to accommodate their communal living groups.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Alviso streets are named, not numbered, and they are almost as<lb/>
narrow and winding as those of medieval cities—not easy for a stranger<lb/>
to get around in. They are hardly Wide enough for two cars to pass;<lb/>
</p>
<p>
24<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="29" facs="0029.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
@Wmmwmwwzmesammwwskewszwevmswwmzwswmm"v*5<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘ but then of course there are no cars, so that is no problem. Pedestrians<lb/>
</p>
<p>
and bicyclists meander along. Once in a while you see a delivery<lb/>
truck hauling a piece of furniture or some other large object, but<lb/>
the Ecotopians bring their groceries home in string bags or large bicycle<lb/>
baskets. Supplies for the shops, like most goods in Ecotopia, are moved<lb/>
in containers. These are much smailer than our cargo containers, and<lb/>
proportioned to fit into Ecotopian freight cars and onto their electric<lb/>
trucks. Farm produce, for instance, is ioaded into such containers<lb/>
either at the farms or at the container terminal located on the edge<lb/>
of each minicity. From the terminal an underground conveyor belt<lb/>
system connects to all the shops and factories in the minicity, each<lb/>
of which has a kind of siding where the containers are shunted off.<lb/>
This idea was probably lifted from our automated warehouses, but<lb/>
turned backwards. It seems to work very well, though there must<lb/>
be a terrible mess if there is some kind of jam-up underground.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
My guides on this expedition were two young students who have<lb/>
just finished an apprenticeship year in the factory. They’re full of<lb/>
information and observations. It seems that the entire population of<lb/>
Alviso, about 9,000 people, lives within a radius of a half mile from<lb/>
</p>
<p>
the transit station. But even this density allows for many small park—like<lb/>
</p>
<p>
places: sometimes merely widenings of the streets, sometimes planted<lb/>
gardens. Trees are everywhere-there are no large paved areas exposed<lb/>
to the sun. Around the edges of town are the schools and various<lb/>
</p>
<p>
:_;~r'ecreation grounds. At the northeast corner of town you meet the<lb/>
marshes and sloughs and saltflats of the Bay. A harbor has been<lb/>
</p>
<p>
dredged for small craft; this opens onto the ship channel through<lb/>
which a freighter can move right up to the factory dock. My infomants<lb/>
admitted rather uncomfortably that there is a modest export trade<lb/>
in electric vehicles—the Ecotopians ahow themseives to import just<lb/>
enough metal to replace what is used in the exported electric motors<lb/>
and other metai parts.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Kids fish off the factory dock; the water is clear. Ecotopians love<lb/>
the water, and the boats in the harbor are a beautiful collection of<lb/>
both traditional and highly unorthodox designs. From this harbor,<lb/>
my enthusiastic guides tell me, they often sail up the Bay and into<lb/>
the Delta, and even out to sea through the Golden Gate, then down<lb/>
the coast to Monterey. Their boat is a lovely though heavy-looking<lb/>
craft, and they proudly ofiered to take me out on it if I have time.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
25<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="30" facs="0030.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We toured the factory, which is a confusing place. Like other<lb/>
Ecotopian workplaces, I am told, it is not organized on the assembly-<lb/>
line principles generally thought essential to really efficient mass<lb/>
production. Certain aspects are automated: the production of the<lb/>
electric motors, suspension frames, and other major elements. Howev-<lb/>
er, the assembly of these items is done by groups of workers who<lb/>
actually fasten the parts together one by one, taking them from supply<lb/>
bins kept full by the automated machines. The plant is quiet and<lb/>
pleasant compared to the crashing racket of a Detroit plant, and the<lb/>
workers do not seem to be under Detroit’s high output pressures.<lb/>
Of course the extreme simplification of Ecotopian vehicles must make<lb/>
the manufacturing process much easier to plan and manage—indeed<lb/>
there seems littie reason why it could not be automated entirely.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Also, I discovered, much of the factory’s output does not consist<lb/>
of finished vehicles at all. Following the mania for “doing it yourself"<lb/>
which is such a basic part of Ecotopian life, this plant chiefly turns<lb/>
out “front ends,” “rear ends,” and battery units. Individuals and<lb/>
organizations then connect these to bodies of their own design. Many<lb/>
of them are weird enough to make San Francisco minibuses look<lb/>
quite ordinary. I have seen, for instance, a truck built of driftwood,<lb/>
almost every square foot of it decorated with abalone shells—it<lb/>
belonged to a fishery commune along the coast.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The “front end” consists of two wheels, each driven by an electric<lb/>
motor and supplied with a brake. A frame attaches them to a steering<lb/>
and suspension unit, together with a simple steering wheel, accelerator,<lb/>
brake, instrument panel, and a pair of headlights. The motor drives<lb/>
are capable of no more than 30 miles per hour (on the level!) so their<lb/>
engineen'ng requirements must be modest—though my guides told<lb/>
me the suspension is innovative, using a clever hydraulic load-leveling<lb/>
device which in addition needs very little metal. The “rear end” is<lb/>
even simpler, since it doesn’t have to steer. The battery units, which<lb/>
seem to be smaller and lighter than even our best Japanese imports,<lb/>
are designed for use in vehicles of van'ous configurations. Each comes<lb/>
with a long reel-in extension cord to plug into recharging outlets.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The factory does produce several types of standard bodies, to which<lb/>
the propulsion units can be attached with only four bolts at each<lb/>
end. (They are always removed for repair.) The smallest and common-<lb/>
est body is a shrunken version of our pick—up truck. It has a tiny<lb/>
</p>
<p>
26<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="31" facs="0031.tif"/>
<p>
‘ mmmmmmmametmmemmmmmwv , --~ s ’<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
V Cab that seats only two people, and a low, square, open box in back.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The rear of the cab can be swung upward to make a roof, and<lb/>
Sometimes canvas sides are rigged to close in the box entirely.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A taxi-type body is still manufactured in small numbers. Many<lb/>
of these were used in the cities after Independence as a stop-gap<lb/>
</p>
<p>
measure while minibus and transit systems were developing. These<lb/>
bodies are molded from heavy plastic in one huge mold.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
These primitive and underpowered vehicles obviously cannot satisfy<lb/>
the urge for speed and freedom which has been so well met by the<lb/>
American auto industry and our aggressive highway program. My<lb/>
guides and I got into a hot debate on this question, in which I must<lb/>
admit they proved uncomfortably knowledgeable about the conditions<lb/>
that sometimes prevail on our urban throughways—where movement<lb/>
at any speed can become impossible. When I asked, however, why<lb/>
Ecotopia did not build speedy cars for its thousands of miles of rural<lb/>
highways—which are now totally uncongested even if their rights of<lb/>
way have partly been taken over for trains~they were left speechless.<lb/>
I attempted to sow a few seeds of doubt in their minds: no one can<lb/>
</p>
<p>
. be utterly insensitive to the pleasures of the open road, I told them,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
and 1 related how it feels to roll along in one of our powerful,<lb/>
comfortable cars, a girl’s hair blowing in the wind. .. .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We had lunch in one of the restaurants near the factory, amid<lb/>
a cheery, noisy crowd of citizens and workers. I noticed that they<lb/>
drank a fair amount of the excellent local wine with their soups and<lb/>
</p>
<p>
_‘ sandwiches. Afterward we visited the town hall, a modest wood<lb/>
</p>
<p>
structure indistinguishable from the apartment buildings. There I was<lb/>
shown a map on which adjacent new towns are drawn, each centered<lb/>
</p>
<p>
_ on its own rapid-transit stop. It appears that a ring of such new towns<lb/>
</p>
<p>
is being built to surround the Bay, each one a self—contained communi~<lb/>
ty, but linked to its neighbors by train so that the entire necklace<lb/>
of towns will constitute one city. It is promised that you can, for<lb/>
instance, walk five minutes to your transit station, take a train within<lb/>
five minutes to a town ten stops away, and then walk another five<lb/>
minutes to your destination. My informants are convinced that this<lb/>
represents a halving 0f the time we would spend on a similar trip,<lb/>
not to mention problems of parking, traffic, and of course the pollution.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
What will be the fate of the existing cities as these new minicities<lb/>
come into existence? They will gradually be razed, although a few<lb/>
</p>
<p>
27<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="32" facs="0032.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
districts will be preserved as living museum displays (of “our barbarian<lb/>
past,” as the boys jokingly phrased it). The land will be returned<lb/>
to grassland, forest, orchards, or gardens—often, it appears, groups<lb/>
from the city own plots of land outside in the country, where they<lb/>
probably have a small shack and perhaps grow vegetables, or just<lb/>
</p>
<p>
go for a change of scene.<lb/>
After leaving Aiviso we took the train to Redwood City, where<lb/>
</p>
<p>
the reversion process can be seen in action. Three new towns have<lb/>
sprung up there along the Bay, separated by a half mile or so of<lb/>
open country, and two more are under construction as part of another<lb/>
string several miles back from the Bay, in the foothills‘ In betWeen,<lb/>
part of the former suburban residential area has already been turned<lb/>
into alternating woods and grassland. The scene reminded me a little<lb/>
of my boyhood country summers in Pennsylvania. Wooded strips<lb/>
follow the winding lines of creeks. Hawks circle lazily. Boys out hunting<lb/>
with bows and arrows wave to the train as it zips by. The signs of<lb/>
a once busy civilizationkstreets, cars, service stations, supermarkets—<lb/>
have been entirely obliterated, as if they never existed. The scene<lb/>
was sobering, and made me wonder What a Carthaginian might have<lb/>
felt after ancient Carthage was destroyed and plowed under by the<lb/>
</p>
<p>
conquering Romans.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 8) Something peculiar is going on in this place. Can’t yet exactly<lb/>
locate the source of the feeling. It’s like waking up after a dream and<lb/>
not being quite able to remember what it was about. The way people<lb/>
deal with each othermand with me—keeps reminding me of something—<lb/>
but I don’t know what. Always takes me ofi’ guard, makes me feel<lb/>
I was confronted with some fine personal opportunity—a friendship,<lb/>
learning something’s important, love—which by then has just passed. . . .<lb/>
And they often seem to be surprised, a little disappointed maybe—as<lb/>
if I was a child who was not proving a very fast learner. (But what<lb/>
am I supposed to be learning?)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Then sometimes life here seems like a throwback to a past I might<lb/>
have known through old photographs. Or a skip ahead in time: these<lb/>
people, who are so American despite their weird social practices, might<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
28<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="33" facs="0033.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
be what we will become. (They miss no chance, of course, to tell me<lb/>
we should get on with it.) Also keep feeling I have gotten stuck on<lb/>
vacation in the country. Partly it’s all the trees, and maybe the dark<lb/>
nights (which still make me feel a power blackout must have struck),<lb/>
and also it’s hard to get used to the quiet. Must be doing something<lb/>
to my New York paranoia system, geared to respond to honking,<lb/>
screeching, buzzing, bangs, knocks, not to mention a shot or a scream<lb/>
now and then. You expect silence in the country. But here I am in<lb/>
a metropolitan area of several million, constantly surrounded by people~<lb/>
and the only really loud noises are human shouts or babies crying. There’s<lb/>
no “New Man” bullshit in Ecotopia, but how do they stand the quiet?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Or for that matter, how do they stand their isolation fiom us? Has<lb/>
bred a brash kind of self—sufliciency. They seem to be in surprisingly<lb/>
good touch with the rest of the world, but as far as we’re concerned,<lb/>
they’re strictly on their ownelike adolescent children who have rejected<lb/>
their parents’ ways. They’ll probably get over it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopians a little vague about time, I notice—few wear watches, and<lb/>
they pay more attention to things like sunrise and sunset or the tides<lb/>
than to actual hour time. They Will accede to the demands of industrial<lb/>
civilization to some extent, but grudgingly. “You’d never catch an Indian<lb/>
wearing a watch.” Many Ecotopians sentimental about Indians, and<lb/>
there’s some sense in which they envy the Qdiflnefil‘har lost natural<lb/>
place in theAmerican wilderness. Indeed this probably a major Ecotopian<lb/>
myth; keep hearing references to what Indians would or wouldn’t do<lb/>
in a given situation. Some Ecotopian articleswclothing and baskets and<lb/>
personal ornamentation—perhaps directly Indian in inspiration. But what<lb/>
matters most is the aspiration to live in balance with nature, “walk<lb/>
lightly on the land,” treat the earth as a mother. N 0 Surprise that to<lb/>
such a morality most industrial processes, work schedules, and productsf<lb/>
are suspect! Who would use an earth-mover on his own mother?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Hotel was okay for a while, but has gotten kind of boring. Have<lb/>
taken to spending a good bit of time a few blocks away, down near<lb/>
the waterfront, at “Franklin’s Cove,” a sort of press commune, where<lb/>
maybe 40 Ecotopian journalists and writers and TVpeople live. They’ve<lb/>
been extremely hospitable-really make me feel welcome. The place must<lb/>
have once been a warehouse, and is now broken up into rooms. They<lb/>
cook collectively, have work rooms (n0 electric typewriters, I notice,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
29<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="34" facs="0034.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
but lots of handy light video recorders), even a kind of gym. Beautiful<lb/>
wild garden in back where people spend a lot of time lying around<lb/>
on sunny days—part of it in crumbling ruins of one wing of the warehouse,<lb/>
which nobody has bothered to wreck and haul away. (“Time is taking<lb/>
its course, and we just let it,” replied one of the residents when I asked<lb/>
why this unsightly condition was tolerated.) Center of things is a lounge—<lb/>
library filled with soft chairs and sofas. I ’ve been there so much I even<lb/>
have a favorite chair.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopians, both male and female, have a secure sense of themselves<lb/>
as animals. At the Cave they lie about utterly relaxed, curled up on<lb/>
couches or floor, flopped down in sunny spots on little rugs or mats,<lb/>
almost like a bunch of cats. They stretch, rearrange themselves, do<lb/>
mysterious yoga-like exercises, and just seem to enjoy their bodies<lb/>
tremendously. Nor do they keep this to themselves, particularly—I’ve<lb/>
several times walked in on people making love, who didn’t seem much<lb/>
embarrassed or annoyed-it was hardly different from walking in on<lb/>
somebody taking a bath. I find myselfenvying them this comfortableness<lb/>
in their biological beings. T hey seem to breathe better, move more loosely.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I ’m experimenting, trying to imitate them. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Especially in the evenings, though of course they have a lot of free<lb/>
time during the day as well, people gather round and talk—the kind<lb/>
</p>
<p>
of leisurely talk I associate with college days. J umps around from topic<lb/>
to topic, and people kid a lot, and cheer each other up when need be,<lb/>
but there’s some thread to it usually. Last evening spent quite a while<lb/>
talking to an interesting guy I’ve met at the Cove-Bert Luckman (that<lb/>
seems to be his real name). He was studying at Berkeley at the time<lb/>
oflndependence—bright Jewish kid from New York. Had gone through<lb/>
Maoist phase, then got into secessionist movement. Politics and science<lb/>
writer (not an odd combination here) for the S. F. Times. Has written<lb/>
a book on cosmology, has a mystic streak, but still a reporter’s reporter:<lb/>
tough, wry, well-organized writing. Is surprisingly skeptical about US.<lb/>
science, which he regards as bureaucratically constipated and wasteful<lb/>
“You made the dreadful mistake,” he said, “of turning your science<lb/>
establishment over to established scientists, who could be trusted. But<lb/>
it’s mainly young and untrustworthy scientists who get important new<lb/>
ideas. —You still have a few things happening, but it’s lost the momentum<lb/>
you need.” (I wonder. Check when get back.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
3O<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="35" facs="0035.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
uch<lb/>
</p>
<p>
1 835‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
After some drinks the conversation got livelier and more personal.<lb/>
Thought I ’d do some probing. “Doesn’t this stable—state business get<lb/>
awfully static? I ’61 think it would drive you crazy after a certain point! ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Bert looked at me with amusement, and batted the ball back. “Well,<lb/>
don? forget that we don’t have to be stable. The system provides the<lb/>
stability, and we can be erratic within it. I mean we don’t try to be<lb/>
perfect, we just try to be okay 0n the average—which means adcting<lb/>
up a bunch of ups and downs.” “But it means giving up any notions<lb/>
of progress. You just want to get to that stable point and stay there,<lb/>
like a lump.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“It may sound that way, but in practice there’s no stable point. We’re<lb/>
always striving to approximate it, but we never get there. And you know<lb/>
how much we disagree on exactly what is to be done—we only agree<lb/>
on the root essentials, everything else is in dispute.” I grinned. “I’ve<lb/>
noticed that—you’re a quarrelsome lot! ” “We can aflord to be, because<lb/>
of that root agreement. Besides, that’s half the fun of relating to each<lb/>
other—trytng to work through diflerent perspectives, seeing how other<lb/>
people feel about things.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“It’s still flying in the face of reality, this striving for stability.” Bert<lb/>
took this more seriously: “Is it? But we’ve actually achieved something<lb/>
like stability. Our system meanders on in peaceful way, while yours<lb/>
has constant convulsions. I think of ours as like a meadow in the sun.<lb/>
There’s a lot of change going on—plants growing, other plants dying,<lb/>
bacteria decomposing them, mice eating seeds, hawks eating mice, a<lb/>
tree or two beginning to grow up and shade the grasses. But the meadow<lb/>
sustains itself on a steady-state basis—unless men come alon g and mess<lb/>
it up.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“I begin to see what you mean. It may not look so static to the<lb/>
mouse.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
After his student years Bert traveled a lot—-tn Canada, Latin America,<lb/>
Europe, Asia. Even thought of going to the US. sub rosa—but didn’t<lb/>
do it (or says he didn’t). Attached to a charming giddy woman named<lb/>
Clara, some years older and also a journalist—they have separate rooms<lb/>
at the Cave. Bert seems to be a wanderer—has also worked on papers<lb/>
in Seattle, Vancouver, and a little California coast resort town called<lb/>
Mendocino. We exchanged life histories, and he pumped me for inside<lb/>
intrigues on my travels, my relations with sources in our government,<lb/>
and so on. Caught me in a couple ofprevarications, but seems to take<lb/>
</p>
<p>
31<lb/>
</p>
<p>
1<lb/>
i<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="36" facs="0036.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
their measure quickly and understand them. We went on talking in<lb/>
a frank and almost brotherly way, so I tried harder to be candid and<lb/>
scrupulous. Told him about Francine; he wanted to know precisely the<lb/>
nature of my relationship with her, and seemed surprised that it is so<lb/>
tentative, even though it’s gone on for three years now. “It seems<lb/>
contradictory to me,” he said. “You live in separate apartments, see<lb/>
each other a couple of times a week, spend weeks on end away from<lb/>
each other altogether. At the same time you don’t have a group of<lb/>
people to live with, to support you emotionally, to keep your collective<lb/>
life going on actively and strongly while you’re apart. I 21 think that<lb/>
during one of these absences you’d have split up long ago~one of you<lb/>
would have taken up seriously with someone else, and then there’d be<lb/>
two other little separate worlds, instead of the two you have now. I 21’<lb/>
</p>
<p>
find that very scary. ”<lb/>
“It is very scary,” I said, "and once or twice we have gotten involved<lb/>
</p>
<p>
with someone else. But we have always come back to each othett” “It<lb/>
still sounds frivolous to me,” he said, frowning. “It gives too much power<lb/>
to loneliness. Here we try to arrange it so we are not lonely very often.<lb/>
That keeps us from making a lot of emotional mistakes. We don’t think<lb/>
commitment is something you go ofir and do by yourselves, just two<lb/>
of you. It has to have a structure, social surroundings you can rely<lb/>
on. Human beings are tribal animals, you know. They need lots of<lb/>
contact.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“You might be right,” I said doubtfully. “I never thought of myself<lb/>
that way particularly. Though at one point I remember wondering if<lb/>
having lots and lots of children might not be a good thing.” “Well,<lb/>
there are other kinds of families, you know,” he said gently and with<lb/>
a slight smile. “I’ll take you to visit some.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Have also had some good talks with Tom, a writer for a major<lb/>
magazine called Flow. He’s maybe 35 but has a face that already shows<lb/>
lines; also a temper, and he was swearing at somebody who had<lb/>
challenged his view ofrecent American strategy in Brazil. I kept quiet<lb/>
at first, but it happened I knew Tom was right: we had set up a<lb/>
system of electronically fenced enclaves in Sao Paulo as a means of<lb/>
controlling guerrilla movements, though it had been portrayed as an<lb/>
urban-redevelopment measure. “Look,” said Tom finally “we have a<lb/>
goddamn American reporter right here, why don’t we ask him?” “A ll<lb/>
right,” said the other guy to me, ' “do you know anything about it?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
32<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="37" facs="0037.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Yeah,” I said, “I do. Tom’s got it straight. There are sensor fields<lb/>
all over Sao Paulo. Anything that moves, the army knows about. ” “How<lb/>
did you get your information? Are you sure?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Sure I’m sure. I heard the President give the orderiand I also<lb/>
heard him tell the press that he’d deny it if we reported it. ” Tom burst<lb/>
out laughing. He and his opponent didn’t speak for several days after<lb/>
that, but Tom and I made up for it. T alked not only about Brazil—also<lb/>
about functions of journalists, and the changes in man-woman relation-<lb/>
ships that have occurred in Ecotopta. According to him, women in<lb/>
Ecotopia have totally escaped the dependent roles they still tend to play<lb/>
with us. Not that they domineer over men—but they exercise power in<lb/>
work and in relationships just as men do. Above all, they don’t have<lb/>
to manipulate men: the Survivalt’st Party, and social developments<lb/>
generally, have arranged the society so that women’s objective situation<lb/>
is equal to men ’s. Thus people can be just people, without our symbolic<lb/>
loading on sex roles. (I notice, however, that Ecotopian women still<lb/>
seem to me feminine, with a relaxed air of their biological attractiveness,<lb/>
even fertility, though I don’t see how they combine this with their heavy<lb/>
responsibilities and hard work. And men, though they express feelings<lb/>
more openly than American men—even feelings of weakness—still seem<lb/>
masculine.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Tom’s bright, and cynical as any good newspaperman is, yet strangely<lb/>
optimistic about the future. Believes that the nature of political power<lb/>
</p>
<p>
is changing, that the technology and social structure can be put at the<lb/>
service of mankind, instead of the other way round. Skeptical but not,%<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I notice, bitter. M ust be comfortable to think like that.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Am missing Francine’s reliably amiable “attentions. ” (Whenever I ’m<lb/>
away I realize anew what a faithful playmate she is; despite our having<lb/>
deliberately resolved never to be faithful to each other.) Have the awful<lb/>
suspicion that every woman around me is secretly, constantly fitcking<lb/>
and that I could have them if I only knew the password—but I don’t.<lb/>
I must be missing something—can the women journalists at the Cove<lb/>
simply find me unattractive in some mysterious way? They are friendly<lb/>
enough, direct, open; they even touch me sometimes, which of course<lb/>
feels good and gives me a warm rush. But again, it’s sisterly: if I touch<lb/>
them back, they seem to feel I’m making an improper advance, and<lb/>
back ofi? There must be some move, when a woman here comes close<lb/>
</p>
<p>
33<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="38" facs="0038.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to you, that I don’t know how to make? Yet I watch the Ecotopian<lb/>
men, and they don’t seem to do anything, except maybe smile a little;<lb/>
and then things go on from there, or sometimes don’tAit’s all very casual<lb/>
and nobody seems to worry about it. Very confusing all around; makes<lb/>
me feel hung up on my own patterns. Many Ecotopian women are<lb/>
beautiful in a simple, unadorned way. They’re not dependent for their<lb/>
attractiveness on cosmetics 0r dress—they give the impression of being<lb/>
strong, secure, pleasure-loving people, very honest and straightforward<lb/>
emotionally. They seem to like me: in the Cove as on the streets they<lb/>
meet my eyes openly, are glad to talk, even quite personally. Yet I<lb/>
can ’1‘ get past that stage to any real action. Have to think about that<lb/>
some more. Maybe I ’11 learn something.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
THE UNSPORTING LIFE OF ECOTOPIA .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, May 9. American sports fans would have a miserable<lb/>
time of it in Ecotopia. They would find no baseball and no football,<lb/>
no basketball, not even ice hockey. The newspapers have what they<lb/>
label “sports pages,” but these are devoted to oddball individua} sports.<lb/>
Skiing, especially cross-country style, gets big coverage. Hiking and<lb/>
camping, which are usually lumped With fishing and hunting, are<lb/>
treated as sports. Swimming, sailing, gymnastics, ping—pong, and tennis<lb/>
get a lot of attention. So does chess! There’s no boxing or wrestling<lb/>
in Ecotopia, and no roller derby. In short, for the sports enthusiast<lb/>
Ecotopia is about as dull as you could imagine: the sports scene is<lb/>
set up purely for the benefit of the participants.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
On the other hand, from a physical-fitness point of view ordinary<lb/>
Ecotopian citizens are remarkably healthy looking. An American like<lb/>
myseif tends to feel a little flabby here. Ecotopjans are used to walking<lb/>
everywhere, carrying heavy burdens like backpacks and groceries for<lb/>
long distances, and they have a generally higher level of physical<lb/>
activity than Americans. The women, especially, look marvellously<lb/>
healthy, even though they do not adhere to our standards of style.<lb/>
The fat and broken—down people we are accustomed to seeing on<lb/>
our city streets are absent here, and even oldsters seem surprisingly<lb/>
</p>
<p>
34<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="39" facs="0039.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
fit and hearty. To my questions about this, Ecotopians have replied<lb/>
“Well, nature has equipped us well, and we lead active physical lives,”<lb/>
or some such phrases. It apparently does not occur to them that human<lb/>
beings in other countries are not in equally good shape.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
But my inquiries, pursued further, have turned up an extensive<lb/>
network of unobtrusive physical activities which, in fact, seem almost<lb/>
Spartan in their intensity, and participation in some kind of minor<lb/>
sport is virtually universal among Ecotopians. Even volleyball, God<lb/>
help them, is a favorite pastime, and at moon or indeed other hours<lb/>
you can see teams cavorting in factory yards or on the streets. It<lb/>
doesn’t look terribly competitive, but is obviously fun.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopians also love to dance, which is good exercise; and walking<lb/>
a lot, which is forced on them by the prohibition of cars, probably<lb/>
has the compensation of being good for the health. (Runners, whether<lb/>
for health or haste, are common sights here.) Ping-pong tables seem<lb/>
to be one of the commonest items of furniture, and I must confess<lb/>
that when I challenged an awkward-looking teenager to a friendly<lb/>
1‘ game, I got stomped!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopian schools, with their looser scheduling (and better climate)<lb/>
‘give children far more outdoor time than ours. So the youngsters<lb/>
have a high level of physical activity throughout their school years.<lb/>
.’,School groups often go on expeditions: it’s common to see six-year—<lb/>
olds, with heavy backpacks, trudging along with older kids on hikes<lb/>
which, I am told, may last four or five days, and in quite forbidding<lb/>
country. As they move on into higher levels of school (the term “grade”<lb/>
is not used in our sense) much of the children’s time is allotted to<lb/>
training in fishing and hunting and survival skills, at the expense<lb/>
of basic educational skills. They are forced to learn not only the basic<lb/>
techniques but also how to improvise ecologically acceptable equip-<lb/>
ment in the wilds: hooks, snares, bows, arrows, and so on.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Some parents and other adults participate voluntarily in the chil-<lb/>
dren’s field trips—for meat as well as sport, since wild game has<lb/>
returned to the reforested areas in great numbers. Thus mountain<lb/>
lions, Wildcats, bears (including grizzlies), and wolves may now be<lb/>
hunted, along with deer, foxes, and rabbits. (Hunting is usually done<lb/>
with bows and arrows, not firearms, though most Ecotopian living<lb/>
units possess shotguns.) The experiences of the children are Closely<lb/>
tied in with studies of plants, animals and landscape. I have been<lb/>
</p>
<p>
35<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="40" facs="0040.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
impressed with the knowledge that even young children have of such<lb/>
matters—a six-year-old can tell you all about the “ecological niches”<lb/>
of the creatures and plants he encounters in his daily life. He will<lb/>
also know what roots and berries are edible, how to use soap plant,<lb/>
how to carve a pot holder from a branch.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A big sports role is played by Ecotopian rivers and lakes, which<lb/>
seem to be a magnetic attraction to young peopie even though the<lb/>
coastal waters are freezing cold. Shortly after Independence, an<lb/>
expropriation law made all waterfront properties into “water parks.”<lb/>
Beautiful exclusive estates were seized and turned into fishing com—<lb/>
munes, schools, hospitals, oceanographic and limnological institutes,<lb/>
museums of naturai history. Public boating, fishing and swimming<lb/>
were permitted in lakes that had formerly been enclosed in fenced,<lb/>
guarded private developments. The new government even went so<lb/>
far as to dynamite some of the dams Which had been built on the<lb/>
rivers~on the dubious grounds that they prevented “wh‘ite—water”<lb/>
recreational boating 0r interfered with the salmon runswwhich have<lb/>
been reestablished with great efibrt and enjoy much pubiic support.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A curious physical fitness aspect of Ecotopian iife is that in school<lb/>
the classes in carpentry and other tool work (Which are taken by<lb/>
most students, girls as well as boys) carry out construction projects<lb/>
that often involve the handling of timbers, masonry and other heavy<lb/>
materials.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
But the strangest thing about Ecotopian sports for an American<lb/>
is to understand how Ecotopians get along without the thrills, drama<lb/>
and suspense provided by our pennant seasons, the pageants of our<lb/>
bowl games, or the opportunity for boys to identify with star players.<lb/>
Apparently, the excitement we focus on our major sports has been<lb/>
entirely diverted in Bcotopia to what they call “the war games.” These<lb/>
are never described in the sports pages, however, nor indeed anywhere<lb/>
else in print. People have been evasive when I have asked about<lb/>
these “games,” but rumors that have reached us outside Ecotopia<lb/>
suggest that rather bestial practices are involved. From conversations<lb/>
I have overheard, especially among young men, it is clear that<lb/>
Ecotopians are intensely concerned with these bloody ritualsflin which<lb/>
it appears that hundreds of Ecotopian youths perish every year. Soon<lb/>
I hope to make an eye—witness report on one of these controversial<lb/>
</p>
<p>
spectacles.<lb/>
36<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="41" facs="0041.tif"/>
<p>
lch<lb/>
“S”<lb/>
vill<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Lllt,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ich<lb/>
the<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ican<lb/>
ama<lb/>
</p>
<p>
our<lb/>
yers.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
)661’1 '<lb/>
</p>
<p>
hese<lb/>
here<lb/>
bout<lb/>
opia<lb/>
ions<lb/>
that<lb/>
'hich<lb/>
Soon<lb/>
:rsial<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 10) No progress in my eflorts to set up an appointment with<lb/>
President Allwen. Her assistant friendly enough, however. Says it will<lb/>
happen in due course, but why don’t I look around the country some<lb/>
more first, “so you have something to talk about.”Asked me pointedly<lb/>
to make sure they get early copies of all my dispatches. Are they waiting<lb/>
to see what I write before they decide whether to give me my precious<lb/>
appointment?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Saw Allwen on a T V event—dedication of a solar-energy plant.<lb/>
Altogether unlike our ribbon-cuting ceremonies. Here the people who<lb/>
do the ceremony are the people who did the work. Cameramen wander -<lb/>
around among everybody; it’s all quite helterskelter, there seem to be<lb/>
no passive bystanders, everyb ody is talkin g to everybod y else. The camera<lb/>
has been with various groups for a while, one of them including this<lb/>
ratherplain but strong unidentified woman who’s chatting and laughing<lb/>
with them. They’re showing her some papers, she’s joking with them.<lb/>
After a while it turns out she is Vera. But nobody calls on her for ‘<lb/>
a speech. She turns to a woman nearby and says, “Why don’t you tell '<lb/>
everybody how this all got started?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
."Seriously but with absolutely no pompousness, the woman describes<lb/>
the background of the plant—why it was needed here, how the people<lb/>
iri'volved in the communities it would serve decided what kind of plant<lb/>
it: should be, how some novel scientific developments got worked up.<lb/>
Then she turned to other people, and they talked about the actual con-<lb/>
structionefunny stories, mainly, not at all our kind ofsolemn, contribu-<lb/>
tionwto-the-ages sort ofstufif Certain aspects of the installation are evi-<lb/>
dently far from perfect—at least in some eyeseand the criticisms weren’t<lb/>
kept under cover in the slightest. When this got a little heavy, Allwen<lb/>
re-entered the conversation. But she didn’t play the heavy arbiter or<lb/>
mother role, she talked about some other case where something had<lb/>
gone wrong, and told a political anecdote about how the people had<lb/>
finally gotten together and more or less fixed it up. The mood lightened,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
mutual confidence returned.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
And then, when everybody seemed to have said what they wanted<lb/>
to say, the group just sort of amorphously decided it was time to turn<lb/>
on the switch. Amid jokes that maybe it wouldn’t work after all, a<lb/>
child was brought forth to actually push the switch. It worked. Lightbulbs<lb/>
lighted; people cheered and hugged each other; and then, as champagne<lb/>
</p>
<p>
37<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="42" facs="0042.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
was brought out, the camera crews put down their equipment and picked<lb/>
up glasses, and we saw no more.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I ’ve also been using spare time watching some of Allwen’s collected<lb/>
speeches on my videodz'sc player. (Bought a full set to take back with<lb/>
me.) Clearly a remarkable woman: a powerful personality with a gift<lb/>
for folksy yet highly political speaking. There is a lot of warmth, yet<lb/>
a certain menace too: you wouldn’t want to be her enemy. Maybe the<lb/>
old Queen Elizabeth was like that? At the same time Allwen never<lb/>
seems to rely on the us-against—them gambit. The underlying point is<lb/>
always some kind of unity; there’s a family feeling even when she’s<lb/>
chastising someone. I doubt if anyone, whatever their politics, could<lb/>
be entirely in her bad graces! She has a way of seeming to take the<lb/>
viewer into her confidence, so that you share the logic and conviction<lb/>
of her argument. It would be hard to feel she was selling you something,<lb/>
the way too many of our television speeches do. Instead she seems to<lb/>
be giving—clarity, strength, wisdom. Maybe as much a religious leader<lb/>
as a politician? Head of the state ecological church, chief priestess?<lb/>
Doesn’t look it, God knows! But anyway a force to be reckoned with.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIAN TELEVISION AND ITS WARES<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, May 10. Ecotopians claim to have sifted through<lb/>
modern technology and rejected huge tracts of it, because of its<lb/>
iecological harmfulness. However, despite this general technological<lb/>
austerity, they employ video devices even more extensively than we<lb/>
do. Feeling that they should transport their bodies only when it’s<lb/>
a pleasure, they seldom travel “on business” in our manner. Instead,<lb/>
they tend to transact business by using their picturephones. These<lb/>
employ the same cables that provide television connections; the whole<lb/>
country, except for a few isolated rural spots, is wired with cable.<lb/>
(There is no ordinary broadcasting.) Video sets are everywhere, but<lb/>
strangely enough I have seldom seen people sitting before them blotted<lb/>
out in the American manner. Whether this is because of some<lb/>
mysterious national traits, or because of the programming being<lb/>
markedly different, or both, I cannot yet tell. But Eeotopians seem<lb/>
to use TV, rather than ietting it'use them.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
38<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="43" facs="0043.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
Some channels are apparently literal parts of the government<lb/>
</p>
<p>
structurErsomething like a council chamber with a PA system would<lb/>
</p>
<p>
be- Peop1€ watch these when the doings of local governments or the<lb/>
</p>
<p>
national legislature are being transmitted. (Virtually no government<lb/>
</p>
<p>
proceedings are closed to piess and publlc anyway.)’Viewers hot only<lb/>
</p>
<p>
watch-‘they expect to partxcipate. They phone in Wlth questions and<lb/>
</p>
<p>
cOmments, sometimes for the officials present, sometimes for the TV<lb/>
</p>
<p>
staffs. Thus TV doesn’t only provide newswmuch of the time it is<lb/>
</p>
<p>
the news. The routine governmental fare includes debates that involve<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Public figures, or aspirants to public office; many court proceedings<lb/>
</p>
<p>
and executive meetings; and meetings of the legislatures and especially<lb/>
</p>
<p>
of their committees. Running comment is interspersed from a variety I<lb/>
of sources, ranging from the narrators to vehemently partisan analysts-<lb/>
There is no rule of objectivity, as with our newscasters; Ecotopians?<lb/>
in general scorn the idea as a “bourgeois fetish,” and profess to believe;<lb/>
. that truth is best served by giving some label indicating your general‘<lb/>
position, and then letting fly.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Other channels present films and various entertainment programs,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
but the commercials are awkwardly bunched entirely between shows,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
' rather than scattered throughout. Not only does this destroy the rhythm<lb/>
</p>
<p>
vtr'e’re used to on TVwcommercials giving us timely respites from the<lb/>
</p>
<p>
drama—but it increases the tendency for the commercials to fight<lb/>
</p>
<p>
each other. And this is bad enough anyway, because they are limited<lb/>
</p>
<p>
.__tdmere announcements, without impersonated housewives or other<lb/>
</p>
<p>
,Juconsumers, and virtually without adjectives. (Some prohibition must<lb/>
</p>
<p>
exist for all the media, since ads in magazines and newspapers are<lb/>
</p>
<p>
similarly bland.) It’s hard to get excited about a product’s specifi-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
cations-list, but Ecotopian viewers do manage to watch them. Some—<lb/>
</p>
<p>
times, I suspect, they watch merely in hopes of a counterad to<lb/>
</p>
<p>
follow—an annoucement of a competing product, in which the an—<lb/>
</p>
<p>
nouncer sneezingly compares the two.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Also, the commercials may seem watchable because they are islands<lb/>
</p>
<p>
of sanity in the welter of viewpoints, personnel, and visual image<lb/>
</p>
<p>
quality that make up “normal” Ecotopian TV fare. Some channels<lb/>
</p>
<p>
even change managements entirelymat noon, or 6 p.m., a channel<lb/>
</p>
<p>
that has been programming political events or news will suddenly<lb/>
</p>
<p>
switch over to household advice, loud rock music, or weird surrealistic<lb/>
</p>
<p>
films bringing your worst nightmares to garish life. (Ecotopians don’t<lb/>
</p>
<p>
39<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="44" facs="0044.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
seem to believe overmuch in color tuning. The station engineers<lb/>
sometimes joke around and transmit signais in which people deliber.<lb/>
ately come out green or fuchsia, with orange skies.) Then again yen<lb/>
may come upon a super-serious program imported from Canada 0r<lb/>
England. And there are a few people who tune in American sateiiite<lb/>
signals and watch our re-runs, or laugh it up at our commercial;<lb/>
But this seems to be an acquired, minority taste—and it also requires<lb/>
an expensive special adapter to pick up the signais directly.<lb/>
Television, incidentally, may be an important reason for Ecotopians’<lb/>
</p>
<p>
: odd attitudes toward material goods. Of course many consumer items<lb/>
gare considered ecologically offensive and are simply not avaiiable,<lb/>
5,50 nobody has them: thus electric can openers,-hair curlers, frying<lb/>
</p>
<p>
pans, and carving knives are unknown. And to curb industrial<lb/>
proliferation the variety which is so delightful in our department stores<lb/>
is much restricted here. Many basic necessities are utterly standardized.<lb/>
Bath toweis, for instance, can be bought in only one color, white—so<lb/>
people have to dye their own in attractive patterns (using gentle natural<lb/>
hues from plant and mineral sources, I am told). Ecotopians generally<lb/>
seem to travel light, with few possessions, though each household,<lb/>
naturally, has a full component of necessary utensils. As far as<lb/>
personal goods are concerned Ecotopians possess or at least care about<lb/>
mainly things like knives and other tools, clothing, brushes, musical<lb/>
instruments, which they are concerned to have of the highest possible<lb/>
quality. These are handmade and prized by their owners as works<lb/>
of artwwhich I must admit they sometimes are.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Objects that are available in stores seem rather old-fashioned. I<lb/>
have seen few Ecotopian-made appliances that would not look pretty<lb/>
primitive on American TV. One excuse I’ve heard is that they are<lb/>
designed for easy repair by users. At any rate they lack the streamlining<lb/>
we’re used to—parts stick out at odd angles, bolts and other fasteners<lb/>
</p>
<p>
are plainly visible, and sometimes parts are even made of wood.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I have, however, observed that Ecotopians d0 repair their own<lb/>
things. In fact there are no repair shops on the streets. A curious<lb/>
corollary is that guarantees don’t seem to exist at all. People take<lb/>
it for granted that manufactured items will be sturdy, durable, and<lb/>
seIf-fixabIe—which of course means they are aIso relatively unsophisti-<lb/>
cated compared to ours. This state of alfairs has not been achieved<lb/>
easily: I have heard many funny stories about ridiculous designs<lb/>
</p>
<p>
40<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="45" facs="0045.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
out<lb/>
</p>
<p>
cal<lb/>
ble<lb/>
rks<lb/>
</p>
<p>
zed<lb/>
</p>
<p>
gns<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
_ reduced in the early days, lawsuits against their manufacturers, and<lb/>
other tribulations. 0116 law now in effect requires that pilot models<lb/>
of new devices must be given to a public panel of ten ordinary people<lb/>
(*9consumel’s” is not a term used in polite conversation here). Only<lb/>
‘if they all find they can fix likely breakdowns with ordinary tools<lb/>
manufacture permitted.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
An exception of sorts is made for video and other electronic items.<lb/>
These are required to be built of standard modularized parts and<lb/>
shops must stock component modules as well as test equipment, so<lb/>
users can isolate and replace defective components. And of course<lb/>
much electronic gear is now so small that it must simply be recycled<lb/>
if it stops working. The Ecotopians, indeed, have produced some<lb/>
remarkably miniaturized electronic devices, such as stereo sets no<lb/>
larger than a plate, ingeniously responsive controls for solar heat<lb/>
</p>
<p>
is<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘ systems and industrial processes, and short-range radiotelephones built<lb/>
</p>
<p>
into a tiny earphone. These evidently satisfy a national urge for<lb/>
</p>
<p>
V compactness, lightness, and low power requirements.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(Mhy 11) This morning got my first look at that curious Ecotopian<lb/>
prdctice known as cooperative criticism. Had stopped in at one of their<lb/>
little open-front cafes where you can get an overwhelmingly hearty<lb/>
breakfast. Family-style tables, but it was still early, and conversation<lb/>
desultory. A man near me who had ordered scrambled eggs broke the<lb/>
quiet after the waiter brought his plate.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Look at those eggs!” he demandedgnot 0f the waiter, as we might<lb/>
</p>
<p>
do, but of the cafe at large. He held them up for all to see. “They’re<lb/>
totally dried out!”At this point, I expected the waiter to try to soothe<lb/>
the customer and ofler him a new plate ofeggs. Instead, both customer<lb/>
and waiter headed for the kitchen area, which was off to the side of<lb/>
the room but separated only by a counter. (Ecotopians take pleasure?<lb/>
in being able to inspect ingredients and see their food being cooked.<lb/>
Their kitchens are always open to view, and they watch the cooks ratherf<lb/>
as we watch a pizza—thrower.) “Who cooked these eggs?” the cust‘orrterg'E<lb/>
</p>
<p>
asked. One of the cooks, a woman, put aside a pot and walked over?<lb/>
to look. 1<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“I did. What’s wrong with them?” The man repeated his complaint,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
the woman took a fork, sampled the eggs. “You must have left them<lb/>
</p>
<p>
41<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="46" facs="0046.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
lie on the plate,” she said. “The plate’s got cold too.” Several hands<lb/>
reached out to touch the plate, and sub-arguments broke out about<lb/>
that, the consensus being that the plate was still pretty warm, and the<lb/>
woman must'indeed have overcooked the eggs. “Why weren’t you<lb/>
watching them?” the customer asked. “Because I have two stoves and<lb/>
about 14 orders going!” retorted the woman.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
At this, some happy customers chimed in, saying that Ruth was a ._<lb/>
</p>
<p>
phenomenally careful cook and had done their eggs to perfection. So<lb/>
then the problem of Ruth’s workload was examined by all present, loudly.<lb/>
(Meanwhile, new customers were dn‘fting in and all were joining into the<lb/>
discussion, and every breakfast in the place was gettin g stone-cold; nobody<lb/>
cared.) Somebody asked Ruth why she didn’t yell for help when she<lb/>
got behind, and she blushed and said, with a resentful glance at her<lb/>
fellow cooks, that it was her job and she could do it. One of the other<lb/>
customers, who seemed to know Ruth, said he knew she wouldn’t ask<lb/>
for help from the other cooks, who were also busy, but what would<lb/>
be wrong with admitting that occasionally the load got extra heavy,<lb/>
and yelling for help?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Here many customers chimed in, telling her they’d be glad to step<lb/>
into the kitchen and pitch in for a few minutes. At this, Ruth began<lb/>
to weep, whether fiom shame or relief. A couple of customers came<lb/>
</p>
<p>
into the kitchen, hugged her, lent a hand; she probably dropped salty '-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
tears into the next couple of orders, but everybody else went back to<lb/>
their tables, seeming very satisfied with the whole episode, and the<lb/>
complainer ate his new eggs with gusto, after thanking Ruth loudly<lb/>
and elaborately when she personally brought them out to him—wz'th<lb/>
many smiles all around them.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Little emotional dramas like this seem to be common in Ecotopian<lb/>
life. There’s something embarrassing and low-class about them, but<lb/>
‘ they’re delightful in a way, and both participants and observers seem<lb/>
5 to be energized by them.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Usually on my trips I feel pretty frustrated sexually after a couple<lb/>
ofdays and try to get taken care of: somehow or other. Am still totally<lb/>
puzzled why these independent Eeotopian women don’t react to my<lb/>
signals. It certainly isn’t because they are out of touch with their own<lb/>
sexuality! Was kidding aroundwt'th one I picked up on the street.<lb/>
“Look,” she said after a bit, “if you just want to fuck why don’t you<lb/>
</p>
<p>
42<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="47" facs="0047.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
say so?” and marched oflin disgust. That got to me, somehow. Realized<lb/>
I don’t just want to fuck, as I usually think when I ’m away. I really<lb/>
want to figure out what goes on between men and women out here,<lb/>
and try getting with it: they obviously deal with each other in ways<lb/>
I don’t know about. I feel envious and left out, but also challenged<lb/>
and curious. Sometimes my confusion settles into a feeling of readiness,<lb/>
patience, calmness: as if I must soon run into somebody who will make<lb/>
it all clear. But it doesn’t make it any easier that Ecotopians are very<lb/>
noisy at their lovemaking. Groans and gasps and shudders and moans<lb/>
percolate through my hotel walls, even though they aren’t particularly<lb/>
thin Evidently they don’t have any inhibitions about others hearing<lb/>
</p>
<p>
what’s going on. 1%<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
THE ECOTOPIAN ECONOMY:<lb/>
FRUIT OF CRISIS<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, May 12. It is widely believed among Americans that<lb/>
the Ecotopians have become a shiftless and lazy people. This was<lb/>
the natural conclusion drawn after Independence, when the Ecotopians<lb/>
adopted a 20—hour work week. Yet even so no one in America, I<lb/>
think, has yet fully grasped the immense break this represented with<lb/>
our way of life—and even now it is astonishing that the Ecotopian<lb/>
legislature, in the first flush of power, was able to carry through such t<lb/>
a revolutionary measure.<lb/>
What was at stake, informed Ecotopians insist, was nothing less<lb/>
v than the revision of the Protestant work ethic upon which America<lb/>
Ehad been built. The consequences were plainly severe. In economic<lb/>
iterms, Ecotopia was forced to isolate its economy from the competition<lb/>
of harder-working peoples. serious dislocations plagued their indus-<lb/>
tries for years. There was a drop in Gross National Product by more<lb/>
than a third. But the profoundest implications of the decreased work<lb/>
week were philosophical and ecological: mankind, the Ecotopians<lb/>
assumed, was not meant for production, as the 19th and early 20th<lb/>
centuries had believed. Instead, humans were meant to take their<lb/>
modest place in a seamless, stable-state web of living organisms,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
43<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="48" facs="0048.tif"/>
<p>
_%;<lb/>
?22<lb/>
5‘]<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
disturbing that web as little as possible. This would mean sacrifice<lb/>
of present consumption, but it would ensure future survival—which<lb/>
</p>
<p>
became an almost religious obj ective, perhaps akin to earlier doctrines<lb/>
</p>
<p>
of “salvation.” People were to be happy not to the extent they<lb/>
dominated their fellow creatures on the earth, but to the extent they<lb/>
lived in balance with them.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This philosophical change may have seemed innocent on the surface.<lb/>
Its grave implications were soon spelled out, however. Ecotopian<lb/>
</p>
<p>
economists, who included some of the most highly regarded in the<lb/>
American nation, were well aware that the standard of living could<lb/>
only be sustained and increased by relentless pressure on work hours<lb/>
and worker productivity. Workers might call this “speed-up,” yet<lb/>
without a slow but steady rise in labor output, capital could not be<lb/>
attracted or even held; financial collapse would quickly ensue.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The deadly novelty introduced into this accepted train of thought<lb/>
by a few Ecotopian militants was to spread the point of View that<lb/>
economic disaster was not identical with survival disaster for persons“<lb/>
and that, in particular, a financial panic could be turned to advantage<lb/>
if the new nation could be organized to devote its real resources of<lb/>
energy, knowledge, skills, and materials to the basic necessities of<lb/>
survival. If that were done, even a catastrophic decline in the GNP<lb/>
(which was, in their opinion, largely composed of wasteful activity<lb/>
anyway) might prove politically useful.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
In short, financial chaos was to be not endured but deliberately<lb/>
engineered. With the ensuing flight of capital, most factories, farms<lb/>
and other productive facilities would fall into Ecotopian hands like<lb/>
ripe plums.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
And in reality it took only a few crucial measures to set this dismal<lb/>
series of events in motion: the nationalization of agriculture; the<lb/>
announcement of an impending moratorium on oil-industry activities;<lb/>
the forced consolidation of the basic retail network constituted by<lb/>
Sears, Penneys, Safeway, and a few other chains; and the passage<lb/>
of stringent conservation laws that threatened the profits of the lumber<lb/>
interests.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
These moves, of course, set olf an enormous clamor in Washington.<lb/>
Lobbyists for the van'ous interests affected tried to commit the federal<lb/>
government to intervene militarily. This was, however, several months<lb/>
after Independence. The Ecotopians had established and intensively<lb/>
</p>
<p>
44<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="49" facs="0049.tif"/>
<p>
(DHC’Ji-HHIH-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
trained a nationwide militia, and airlifted arms for it from France<lb/>
and Czechoslovakia. It was also believed that at the time of secession<lb/>
they had mined major Eastern cities With atomic weapons, which<lb/>
they had constructed in secret or seized from weapons research<lb/>
laboratories. Washington, therefore, although it initiated a ferocious<lb/>
Campaign of economic and political pressure against the Ecotopians,<lb/>
and mined their harbors, finally decided against an invasion.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This news set in motion a wave of closures and forced sales of<lb/>
businesses—reminiscent, I was told, of what happened to the J apanese—<lb/>
Americans who were interned in World War II. Members of distin—<lb/>
guished old San Francisco families were forced to bargain on most<lb/>
unfavorable terms with representatives of the new regime. Properties<lb/>
going back to Spanish land-grant claims were hastily disposed of.<lb/>
Huge corporations, used to dictating policy in city halls and state—<lb/>
houses, found themselves begging for compensation and squirming<lb/>
to explain that their properties were actually worth far more than<lb/>
their declared tax value.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Tens of thousands of employees were put out of work as a<lb/>
consequence, and the new government made two responses to this.<lb/>
One was to absorb the unemployed in construction of the train network<lb/>
and of the sewage and other recycling facilities necessary to establish<lb/>
stable—state life systems. Some were also put to work dismantling<lb/>
allegedly hazardous or unpleasant relics of the old order, like gas-sta-<lb/>
tions. The other move was to adopt 20 hours as the basic work<lb/>
week—which, in effect, doubled the number ofjobs but virtually halved<lb/>
individual income. (There were, for several years, rigid price controls<lb/>
on all basic foods and other absolute necessities.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Naturally, the transition period that ensued was hectic—though<lb/>
many people also remember it as exciting. It is alleged by many who<lb/>
lived through those times that no one sufl‘ered seriously from lack<lb/>
of food, shelter, clothing, or medical treatment~th0ugh some discom-<lb/>
fort was widespread, and there were gross dislocations in the automo-<lb/>
bile and related industries, in the schools, and in some other social<lb/>
functions. Certainly many citizens were deprived of hard-earned<lb/>
comforts they had been used to: their cars, their prepared and luxury<lb/>
foods, their habitual new clothes and appliances, their many efficient<lb/>
service industries. These disruptions were especially severe 0n middle—<lb/>
aged peoplewthough one now elderly man told me that he had been<lb/>
</p>
<p>
45<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="50" facs="0050.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
‘3‘" WWefixmmimmml<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
a boy in Warsaw during Worid War II, had lived on rats and moldy<lb/>
potatoes, and found the Ecotopian experience relatively painless. To<lb/>
the young, the disruptions seem to have had a kind of wartime<lb/>
excitement—and indeed sacrifices may have been made more palatable<lb/>
by the fear of attack from the United States. It is said by some, however,<lb/>
that the orientation of the new government toward basic biological<lb/>
survival was a unifying and reassuring force. Panic food hoarding,<lb/>
it is said, was rare, (The generosity with food which is such a feature<lb/>
of Eootopian life today may have arisen at that time.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ofcourse the region that comprises Ecotopia had natural advantages<lb/>
that made the transition easier. Its states had more doctors per capita,<lb/>
a higher educational leyel, a higher percentage of skilled workers,<lb/>
a greater number of engineers and other technicians, than most other<lb/>
parts of the Union. Its major cities, without exception, were broadly<lb/>
based manufacturing and trade complexes that produced virtually<lb/>
all the necessities of life. Its universities were excellent, and its resources<lb/>
for scientific research included a number of the topnotch facilities<lb/>
in the United States. Its temperate climate encouraged an outdoor<lb/>
style of life, and made fuel shortages caused by ecological policies<lb/>
an annoyance rather than the matter of life or death they would<lb/>
have been in the severe eastern winters. The people were unusually<lb/>
welt versed in nature and conservation 101e, and experienced in<lb/>
camping and survival skills.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We cannot, however, ignore the poiitical context in which the<lb/>
transition took place. As Ecotopian militants see the situation, by<lb/>
the last decade of the old century American control over the underdevel-<lb/>
oped world had crumbledt American troops had failed to hold Vietnam,<lb/>
and the impoverished peoples of many other satellite countries were<lb/>
rebelling toot Evading Congressional controls, the U.S. administration<lb/>
continued secret wars against these uprisings, and the burden of outlays<lb/>
for an enormous arms establishmentcaused a profound Iong~term decline<lb/>
in the world competitiveness of American civilian industry. A slow drop<lb/>
in per capita income led to widespread misery, increased tension between<lb/>
rich and poor, and ended citizen confidence in economic gains;<lb/>
for a time, wildcat strikes and seizures of plants by workers required<lb/>
the almost constant mobilization of the National Guard. After the<lb/>
abortive antipollution efforts of the early seventies, the toll of death<lb/>
and destruction had resumed its climb. Energy crises had bred<lb/>
</p>
<p>
46<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="51" facs="0051.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
economic disruption and price gouging. And chronic Washington<lb/>
scandals had greatly reduced faith in central government.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“All this,” one Ecotopian told me, “convinced us that if we wished<lb/>
to survive we had to take matters into our own hands.” I pointed<lb/>
out that this had always been the claim of conspiratorial revolu-<lb/>
tionaries, who presume to act in the name of the majority, but take<lb/>
care not to allow the majority to have any real power. “Well,” he<lb/>
replied, “things were clearly not getting any better—so people really<lb/>
were ready for change. They were literally sick of bad air, chemicah'zed 7<lb/>
foods, lunatic advertising. They turned to politics because it was finally ,9<lb/>
the only route to self-preservation.” ‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“So,” I replied, “in order to follow an extremist ecological program,<lb/>
millions of people were willing to jeopardize their whole welfare, !<lb/>
economic and social?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
_ V “Their welfare wasn’t doing so well, at that point,” he said.<lb/>
I ” .“Something had 10 be done. And nobody else was doing it. Also”—he<lb/>
shrugged, and grinned—“we were very lucky.” This gallows humor,<lb/>
which reminds me of the Israelis or Viennese, is common in Ecotopia.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
’ Perhaps it helps explain how the whole thing happened.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
(May 13) Mysteriously, the Ecotopians do not feel “separate” from their<lb/>
technology. T hey evidently feel a little as the Indians must have felt:<lb/>
that the horse and the teepee and the bow and arrow all sprang, like<lb/>
</p>
<p>
”7] the human being, from the womb of nature, organically. Of course the<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
, Ecotopians work on natural materials far more extensively and com-<lb/>
” ' plexly than the Indians worked stone into arrowpoint, or hide into teepee.<lb/>
But they treat materials in the same spirit of respect, comradeshz'p. The<lb/>
other day I stopped to watch some carpenters working on a building.<lb/>
They marked and sawed the wood lovingly (using their own muscle<lb/>
power, not our saws). Their nail patterns, I noticed, were beautifully<lb/>
placed, and their rhythm of hammering seemed patient, almost placid.<lb/>
When they raised woodpieces into place, they held them carefully, fitted<lb/>
them (they make many joints by notching as well as nailing). They<lb/>
seemed almost to be collaborating with the wood, rather than forcing<lb/>
it into the shape ofa building. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Got a strange call on the hotelphone last night, from a grufir—sounding<lb/>
man who asked if he and a couple of friends could see me. He had<lb/>
</p>
<p>
47<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="52" facs="0052.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
BCOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
his phone picture switched of to start, but after I said I ’d be glad<lb/>
to talk to him, he turned it on. We met at a cofleehouse he suggested,<lb/>
which turned out to have the atmosphere of a men’s club: dark wood<lb/>
panelling, newspapers on racks along the wall, beer, good cofi’ee, pastries.<lb/>
They started out by saying how pleased they were to hear of my visit,<lb/>
and that they hoped relations between the two countries would now<lb/>
begin to improve.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This was news: no Ecotopians I ’ve met so far have seemed to give<lb/>
much of a damn about relations with the US. one way or the other.<lb/>
I began to study my companions more closely. They were evidently<lb/>
businessmen of some kind—there is a way in which business people tend<lb/>
to assume proprietorship which seemed familiar. I began to see who<lb/>
they probably were: the Opposition!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The grufl one introduced us all. Then, rather gingerly, they began<lb/>
to explain their position: that, while many of the ecological reforms<lb/>
of the new government were of course necessary and desirable, others<lb/>
stifled their spirit of enterprise. “T he economy, as you have seen by<lb/>
now, has been going downhill steadily. It’s terrible, what we have lost.<lb/>
Worse, we are on a collision course with the US. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“How is that?” I asked.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Let’s face it. We are a small nation on the periphery of a very<lb/>
large one. Persisting in this ecological craziness will sooner or later<lb/>
lead to an armed conflict, and we will be wiped out. We know what<lb/>
you did to Vietnam, what you’re doing now in Brazil. Our atomic mines<lb/>
might turn out to be a blufl. Then it could happen here too.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“So what can you do?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“We could take a softer line~make a few compromises We ’re excited<lb/>
by your coming because it could lead to resumption of normal relations<lb/>
between the two countries. From that, we could see the exchange of<lb/>
pilot plants, to show what happens when you let the managers managem—<lb/>
and gradually a growth of economic interdependence. In time, we could<lb/>
get our economy going again on modern lines.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Isn’t the Progressive Party working in that direction?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
There was a pause. “Yes, but they only put up a token struggle.<lb/>
They pay lip service to the idea of change, but when it comes to real<lb/>
changes, they drag their feet. They’re really almost as bad as the<lb/>
Survivalists. We’ve just about given up on them.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“So what are you going to do? '<lb/>
</p>
<p>
48<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="53" facs="0053.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
They shifted uneasily. “We have great hopes from your visit, first<lb/>
* ofall. We urge you to speak for the idea of normalization of relations,<lb/>
here and when you get back to Washington. We hope that will get<lb/>
things moving. But we also want you to know that we are prepared<lb/>
to fight for our ideas. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I looked at them, startled. ‘T’ight?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
They looked back, very solemnly, and then must have decided to take<lb/>
their big chance. “We have been led to believe that the US. government<lb/>
supports clandestine groups in countries with governments thought to<lb/>
be unfriendly. The time is coming when normal means ofpolitical action<lb/>
may no longer serve. Ecotopia has to be made to realize that it must<lb/>
change course. We are ready for anything. But we need help.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“You aren’t afraid of being taken simply for American agents?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“It’s a chance we ’11 have to take. We would of course ask for materials<lb/>
that can’t be traced to US. sources.” It was my turn to pause. “You<lb/>
mean you are asking for explosives, guns?” T hey looked at me awlittle<lb/>
disappointed. “Of course. We will then be in a position to dramatize<lb/>
</p>
<p>
, that the present course has unacceptable costs. There is only one way<lb/>
to do that.”<lb/>
’ ' “Well,” I said, “you must realize I am a journalist, not a C.I.A.<lb/>
' agent!” They smiled politely but skeptically. “However, I suppose I<lb/>
. could pass on what you have told me to people who might be interested.<lb/>
How much popular support can you demonstrate for your proposed<lb/>
'- actions?”<lb/>
, “You know how people are—they go along with what’s popular at<lb/>
the time, even when it’s against their own best interests. But dramatic<lb/>
action will generate immense enthusiasm.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I looked them over. They are not a terribly convincing lot of prospective.<lb/>
terrorists—but then probably that’s the way most any terrorists lookf‘;<lb/>
. A couple of them are over 50, people who in the US. would be members”<lb/>
> of Rotary or country club—normal, productive citizenswbut here find.<lb/>
themselves misfits. A couple are young, hot-eyed, resentful, dangerous.<lb/>
'—How they got that way, I have no idea, but they would probably<lb/>
be against the regime whatever it was or did. So far, I see no signs<lb/>
they would have any substantial social backing. All the same, I made<lb/>
notes ofhow they can be found. Coming out of the cofi’eeshop, we could<lb/>
have been businessmen who had just worked out a division of the<lb/>
territory. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
49<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="54" facs="0054.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 15) Marissa Brz‘ghtcloud. A self-adopted, Indian—inspired name—<lb/>
many Ecotopians use them. Met me at train yesterday, to bring me<lb/>
to the forest camp where I am to observe lumbering and forestry practices<lb/>
for a few days. Assumed at first she must be some kind of PR or<lb/>
government person. Later learned she is one ofseven members ofelected<lb/>
committee that runs camp and tens of thousands of acres of forest.<lb/>
Strong, warmly physical womanw—slender but with solid hips; dark curly<lb/>
hair, large intense eyes: I ’d guess at an Italian family background. It<lb/>
was still damp morning—she wore a rough knitted sweater, denim pants,<lb/>
some kind of hiking or work shoes. Only decoration a light silk scarf<lb/>
at her neck—flowery, subtle pattern.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
She had arranged bicycles for us. Panic: I haven’t been on a bike<lb/>
in years! Wobbly at first. She watched me get onto it again with calm<lb/>
amusement, then we headed out through the station town and into the<lb/>
woods. She said little, but watched me curiously. Once we stopped on<lb/>
a hill, at a good view over a tract of forest. She gestured, then put<lb/>
a hand on my arm, as if awaiting my reaction. Nice forest, but all<lb/>
I could think of to say was, ‘Beautiful view.” She looked at me a<lb/>
trifle impatiently, as ifwondering what kind of person I could be, anyway.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“This forest is my home,” she said quietly. “I feel best when I ’m<lb/>
among trees. Open country always seems alien to me. Our chimp<lb/>
ancestors had the right idea. Among trees you’re safe, you can be free. ”<lb/>
This with a mysterious smile.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I could think of no reply. She pedaled ofi‘. Seemed fastermor was<lb/>
I just getting tired? Had a little trouble keeping up, thought I concealed<lb/>
it. Finally we reached the camp.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It’s a group of ramshackle buildings in a grove of very large trees.<lb/>
Old and unpainted, but with a certain sturdy grace, like old summer<lb/>
camps; arranged erratically around large central mess—hall meeting-<lb/>
room building. 0/7" at one side a barn filled with machinery; beyond<lb/>
that an open nursery area of many acres, with thousands of tiny trees<lb/>
sprouting. The whole place foresty-smelling, as of needles slowly decom—<lb/>
posing into a springy layer of humus underfoot. Light filtering down<lb/>
through the great treeswstrange, soft atmosphere—made me feel a little<lb/>
odd, like a dark church.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
As we arrived, several dozen people poured out of the buildings 'to<lb/>
greet us. A visitor is an event for them, evidently. Marissa stood rather<lb/>
protectively beside me as they came up and surrounded us. Barrage<lb/>
0f questions—what I’ve seen so far, where I live in the US, what I<lb/>
</p>
<p>
50<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="55" facs="0055.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
’1 want to see here, what is my favorite tree (all I could think of was<lb/>
“Christmas tree”——botany was not a good subject for me—but it got<lb/>
appreciative laughs). Wisecracks about how I don’t look like much of<lb/>
a lumberjack. Suddenly realized that about half the group are women.<lb/>
Assumed at the time they must deal chiefly with the nursery and the<lb/>
planting ofyoung trees; later learned they also cut trees, operate tractors,<lb/>
and drive big diesels.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Before we show him our work, our guest must have his bath, ” Marissa<lb/>
declared with a smile. Led me away for the ceremonial bath with which<lb/>
Ecotopians greet people who come to stay with them—even ifi like me,<lb/>
they’ve only been an hour on the way. More talkative now. She has<lb/>
lived in this camp for several years, but has an occasional month in<lb/>
the citywpart vacation and part a change-of—pace assignment, evidently.<lb/>
Obviously very hard—workin g person. At the same time lively and female,<lb/>
rather mischievous about the members of the camp crew who are city<lb/>
people doing their “forest service. ” Before people can buy a large quantity<lb/>
of lumber (for instance to build a house) they are obliged to put in<lb/>
a period of some months of labor in a forest camp—planting trees, caring<lb/>
</p>
<p>
for the forest lands, and supposedly setting in motion the new growth<lb/>
that will one day replace the wood they are buying. (Poetic but foolish<lb/>
notion~th0ugh it may make people have a better attitude toward lumber<lb/>
resources.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
She wanted to know whether I had a family, who made up my<lb/>
. =household (seemed surprised that I didn ’1 even live with wife and children,<lb/>
much less grandparents, cousins, friends, colleagues, but in my own place,<lb/>
'30 miles away, all by myself: though I spend a good deal of time with<lb/>
another woman). Asked what my pleasures were~a question I found<lb/>
hard to answer frankly, but I tried, and her curiosity made it seem<lb/>
</p>
<p>
easier. “First a sense of power—of reaching out to people, to masses 5<lb/>
ofthem and to key people who can act—through my work. Then feelings 1<lb/>
of craftsmanship in my writing, of intelligence, of knowing I have the 3<lb/>
</p>
<p>
background and the originality to grasp strange events and put them<lb/>
into perspective. And love of luxury, or at least fine things: eating in<lb/>
the best restaurants, wearing the best clothes, being seen with the best<lb/>
people.” Marissa interrupted ieasingly, “Is your woman friend one of<lb/>
the best people?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Well, in a way. Or rather, the best people like her a great deal,<lb/>
. even though she is not really one of them. ”<lb/>
The bath house is a couple of hundred yards off in the woods. By<lb/>
</p>
<p>
51<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="56" facs="0056.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
the time we got there the conversation had taken an oddly personal<lb/>
turn. “You haven’t mentioned pleasures between yourself and other<lb/>
people, men or women. Don’t you have friends, don’t you like to love<lb/>
people?” “Well, ofcourse! ”I replied, feeling taken oflguard. She opened<lb/>
the door to the bath house, and led me into the dark interior, holding<lb/>
my hand. Turned on the bath water tap, threw some more wood on<lb/>
the heating fire, gave me a warm, wry smile, came nearer, put a hand<lb/>
on my shoulder. “Do you want to make love with me?” ,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I have been feeling frustrated the last few days, but her assertiveness<lb/>
unnerved me a moment. She’s not at all submissive or attentive. She<lb/>
just wanted to get close to me, to play, and to make love. I figured<lb/>
this will happen after the bath, but found myself pushed down onto<lb/>
the wood floor of the bath house. Jesus, I said to myselfi this woman<lb/>
is stronger than I am!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
But I mustered my forces, rolled her over. We were both instantly<lb/>
very excited. She giggled at the rapid fumbling we did with our clothes.<lb/>
We got enough of them of to manage—wshe looking at me intensely<lb/>
now, no more smiles. Her legs are muscular; as I went into her She<lb/>
wrapped them tightly around me. It was hard and brief and sweaty,-<lb/>
her sexual odors are powerful. I lost consciousness of the hard floor<lb/>
beneath, and of the hot water steadily running into the huge round<lb/>
tub. Afterward she laughed and disengaged herself. “That was nice,”<lb/>
she said; “I guessed you wouldn’t mind some contact, when I met you<lb/>
at the train.” She looked at me curiously. “Did you think of making<lb/>
a move when I stopped to show you the forest? I know a nice spot<lb/>
there, and I thoughtm”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“I guess I still felt like too much of a guest to focus on anything<lb/>
like that.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Well, I thought of it. I liked you, you’re a serious person, even<lb/>
if you’re not a great bicycler! You just seemed sowdistraught or<lb/>
something. Anyway, we don’t make that much of a distinction about<lb/>
guests. You’re expected to join into everything. We’ll have you at work<lb/>
tomorrow. Now I ’11 show you how we wash.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We scrubbed each other with an odd—shaped sponge, using a dishpan<lb/>
to scoop water from the tub. (There seems to be no shower.) Then we<lb/>
climbed in to soak, Marissa smiling contentedly. Seemed to me a<lb/>
ravishing presence in a way I have never before encozmtered. Not exactly<lb/>
beautiful, at least by my usual standards. But sometimes, when she looks<lb/>
</p>
<p>
52<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="57" facs="0057.tif"/>
<p>
MNVVNuo<lb/>
</p>
<p>
.swpgln)”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
t= me, my hair stands up as if I’m confronting a creature who’s wild<lb/>
dhd incomprehensible, animal and human at once. Eyes dark brown,<lb/>
hard to fathom. She was a little rough as we splashed around in the<lb/>
water—bit me, jumped away. Finally realized she wanted me to stop<lb/>
, being gentle with her Kept relapsing into a kind of silly tenderness.<lb/>
’ she’d bring me out ofit with a push or a bite<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This got very exciting. Eyes shining, she leap! out of tub and ran<lb/>
out the door dripping I looked after her, surprised. She jumped back<lb/>
in door, did a comic but enticing little dance, out the door, laughing,<lb/>
in again and never saying a word. I sprang out and after her, down<lb/>
a forest path. She’s damn fast and also good at dodging around trees.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We got into deeper forest. Suddenly, ducking around a particularly huge<lb/>
redwood tree, she disappeared into a hollow at its base. Springing in<lb/>
after her, I found myself in some kind of shrine. She was lying there<lb/>
' on a bed of needles, raking deep, gasping breaths Dimly visible<lb/>
</p>
<p>
suspended on the charred inside of the tree, were charms and pendants<lb/>
made of bone and teeth and feathers gleaming polished stones It was<lb/>
,,,as if] was being sucked into the tree, into some powerful spirit, and<lb/>
I fell on her as if] were falling freely through the soft air from a<lb/>
great height, through darkness, my reportorial self floating away.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
. We must have made love for hours. Cannot describe. Will not.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Vv';Finally we got up and returned to bath house, Marissa pausing as<lb/>
we left the tree, mumbling something I couldn’t catch. Dawned on me<lb/>
that it was a prayer of some kind, and that this incredible woman is<lb/>
. a goddamn druid or something-a tree-worshz‘pper!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
My feet hardly touched the ground as we went back to camp. When<lb/>
1W? got there everyone was in mess hall having lunch. Noisy, cheerful<lb/>
‘seene, big long tables. People smiled at us, made room. (Couple of<lb/>
5 women didn’t smile—but looked me over appraisingly, or so it seemed.<lb/>
Are they all like Marissa, I wonder?)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Later in day, talking with one of the men, learned that Marissa has<lb/>
a: reputation for being one of the most‘ respansible and hardworking<lb/>
people on the executive committee. Dzfi‘icult for me to focus on that<lb/>
side of her personality, even though I saw her operating in that role<lb/>
later in the afternoon. It turns out she has a regular lover in the camp.<lb/>
But has somehow arranged it so she can be with me during my stay.<lb/>
Lover is blond, shy, blushes a lot about other things but doesn’t seem<lb/>
</p>
<p>
53<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="58" facs="0058.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
at all jealous about his woman having made love with me. Evidently<lb/>
there are other women he can console himself with! Wasn’t sure till<lb/>
nightfall who would sleep with whom. But she came to the little cabin<lb/>
I ’m assigned to, quite unanxious about the whole situation.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
What we do sexually is diflerent from anything that has ever happened<lb/>
to me. Now that the beginning is over, we are utterly relaxed. We hug,<lb/>
we wrestle, we lie absolutely quietly looking at each other, we touch<lb/>
each other with feathety touches that are sometimes erotic and sometimes<lb/>
not. There seems to be no agenda: I feel no compulsion to fuck her,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘ though she is enormously desirable to me. She never says in words whether<lb/>
anything pleases her or not. It’s as if the whole American psychodrama<lb/>
</p>
<p>
E of mutual suspicion between the sexes, demands and counterdemands<lb/>
and our desperate working at sex like a problem to be solved, has left<lb/>
my head. Everything comes from our feelings. Sometimes there is<lb/>
excitement in a mere look. Sometimes we get to almost terrifying orgiastic<lb/>
climaxes. But one doesn’t really seem more important than the other.<lb/>
In any case, what happens between us is so extraordinary that I find<lb/>
myself utterly unconcerned with her regular lover, or what she might<lb/>
do with him.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Only one thing I don’t like: she won’t let me use my mouth on her<lb/>
breasts. “You’re not a baby,” she said, and pushed me away, moving<lb/>
my hand onto one of them instead: they are firm, fit my hand perfectly,<lb/>
very sensitive to arousal. “Have you had any children?” I asked. “Not<lb/>
yet,” she said, “but I will soon.” “With Everett?” “Oh, no! We’re just<lb/>
</p>
<p>
good friends—fucking partners, not mates.” “How will you find your<lb/>
mate?” She shrugged: “What a question! Don’t you know?”<lb/>
i' I thought about Pat. “I believed I knew, once, but we turned out<lb/>
E to be just—well, living partners. We had two children, but then we broke<lb/>
up.” “That must be terribly hard for the children, in your country?<lb/>
It’s bad enough here, where children have many others besides their<lb/>
parents to love them.” “Yes, it is. If I was doing it again I wouldn’t<lb/>
leave. ” She looked at mew] thought approvingty~ in the dim light that<lb/>
filtered through the forest canopy and into the cabin. Then she gave<lb/>
me a hug, and turned over to go to sleep.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="59" facs="0059.tif"/>
<p>
u.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
awn<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Rt‘fiws‘hnxw<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA’S BIG WOODS<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
gealdSburg’ May 17‘ Wood is a major factor in the topsy~turvy<lb/>
Ecotopian economy, as the source not only of lumber and paper but<lb/>
$15001" some of the remarkableplastlcs that Ecotoplan selentists have<lb/>
deVeleped- Ecotopians 1n the City and country alike take a deep and<lb/>
lasting interest in wood. They loveto sinell 1t, feel it, carve it, polish<lb/>
it. Inquiries about why they p'ersmt 1n usmg such an outdated material<lb/>
(which of course has been entirely Obsoleted by aluminum and plastics<lb/>
in the United States) receive heated replies. To ensure a stable<lb/>
long-term supply of wood, the Ecotopians early reforested enormous<lb/>
areas that had been cut over by logging companies before Indepenn<lb/>
dencet They also planted trees on many hundreds of thousands of<lb/>
acres that had once been cleared for orchards or fields, but had gone<lb/>
wild or lay unused because of the exodus of people from the country<lb/>
'nto the cities.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
1 have now been able to visit one of the forest camps that carry<lb/>
out lumbering and tree-planting, and have observed how far the<lb/>
Ecotopians carry their love of trees. They do no clear-eutting at all,<lb/>
and their forests contain not only mixed ages but also mixed species<lb/>
\ Offices. They argue that the costs of mature-tree cutting are actually<lb/>
V less, per board foot than clear—cuttingibut that even if they weren’t,<lb/>
‘ it Would still be desirable because of less insect damage, less erosion,<lb/>
d more rapid growth of timber. But such arguments‘ are probably<lb/>
nly a sophisticated rationale for attitudes that can almost be called<lb/>
tree'worshipwand I would not be surprised, as I probe further into<lb/>
Ecotopian life, to discover practices that would strengthen this hypoth-<lb/>
esis. (I have seen fierce-looking totem poles outside dwellings, for<lb/>
instance.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Certainly the Ecotopian lumber industry has one practice that must<lb/>
seem barbarian to its customers: the unlucky person or group wishing<lb/>
to build a timber structure must first arrange to go out to a forest<lb/>
camp and do “forest service”-a period of labor during which,<lb/>
according to the theory, they are supposed to contribute enough to<lb/>
the growth of new trees to replace the wood they are about to consume.<lb/>
This system must be enormously wasteful in terms of economic<lb/>
inefficiency and disruption, but that seems to disturb the Ecotopians—<lb/>
at least those who live in and run the lumber campsinot a bit.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
55<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="60" facs="0060.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The actual harvesting of timber is conducted with surprising efli‘<lb/>
ciency, considering the general Iaxness of Ecotopian work habits. There<lb/>
is much goofing off in the forest camps, but when a crew is at work<lb/>
they work faster and more cooperatively than any workmen I haVe<lb/>
ever seen. They cut trees and trim them with a strange, almost religious<lb/>
respect: showing the emotional intensity and care we might use in<lb/>
preparing a ballet.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I was told that in rougher country ox-teams and even horses are '<lb/>
used in lumbering, just as they were in Gokd Rush times. And in<lb/>
many areas a tethered balloon and cables hoist the cut trees and<lb/>
catty them to nearby logging roads. But in the camp I Visited (which<lb/>
may be a Showplace) the basic machine is a large electric tractor<lb/>
with four huge rubber tires. These are said to tear up the forest floor<lb/>
even less than oxen, which have to drag timber out on some kind ,<lb/>
of sled. Though heavy, these tractors are surprisingly maneuverable<lb/>
since both front and rear wheels steer. They have a protected operator’s<lb/>
cabin amidship; on one end there is a prehensiie extension bearing<lb/>
a chain saw large enough to cut through all but the hugest trees, '<lb/>
and mounted so it can cut them oh" only a few inches above ground<lb/>
level. (This is of course pleasant aesthetically, but it is also claimed<lb/>
that it saves some millions of board feet of lumber each year, and<lb/>
helps in management of the forest floor.) This saw can also cut trees .<lb/>
into Ioadable lengths.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
On the other end of the tractor is a huge claw device that can<lb/>
pick up a log, twirl it around lengthwise over the tractor, and carry<lb/>
it to the logging road where big diesel trucks wait to be loaded.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopian foresters claim that this machinery enables them to log<lb/>
safely even in dry weather, since there are no exhausts likely to set<lb/>
fire to undergrowth. It does seem to be true that their methods disturb<lb/>
the forest very little—it continues to look natural and attractive.<lb/>
Several types of trees usually grow in stands together, which is<lb/>
supposed to encourage wildlife and cut the chances of disastrous insect '<lb/>
and fungi invasions. Curiously, a few dead trees are left standing—as<lb/>
homes for insect—gobbling woodpeckersl—and there are occasional<lb/>
forest meadows to provide habitats for deer and other animals. The ,<lb/>
older trees seed young ones naturally, so the foresters generally now<lb/>
only do artificial planting in areas they are trying to reforest. The<lb/>
dense forest canopy keeps the forest floor cool and moist, and pleasant<lb/>
</p>
<p>
56<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="61" facs="0061.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
to: walk in. Although it rained for a few hours during my stay, I<lb/>
noticed that the stream passing near the camp did. not become<lb/>
, muddy,cvidently it is true, as they claim,_ that Ecotopxan lumbering<lb/>
ileaVeS the topsofl intact, cuts down eroswn, and preserves fish. (I<lb/>
didn’t actually see any fish—but then I am the kind of person who<lb/>
: seldom sees fish anywhere.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The lumber camps themselves do not have sawmilis, though they<lb/>
055655 portable devices with Which they can saw rough boards in<lb/>
small quantities for their own needs. The main squaring and sawing<lb/>
_ of timber, and the production of slabs for pulp, takes place at mills<lb/>
located in more open country, which buy logs from the forest camps.<lb/>
The resulting boards are then sold, almost entirely in the county-sized<lb/>
area just around the mill. Lumber sales are solely domestic; Ecotopia<lb/>
'1 ceased lumber export immediately after Independence. It is claimed<lb/>
that, since the US. formerly exported half as much lumber as was<lb/>
sad in housing, much of it from the West, sorne surplus actually<lb/>
existed from the beginning of the new nation. Ecotopian foresters<lb/>
““aI'gue that their policies have, since then, more than doubled their<lb/>
_'er eapita resources of timber. There are, however, no present plans<lb/>
‘0: a resumption ofexport.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
{Interestingly enough, the Ecotopians themselves have a debate<lb/>
mprogress about the huge diesel trucks they use to haul logs. Several<lb/>
. forest workers apologized to me that they are still dependent on these<lb/>
fibisy, smelly, hulking diesels. Yet there are people all over them at<lb/>
the end of the work day, shining them up—one of the few outlets<lb/>
still allowed in this carless society for man’s love of powerful machin—<lb/>
ery. One truck I saw has lost its bumper, and the replacement is<lb/>
3., large, sturdy piece of wood. As they wear out, the trucks will be<lb/>
eliminated in favor of electric vehicles. Meanwhile, people argue hotly<lb/>
over the bumpers—extremist ideologues saying that the bumpers<lb/>
(Which are actually stainless steel, not chrome plate) should all be<lb/>
replaced with wood, and the traditionalists maintaining that the trucks<lb/>
should be treated as museum relics and kept in original condition.<lb/>
The factions seem about equally matched, which means that the<lb/>
'traditionalists have won so far—s'mce a change on such a “drastic”<lb/>
matter is only carried out if there is a virtual consensus.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Our economists would surely find the Ecotopian lumber industry<lb/>
?a labyrinth of contradictions. An observer like myself can come only<lb/>
</p>
<p>
57<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
._- TWA”?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="62" facs="0062.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to general conclusions. Certainly Ecotopians regard trees as being<lb/>
alive in almost a human sense—once I saw a quite ordinary-looking _.<lb/>
young man, not visibly drugged, lean against a large oak and mutter<lb/>
“Brother Tree!” And equally certainly, lumber in Ecotopia is cheap<lb/>
and plentiful, whatever the unorthodox means used to produce it.<lb/>
Wood therefore takes the place that aluminum, bituminous facings,<lb/>
and many other modern materials occupy with us.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
An important by-product of the Ecotopian forestry policies is that<lb/>
extensive areas, too steep 0r rugged to be lumbered without causing<lb/>
erosion, have been assigned wilderness status. There all logging and<lb/>
fire roads have been eradicated. Such areas are now used only fer<lb/>
camping and as wildlife preserves, and a higher risk of forest fire<lb/>
is apparently accepted. It is interesting, by the way, that such Ecotopian<lb/>
forests are uncannily quiet compared to ours, since they have no<lb/>
trail-bikes, all-terrain vehicles, airplanes overhead, nor snowmobiles<lb/>
in the winter. Nor can you get around in them rapidly, since foot<lb/>
trails are the only way to get anywhere.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Has Ecotopian livestock or agricultural production suffered because<lb/>
of the conversion of so much land to forest? Apparently not; vegetables,<lb/>
grains and meat are reasonably cheap, and beef cattle are common<lb/>
features of the landscape, though they are never concentrated in<lb/>
forced—feeding fattening lots, Thus an almost dead occupation, that<lb/>
of cowboy, has come back. And cattle ranches in the Sierra foothills ’<lb/>
have reverted to the old summer practice of driving their stock up .<lb/>
to the high valleys where they pasture on wet mountain meadow<lb/>
grass. Grasslands research is said to be leading to the sowing of more<lb/>
native strains, which are better adapted to the climate and resist the<lb/>
incursion 0f thistles. Pasture irrigation is practiced only in a few areas,<lb/>
and only for milking herds.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
But the true love of the Ecotopians is their forests, which they'<lb/>
tend with so much care and manage in the prescribed stable—state ,<lb/>
manner. There they can claim much success in their campaign to<lb/>
return nature to a natural condition.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 18) Marissa says I am squeamish about violence. Makes fun<lb/>
of American war technology, claims we had to develop it because we<lb/>
</p>
<p>
58<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="63" facs="0063.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
I<lb/>
1':<lb/>
1<lb/>
t<lb/>
S<lb/>
J<lb/>
V<lb/>
B<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
can no longer bear just to bayonet a man—~have to spend $50,000 to<lb/>
avoid guilt, by zapping him fiom the stratosphere. This because last<lb/>
night I expressed dismay at the ritual war games. “Listen, you’ll love<lb/>
it,” she said gaily, “you’re just ripe for it!” With this, a flash of teeth:<lb/>
she can still scare me a little, sometimes is very aware ofher strengthw<lb/>
pIain animal strength. And then great peals of laughter. Phoned to<lb/>
arrange to take me to a war games session not far north of here, which<lb/>
some friends ofhers will be participating in. H er eyes shone with mischief<lb/>
as she set it all up. Before she even hung up the picturephone we were<lb/>
all over each other again. Giggling uncontrollably.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
She finds my dubious confrontations with Ecotopian manners and<lb/>
morals endearingly comic. I am childishly wasteful in her eyes. This<lb/>
morning I had written a few sentences on a page, got disgusted: and<lb/>
tossed it away. She picked it up, frowned. “You’ve only used a little<lb/>
part of this one.” “Well, it didn’t go right, so I wanted a fresh start.”<lb/>
“Why can ’1‘ you make your fresh startfurther down?1t’s you that’s making<lb/>
the start, not the poor paper! Think of the tree it came from.” I tore<lb/>
the sheet up and threw it at her. . . . 0n the other hand, if I lapse into<lb/>
inattention or mere American businesslikeness, she gets furious and<lb/>
accuses me of being detached and inhuman. But sometimes, if] am<lb/>
just lying quietly or thinking or writing, she looks at me as if I am<lb/>
not. ludicrously un-Eeotopian but merely a fellow human being. It is<lb/>
at such times, I notice, that we have had our tenderest love-making.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
»I got up early next morning, to take train back to city and work<lb/>
oh my next story. We bicycled together to the station. When the train<lb/>
warning bell rang I felt surprisingly bereft and blurted out, “Marissa,<lb/>
come with me. ” She hugged me hard and said, “I want to, but I can ’2‘.<lb/>
I’ll come tomorrow though. About sundown.” The train swept in, its<lb/>
air blast pushing us back. I got in and we stared at each other through<lb/>
the big windows until the train pulled away. H er grave, intense expression<lb/>
is still in my mind as I sit trying to finish my report on Ecotopian<lb/>
population policy. Tomorrow night she’ll be here, in my room. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It feels good to be back at the Cove. I’m beginning to know the<lb/>
people here, and feel accepted as a colleague and a person, despite being<lb/>
an American. Bert is formidably generous, like most Ecotopians, really<lb/>
brotherly—but without the competitiveness that can be mixed with.<lb/>
Spends much time cluing me in on things here, introduces me to key<lb/>
people, lends me shirts, gave me a pen that I admired. Maybe it is<lb/>
</p>
<p>
59<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
“\Y‘V’A‘Vvfi‘ w ws-wu-w M<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘(1Kvii‘3fi’<lb/>
</p>
<p>
w;<lb/>
</p>
<p>
«,m' »<lb/>
</p>
<p>
m. x1525 mm.‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
m‘z'ria‘mr- e wt».-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
WI ~wia-121153FXQ371Q'gxzkéa. 4 \x<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
$fi5fié’éfifiim<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="64" facs="0064.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
their economy of biological abundance that gives them this generosity? ”<lb/>
He has been reading my dispatches, jokes about putting an expose<lb/>
</p>
<p>
in the Times titled “Weston’s Progress, ” but thinks I am trying seriously<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to overcome my ‘jprejudices.” He finds the lumber story the best yet, '<lb/>
says teasingly that Marissa must have inspired me a little. (I have told .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
him about our encounter, though not in any detail.) Also likes the story<lb/>
</p>
<p>
on Alviso. “But the sports story was terrible. You’d better keep away '<lb/>
</p>
<p>
from that kind of thing. #Are you really going to try to handle the<lb/>
ritual war games?” I told him that Marissa had already arranged far<lb/>
me to see one, in a couple of days. He looked at me uncertainly. “I<lb/>
hope it goes all right,” he said. “It’s about the trickiest story you’ll<lb/>
</p>
<p>
face here, I imagine. I might be able to help a little on it, if you want, '<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I ’d be glad to look over the draft, give you a little background maybe.” ,<lb/>
“Sure you can see it,” I replied, “but I ’11 write it the way I write<lb/>
it. ”<lb/>
We shook hands on that, Ecotopian fashion.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(Later) Unpleasant night visit fiom the Ecotopian counterwintelligence,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
who have somehow heard about my encounter with the underground. ~-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(Or have I been tailed?) “Of course,” they said, “you are perfectly free<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to talk with anyone at all while you are in Ecotopia. But you shouldn’t :<lb/>
</p>
<p>
think we are naive about your government’s clandestine operations. It<lb/>
</p>
<p>
would be wise of you to forget to deliver that message in Washington.” L<lb/>
</p>
<p>
w<lb/>
g<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“And if I don’t forget?” “It will just make more trouble for your 1<lb/>
friends here.” “T hey’re not my friends.” “Then why transmit their<lb/>
message?” “I don’t like being intimidated.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
They smiled. “A little country like ours ‘intimidating’ a big one like<lb/>
yours? Don’t be absurd.” There was a pause. I wondered how much<lb/>
they knew of what I had said. “Weston, you are not a fool. We also<lb/>
know you are not a spy. But would you expect somebody who acts<lb/>
like a spy to be received in the President’s ofice?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Okay,” I replied. “You’ve made your point. No message. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A sweaty experiencewl’ll have to watch my step. These Ecotopians.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
are not so easy—going as they look. And to tell the truth it relieves<lb/>
</p>
<p>
my mind—didn’t much like those people. I ’ve burned the list of names<lb/>
and contact points.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
60<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="65" facs="0065.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
DECLINE WITHOUT FALL? THE<lb/>
:EcoTOPIAN POPULATION CHALLENGE<lb/>
</p>
<p>
, San Francisco, May 20. Ecotopia’s population is slowly declining, and<lb/>
. has done so for almost 15 years. This startling factw—which by itself<lb/>
‘ would set Ecotopia apart from the US. and all other nations except<lb/>
Japan;has led to speculation that rampant abortion and even perhaps<lb/>
infanticide may be practiced here. However, I have now investigated<lb/>
sufficiently to report that Ecotopia’s decline in population has been<lb/>
achieved through humane measures.<lb/>
_ We tend to forget that even before Independence the rate of<lb/>
population growth in the area that became Ecotopia had slowed, as<lb/>
it had in most of the rest of the US. This was due, according to<lb/>
: American demographers, partly to the persistent inflation-recession,<lb/>
partly to the relaxation of abortion laws, and perhaps most of all<lb/>
- to increased recognition that additional children, in a highly advanced<lb/>
mdustrial society, could be more of a burden than an advantage to<lb/>
</p>
<p>
d. : a'family~the reverse of the situation in agricultural or less advanced<lb/>
ee acieties. In addition, the horrible “Green Revolution” famines, in<lb/>
1’: whichtens of millions perished in Pakistan, India, Bangladesh, and<lb/>
It ’ : Egypt, had provided new and grim lessons in the dangers of overpopu-<lb/>
z.” ation.<lb/>
ur ” After secession, the Ecotopians adopted a formal national goal of<lb/>
air ‘ al'declim'ng population—though only after long and bitter debate. It<lb/>
was widely agreed that some decline was needed, to lessen pressure<lb/>
ke \ oh resources and other species and to improve the comfort and amenity<lb/>
ch " of life. But opinions difi‘ered widely on exactly how a decline could<lb/>
v50 . be achieved, and how far it should go. Deep fears of national extinction<lb/>
315 ' gave heavy ammunition against advocates of population decline, and<lb/>
__ economists warned of fiscal dislocations.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Finally, a three-stage program was adopted. The first stage, begun<lb/>
ms unmediately, was a massive educational and medical campaign aimed<lb/>
m J at providing absolutely all women with knowledge of the various<lb/>
m l biIth-control devices. Abortion upon demand was legalized; its cost<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
gsoon became very low, and it was practiced in local clinics as well<lb/>
as hospitals. As far as statistics could reveal in such a short period,<lb/>
this program reduced the number of births to a few tenths of a percent<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="66" facs="0066.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
beiow the number of deaths—alrnost enough to counterbalance the<lb/>
still growing longevity. (Ironicaliy, an unusual number of pregnancies<lb/>
were initiated during the exciting months when Independence was<lb/>
achieved!)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The second stage, more gradual in effect, was linked to the radical<lb/>
decentralization of the country’s economic life, and was thus more '<lb/>
political in nature. During this period the Ecotopians largely disman-<lb/>
tled their national tax and spending system, and local communities<lb/>
regained control over all basic life systems. This enabled people to<lb/>
defiberately think about how they now wished to arrange their<lb/>
collective lives, and what this meant for population levels and distribu-<lb/>
tion. With better conditions in the countryside, the great concentrations<lb/>
of people in San Francisco, Oakland, Portland,, Seattle, and even the<lb/>
smaller metropolitan areas began to disperse somewhat. New minici~<lb/>
ties grew up in favorable locations, with their own linkage necklaces<lb/>
0ftransit1ines: Napa, on its winding, Seine-like river, at last pollution— '<lb/>
free; Carquirtez~Martinez, stretching out along rolling hills dropping<lb/>
down to the Strait; and others throughout the country. Some old 7<lb/>
city residential areas were abandoned and razed, and the land turned<lb/>
into parks or reforested. Some rural towns, like Placerville, Which<lb/>
had been in the 10-20,000 people range, gained sateflite minicities<lb/>
that would in a decade bring them to a total of 40-50,000~whieh<lb/>
was felt to be about ideal for an urban constellation.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Decentralization aflected every aspect of life. Medical services were<lb/>
dispersed; the claim is that instead of massive hospitals in the city<lb/>
centers, beseiged by huge lines of waiting patients, there were small<lb/>
hospitals and clinics everywhere, and a neighborhood-oriented system<lb/>
of medicai aides. Schools were broken up and organized on a novel<lb/>
teacher—controlled basis. Agricultural, fishery, and forestry enterprises<lb/>
were also reorganized and decentralized. Large factory-farms were<lb/>
broken up through a strict enforcement of irrigation acreage regula-<lb/>
tions which had been ignored before Independence, and commune<lb/>
and extended-famiiy farms were encouraged.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
All these changes, according to my informants, meant notable<lb/>
readjustments in problems of crowding, and the predictions of some V<lb/>
anti—decline arguments were indeed borne out: there didn’t seem to<lb/>
</p>
<p>
be as many too many people as before!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
62<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="67" facs="0067.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
*' Thus, the pressures for further population control measures waned.<lb/>
Nonetheless, some ten years ago the statistics showed that population<lb/>
had indeed taken its first actual drop—by about 17,000 people for<lb/>
Ecotopia as a whole. This fact was not greeted by the hysteria that<lb/>
had been widely predicted, and people probably took grim satisfaction<lb/>
from the news that American society, with its widely publicized<lb/>
overpopulation, had grown by another three million during the same<lb/>
period.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The third stage, if we can call it that, was one of watchful waiting,<lb/>
’ which has continued to the present. Abortion costs have fallen further,<lb/>
and the number per year has stabilized. The use of contraceptive<lb/>
devices now seems universal. (They are all, incidentally, female-con—<lb/>
’ trolled; there is no “male pill” here.) Population has tended to drop<lb/>
I gently at a rate of around 65,000 per year, so that the original Ecotopian<lb/>
Population of some 15 million has now declined to about 14 million.<lb/>
it is argued by some extremists that the declining population provides<lb/>
,a substantial annual surpius per capita and helps account for the<lb/>
vitality of Ecotopian economic life. Though the decline undoubtedly<lb/>
”;ififluences the confident political and economic atmosphere, I remain<lb/>
liskeptical of direct efi‘ects—the decline, after all, is only 3% per year.<lb/>
” What will happen to Ecotopian population levels in the future?<lb/>
:Most people here foresee a continued slow decline. They consider<lb/>
' that a more rapid drop might endanger the nation, making it more<lb/>
Vulnerable to attack by the United States—which is still wider feared<lb/>
to‘ be desirous of recapturing its “lost territories.” On the other hand,<lb/>
seine people hope that American population will itself soon begin<lb/>
to declinew—and if that happens, many Ecotopians are prepared to<lb/>
accept an indefinite drop in their own numbers. In fact, some radical<lb/>
Survivah'st Paity thinkers beiieve that a proper population size would<lb/>
be the number of Indians who inhabited the tem‘tory before the<lb/>
Spaniards and Americans came—something less than a million for<lb/>
the whole country, living entirely in thinly scattered bands! Most<lb/>
Ecotopians, however, contend that the problem is no longer numbers<lb/>
as such. They place their faith for improvement of living conditions<lb/>
in the further reorganization of their cities into constellations of<lb/>
minjcities, and in a continued dispersion into the countryside. In<lb/>
connection with this, the radicals are currently mounting a campaign<lb/>
to make train travel entirely free: this, they argue, could make country<lb/>
</p>
<p>
63<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
)3<lb/>
3}<lb/>
5%<lb/>
‘<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="68" facs="0068.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
living more agreeable to people who find city pleasures and facilities .<lb/>
important, since they could then visit the cities virtually whenever<lb/>
they wished.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Americans are, of course, accustomed to believe that only economic<lb/>
and population growth can lead to improvement in life. The Ecotopian<lb/>
experiments, whatever their apparent achievements, have a long way<lb/>
to go in order to change this basic conviction. Ecotopian circumstances<lb/>
have been, after all, unusually favorable compared to those in the<lb/>
rest of the U.S.; the Ecotopians’ special advantages in fertile agricul.<lb/>
tural land, a backlog of buildings suitable for housing, and a more<lb/>
self-reliant Western tradition, have all led them to focus on surpluses,<lb/>
not shortages~which they have encountered (or perhaps brought<lb/>
about) only in energy and metals.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Americans would find Ecotopian population policies alarming in<lb/>
‘ that, along with Ecotopia’s decline in population, the nuclear family<lb/>
as we know it is rapidly disappearing. Ecotopians still speak of<lb/>
“families,” but they mean by that term a group of between five and<lb/>
20 people, some of them actually related and some not, who live<lb/>
together. In many such families not only eating and household duties ‘<lb/>
' are shared, but also the raising of children—in which men and women<lb/>
seem to participate equally as far as time spent is concerned, but<lb/>
within a strange power context. Ecotopian life is strikingly equalitarian<lb/>
in general~women hold responsible jobs, receive equal pay, and of:<lb/>
course they also control the Survivalist Party. The fact that they also '<lb/>
exercise absolute control over their own bodies means that they openly<lb/>
exert a power which in other societies is covert or nonexistent: the<lb/>
right to select the fathers of their children. “No Ecotopian woman<lb/>
ever bears a child by a man she has not freely chosen,” I was told<lb/>
sternly. And in the nurturing of children while they are under two, '<lb/>
women continue this dominance; men participate extensively in<lb/>
the care and upbringing of the very young, but in cases of conflict<lb/>
the mothers have the final say, and mince no words about it. The<lb/>
fathers, odd though it appears to me, acquiesce in this situation as<lb/>
if it was perfectly natural; they evidently feel that their time of greater<lb/>
influence on the young will come later, and that that is the way it,<lb/>
should be.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It’s diflicult for an outsider to determine the bonds that hold the<lb/>
communal groups together, but children may be a key factor, though<lb/>
</p>
<p>
64<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="69" facs="0069.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
mHC/lulg—yy-I<lb/>
</p>
<p>
”Fwy.—<lb/>
</p>
<p>
H-p-I(u‘<~Vl-nt-'Hy-vz<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
economic necessity clearly plays an important part also. In one such<lb/>
family I visited, I was reminded of the earlier American practice of<lb/>
having godparentsw-related or unrelated persons who assume a certain<lb/>
responsibility for children, take a special interest in them, and help<lb/>
to enrich their lives—or give them a refuge from their parents!<lb/>
Ecotopian children normally live surrounded by informal “godpar-<lb/>
ants,” and a cheen'er bunch of kids I have never seen. A willingness<lb/>
to help nuIture children may well be the crucial qualification for<lb/>
membership in one of these “families.” But there are also “families”<lb/>
with no children at all. These have an entirely different atmosphere,<lb/>
tend to be larger, and are evidently more transient. Some are profes-<lb/>
sionally oriented—journalist groups, musicians, scientists, craftspeople,<lb/>
01- People concerned with an enterprise like a school or factory. Their<lb/>
members are mostly younger, whereas the families with children have<lb/>
members who span a wide range of ages. (It is rare for Ecotopian<lb/>
old people to live alone, as so many of ours do; they mostly live<lb/>
in the families, where they play an important role in child care and<lb/>
eariy education.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Americans are familiar with rumors of sexuai depravity in Ecotopia,<lb/>
but I must report that the sexual practices of these families seem<lb/>
about as stable as ours. Generally there are more or less permanent<lb/>
</p>
<p>
heterosexual couples involved—though both male and female homo- ‘<lb/>
sexual couples also exist, and I gather that same-sex relationships E<lb/>
pose less ofa problem psychologically than they do with us. Monogamy<lb/>
is not an ofiicially proclaimed value, but the couples are generally<lb/>
monogamous (except for four holidays each year, at the solstices and i<lb/>
</p>
<p>
equinoxes, When sexual promiscuity is widespread.) Single members<lb/>
of the families often take up with lovers from outside, and sometimes<lb/>
this results in the addition or subtraction of a family member. There<lb/>
seems to be a continual slow shifting of membership, probably<lb/>
something like What must have happened with our “extended families”<lb/>
a few generations back.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I have made extensive inquiries about Ecotopian attitudes on the<lb/>
kind of eugenic population planning which has been discussed so<lb/>
passiOHately in the U.S.—either the aiding of natural selection by<lb/>
deliberate breeding, or farther-out possibilities such as cloning,<lb/>
whereby actual genetic duplicates of superior individuals might be<lb/>
produced, or even modification of gene structures to produce a race<lb/>
</p>
<p>
65<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
it<lb/>
</p>
<p>
135i nxx‘éxwmzsazsgk}:<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="70" facs="0070.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
0f superman. However, no Ecotopian scientist or citizen has been<lb/>
willing to discuss such matters, which they View with great distaste.<lb/>
Nor, when I have ventured the hypothesis that man may be only<lb/>
a “missing link” between the apes and a later, superior humanity,<lb/>
have Iobtained any response except condescending incredulity. Their<lb/>
reluctance to enter into such speculations may show the extent to<lb/>
which Ecotopians have blinded themselves to the exciting possibiiities ‘<lb/>
offered by modern scientific advances. But it also shows that they<lb/>
are more willing than we to live With the biological constitutions we<lb/>
{ now possess.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 2]) Everybody suddenly glueH to TV sets. Ecotopian monitor<lb/>
systems, which seem to be extremely sophisticated for both nuclear and '<lb/>
general pollution, have detected a sudden increase in the radiation level 5<lb/>
ofair blowing in from the Pacific. Cause still unknown. Much specula-<lb/>
tion, on the streets and in media: Chinese nuclear blast gone out of<lb/>
control? Accident in a Japanese fission plant? Conflict 0n the Chinese~<lb/>
Russian border? Nuclear submarine accident oflshore? People anxious, ,<lb/>
depressed, angry. They turn in a crisis to the TV; which they watch '-<lb/>
z'n tense groups, but not in the passive, dependent fashion ofAmericans— .<lb/>
they actually shout at it, and the switchboards are flooded with picture-<lb/>
phone callers. Vera Allwen and her foreign minister were obliged to:<lb/>
appear within an hour and on the defensive, answering angry citizens ,<lb/>
who put pointed, diflicult questions about why their government can’t ><lb/>
do anything. (A lso hotheads who think commando teams should be sent<lb/>
to disable plants in Japan, China, Siberia which emit wastes into air I,<lb/>
or sea!) Allwen says she is preparing a stifl protest to whoever turns<lb/>
out to be responsible. Meanwhile Ecotopian ships and agents are on ‘<lb/>
a crash program to locate the pollution source. So far dead silence<lb/>
from the US. wire services, which are received in Vancouver and relayed<lb/>
here, though our satellite reconnaissance must have spotted what hap- '<lb/>
pened.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
T here is a widespread tendency to blame technological disasters on<lb/>
Americans, so I haven’t been made to feel terribly welcome in the last ?<lb/>
few hours. Groups I have been with, watching Allwen and other national _<lb/>
politicos, seem to think the Ecotopian government is too tolerant of V<lb/>
</p>
<p>
66<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="71" facs="0071.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ollution coming in from outside. Talk about “reparations” 0n TV—ap-<lb/>
arentl)’ some internationalpollution-fine system is really bein g proposed.<lb/>
The Japanese will love that.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Have been watching all this mostly from Franklin’s Cove, where I<lb/>
moved today, at their invitation (and urged by Marissa, who doesn’t<lb/>
like hotels at all). “You’re a journalist, aren’t you?” they said; “Well<lb/>
then, you ought to live with us!” A welcome thought, and I guess I<lb/>
can find the time for their cooking and cleaning work crews. My little<lb/>
room’s on the top floor; dormer window looks out toward Alcatraz—a<lb/>
green hump looming out of the Bay, with its cheerful orange lighthouse<lb/>
tower. Hard to believe such a peaceful grassy island once housed our<lb/>
worst desperadoes, and was covered with concrete and steel.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(Later) Have found the work crew experience a little unnerving. First<lb/>
time Ifoined one it was for after—dinner clean-up. I pitched in, American-<lb/>
style, scurrying around carrying dishes to the sink area. After a few<lb/>
moments I realized people had stopped their general chatter and were<lb/>
staring at me. “.My God, Will,” said Lorna, “whatever are you doing,<lb/>
' running a race?” Everybody else laughed.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I blushed, or felt like it. “What do you mean?” “Well, you’re hauling<lb/>
dishes like you were being paid by the dish. Very un—Ecotopian!” I<lb/>
looked around, suddenly conscious that everyone else had been working<lb/>
very leisurely by comparison: Lorna and Brit had developed a sort of<lb/>
game in which they took turns washing and giving each other little<lb/>
back rubs. Bert was meanwhile telling about a funny encounter he had<lb/>
had that day with a reader who threatened to beat him up. And Red<lb/>
was drinking beer and not doing much of anything; occasionally, when<lb/>
his attention fell on a dirty pot or something, he would bring it over<lb/>
to the sink.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Don’t you want to get it done with?” I replied defensively. “When<lb/>
I have a job to do 1 like to get it over with. What’s wrong with a<lb/>
little efi‘iciency?” “A little goes a long way, Will,” Lorna said. “Our<lb/>
point of view is that if something’s worth doing, it ought to be done<lb/>
in a way that’s enjoyable—otherwise it can’t really be worth doing. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Then how does anything get done?” I asked, exasperatedly. “You<lb/>
don’t mean to tell me washing dishes is exactly fun?” “It is the way<lb/>
we do it,” said Bert. “Almost anything can be, if you keep your eye<lb/>
on the process and not on the goal. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
67<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="72" facs="0072.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try it.” So I goofed off in the Ecotopian<lb/>
manner—drank a little beer, tossed some knives and forks into the Sink,<lb/>
told a joke I’d heard that day, then wiped a few tables. But it was<lb/>
hard to keep my pace down, and harder still to keep in good touch<lb/>
with the other people—I’d focus on the task, and blot them out. But<lb/>
they noticed this, and invented a game around it. “Hey Will!” they’d<lb/>
yell, “we’re here!” And somebody would tickle me, or give me a pat.<lb/>
They’ll retrain me yet.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 23) Marissa’s got positively hypnotic powers: when she’s here<lb/>
I lose track of time, obligations, my American preconceptions. S he exists<lb/>
</p>
<p>
in a contagious state of immediate consciousness. Somewhere far back<lb/>
in her head must be the forest camp, her responsibilities there, her plans<lb/>
to return tomorrow. But she seems to be able to turn them absolutely<lb/>
of and just be. She seems capable of anything—she’s the freest and<lb/>
least anxious person I’ve ever known. T o the extent I can get in on<lb/>
this, I begin to feel high and a little strange, as if I was on some kind<lb/>
ofdrug. I keep thinking she is like a wild animal: ofcourse she responds<lb/>
to the influences and constraints of the other animals around (me<lb/>
included) but these are not inside her head, somehow. She’s highly<lb/>
unpredictable, moody, changeable, yet wherever she is, she’s always right<lb/>
there, with me or whoever it is. (I don’t know how to deal with the<lb/>
jealousy I feel when she turns her attention, like a beautiful searchlight<lb/>
beam, on somebody else. But I bear it.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Not that we lie around in bed all the time—have actually been fairly<lb/>
busy, wandering around to visit people she knows, taking expeditions<lb/>
so she can show me her favorite San Francisco places, eating at peculiar<lb/>
little restaurants, laughing, sometimes just sitting and watching people<lb/>
or birds or even trees. She has special trees all over the place, and<lb/>
they’re really important to her. (Thinks I should write a column on<lb/>
the trees of Ecotopia!) She studies their characters, revisits them to<lb/>
see how they’ve grown and changed, likes to climb in some of them<lb/>
(she’s agile and sure-footed), is immensely happy if they’re thriving and<lb/>
cast down if they’re not. Even talks to themflor rather matters, since<lb/>
she knows I think it’s kind of crazy.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I realize I am growing terribly attached to her. What seemed at the<lb/>
beginning like a Iark, the usual brief liaison of a travelling man, has<lb/>
</p>
<p>
68<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="73" facs="0073.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
, quickly gotten terribly serious. Marissa is clearly a powerful and<lb/>
remarkable person: sees through my bullshit, but sees something valuable<lb/>
</p>
<p>
under it. By comparison I look back at Pat as almost an arttficial<lb/>
' person, vapid and rigid and horribly, horribly controlled. Even Francine,<lb/>
my beloved nutty Francine, with whom I’ve had such giggles and<lb/>
pleasures, begins to seem lightweight. With Marissa I get into feelings<lb/>
I never knew were there: a deep, overwhelming, scary sharing of our<lb/>
whole beings, as well as our bodies. T here’s no denyin g it—we’re beginning<lb/>
to love each other. And despite her free ways, and her still living with<lb/>
Everett at the camp, she has some fierce possessive streak for me—gets<lb/>
angry whenever my return comes up.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Went sailing on the Bay yesterday, with a couple of people from<lb/>
the Cave. Marissa invited her brother Ben. Older brother; turns out<lb/>
to be surly and viciously antiuAmerican. As soon as we had pushed<lb/>
, off he came right at me with arguments and charges. I tried to parry<lb/>
politely but it didn’t help. It’s early in the season and the wind doesn’t<lb/>
</p>
<p>
come up strongly yet, so we veered around trying to set the sails for<lb/>
</p>
<p>
a while. Then everybody lay down on the foredeck, getting some sun<lb/>
</p>
<p>
, ' and watching the water go by. I went aft to sit with Ben, and offered<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
' to take the tiller. He scowled and said abruptly, in a low voice, “What<lb/>
f the hell are you messing around with my sister for? Goddamn Americans<lb/>
can’t keep their hands of anything!” I answered mildly, “We like each<lb/>
</p>
<p>
other—what’s wrong with that?” “You know what’s wrong with it, you<lb/>
</p>
<p>
stupid bastardw—you’re really getting to her, and then you’re going to<lb/>
' ' take ojf” “I ’ve never concealed my intentions from anybody, Ben. ” He<lb/>
_, looked at me. “I ought to just push you overboard, and not turn back! ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
He made a sudden movement with his hands. I grabbed the rail, thinking<lb/>
.he might really try something. He grinned wickedly. “You creep!” I<lb/>
</p>
<p>
said. “What do you mean, trying to run your sister’s life? Making threats?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
T hink you’re the Mafia or something?” At this the others, hearing us,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
sat up and came back aft. Ben and I exchanged mean looks. “We<lb/>
were just having a little argument,” he said. I got up and sat beside<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Marissa on the other side of the cockpit. She looked at me, then at<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ben. “I ’1] tell you about it later,” I said. “So will I,” Ben shot back.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We sailed on, over to an abandoned whaling station on the east side<lb/>
of the Bay, and put in there for a while. It’s a museum now, with<lb/>
chillin g exhibits about whaling and the extinction ofmammals generally.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
69<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="74" facs="0074.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ben lost no chance to point out how Americans and their technology<lb/>
had been in the forefront of this tragic and irreversible process. And<lb/>
indeed I hadn’t realized how far it has gone: it is a horrible story.<lb/>
Our role in it was heavy, and thousands of marvelous creatures that<lb/>
</p>
<p>
once inhabited this earth have now vanished from the universe forever.<lb/>
We have gobbled them up in our relentless increase. There are now<lb/>
</p>
<p>
40 times more weight ofhumans 0n the earth than of all the wild mammals<lb/>
together!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Marissa mostly stared at the displays of whale life (Ecotopians have<lb/>
incredible wildlife photographersw—they must literally live with the species<lb/>
they are filmingAthough as far as I can tell Ecotopians don’t take<lb/>
ordinary snapshots of our quick-freeze—the-moment type.) It turns out<lb/>
she has swum with dolphins, but won’t say much about the experience<lb/>
except that it was enormously exciting and quite scary.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
0n the way back we passed shrimp boats and other small fishing<lb/>
craftwapparently the Bay, once an open cess-pool, has again become<lb/>
the fertile habitat which estuaries naturally are (thus my ardent infor-<lb/>
mant). Was proudly told how many metric tons of tiny, succulent Bay<lb/>
shrimp are consumed and shipped out daily; even clams, whose shells<lb/>
the local Indians once piled into huge refuse mounds, have returned<lb/>
to the mudflats.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Windblawn, a little sunstruck, a little drunk, we returned at dusk<lb/>
to the Cove and to bed. “Ben is really a good brother to have, but<lb/>
I’ve never been able to get him to know where to stop,” Marissa said<lb/>
apologetically. (I had noticed her lecturing him on the dock as we were<lb/>
stowing the boat’s gear away.) “He cares about me a lot, even if I’ve<lb/>
never gotten him to understand me. He never likes to see me taking<lb/>
risks. It’s a relic of the family past, I guesswwhen women supposedly<lb/>
had no independence at all. But without taking risks, I wouldn’t feel<lb/>
I was alive.” She smiled at me, with a sweet but inscrutable compan-<lb/>
ionableness, and laid down in my arms.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
What can I possibly mean to this incredible woman? She evades my<lb/>
questions about what she thinks of me. When she is back at the lumber<lb/>
camp, she evidently sleeps and lives with Everett as before; yet little<lb/>
by little, she spends more of her free time with me. Yet she makes<lb/>
goodhumored fun of me, correcting my ecological mistakes (like wasting<lb/>
wash water or electricity) as if she was the highly advanced person and<lb/>
I a kind of bumpkin, not yet fully acclimated to civilized life.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
70<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="75" facs="0075.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Sometimes, when I say something about how Ecotopians, or she herselfl<lb/>
appear to me, she becomes very quiet and attentive. The other night<lb/>
I mentioned their way of holding eye contact for what seems to me<lb/>
excessively long times, and how this stirred up feelings it is hard for<lb/>
me to handle. “What feelings?” she asked. "Nervousness, a desire for<lb/>
relief, to look away for a while.” “And ifyou withstand the nervousness<lb/>
and go on looking?” (All this, of course, with her great dark eyes intent<lb/>
upon mine.) “Then I guess tenderness, and a desire to touch. ~It makes<lb/>
me afraid I ’ll cry. ” “You strange personmof course you can 619}! ” She<lb/>
gave me a long, strong hug.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I had to explain. “Not in our country! Maybe here you can teach<lb/>
me, though. I don’t have to be so guarded here, with you.” “All right,”<lb/>
she said, a faint puzzlement in her eyes. Can I be, for her, some kind<lb/>
of Mysterious Stranger—exotic in spite of myself?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
SAVAGERY RESTOREDI ECOTOPIA’S<lb/>
DARK SIDE<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Marshali-by-the-Bay, May 24. After much negotiation, I have now<lb/>
been permitted to observe that monstrous custom which has inspired<lb/>
_ so much horror toward Ecotopia among Civilized nations: the Ritual<lb/>
V War Games. Yesterday I became, so far as I know, the first American<lb/>
ever to witness this chilling spectacle. My companions and I rose<lb/>
before dawn and took a train north from San Francisco to the town<lb/>
of Marshall. Then a walk of 20 minutes (passing two of the small,<lb/>
home-made shrines that dot the Ecotopian landscape) brought us to<lb/>
</p>
<p>
’ . a hill overlooking a rolling, open piece of country with a creek flowing<lb/>
</p>
<p>
through it down to the marshy edge of the water.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
When we got there, preparations for the ritual were well under way.<lb/>
Two bands of young men had gathered, one on each side of the<lb/>
creek. Perhaps 25 were on each side. Each group had built a fire,<lb/>
and prepared some kind of drink in a large cauldronmapparently<lb/>
a stimulant t0 anesthetize themselves against the terrors to come. Each<lb/>
man (they ranged from about 16 to 30) had a large, dangerous spear,<lb/>
with a point of sharpened black stone. And each man was painting<lb/>
himself with colors, in primitive, fierce designs.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
71<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="76" facs="0076.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
After a time, when several hundred spectators had gathered, a signal<lb/>
was given on a large gong. At this, the spectators became tense and<lb/>
silent. The “warriors” deployed along both banks of the creek, taking<lb/>
up positions about a spear—length apart. One group, seeming more<lb/>
aggressive, began a war chant that sounded quite blood-thirsty, though<lb/>
also perhaps a bit reminiscent of our athletic cheers. When the other<lb/>
side seemed to hesitate and back 011” from the creek, the aggressive<lb/>
group crossed it, brandishing their spears, and began a series of rushes<lb/>
up the other side.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The defenders, however, could not be panicked.Whenever a number<lb/>
of attackers pressed hard against one of their men, his neighbors<lb/>
gathered to his defense, shouting and bringing their spears to bear;<lb/>
and this flexible, fluid, shifting pattern of offense and defense seemed<lb/>
to prevail all along the line. Occasionally a group would gather and<lb/>
rush at the opponents’ line. But this rush would soon be countered,<lb/>
though often at the cost of very close calls With the sharp obsidian<lb/>
blades.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This went on, with much shouting and the crowd growing increas-<lb/>
ingly excited, for perhaps half an hour—the warriors returning occa-<lb/>
sionally to their cauldrons for refreshment. Then suddenly a scream<lb/>
went up from one end of the line. My attention had been elsewhere,<lb/>
so I did not actually see the fatal blow, but others later told me<lb/>
a warrior had slipped on the grass during one of the rushes, and<lb/>
an opponent had seized the chance and managed to run a spear entirely<lb/>
through his shoulder.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
At this, all hostilities miraculously ceased. The two tribes retreated<lb/>
to their original positions. Partisans of the “winning” side appeared<lb/>
joyful, almost ecstatic, slapping and hugging each other; the losers’<lb/>
partisans were downcast. Doctors appeared from among the onlookers,<lb/>
and began attending to the wounded man. There was a lot of blood<lb/>
on the grass, but from comments around me I gathered that the victim<lb/>
was not in grave medical danger despite his nasty wound.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The victors now began a dance of celebration. Their partisans came<lb/>
down the hill to join them. Musicians struck up, and dancing began.<lb/>
The warriors shared their cauldron with all, in an atmosphere of excited<lb/>
jubilation. Some of the leading warriors on the winning side went<lb/>
off With women into the bushes. On the losing side there appeared<lb/>
</p>
<p>
72<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="77" facs="0077.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to be a good deal of lamentation, crying, and writhing around. After<lb/>
a time the fires were stoked up again, food was brought out, and<lb/>
a feast began to take shape. This was held at the camp of the winners;<lb/>
they magnanimously offered to feed the defeated sidewwho accepted<lb/>
deferentially.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I learned that an ambulance which had been standing by would<lb/>
shortly carry away the wounded man (now neatly bandaged up) so<lb/>
1 went over to speak to him. They had laid him out on a kind of<lb/>
stretcher made of red cloth with a white cross on it. His body was<lb/>
arranged in a startlingly crucifix—Iike way, with straps on wrists and<lb/>
ankles. Several women leaned over the stretcher, moaning and from<lb/>
time to time wiping his forehead with a damp rag.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, how you have suffered!” cried one. “I have done a man’s<lb/>
thing,” he replied, in a rather rote tone. “Your poor body has been<lb/>
</p>
<p>
/' hurt, you might have died!” the women said. “Do not think of me,<lb/>
think of our family: I bear wounds for them.” “We all suffer!”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
At this, the young man looked at them in an almost pitying way.<lb/>
“It is finished,” he said quietly, and closed his eyes. From the way<lb/>
he spoke, I thought for a moment that the doctors had been mistaken,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
.. and he was dying. But apparently it was just a signal for the women<lb/>
V to leave him—for after they did, he opened his eyes again and looked<lb/>
‘ around in perfectly cheery spirits.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I seized the opportunity and went up to him. “How do you feel?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“I feel like a man,” he said, relapsing into his former rote manner.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Once more I have survived.” “Can you tell me what the fighting<lb/>
1' was about?” “It was us against them, of course, to see who would<lb/>
" win.” “No other reason?”<lb/>
He gave me a curious look. “It also is to test ourselves‘don’t you<lb/>
, understand how good it feels to be frightened, and come through?”<lb/>
“Would you do it all over again?” “Sure. We will do it again, probably<lb/>
’ on the second full moon from now. —Are you a stranger?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“I’m an American newspaper reporter,” I said, “writing articles for<lb/>
my paper. Can I take your picture?” I pulled out my camera, expecting<lb/>
no objection, but the young man replied “NO! Absolutely not! Have<lb/>
you no decency?” At this a group of men nearby turned toward us<lb/>
in a menacing way.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
. “Excuse me,” I said, realizing I had made a serious blunder. I put<lb/>
V the camera away quickly. (Later I learned that Ecotopians think<lb/>
</p>
<p>
73<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="78" facs="0078.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
sphotography has a dark- -magic side, as a way of trying to freeze time~t0<lb/>
Echeat biology and defy change and death, so it would be especially<lb/>
:out of place at such a time.) The Ecotopians, however, did not leave<lb/>
it at that. One of the older men asked me to come and sit beside<lb/>
him. He offered me a meat-stulTed pastry, and proceeded to lecture ,<lb/>
me on the meaning of the war games I had been witnessing. ‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopians, he began, had always regarded anthropology as a field<lb/>
with great practical importance. After Independence they had begun<lb/>
to experiment in adapting anthropological hypotheses to real life. It<lb/>
was only over a great deal of resistance that a radical idea such as ..<lb/>
ritual warfare had become legally practicable, even with the ingenuity v<lb/>
of the best lawyers. But its advocates had persisted, convinced as<lb/>
they were that it was essential to develop some kind of open civic<lb/>
expression for the physical competitiveness that seemed to be inherent v<lb/>
in man’s biological programming—and otherwise came out in perverse<lb/>
forms, like war.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
They hoped that Ecotopians would not be forced to fight any actual<lb/>
wars, since they knew the utter destruction that would result. On<lb/>
the other hand, it seemed indisputable that man was not a creature<lb/>
built for a totally and routinely peaceful life. Young men, especially,<lb/>
needed a chance to combat “the others,” to charge and flee, to test<lb/>
their comradeship, to put their beautiful resources of speed and<lb/>
strength to use, to let their adrenalin flow, to be brave and to be<lb/>
fearful. “In America,” my companion pointed out with a smug grin,<lb/>
“you accomplish some of the same objectives with your wars and<lb/>
your automobiles. They let you be competitive and aggressive and<lb/>
allowed to risk smashing each other. Of course, you also have<lb/>
professional football. But it is only a spectator sportwand besides,<lb/>
the players do not possess lethal weapons. Though I admit we took<lb/>
</p>
<p>
some ideas from it.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
He went on to argue that Ecotopian ritual war games actually result<lb/>
in very few fatalitieswsomething like 50 young men die in the games<lb/>
each year, a figure he insisted on comparing with our highway toll<lb/>
of about 75,000 a year and our war dead, which tend to average<lb/>
out to around 5,000 a year. It appears, by the way, that women never<lb/>
participate in the war games; but before our feminist militants leap<lb/>
on this point, they should know that the games were established as<lb/>
part of the Survivalist Party’s generally cooperation-oriented program,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
74<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="79" facs="0079.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
afigd that Ecotopians prefer to focus women’s competitiveness in other<lb/>
” ways: through contests for political leadership, through organizing<lb/>
workflat which women are believed to excelwand through rivalry<lb/>
over men to father their children.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It is thus chiefly young men who participate in the games, and<lb/>
the meets are set up largely between neighboring groups, something<lb/>
like our highschool athletic contests but on an even smaller scale.<lb/>
The game today, for instance, was between two communes that occupy<lb/>
neighbofing tenitofies. One group raises sheep for wool and cows<lb/>
"for milk; the other “farms” oysters in an estuary of the bay. Apparently<lb/>
in the cities competition is usually between neighborhoods or work<lb/>
groupsafactory against factory, store against store, as happens in our<lb/>
industrial bowling leagues. However, there are no leagues, pennants,<lb/>
and so forth. Each ritual session is a self-contained event, an end<lb/>
in itself.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
. “What about the cross?” I asked.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
' g;;]“Well, Ecotopia came into existence with a Judeo-Christian heri-<lb/>
tage,” was the reply. “We make the best of it. You will find many<lb/>
v expressions of it in our culture still. In this case, obviousiy the young<lb/>
than is indeed suffering for his family or ‘tribe.’ We have a lot of<lb/>
poetry and music that focuses precisely on this suffering, as well as<lb/>
011 courage and bravery. There’s also a little ceremony for when a<lb/>
wounded man comes back from hospital. You might guess What it’s<lb/>
é‘hlled: the raising. He stands up and walks.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
It. is clear, thus, that the abhorrent spectacle of fine young men<lb/>
deliberately trying to kill each other is a semi-rehgious rite and a<lb/>
firactice not lightly instituted, no matter what we Americans may<lb/>
think of it. It may indeed have antecedents in the institution of<lb/>
bullfighting, in football, in the Mass, or in the ritual wars of savage<lb/>
tribes. But its senseless violence, the letting of blood without a justifying<lb/>
‘ . cause, must surely remain a blot on Ecotopia’s name among civilized<lb/>
nations.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
‘(May 25) Goddamn woman is impossible! G01 really turned on at the<lb/>
war games—slayed beside me during the fighting, explaining it to me<lb/>
in low, excited voice. Then afterward rushed away to the cauldron, drank<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
75<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
3.x." W‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="80" facs="0080.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
an enormous cupful, looked around in an inviting fashion, and made '-<lb/>
no resistance when one of the winning warriors came up, propositioned<lb/>
her, and literally carried her away. (She weighs about 130, as I happen<lb/>
to know, but this didn’t faze him.) Not a glance in my direction.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Later, when rest of us were eating, she sauntered back, flushed and .<lb/>
sweaty. Ignored my obvious ill humor. Later, when we went back to I<lb/>
the Marshall hotel, she was relaxed and floppy, and I tossed her around<lb/>
on the bed a little roughly, wouldn’t let her up, more or less raped<lb/>
her. She seemed almost to have expected this. I felt odd when it began,<lb/>
confused between hatred and desire, but then they merged in a kind<lb/>
of hard, tightly holding embrace—a welcoming back on her part, and '<lb/>
a deep acceptance of her on mine. I love her freeness, even when it<lb/>
hurts.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Just before waking up and writing the war—games story, had awful '<lb/>
dream about it. Myself all painted up, ready for battle. Body greased<lb/>
and shining and beautiful—feel very alive, very strong. Women smile ‘<lb/>
from the sidelines, I want to make love to all of them. Then there’s<lb/>
a terrible gong sound~reverberates in my head, and panic strikes. Grab<lb/>
my spear and rush of with the other men. But when we get to the<lb/>
fighting line and begin to feint and jab, suddenly they turn and look<lb/>
at me with amazement, realizing I am not one of them. Then utter<lb/>
despair seizes me, for I know this means they will not fight for me:<lb/>
I am not one of their Tribe, and I am out there alone, exposed to<lb/>
the sharp spears of the enemy, and my time has come. . ..<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Woke up sweating, hands clutched tight on dream spear. Wished I<lb/>
was home safe in New York.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Savages !<lb/>
</p>
<p>
THEIR PLASTICS AND OURS<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, May 25. One surprising similarity between Ecotopia<lb/>
and contemporary America is that they both use huge amounts of<lb/>
plastics. At first I took this as a sign that our ways of life have not<lb/>
diverged so drasticaily after all. However, closer investigation has<lb/>
</p>
<p>
76<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="81" facs="0081.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
revealed that, despite surface resemblances, the two countries use<lb/>
plastics in totally difl‘erent ways. '<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopian plastics are entirely derived from living biological sources<lb/>
v (plants) rather than from fossilized ones (petroleum and coal) as most<lb/>
of ours are. Intense research effort went into this area directly after<lb/>
Independence, and it continues. According to my informants, there<lb/>
were two major objectives. One was to produce the plastics, at low<lb/>
cost and in a wide range of types: light, heavy, rigid, flexible, clear,<lb/>
opaque, and s0 on—and to produce them with a technology that was<lb/>
not itself a pollutant. The other objective was to make them all<lb/>
biodegradable, that is, susceptible to decay. This meant that they could<lb/>
be returned to the fields as fertilizer, which would nourish new crops,<lb/>
which in turn could be made into new plastics—and so on indefinitely,<lb/>
in what the Ecotopians call, with almost religious fervor, a “stable-state<lb/>
system.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
One interesting strategy for biodegradability involved producing<lb/>
plastics which had 9. 311011 planned lifetime and would automatically<lb/>
self-destruct after a certain period or under certain conditions. (With<lb/>
typical biology-centered thinking, Ecotopians refer to such plastics<lb/>
as “dying” when they begin to decompose.) Plastics of this type are<lb/>
used to make containers for beer, food of many types, to produce<lb/>
packaging materials that resemble cellophane, and so on. These<lb/>
materials “die” after a month or so, especially When exposed to<lb/>
sunlight’s ultraviolet rays. I have noticed that the usuaily tidy<lb/>
Ecotopians have no hesitation about dropping (and stamping on) an<lb/>
empty beer comainer; it turns out they know that in a few weeks<lb/>
its remnants will have crumbled and decayed into the soil. Similarly,<lb/>
Ecotopian householders toss wrapping materials onto their compost<lb/>
heaps, knowing they will join there in the general decay into rich<lb/>
garden fertilizer.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Another line of plastics development led to a variety of durable<lb/>
" materials, which were increasingly needed in place of metals. Metals<lb/>
' became deliberately scarce in early Ecotopia, when the little mining<lb/>
and smelting that had taken place were replaced by an entirely<lb/>
scrap-based metals industry. An amusing aspect of this scarcity was<lb/>
the nationwide campaign to recycle junked cars, which had littered<lb/>
the Ecotopian landscape just as they do ours. These formerly worthless<lb/>
heaps of junk skyrocketed in value, and were hauled up from<lb/>
</p>
<p>
77<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
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</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
i<lb/>
E<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="82" facs="0082.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
creekbeds, pulled out of vacant lots, unearthed in abandoned barns,<lb/>
and of course salvaged from scrap yards. In a paraliel campaign,<lb/>
several billion beer and soda cans were collected and recycled.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Eeotopian durable plastics, which are used for minibus bodies,<lb/>
“extruded houses,” coins, bottles, and mechanical objects of many<lb/>
kinds, have molecular structures similar to those of our plastics, and<lb/>
are virtually decay-proof under ordinary circumstanceswin particular,<lb/>
so long as they are not in contact with the soil. However, by chemical<lb/>
advances that have so far remained secret, Ecotopian scientists have<lb/>
built into these molecules “keyholes,” which can be opened only by<lb/>
soil micro-organisms! Once they are unlocked, the whole structure<lb/>
decomposes rapidly.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This weird but ingenious system means that even a large plastic<lb/>
object will, if left in contact with damp earth over a long period<lb/>
of time, eventually decay. Usually, however, when plastic objects are<lb/>
to be recycled they are broken up into easily handled pieces and<lb/>
thrown into “biovats,” huge tubs of a special earthen mush that soil<lb/>
micro-organisms find a good habitat. In time the results of this process<lb/>
are dried into sludge and recycled onto the land. (It is in such vats<lb/>
that the contents of the recycle bins marked P are dumped.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Whatever their advantages these plastics do not impress all<lb/>
Ecotopians, especially those who are fond of wood. It is recognized,<lb/>
of course, that since plastics can be molded they are capable of taking<lb/>
shapes that wood is not; and that they can be stronger, more flexible,<lb/>
and often more durable. Extremists, however, still take exception to<lb/>
any use of plastics, believing they are unnatural materials that have<lb/>
no place in an ecologically ideal world. These purists will live only<lb/>
in wood houses, and use only containers such as wooden chests, string<lb/>
bags, woven baskets, and clay pots. The defenders of plastics, on their<lb/>
side, have many effective economic arguments, and they have also<lb/>
produced plastics that have a less “plasticky” feel and loolo—with some<lb/>
success, it seems to me.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Nonetheless, I have the impression that despite the undeniable<lb/>
Ecotopian scientific achievements in plastics, the future may Well<lb/>
belong to the purists. For in this as in many areas of life, there is<lb/>
still a strong trend in Ecotopia to abandon the fruits of all modern<lb/>
technology, however innocuous they may be made, in favor of a poetic<lb/>
but costly return to what the extremists see as “nature.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
78<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="83" facs="0083.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 26) Got into big fight with Bert about the ritual war games<lb/>
story~n0t the story itself, but that I hadn’t gone over it with him as<lb/>
c I had said. “Do you always go off and do things purely on your 0wu?”<lb/>
35 he said crossly. “Don’t you think you might be missing something? Don’t<lb/>
I‘ you know what you might get out of collective work?” “Well,” I said<lb/>
‘ defensively, “I was in a big hurry and you weren’t around, and—” “Fuck<lb/>
your excuses,” he said bluntly. “I ofierea’ to work with you as a brother.<lb/>
That was important. Do you have any idea how competitive and detached<lb/>
you seem to us?” He was furious, and I had the uncomfortable feeling<lb/>
he was right—I had missed an important opportunity. We talked for<lb/>
a while and I told him how I felt about it, but it will take some doing<lb/>
to get back onto a decent basis together. Which saddens me more than<lb/>
1 would have expected; we have become friends.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Beginning to miss the kids a lot more than usual on this trip, and<lb/>
don’t know why. God knows I neglect them when I ’m home—pass up<lb/>
my weekends with them whenever something unusual is afoot, then try<lb/>
to make up for it with presents. (Haven’t bought them anything in<lb/>
Ecotopia, though—nothing here worth carrying home. Or rather, there<lb/>
are many worthwhile things here, but none can be bought or carried<lb/>
away.) Have the feeling I’d like them to be here with me, see what<lb/>
I am seeing, meet the people I know. What would they think ofMarissa?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
- She would take their measure exactly, even their spoiledness (which<lb/>
wouldn’t get anywhere with her!) and they’d respect and like her. Fay<lb/>
once said, when she was about six, that she didn’t trust Francine. Marissa<lb/>
is easy to trust. But she never pretends there is no risk in it. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Spoke earlier today with Kenny, a kid living at the Cove. His mother<lb/>
is away for a week, and I asked him if he was lonely with her gone.<lb/>
“VWiy should I be lonely? Everybody else is here.” Suddenly tearful<lb/>
to think of my children so far away, without me, living what is after<lb/>
all a dangerous life and getting worse. It ’s not just the crime and the<lb/>
crazedpeople everywhere, but the expectation that our children’s children<lb/>
will go on being poisoned by smog and chemicals. (Or will New York<lb/>
and T okyo produce a race ofmutants who can breathe carbon monoxide?)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
What would their lives be like if they had been born Ecotopian kids?<lb/>
No ballet classes, stationwagons, shopping expeditions to department<lb/>
stores. They’d do actual hard adult work in gardens and shops and<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘ schools. They’d live in a welter of a dozen or more people, exposed<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to a lot of sexual vibrations and happenings that would make them<lb/>
</p>
<p>
79<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
“rmmmm.<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="84" facs="0084.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
: grow up faster—ana' I guess stronger, though it scares me. (I want them V<lb/>
i protected») But it would be a realer world than New York, I have ,<lb/>
3 to admit. In better touch with basic natural processes and the nitty<lb/>
5 gritty with fellow humans. It would be an incredible switch in their ‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
lives. But how do I know they might not thrive on it? ' '<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Some random notes that don’t seem to fit in plans for‘columns:<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
Have discovered what those wet—suit—like garments are. People call<lb/>
them ‘bird-suits, ” and often embroider birds on them; also “unitards;” .<lb/>
Not uniforms after all, but a new type ofgarment. Many Ecotapians dislike '<lb/>
them, in spite of their technical advantages. (“Bird-suits” because they<lb/>
are said to be almost as good a body covering as a bird’s feathers!)<lb/>
Woven of some new combination of fibers—story confused, some say<lb/>
from keratin, which would mean bones, hooves, hairwsome think from<lb/>
wood fibers. At any rate the inner layer is woven, thick, spongy (quarter ‘<lb/>
of an inch thick). Alleged properties quite magical: when it rains, surface<lb/>
layer cotton fibers swell and lie so tightly together that rain runs off-<lb/>
when it is hot, the inner layer fibers unkink, trap less air, thus allow<lb/>
faster escape of body heat, whereas when it is cold they curl up, trap '<lb/>
more air, thus keep body heat in! (This why suits must be skin-tight,<lb/>
evidently.) Then there is another smooth inner layer, to feel good on ,<lb/>
the skin. I have tried them on, and in fact bought two to take home—even<lb/>
if I wouldn’t want to be seen on a New York street in them! Will V<lb/>
be interesting to try in our zero temperatures—but I ’1] take an overcoat ,<lb/>
along.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Preventive transportation. ” That’s how doctor J ake, Marissa’s cousin,<lb/>
sardonic ofmind but optimist, describes bicycles. Claims that every heart<lb/>
attack costs the medical system, the patient’s living group, the patient’s<lb/>
work group, etc. something between a year and two years’salary. Saving<lb/>
one heart attack can thus pay for something like 500 free Provo bikes.<lb/>
Besides, he claims that the bicycle is aesthetically beautiful because<lb/>
it is the most efiicient means, in calories of energy per person per mile,<lb/>
ever devised for moving bodies—even jumbo jets eat up more energy,<lb/>
he says. (Looked me over as a physical specimen, said I was not in<lb/>
too bad shape for an American. “Y 0147] probably feel livelier after a<lb/>
few more weeks here. The food, the air, getting in better touch with<lb/>
yourself.” “What do you mean?” “Knowing yourself as an animal '<lb/>
</p>
<p>
80<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="85" facs="0085.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
creature on the earth, as we do. It can feel more comfortable than<lb/>
your kind of life.” “Well, I’ll let you know,” I said.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Foreign trade note: Natural rubber comes in from Vietnam and<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Indonesia. Plastics and plastics-manufacturing machinery seem to be<lb/>
major export. Some Japanese electronics imported. Books, records,<lb/>
videodiscs, musicians, performers from all over the worldAexcept the<lb/>
US! How do they do it?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Good one the other night: Bert got to ridiculing the old Dupont slogan,<lb/>
Better Things for Better Living through Chemistry. “All that meant,”<lb/>
he proclaimed, “was nylon, orlon, and the total prostitution of the state<lb/>
</p>
<p>
3 of Delaware. We want better living through biology. We don’t think<lb/>
am terms of ‘things,’ there’s no such thing as a thing—there are only<lb/>
ifiystems.” For the first time, this didn’t sound like gibberish to me. It<lb/>
‘would apply to myself too: I am part of systems; no one, not even<lb/>
</p>
<p>
myself: can separate me 01f)r as an individual thing. (This realization<lb/>
</p>
<p>
came with a sort ofsinking feeling that was not unpleasant. Hmmm?)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
An intolerably smug people: Young clod about 20 telling me “automo-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘ bfles are such a 19th-century contraption—why are you still so hung<lb/>
</p>
<p>
up on them?” Still, Ecotopians really very American in some ways.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
With a curious French influence~things like train schedules and price<lb/>
</p>
<p>
lists have a severe systematizatz‘on. Perhaps this intellectual rigor neces-<lb/>
sary as counterbalance to the frivolity and looseness of personal life?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Money: Ecotopian bills seemed comic when I first saw them. Yet<lb/>
three weeks later I find them more attractive than the greenbacks left<lb/>
in my wallet. Very romantic in style: lush, Rousseau-Iike scenes, almost<lb/>
tropical, with strange beasts and wondrous plants. N 0 images offamous<lb/>
Ecotopian leaders—when asked why not, people just laugh. Maybe it’s<lb/>
a consequence of their informal, utilitarian attitude toward moneymthey<lb/>
bundle it up into rolls and toss it to each other in an oflhand manner<lb/>
I ’ve only observed among gamblers.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Habitations: You seldom see any store-bought furniture in Ecotopian<lb/>
houses. They have mattress beds on bare floor, enormous barbaric beds<lb/>
built of heavy timbers as if for ancient Vikings; there are houses with<lb/>
no beds at all, only bedrolls brought out at night, Japanese style. But<lb/>
nevera proper, ordinary bed, with frame, slats, springs, and an innerspring<lb/>
mattress!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Have now visited several Ecotopt'an family groups, and am still amazed<lb/>
at their quietness. After Independence, I am told, great efi’orts were<lb/>
</p>
<p>
81<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="86" facs="0086.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
BCOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
made to noiseproof things, and a lot of work was put into developing<lb/>
virtually soundless versions of many machines and appliances. Thus<lb/>
refrigerators, which among us produce a daily quota ofsht‘mmies, jiggles,<lb/>
grunts and rumbles, are silent models, which run on household septic-tank<lb/>
methane. (Very simple design, so not frost-free, but uses far less energy,<lb/>
I am tolai) That other great source of urban noise, cars, have ofcourse<lb/>
been eliminated. Clothes washers and dryers, which can ’t be made silent,<lb/>
are usually kept outside in separate huts. Dishwashers, perhaps our most<lb/>
annoying appliance, are not manufactured at all.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
If I can get over minding the quiet, it may be nice to be subjected<lb/>
only to natural noisesmthe wind, music from other houses, footsteps,<lb/>
a baby crying. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Could I get any writing done out at the forest camp? When I’m<lb/>
there Marissa’s friends tease me because I don’t join in on all their<lb/>
work. And she herself, though she sees my position, thinks I should<lb/>
participate more. I was shocked to learn that she had told pretty much<lb/>
everybody in her “family” many details about our relationship. “Don’t<lb/>
you have any sense of privacy?” I blurted out. She got furious at me<lb/>
for this. “What are you talking about? T hese people live with me and<lb/>
love me. Naturally they want to know what is happening with me! So<lb/>
I tell them. They give me reactions, advice, they look at me, I see myself<lb/>
through them as well as through myself.” “I still don’t like it. You<lb/>
could at least have told me you were going to talk about it.” More<lb/>
fury: “Listen, are you ashamed of this relationship? What is so terrible<lb/>
about telling people about it?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We worked it out finally. I began to feel I do have an exaggerated<lb/>
need to keep romantic involvements to myself: and I think I got her<lb/>
to see how strange their practices are to me. She is always assuming<lb/>
I can just fit in perfectly. This gallsvthough it also feels good whenever<lb/>
I do manage to fit in, by working on some job I get praised for, or<lb/>
really being perceptive about some interpersonal development.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Want badly to spend more time with Marissa, but most of my sources<lb/>
are here in the city. It’s painful to talk to her on the picturephone<lb/>
and not be able to touch. But she won’t come in again right away.<lb/>
Maybe I ’11 go out tonight, at least for one night.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Have realized that it is a little scary to be in close touch with the<lb/>
land, as the Ecotopians are. Not sute how I would handle that. Their<lb/>
</p>
<p>
82<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="87" facs="0087.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
little shrines are not merely pious narure-appreciation, I have discovered.<lb/>
There is even one commemorating a famous murderunot too far, I<lb/>
suppose, from the mythic way we think about T ombstone, Arizona—<lb/>
though most are devoted to spirits who presumably presided over<lb/>
especially good times (and sometimes bad times, like the death of<lb/>
children). Some are little more than poems, scratched 0n scraps ofwood<lb/>
that will soon decay—but that is evidently part of the tradition. “T hey’re<lb/>
like dried cornstalks,” one young girl told me, “they stand there for<lb/>
a while so you can see that something grew there, but another season<lb/>
always follows.” My favorite so far is an ornate, subtly elegant maze<lb/>
laid out in shiny oyster shells on a hill overlooking the sea. In the<lb/>
center a piece of driftwood reads:<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Sun, here we watched you go down<lb/>
As if it was the last time.<lb/>
Thank you for the morning.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
WOMEN IN POWER: POLITICIANS, SEX<lb/>
AND LAW IN ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, May 27. The fact that Ecotopia’s chief of state Vera<lb/>
Allwen is a woman is, of course, common knowledge. But most<lb/>
Americans are unaware that the Survivalist Party she heads is a<lb/>
woman-dominated organization—and that it played a key role in the<lb/>
struggle for Independence.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
While a majority of Survivalist Party members are women, many<lb/>
men are members also, and some indeed hold high party positions. ‘<lb/>
The basic cooperation- and biology-oriented policies of the party,<lb/>
however, are usually considered to be derived mainly from female<lb/>
attitudes and interests; the chief opposition party, the Progregsivej<lb/>
Party, continues to express what are alleged by Survivalists to be‘"2<lb/>
outdated and destructive male attitudes toward individualism, pro—<lb/>
ductivity, and related issues.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Women are, as in the U.S., a substantial majority of the population<lb/>
in Ecotopia. The initial growth and success of the Survivalists, I have<lb/>
</p>
<p>
83<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="88" facs="0088.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
been told by some long-term members, came from a frank and<lb/>
Vitalizing recognition of this fact, together with its corollary: that<lb/>
women have distinct interests and needs which had been, despite some<lb/>
advances, unmet during the 200 years of American rule. “We had<lb/>
had two centuries of it, and it wasn’t good enough,” one influential<lb/>
Survivalist woman told me.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Although dissatisfaction with life under federal control became<lb/>
especially deep in the Western states on a variety of grounds (notably<lb/>
</p>
<p>
water subsidies to agribusiness), it was apparently only the Surviva-<lb/>
lists who forcefully argued that secession offered the sole hope of<lb/>
</p>
<p>
stable, long-range decent survival. But the acceptance of this perilous<lb/>
political alternative by citizens of the area that became Ecotopia was,<lb/>
or at least so I am now told, accomplished only by drastic tactics.<lb/>
We must remember that a third of the state legislators and a good many<lb/>
national representatives were women. In their caucuses they had<lb/>
worked out in preliminary form most of the measures that later<lb/>
became the basis of Ecotopian government. The debates over how<lb/>
to put these into practice, and especially whether secession was<lb/>
necessary in orderto do so, were long and emotionally arduous.<lb/>
While the women were thus engaged,. the male politicians were<lb/>
not idle. A crisis ensued when it was revealed that certain important<lb/>
male leaders had been devising a sort of sexual geriymandering plan<lb/>
that would have reduced female representation almost by half. This<lb/>
proposal shocked the populace into fierce polarization. When Wash-<lb/>
ington attempted to interfere on behalf of the gerrymanderers, wide-<lb/>
zspread defiance of federal regulations began to take place—on every<lb/>
gissue from taxes to pollution. A few months of such chaos led to<lb/>
j the armed confrontations and growth of new locally controlled organs<lb/>
?of state~w0rkers’ councils and citizens’ councils-which carried out<lb/>
5 what we must now, with the Ecotopians, refer to as their Independence.<lb/>
When conditions had stabilized, the Survivalists swept the constitu-<lb/>
tional convention elections that followed. They then reorganized the<lb/>
governmental structures of the states and counties, which they consid-<lb/>
ered outmoded because unrelated to the organic structures of produc-<lb/>
tion and consumption, and also inherently inadaptable for dealing<lb/>
with regional ecological systems. They divided the country into five<lb/>
metropohtan and four rural regions. Within these they also greatly<lb/>
extended many powers of governments of the local communities.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
84<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="89" facs="0089.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
They also began a second phase of national debate: Whether<lb/>
“Ecology in One Country” is possible, or whether Ecotopia’s own<lb/>
survival hinges on the exporting of survivalist doctrines to the rest<lb/>
of the world. The radicals who take the second position have been<lb/>
in the minority so far, but as ecocatastrophes overtake other countries<lb/>
with increasing frequency their strength keeps rising.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Since Americans may be skeptical of how a woman—dominated<lb/>
political system actually operates, I have attended several meetings<lb/>
of Survivalist Party groups. Judging by these, the Party is unlike any<lb/>
other I have ever observed. A meeting has no formal agenda; instead,<lb/>
it opens with a voicing of “concerns” by many participants. As these<lb/>
are discussed (often amid friendly laughter, as well as a few angry<lb/>
outbursts) general issues begin to take shape. But there are no Robert’s<lb/>
Rules of Order, no motions, no votes—instead, a gradual ventilation<lb/>
offeelings, some personal antagonisms worked through, and a gradual<lb/>
» consensual focusing on what needs to be done. Once this consensus<lb/>
</p>
<p>
is achieved, people take pains to assuage the feelings of those members<lb/>
who have had to give ground in order to achieve the consensus. Only<lb/>
:after this healing process takes place is there formal ratification of<lb/>
the decisions taken—the only action during three hours or so that<lb/>
:has the feeling or ordinary political business as we know it. And<lb/>
*yet I must admit that, in those three hours, a great deal gets done:<lb/>
‘a political problem is indeed faced, defined, and a decision made;<lb/>
</p>
<p>
about it, though only along with a great amount of attention to things“<lb/>
that would be considered, among us, as more in the realm of social ;<lb/>
life than politics. On the other hand, it must also be admitted that ‘_<lb/>
people enjoy such meetings, and we might conceivably learn some '<lb/>
</p>
<p>
lessons from them.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Although some Americans may expect Ecotopian law to be only<lb/>
a cover for government tyranny, closer acquaintance reveals that it<lb/>
operates on much the same principles as ours. Our Bill of Rights<lb/>
was incorporated into the Ecotopian constitution, though in its original<lb/>
form Which would seem dangerously sweeping and unqualified to<lb/>
most Americans today. Ecotopians, like Americans, maintain an<lb/>
enormous army of lawyers and tend to work out many kinds ofdisputes<lb/>
in the courts.<lb/>
, The content of the law, of course, has changed somewhat. Ecotopians<lb/>
treat as severe breaches of the peace many actions we consider<lb/>
</p>
<p>
85<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
\=;,1_ A ‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="90" facs="0090.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
white-collar crimes seldom deserving of police or court action. Delib.<lb/>
crate pollution of water or air is punished by severe jail sentences,<lb/>
“Victimless” crimes such as prostitution, gambling, and drug use are<lb/>
no longer on the books, but embezzlement, fraud, collusion, and similar<lb/>
“gentleman’s crimes” are dealt with just as severely as crimes like<lb/>
assault and robbery—which are, by the way, rare in Ecotopia, perhaps<lb/>
because of the personal nature of their neighborhoods and the virtual<lb/>
; impossibility of anonymity in them. (Strangers get a lot of attention<lb/>
E in Ecotopia, but the motives for this may not be entirely friendliness.)<lb/>
V Ecotopian courts mete out fines very seldom, it appears,rpreferring<lb/>
to rely on imprisonment, which is felt to affect convicted persons<lb/>
more equally. I hope to visit an Ecotopian prison soon; I am told<lb/>
that all prisons require the inmates to work, and rumors have circulated<lb/>
that some verge on slave~labor camps.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
American policy flirted erratically, over the years, with attempts to<lb/>
control pollution, But Ecotopian economic law has proliferated wildly<lb/>
in the obsessive attempt to shape all agricultural and industrial<lb/>
enterprise into stable-state, recycling forms. It was first hoped that<lb/>
industries could be persuaded by public pressure to reduce their<lb/>
ecological damage. Educational campaigns pointed out that synthetic<lb/>
fiber production used far more electricity and water, and produced<lb/>
far more noxious by—products than natural fiber production; that<lb/>
high-compression engines required more steel, electricity, and high-<lb/>
priced fuel; that aluminum production required enormous electrical<lb/>
supplies; that synthetic chemicals tended to damage both man and<lb/>
environment, often in totally unexpected ways.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A few improvements were secured in the heady months following<lb/>
Independence. However, even the enterprises that sprang up after<lb/>
the flight of capital were reluctant to go further on pollution measures<lb/>
than their competitors. Moreover, attempts to use fines and special<lb/>
taxes also failed, because polluting firms could always pass costs along<lb/>
to their customersvwho thus complained they not only had to sufler<lb/>
from the pollution the factories emitted, but had to pay higher costs<lb/>
for the products too.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
In time, therefore, the Survivalist Party introduced a package of<lb/>
laws that flatly prohibited many types of highly polluting manufac—<lb/>
turing and processing operations. Firms affected were to be bought<lb/>
Off 0r helped through the transition to non-harmful operations by<lb/>
</p>
<p>
86<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="91" facs="0091.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
a system of financial risk—spreading. Even so, a number of firms went<lb/>
out of business rather than attempt such drastic changes.<lb/>
. Despite such momentous events, it appears that early Ecotopian<lb/>
policy involved much utilization rather than abolishment of existing<lb/>
1 governmental machinery. For example, after Independence the staffs<lb/>
‘ of the‘huge state highway-building departments were not disbanded,<lb/>
but rather were set to work, along with their old construction-company<lb/>
allies, to restore the dismally polluted waterfronts, lake shores, and<lb/>
riverbanks. In Ecotopia at that time, as in the United States now,<lb/>
such areas were mainly devoted to factories, warehouses, sewage<lb/>
plants, railroad yards, dumps, and other unsavory uses. Armed with<lb/>
the condemnation powers that had earlier been used, as one Ecotopian<lb/>
told me, “to make the world safe for autos and impossible for people,”<lb/>
the highway departments soon cleared the banks of all major and<lb/>
many minor waterways, and created Seine-like embankments, strip<lb/>
parks, piers for small craft, grassy and sandy beaches, and other<lb/>
improvements. Where highways had encroached 0n waterways, the<lb/>
pavement was used in part as foundations for pavilions, restaurants,<lb/>
dance halls, and other amusement facilities, while the remaining<lb/>
» concrete was broken up and used in building the embankments. Bicycle<lb/>
paths, minibus lines, and transit stops were laid out so as to provide<lb/>
’ easy access to the water for all citizens.<lb/>
' Thus, in areas such as Puget Sound, the Columbia and Williamette<lb/>
rivers near Portland, and San Francisco Bay and Delta, waterways<lb/>
’ became useful for transportation—small water-taxis abound, and<lb/>
ferries cover longer distances. Ecotopians are almost as devoted to<lb/>
water as they are to trees, and rowing or sailing about in boats are<lb/>
favorite pastimes. There is hardly an Ecotopian who doesn’t spend<lb/>
some of his time fishing, sailing, rowing, swimming, wading, or just<lb/>
looking at water. The national bird, I am told, is the egret—who spends<lb/>
his days knee-deep in marshes.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
While the policies of the Survivalists and the Ecotopian government<lb/>
may seem extreme or foolish to us, they have not been carried out<lb/>
in a ruthless manner, as many suspect. For instance, while the national<lb/>
train system was under construction, existing freeways were used as<lb/>
highspeed bus routes. Articulated trailer-buses running at 100 miles<lb/>
per hour were given exclusive right to the lefthand lanes. Experience<lb/>
gained with this intermediate system was reportedly useful in the<lb/>
</p>
<p>
87<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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<p>
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</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="92" facs="0092.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
management of the train system when it was completed. The<lb/>
Eootopians thus seem adept at using moderate and gradual change-<lb/>
overs to reach extreme goals. We may disagree with those goais, but<lb/>
I believe we must respect their manner of achieving them.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 28) Letter from Francine yesterday morning—smuggled through<lb/>
our prearranged emergency drop in Canada. Was somehow a shock<lb/>
to get itAhadn’t really expected to hear from her unless something went<lb/>
terribly wrong. Same madness in her life as usual: new schemes to astound<lb/>
the art world, a great sexual coup at a consular cocktail party—~her<lb/>
first full—rank ambassador! Maybe she misses mewthat would be a switch.<lb/>
But she would never admit it on paper, if at all. Maximum latitude:<lb/>
the rules of the game. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Went over to an Ecotopian fair afterward. These are held monthly<lb/>
in many cities and towns. This one surprisingly large and well organized.<lb/>
Lasts three days, in the City Hall plaza, which is partly paved but<lb/>
tree-shaded with a number of fauntains and a creek; it also has the<lb/>
Steps of the grand old City Hallfiwhich serve as bandstand, stage for<lb/>
performing actors, pantomimists, even jugglers. Plaza was covered with<lb/>
booths and stands of all kinds: craftsmen, farmers with produce to sell,<lb/>
food and drink vendors, fortune-tellers, portrait-sketchers, musicians.<lb/>
Takes on the‘appearance of a village: the booth people set up tents<lb/>
just behind their wares, in which they live for a couple of days.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
How many of the thousands strolling about are potential customers,<lb/>
and how many just friends and families and children of the sellers, I<lb/>
couldn’t tell. In any case the economic functions didn’t seem over-<lb/>
whelmingly pressing. Mainly an enormous party, at which some selling,<lb/>
bartering, and trading went on. Gives people a chance to see friends<lb/>
from other areas (many of the merchants come from groups that live<lb/>
out in the country, but attendfairs regularly to sell their wares). Around<lb/>
the fringes there are musical groups performing, and there’s dancing<lb/>
in the evenings, when most of the people seem to get together.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This is not one of the four weekends 0f the year when sexual license<lb/>
is said to prevail (the spring equinox was two months ago) but things<lb/>
certainly looser than usual. Maybe reacting to Francine’s nutty letter,‘<lb/>
I got drunk and reckless, and followed two flirtatious young women<lb/>
</p>
<p>
88<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="93" facs="0093.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
into a tent. Nice sometimes to blot out thoughts of Serious Relating,<lb/>
and they were willing to play the game of anonymity. I guess it’s a<lb/>
result of my puritan heritage that I ’ve never been with two women at<lb/>
once (though I have often wished I had the nerve to try it). These girls<lb/>
were absolutely cool and matter offact about it, which made it easier.<lb/>
Sometimes they would both concentrate on me, sometimes I would share<lb/>
one with the other. They seemed to regard sex the same way we’d regard<lb/>
Eeating, or maybe w'alking—m pleasant biological function, but without<lb/>
{any heavy emotional expectations. Very relaxing. . . .<lb/>
J Curious note of natural delicacy: they never excluded me from any<lb/>
of the possible permutations and combinations, or ever expected me<lb/>
to be a mere voyeur. And nothing I did, even though a total stranger<lb/>
from another country, seemed to take them aback: they’re maybe 22<lb/>
or so, but they don’t seem surprisable by anything men do.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It was an exhausting night; left me feeling Iightheaded. Toward dawn<lb/>
I got dressed and walked all the way across the city to the Cave, listening<lb/>
to the fog horns and thinking about Marissa. Though I have twinges<lb/>
ofjealousy about her, her behavior after the war games and mine this<lb/>
evening seem parallel and equal in some odd way. I don’t feel guilty,<lb/>
anyway.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Once home, I scribbled a note‘ to Francine, oflering her diplomatic<lb/>
immunity and telling her about my escapade, and fell asleep. In the<lb/>
morning I tore up the note, and got back to work.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
WORKERS’ CONTROL, TAXES, AND JOBS<lb/>
IN ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, May 28. Is the Ecotopian economy socialist? I asked<lb/>
a high government spokesman this question. I told him that it is<lb/>
widely considered to be so, by Americans, but that obviously the<lb/>
information gap of recent decades made a clear understanding diffi-<lb/>
cult. This gentleman gave me a polite lecture, making it clear that<lb/>
he was speaking to what he considered the maj or American confusions.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
89<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="94" facs="0094.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The Ecotopian economy, he began, must be considered a mixed<lb/>
one, like that of the United States; but some elements of the mix<lb/>
are novel, and because of ecological and political consideratiOns the<lb/>
balance of the mix is quite different. Not long after Independence,<lb/>
he reminded me, there was a massive flight of capital, similar to what<lb/>
happened after the Cuban revolution. Most families of great wealth<lb/>
fled, going either to Los Angeles, to the East, or in some cases to<lb/>
their Swiss or French estates This undoubtedly damaged the manage-<lb/>
rial capabilities of Ecotopian enterprises, he admitted, though the total<lb/>
</p>
<p>
1 number of such refugees was only a few thousands, inclgding women<lb/>
</p>
<p>
and children.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
l The Ecotopian government, faced with the necessity of feeding,<lb/>
housing, and clothing its population, at first teetered between a<lb/>
cautious attempt to carry on enterprises on the old lines, and breaking<lb/>
through into new and uncharted methods.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
But as it happened, my informant argued, in a few months it became<lb/>
clear they had no real choice; for the people, seeing the former owners<lb/>
depart, realized that a new era was indeed upon them and began<lb/>
spontaneously taking over farms, factories, and stores. This process<lb/>
was chaotic, but it was not anarchic; it was controlled by the local<lb/>
governments and local courts. The assumption was usually made that<lb/>
those who had been working in the organization “owned” it; and<lb/>
since they had no other means of support, their immediate problem<lb/>
after Independence was to go on running it pretty much as it had<lb/>
been run. There were, he pointed out, some examples to go on, of<lb/>
enterprises taken over by employees in France in the late sixties, and<lb/>
of course a number of US. corporations had become employee-owned<lb/>
by purely legal and gradual means.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Such take-overs set the tone for the ongoing tasks of production<lb/>
and distribution of essentials; and they worked. But more massive<lb/>
and deliberate economic changes soon took place, above all in the<lb/>
diversion of money and manpower toward the construction of stable-<lb/>
state systems in agricultural and sewage practices, and in the scientific<lb/>
and technical deployment of a new plastics industry based upon<lb/>
natural-source, biodegradable plastics. (The transportation system,<lb/>
which remains an infringement on the stable-state principle, also<lb/>
consumed many resources in that period.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
90<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="95" facs="0095.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I inquired about the sources of government revenue for such<lb/>
large-scale projects. The tax system of former years, it seems, was<lb/>
entirely abandoned at the time of Independence. Laws formalizing<lb/>
the forfeiture of property by owners, plus confiscatory inheritance<lb/>
taxes, were legislated. (Aside from persona} articles, no Ecotopian<lb/>
can now. inherit any property at all!)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopian revolutionaries took the position, which still appears to<lb/>
prevail, that a little-recognized yet fundamental defect of capitalism<lb/>
is that you cannot tax its owners justly—for wealth under capitalist<lb/>
governments always manages to provide sufficient tax loopholes for<lb/>
itself. The new tax system, upon which Ecotopian government now<lb/>
depends, relies entirely on what we would call a corporation taxnthat<lb/>
</p>
<p>
is, a tax upon production enterprises (including individual craftsmen,;-_<lb/>
</p>
<p>
incidentally). It is based partly upon net income, but also partly upon§<lb/>
“turnover,” or gross income. Like most functions of governing, taX—ig<lb/>
levying is carried out by the communities (mainly cities), which<lb/>
delegate very limited powers to the regional or national levels.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The reasoning behind this sytem, according to my informant, is<lb/>
complex, but it turns upon the view that all taxes are fundamentally<lb/>
a means of the government seizing a share of economic output and<lb/>
putting it to publicly determined purposeswand that this seizure should<lb/>
therefore be at the immediate source, simple, understandable, just,<lb/>
and open to public View. (Ecotopian tax returns are not confidential,<lb/>
as with us.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
In recent years, this tax policy has been complemented by laws<lb/>
that have redefined the position of the employee—very drastically from<lb/>
an American Viewpoint. The workers in an Ecotopian enterprise must<lb/>
now all be “partners”; a man cannot just set up a business, ofier<lb/>
wages to employees, fire them when he no longer needs them, and<lb/>
pocket whatever profits he can make. Grotesque as it may seem, all<lb/>
Ecotopians who join an enterprise now do so on the same sort of<lb/>
basis as our high executives. Just as these gentlemen inquire about<lb/>
profit-sharing, stock options, tax shelters, retirement plans, and so<lb/>
on, so do ordinary Ecotopians inquire about the partnership terms<lb/>
in an enterprise they are considering joining!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
There are no personal income, sales, OI property taxes in Ecotopia,<lb/>
though there is a land tax that encourages concentration and probably<lb/>
accounts for the remarkable compactness of Ecotopian cities. There<lb/>
</p>
<p>
91<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="96" facs="0096.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
is a widespread aversion to other types of tax on the grounds that<lb/>
they are either regressive or promote divisiveness among people~<lb/>
whereas the enterprise tax, bearing as it does on collective groups,<lb/>
is thought to promote solidarity, (A paradoxical notion, perhaps, since<lb/>
these groups compete with each other strenuously enough.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It is alleged, though of course this would be extremely ditficult<lb/>
E to prove, that there is no super-rich ckass in Ecotopia. It is admitted<lb/>
that certain occupational groups, such as artists and scientists and<lb/>
some doctors, have slightly higher incomes, though national training<lb/>
policies deliberately seek to keep such diflerentials moderate. But there<lb/>
are now said to be no individuals in Ecotopia who grow personally<lb/>
rich because they control means of production and hire other men’s<lb/>
labor power. Occasionally, however, strange anomaiies occurwwhen<lb/>
an enterprise comes up with some remarkable product or service for<lb/>
which there is an immediate and strong demand. The inventors and<lb/>
fabricators of the “bird—suits,” for instance, are a small research<lb/>
collective, originally about 30 people. Because of the appeal of their<lb/>
ingeniously insulating garments, they are said to have made a great<lb/>
deal of money recently, even though they have now chosen to take<lb/>
in some new members and to work even less than the usual 20 hours<lb/>
per week.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Don’t such successful groups use their profits to control other<lb/>
enterprises, or become absentee owners, and thus end up as capitalists<lb/>
just like ours? The answer on this point was complex, but seems to<lb/>
boil down to the fact that direct absentee investment by one enterprise<lb/>
or person in another enterprise is not permitted. Surpluses can thus<lb/>
only be “invested” by lending them to the national banking system,<lb/>
which in turn lends funds to enterprises. This arrangement, which<lb/>
resembles the one pioneered by the Yugoslavs in the seventies,<lb/>
obviously gives the bank an immense leverage on the economy, and<lb/>
makes possibie the sometimes surprisingly large public investments<lb/>
that have characterized Ecotopian development. (The most it aliows<lb/>
lucky producers, like the bird-suit people, is the chance to retire and<lb/>
live off the interest their profits can earn from the bank.) This process<lb/>
clearly needs close study by our economists; it appears to contradict<lb/>
many Ecotopian protestations of decentralization, even if the national<lb/>
bank does maintain regional branches which are said to have great<lb/>
autonomy.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
92<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
A“ ><lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="97" facs="0097.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
y z<lb/>
»<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopian enterprises generally behave much like capitalist enter<lb/>
prises: they compete with each other, and seek to increase sales and<lb/>
maximize profits, although they are hampered by a van'ety of ecologi-<lb/>
cal regulations. I suspect they are not immune to a certain amount<lb/>
of chicanery and false claims about their products.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
However, the fact that the members of an enterprise actually own<lb/>
it jointly (each with one vote) puts certain inherent limits on what<lb/>
these enterprises do. For instance, they do not tend to expand endlessly,<lb/>
since the practical maximum size of a joint-ownership firm seems<lb/>
to be less than 300 people—beyond that they tend to break down<lb/>
into bureaucratic, inflexible forms and lose both their profitability<lb/>
and their members, who seek more congenial environments.“Small<lb/>
is beautiful,” I was reminded.' Also, the enterprises tend to be just<lb/>
as concerned with conditions of work as they are with profits, and<lb/>
in many instances members seem willing to accept lower profit and<lb/>
wage 1evels in exchange for a comfortable pace of work or a way<lb/>
of organizing work which otters better relations among the people<lb/>
doing it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Competitive threats from other enterprises keep such laxity within<lb/>
bounds, but even so some Ecotopian products are utterly noncompeti-<lb/>
tive with the products of more efficient industries abroad. The prices<lb/>
of clothes and shoes outside the core stores, for example, are sky-high<lb/>
and draconian tariffs are used to keep out the sweat—shop products<lb/>
from Asiawthe consequence being that many Ecotopians wear home-<lb/>
made garments, which has by now become considered a Virtue.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It is impossible to assess the relative tax burden of Ecotopia, since<lb/>
taxes fall only upon enterprises. However, since the Ecotopian armse‘t<lb/>
establishment is small (about the size of Canada’s) and many functions<lb/>
of government which for us are very costly (such as education) are 3<lb/>
organized, strangely enough, on free-market principles, it seems certain<lb/>
that the relative total tax burden is much lower than ours. This may5<lb/>
of course help to explain why the drop in Gross National Product<lb/>
after Independence did not agitate the population more.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The tax revenues are used by the community governments to support<lb/>
their recycling services, housing, power, water, telephone, medical<lb/>
services, pohce, courts, and so on. A pro rata share of tax funds goes<lb/>
to the regional and national governments, to support operation of<lb/>
larger-scale systems such as the trains, defense, telecommunications,<lb/>
and most of the research establishment.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
93<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Xavamvm‘mu<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="98" facs="0098.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Curiously, despite the importance Ecotopians attach to agriculture<lb/>
and other rural affairs, the Ecotopian constitution is city-based where<lb/>
ours, inherited from an agricuitural era, is rural-bas’ed. With us, the<lb/>
states have broad powers over cities (including the right to give them<lb/>
legal existence and set their boundaries). The Ecotopian main cities,<lb/>
however, dominate their regions through a strict application of one-<lb/>
person-one-vote principles. Furthermore, the county level of govern-<lb/>
ment is omitted entireiy.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This curious system evidently leads to continual conflict and jealousy<lb/>
over the disposition of tax revenues. Instead of relying on a powerful<lb/>
central tax-collection agency that can attach incomes directly, the<lb/>
centrai government must continually placate and cajole the local<lb/>
governments to ensure a continued flow of funds. Thus the Ecotopian<lb/>
federal structure, which superficially resembles the small government<lb/>
bodies found under primitive capitalism, makes most of its outlays<lb/>
on uncontroversial activities that benefit all citizens absolutely equatiy.<lb/>
There is a surprisingly small national welfare system, considering that<lb/>
</p>
<p>
2 Ecotopians enjoy a lifetime “guarantee” of minimal levels of food,<lb/>
housing, and medical care. While some citizens, especially those<lb/>
working on untried developments in the arts, utiIize this guarantee<lb/>
to exist without jobs (sometimes for years—the envy of our young<lb/>
artists!) most people either feel the guarantee level is too abject to<lb/>
exist on, or find it’s desirable to work in order to provide themselves<lb/>
with a lively social} life. The old and disabled, of course, must survive<lb/>
by taking advantage of the guarantee; and by my observation the<lb/>
living standard involved, while low, is perhaps slightly better than<lb/>
that of our Social Security recipients.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Despite the severe criticisms made of the Ecotopoan economic and<lb/>
tax system by our experts, direct observation can thus only support<lb/>
the claims of Ecotopian spokesmen, however unwelcome these may<lb/>
be: the system is now 21 proved and integrai part of Ecotopian life,<lb/>
and it is not going to go away.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
3; (May 29) Just reread last couple of columns. Realize that my attitudes<lb/>
6 toward the place have changed a lot in three weeks. (And it doesn’t<lb/>
seem to be just Marissa!) Am I getting soft in my writing? Maybe<lb/>
I didn’t know what were the really penetrating questions to be asked<lb/>
</p>
<p>
94<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="99" facs="0099.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
on that economics stufl. Or maybe I ’m even getting some kind ofover-all<lb/>
snow job. The whole Ecotopian experiment seemed to me at first a<lb/>
silly provincial attempt to construct a decent society when every place<lb/>
else was going down the drain. From what I had seen of the rest of<lb/>
the world, I knew it couldn’t work, it must be some kind of fraud!<lb/>
I hadn’t believed the rumors about forced labor and stone—age degeneracy<lb/>
and all that crap, but I guess I really did expect to find there was<lb/>
something terribly wrong with it, some obvious horrible flaw which meant<lb/>
that we didn’t after all really have to pay any serious attention to it;<lb/>
and my reports would end up documenting that, would make it all go<lb/>
away. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
But it’s not going away. In fact the more closely I look at the fabric<lb/>
of Ecotopian life, the more I am forced to admit its strength and its<lb/>
</p>
<p>
beauty. But that just leaves me at a total loss. I don’t seem to have i<lb/>
an attitude to write from any more; all I can do is call the individual é<lb/>
separate shots as I see them. Is that losing my objectivity? Will Max .‘<lb/>
start cutting my copy? Maybe I don’t really understand anythingj<lb/>
</p>
<p>
anymore, or at least not in the way I used to think I did?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Have come out to visit Marissa at the forest camp. Found her deep<lb/>
in the woods, selecting trees for cutting. She let me come along if I<lb/>
wouldn’t talk. She walks slowly through the trees, looking at them all<lb/>
very carefully. Then she’ll sit or stand for a while, meditatively. In time<lb/>
she will walk to this tree and that, attach to each a red ribbon marking<lb/>
its doom, and murmur a phrase I couldn’t catch. Her expression at<lb/>
these moments is sorrowful yet determined. Then she relaxes and we<lb/>
walk on to another tract offorest. This is a major part of her work—but<lb/>
it might as well be a ritual of some kind; there is a holiness to it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Difliculties have at last begun to arise between her and Everett—he<lb/>
still doesn’t seem to feel triumphed over, as I would in his place, but<lb/>
there has been dark talk about one of them having to leave. (I wish<lb/>
he would—I now find myself terribly jealous of her having anything<lb/>
to do with him.) At supper an argument came up over whether it would<lb/>
be a good idea to re-establish relations with Washington. Rather to<lb/>
my surprise, M arissa strongly in favor, with some ingenious arguments.<lb/>
I got many dirty looks, even though I didn’t say much. Everett is, after<lb/>
all, a member of the family, and I am an interloper.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Was invited along on a provision trip to the nearby town. Four of<lb/>
</p>
<p>
95<lb/>
</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="100" facs="0100.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
us, bumping along in a little electric truck. Went to one of the core<lb/>
stores. A pparently the goods in them are produced by automatedfactories<lb/>
to government Specifications. Standardized, very plain though often<lb/>
attractive, and incredibly, astoundingly cheap. Thus socks about a quarter<lb/>
of our prices, but only in black or white; Standard plain pants, shirts,<lb/>
underwear similarly priced. I happen to need a new T'shz'rt, and got<lb/>
two, considering the bargain (saffron colorl). Food sections Ofcore stores<lb/>
ofler a modest coverage of dried, frozen, preserved items. You could,<lb/>
if you wished, subsist on these for a tiny sumwand I have met a few<lb/>
artists and other oddball types who claim they do, being unwilling to<lb/>
spend their time earning the income needed for better fare. Many<lb/>
Ecotopians however seem to buy only breaafl beans, rice, fruit and similar<lb/>
staples from these stores, relying on small independent shops for meat,<lb/>
produce, etc.—or shipments from fellow communes. (Lumber camp gets<lb/>
its meat, milk and vegetables from a farm commune 15 miles away.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Standardization is carried amazingly far in the core stores. Preserved<lb/>
foods come in only three sizes of containers (all biodegradable, natural-<lb/>
ly)—-one about the Size of a small pickled-herring far, one like a large<lb/>
jam jar, and one huge, the kind our restaurants get fruits in. T hese<lb/>
go by metric contents, not our “giant,” “jumbo,” etc. or our intricate<lb/>
can numbers. The labels, however, very lovely in design. And some of<lb/>
the goods have style, like the shoes.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Had lost my hairbrush somehow, and the core stores carry only<lb/>
natural—brt'stle types. When I said that I wanted a proper plastic-bristle<lb/>
one, my companions looked at me a bit strangely, took me to an<lb/>
“antiquarium.” T urnea' out to be a special store where you can buy<lb/>
items no longer available in ordinary stores-including, it turns out,<lb/>
many items we sell in drugstores.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘ {Eeotopian “pharmacies, ” as they are called, are cramped little places<lb/>
that sell almost nothing but prescription drugs. The Ecotopian medical<lb/>
profession went through the pharmacopeia after Independence and<lb/>
ruthlessly eliminated many tranquillz'zers, energizers, sleep—inducers, and<lb/>
other drugs such as cold remedies. In fact they now license no behavior~<lb/>
control drugs at all. Which may have been a contributing factor in<lb/>
reorganizing their schools: unable to make dt'fi‘icult children adapt to<lb/>
the schools, they had to adapt the schools to the children! I asked<lb/>
one doctor what happens with insomnia. “Well, usually this indicates<lb/>
a social problem, not a medical one,” he said. “So we try to help the<lb/>
</p>
<p>
96<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
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</p>
<pb n="101" facs="0101.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
person change his life rather than his body chemistry, which is probably<lb/>
working fine. Besides, in Ecotopia it can be fun to stay up all night,<lb/>
you know. The 20—hour week has loosened things up a lot”)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Anyway, the antiquarium was patronized mainly by elderly women<lb/>
and a few rather decadent-looking young people, who laughed a lot<lb/>
and seemed to be looking for campy artifacts. With my plastic brush<lb/>
I got a lecture about it being impossible to recycle because it’s the<lb/>
old type of plastic. “Damn thing will last for hundreds ofyears,” said<lb/>
</p>
<p>
the clerk with distaste. Well, I ’11 remove it from his precious country '<lb/>
</p>
<p>
when I leave. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Marissa and fiiends tellin 3 me about origins of policy that all buildings<lb/>
must be of renewable and biodegradable materials. There was a time<lb/>
after Independence when only wood structures were permitted—the<lb/>
guiding genius of the period being one Archibald Fir, an architect. He<lb/>
wrote a remarkably influential study of earlier wood building, and helped<lb/>
lay down the specifications that plastics had to meet to be allowable<lb/>
as building materials. I asked why he took the name Fir, and not perhaps<lb/>
Redwood? Marissa: “Well, he was a modest man really, you see, and<lb/>
a realist. ” (He was also, it turns out, author of a magnificently biting<lb/>
attack on megastructures.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Must go back to the city tonight. T rying to get Marissa to come<lb/>
too. But I am getting to be more part of life at the camp. T oday before<lb/>
supper we were all sitting around playing (there’s really no other word<lb/>
for it). “Well, Will,” somebody says, “what can you do to entertain<lb/>
us?” I went hopelessly blank. People had been singing; I can’t sing.<lb/>
There had been jokes; I ’ve never been able to remember jokes. People<lb/>
had laughed and teased each other, in a kind of vaudeville-routine way;<lb/>
I ’ve never been able to do that hostile-friendly act. The fantasy flashed<lb/>
through my mind, “I could tell you the story of my life,” but I realized<lb/>
I couldn’t do that eitherwit would be too boring, it has no climax.<lb/>
Knowing Marissa was ashamed for me, I blurted out lamely, “Well,<lb/>
I don’t know—I’m afraid I’m just not very entertaining. Nobody ever<lb/>
taught me how to entertain people~we relied on television, I guess.”<lb/>
They absolutely wouldn ’t accept this; they thought I wanted to be coaxed.<lb/>
When it got through that I meant it, people were sad and embarrassed<lb/>
for me. “Listen,” said one of the men, “we won’t let you get away<lb/>
with that. You can ’t deny you know how to sing ‘Row, Row, Row Your<lb/>
Boat,’ okay? All right, start us on a round with that.” So I took a<lb/>
</p>
<p>
97<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="102" facs="0102.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
deep breath, happened to come out more or less on key, and after a<lb/>
minute it went marvelously, everybody doingfunny harmonies and‘fooling<lb/>
with the rhythm, and laughing at me. I shall have to extend my<lb/>
repertoire. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
RACE IN ECOTOPIAI<lb/>
APARTHEID OR EQUALITY?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, May 29. There are surprisingly few dark-skinned faces<lb/>
on San Francisco streets, and I have now learned why. After Indepen-<lb/>
dence, the principle of secession became a lively factor in Ecotopian<lb/>
political life. Thomas Jefferson and other early American patriots were<lb/>
quoted in its defense. The black population, whose economic depriva-<lb/>
tion under white control had made it increasingly nationalist and<lb/>
‘ separatist even before Independence, apparently joined in the general<lb/>
" exultation when the great break with Washington came. But in the<lb/>
months following, black separatist parties grew up to dominate the<lb/>
ghettoes of Oakland and San Francisco-having been strangled by<lb/>
the white suburbs earlier, the black population now wanted to control<lb/>
their own territory. After a long and bitter political struggle, the black<lb/>
areas (and also Chinatown in San Francisco) were officially designated<lb/>
as eity-states within Ecotopia. They had their own city governments,<lb/>
levied the usual taxes, had their own police and courts, their own<lb/>
industries, and owned farms in the nearby countryside. In fact they<lb/>
possessed all the attributes of tiny independent countries—even includ-<lb/>
ing the issuance of postage stamps and currency—except for the<lb/>
carrying on of foreign relations.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This situation, though it satisfies many blacks, seems to others<lb/>
inherently unstable, and they argue for full independence as the only<lb/>
long-range solution. One scheme, which is currently being debated,<lb/>
would relocate the entire black population in a new territory including<lb/>
Monterey Bay and the Salinas Valley, which would provide abundant<lb/>
agricultural resources and direct access to the Pacific sea lanes. The<lb/>
political and economic problems posed are monstrous, of course, but<lb/>
such things were carried out in Eastern Europe after World War II.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
98<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="103" facs="0103.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A few black people have preferred to continue living or working<lb/>
outside the black areas (which are often referred to as Soul City).<lb/>
They seem to be fully integrated into white society, with intermarriage<lb/>
frequent. Life within the black territories, judging by my limited<lb/>
observations, has more hold-overs from pre-Independence days than<lb/>
Ecotopia as a whole. In fact a few private cars are still mysteriously<lb/>
tolerated, and people chng to certain symbois of the old ways: there<lb/>
is a brisk trade in high-quality Scotch whisky and other imported<lb/>
luxury goods which are hard to find in Ecotopia elsewhere. The per<lb/>
capita income is said to be about 10 per cent higher than in the<lb/>
white areas, largely because of longer working hours—probably a<lb/>
</p>
<p>
consequence of the lag in black consumption before Independence. .‘I<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“We’re still making up for lost time,” one stylish black man put it ‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to me.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The culture of Soul City is of course different from that of Ecotopia<lb/>
generally. It is a heavy exporter of music and musicians, novels and<lb/>
movies and poetry, both to the rest of Ecotopia and to Europe and<lb/>
Asia. Black architects, bred in the ghettoes, have been leading propo-<lb/>
nents of rebuilding Ecotopian cities on people—centered rather than<lb/>
car-centered principles. Black enterprises, it is sometimes said, seem<lb/>
to be more naturally collectivist than those in white areas.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Since a high proportion of convicted criminals in early Ecotopia,<lb/>
as in the US, tended to be black, Soul City faced a major problem<lb/>
in this field. After Independence, with the legalization of marijuana<lb/>
and some other drugs, amnesties were declared for prisoners whose<lb/>
acts would no longer constitute crimes. A few guilty of “sex crimes”<lb/>
and crimes like loitering, drunkenness, and vagrancy were also freed.<lb/>
While the curbing of heroin traffic by taking it over as a government<lb/>
monopoly reduced the crime rate of Soul City as of other areas, a<lb/>
substantial black inmate population remained, and black penologists<lb/>
were forced to take the lead in prison reform.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
What is most surprising to an American observer is the severity<lb/>
of current sentences for violent crime. An ordinary street mugging,<lb/>
0f the type Which in New York may bring a one—to-five-year sentence,<lb/>
and a time served of perhaps 18 months, here may bring a flat five-year<lb/>
sentence With no possibility of parole.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
However, the serving of such sentences is quite different from its<lb/>
equivalent in our prisons. N0 large prisons of our type are maintained,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
99<lb/>
</p>
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</p>
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</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="104" facs="0104.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
either in Soul City or elsewhere in Ecotopia. Prisoners are dispersed<lb/>
in many small institutions housing only a few dozen inmates each.<lb/>
During the day inmates participate (under light guard and sometimes<lb/>
none at all) in the general life of societywholding jobs with ordinary<lb/>
job rights and pay. However, they (together with their wives, husbands,<lb/>
or lovers if they so desire) are confined at other times. This curious<lb/>
policy is justified by arguing that people guilty of violent crimes<lb/>
generally commit another one when freed, and thus end up in prison<lb/>
again; indeed traditional prison life increases their tendency to commit<lb/>
violence. (Except for murderers, perhaps, who usually kill spouses<lb/>
or acquaintances, and seldom repeat.) In the American system, the<lb/>
argument goes, prisons were only training schools for the inmates’<lb/>
next crimes. Soul City penologists, on the other hand, believe their<lb/>
relatively humane policies actually give inmates the time and opportu-<lb/>
nity to develop non-criminal modes of life in realistic life circum-<lb/>
stances. They present impressive figures on the relative re-imprison—<lb/>
ment rates for their inmates and ours, but naturally I have no way<lb/>
of verifying their accuracy.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Interestingly enough, ritual war games are practiced among the<lb/>
Soul City population also, but spears are considered too savage a<lb/>
weapon. Long} heavy sticks, rather like the quarterstafi's of Robin<lb/>
Hood’s men, are used instead, and the participants wear crash helmets.<lb/>
Thus the games are usually ended not by a messy wound, but by<lb/>
one of the participants suffering broken ribs 01' limbs, or being knocked<lb/>
out.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Although virtuaily all inhabitants of Ecotopia still regard English<lb/>
as their native language, the establishment of Soul City brought a<lb/>
considerable emphasis on Swahili in the schools, and many adults<lb/>
now speak it. Other blacks, however, regard this an an artificial and<lb/>
useless step; they point out that black youngsters are already in effect<lb/>
bilingual since they master both standard English and the street<lb/>
dialect—which is, however, steadily becoming more widely acceptable<lb/>
in business and professional dealings in Soul City. Swahili may be<lb/>
useful in the growing trade with African states. Awareness of Africa<lb/>
is acute among Ecotopian blacks, and I gather that Ecotopia is the<lb/>
source of considerable financial and munitions aid to revolutionaries<lb/>
in South Africa. 7<lb/>
This, like other aspects of the Ecotopian race situation, is an<lb/>
</p>
<p>
100<lb/>
</p>
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<pb n="105" facs="0105.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
uncomfortable irony for Americans. We look with horror on the<lb/>
apartheid society of South Africa, where the dominant white minority<lb/>
has enforced rigid segregation in every aspect of life. In Ecotopia,<lb/>
the biack minority has itself enforced a similar segregationwthough<lb/>
of course it makes some difference that this was voluntary whereas<lb/>
that of the Africans was forced upon them by the whites. But this<lb/>
admission that the races cannot live in harmony is surely one of the<lb/>
most disheartening developments in all of Ecotopia, and it clouds<lb/>
the future of our nation as well. Its example bodes ill for our own<lb/>
great metropolitan areas, whose black center cities are themselves<lb/>
already rife with talk of secession.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(May 30) At first Marissa refused to come to city with me, almost<lb/>
as a matter of principle. “It’s the weekend,” I said, “surely you can<lb/>
get away for two days!” “Why should I be the one who has to get<lb/>
</p>
<p>
away? Why don’t you get away? Why should I have to come to you?<lb/>
I live here—you’re just visiting at the Cove!” Our arguments become<lb/>
</p>
<p>
surprisingly bitter, puneuated by shoves, curses, growls, venomous looks:<lb/>
there is much at stake. I tried to patch things up and get a little warm<lb/>
feeling going with a hug; she Slapped at me, took her sleeping bag<lb/>
and went out into the forest somewhere to sleep I lay down, glumly,<lb/>
and got to sleep very late. Sometime near dawn I felt her slide into<lb/>
bed beside me. She laid a cool hand on my shoulder. “We must learn<lb/>
to take turns,” she said. We circled arms around each other, and fell<lb/>
asleep.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
But nothing is resolved, of course. Her sense of selfideterminatton<lb/>
is unshakable. Later in the day she said she still didn’t want to go into<lb/>
the city with me now, even if it was her turn. I had invited her to<lb/>
come along tomorrow to Punta Gorda where they’re going to show me<lb/>
a thermal sea-power set-up . This is a welcome developmentiseems to<lb/>
show a certain warming up in my oficial reception, and makes it more<lb/>
likely I ’ll get to see Vera Allwen soon.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
But the whole idea displeased Marissa: she came out with a crack<lb/>
about “foreign dignitaries.” The train ride north is supposed to be<lb/>
inordinately beautifixI—through lush farmland, mountain passes, orchard<lb/>
country, but none of that appealed to her. She said, though, she’d like<lb/>
</p>
<p>
}01<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="106" facs="0106.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to come to the Cove when I’m back from the trip. This dispelled my<lb/>
glumness a little. But it is hard to take her insistence on coming and<lb/>
going only as she pleases. Which is strange, because that is after all<lb/>
how Francine operates: is it maybe that I have never wanted anything<lb/>
more from her? Can’t imagine what it would be like to live with someone<lb/>
</p>
<p>
like Marissa: the notion is exhilarating but scary, like an earthquake.<lb/>
(Felt my first one the other day, and broke out in a sweat though it<lb/>
just jiggled the room a little.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ENERGY FROM SUN AND SEA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
Puma Gorda, May 31. One of the least known and yet staggering<lb/>
achievements of Ecotopian science and technology is the massive<lb/>
thermal-gradient power plant at Punta Gorda, which I have just been<lb/>
allowed to visit. (Similar but smaller plants also exist near Monterey<lb/>
and at other points along the coast.) This is perhaps the most impressive<lb/>
of the means by which the Ecotopians have pursued their ideal of<lb/>
pollution-free sources of energy.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Like the rest of the worid, Ecotopia is watching closely the ever<lb/>
more promising attempts to harness atomic fusion energy for practical<lb/>
purposes. The prospect does not entirely overjoy the<lb/>
Ecotopians, however, for they have a sentimental dislike of stringing<lb/>
power lines over their Iandscape and believe there is something<lb/>
unnatural in processes that concentrate gigantic quantities of energy<lb/>
at any one point; they are more interested in the technologies of<lb/>
generating energy near where it is needed.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Nonetheless, in this as in other matters, they are not exactly the<lb/>
senseless romantics some Americans think. When I visited the Ministry<lb/>
of Energy I discovered that officials there are well aware of the<lb/>
historical tendency for energy~rich cultures to conquer or dominate<lb/>
energy-poor ones. The EEotopia'ns are not, contrary to popular belief,<lb/>
headed back toward a Stone Age life. They use far more power than<lb/>
wouid be expected from travelling across their countryside—«but both<lb/>
its sources and its uses tend to be diffused, concealed, and novel.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The Ecotopians inheiited a system of oil— and gas—fired power plants<lb/>
(which they closed within a few years) and a number of atomic-fission<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
102<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="107" facs="0107.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
plants. They believe that ultimately fission cannot be tolerated because<lb/>
of radioactive byproducts and heat pollution, but they have been<lb/>
willing to live temporarily with the fission plants located in remote<lb/>
and little-inhabited areaswthough they have redoubled engineering<lb/>
precautions against nuclear explosions and extended hot—Water dis-<lb/>
charge pipes more than a mile to sea. (With what I am beginning<lb/>
to realize is typical Ecotopian ingenuity, the seacoast plant discharges<lb/>
are carried in huge pipes made of rigid plastic which is extruded<lb/>
with air bubbles in it so that it is slightly buoyant. Thus it tends<lb/>
to float, and is anchored in place just below keel depth by cables<lb/>
to the ocean floor.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Also inherited from pre-Independence days is an unconventional,<lb/>
and ecologically respectable, source of geothermal power. In the<lb/>
hot-springs region north of San Francisco, turbines are spun by steam<lb/>
coming up from the bowels of the earth. It is a hellish scene—billows<lb/>
of steam issue from pipes and wells, with loud hissing noises; the<lb/>
earth seems ready to explode. Despite the contrast with our quietly<lb/>
humming powerhouses, this geothermal system has advantages: cost<lb/>
is low, it adds virtually no pollutants to the atmosphere, and only<lb/>
a small amount of warm water to the run-ofi‘ in nearby streamswone<lb/>
of which has become the site of swimming resorts that are open even<lb/>
in winter.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopia also took over numerous hydroelectric installations at dams<lb/>
in its great mountain ranges. However, these are regarded as temporary<lb/>
expedients too, since they tend to silt up after a few generations,<lb/>
and have unfortunate effects on salmon and other wildlife. Ecotopian<lb/>
thinking has moved uniformly toward power sources which, like solar<lb/>
energy, earth heat, tides, and wind, can be tapped indefinitely without<lb/>
affecting even the local biosphere. (Ecotopians thus take a childish<lb/>
delight in the windmills and rooftop wind-driven generators that are<lb/>
common in both cities and remote areas.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The major thrust of Ecotopian energy research and development<lb/>
has involved two main sources. One is the energy of direct solar<lb/>
radiation, and several systems now exist for capturing it. Some require<lb/>
large installations and some small, but most are impressive in size.<lb/>
One type is a silvered parabolic mirror about 30 feet across that<lb/>
focusses the sunlight. Since the sun moves during the day, the receptor<lb/>
at the rays’ focus must move too—so this odd-shaped device sits like<lb/>
</p>
<p>
103<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
<pb n="108" facs="0108.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
a spider on a web of thin cables on which it pulls itself about, seeking<lb/>
maximum warmth, and sending steam through a flexible pipe to dfive<lb/>
a generator on the side. Much of the southern part of Ecotopia is<lb/>
Virtually desert, but these installations have reportedly proved effective<lb/>
in more northerly areas as well.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Another type is a bank of massive photo-cells, similar to those used<lb/>
on satellites but enormous in size. I have Visited one cell-bank south<lb/>
of Livermore, which uses a secret type of receptor material. The softly<lb/>
rolling grassy hills are faced on their south sides with literally city<lb/>
blocks on end of a glassy substance, in squares about two meters<lb/>
on a side. Narrow aisles run along the hillside, evidently mostly for<lb/>
the convenience of cleaning crews, whom I saw one evening wetting<lb/>
and wiping down the plates.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
During the day the heat and glare are intense, but the setting is<lb/>
silent, placid and peaceful. Grass continues to grow in the aisles and<lb/>
under the plates, which are mounted a few feet off the ground. I<lb/>
heard a meadowlark, and noticed the tracks of field mice underfoot.<lb/>
This cell bank must cover an area several miles on each side, perhaps<lb/>
20 or 30 square miles in all: it’s the size of a major airport. It generates<lb/>
enough power for a chain of minicities, and Ecotopian planners believe<lb/>
that in cloudier climates too such installations are becoming economi-<lb/>
cally feasible.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Even this huge set—up, however, is hardly remarkable beside the<lb/>
Punta Gorda thermal sea—power station, which might be taken for<lb/>
a reconstruction of some mad duke’s medieval fortress. It squats 0n<lb/>
the shoreline at a point where deep and very cold water hes only<lb/>
a few miles offshore, and sucks up seawater through a monstrous<lb/>
pipe. Smaller pipes run this way and that, connected to generators<lb/>
and pumps. Engineers explained to me that the system is something<lb/>
like a giant refrigerator running in reverse. Since Water can store<lb/>
enormous quantities of heat energy, even a relatively small tempera—<lb/>
ture difl‘erentiai can be made to yieid large amounts of power if suitably<lb/>
ingenious heat exchangers are employed-«but great quantities of water<lb/>
must be pumped up to take advantage of this principle. The sheer<lb/>
architectural mass of the plant is overwhelming; it seems almost an<lb/>
extension of the tides themselves. (The deep cold water is very<lb/>
nutrient-rich. Some of it is therefore pumped into nearby ponds to<lb/>
warm up before being injected into the system along with already<lb/>
</p>
<p>
104<lb/>
</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="109" facs="0109.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
warm surface water—but while in the ponds it feeds fish and shellfish,<lb/>
which are an important byproduct of the plant.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Going from the sublime massiveness of this great project, which<lb/>
must win the admiration of anyone who sees it, to the Iidiculous,<lb/>
I must describe a peculiarly Ecotopian power-generating device, which<lb/>
in its way also helps to explain what a fanciful people we are dealing<lb/>
with. Recently I visited an Ecotopian “family” in their country house.<lb/>
(Many Ecotopian living groups either have some kind of shack in<lb/>
the woods or are associate members of a country commune, where<lb/>
they spend some of their time.) This delightful retreat was located<lb/>
in an utter mountain wilderness, many miles from the nearest power<lb/>
line; but when I got there I found a radio was pounding out music.<lb/>
This radio, it turned out, was powered by a waterwheel! Some clever<lb/>
inventor has built a small wheel which floats in midstream suspended<lb/>
from cables, thus avoiding costly and ecologically damaging embut-<lb/>
ments. It generates 24-volt power which, stored in a couple of batteries,<lb/>
is plenty to run the radio, a pump, and the few electric Eights needed<lb/>
in a country place where people go to bed early. My hosts expressed<lb/>
great glee when I admired this incredible contraption. In fact they<lb/>
tn'ed to give it to me to take home, but since it weighs about 30<lb/>
pounds, this is fortunately out of the question.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This house, like many city dwellings, is heated by the system now<lb/>
widespread in Ecotopia—using solar radiation stored in a large water-<lb/>
tank underground, from which heated water can be pumped through<lb/>
radiators in the living areas. Much of the south walls and roofs of<lb/>
Ecotopian buildings are devoted to the heat-receptors for these devices,<lb/>
but since they greatly reduce the cost of operating a house and also<lb/>
eliminate the chief need for energy from a central source, Ecotopians<lb/>
regard this limitation With affection. They also like to point out that<lb/>
the system can be adapted to heating wash water and the distillation<lb/>
of seawater, which is useful in coastal communities where summer<lb/>
water supplies are uncertain.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
No survey of Ecotopian energy developments would be complete<lb/>
without mention of an extremely daring project which wiil be truly<lb/>
revolutiona1y~if it works. The photosynthetic chemistry of a green<lb/>
growing plant, as is well known, enables the plant to capture solar<lb/>
energy and use it in the plant’s own growth. Ecotopian scientists believe<lb/>
they have now worked out a process whereby, in specially bred plants,<lb/>
</p>
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lOS<lb/>
</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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<p>
l<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="110" facs="0110.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
this process could be electrically tapped directly. Such an unbelievably<lb/>
elegant system would be nearly perfect from an Ecotopian point of<lb/>
view: your garden could then recycle your sewage and garbage, provide<lb/>
your food, and also light your house!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June I) Got back [tom the north this afternoon and found Marissa<lb/>
already at the Coveasitting in “my” chair in the library, reading. It<lb/>
always surprises me how she fits into other scenes, without feeling like<lb/>
an interloper. Perhaps it is because Ecotopians have such strong ties<lb/>
to their own “family” turfi they feel secure everywhere? Or is it that<lb/>
the country is so small it is in some way all one huge extended family?<lb/>
At any rate she feels at home at the Cove.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We went up to my room arm in arm, very close and companionable.<lb/>
It’s marvelous to be wanted by her: she’s direct and solid and passionate,<lb/>
and it makes evegzthing possible. I don’t quite know what’s diflerent<lb/>
in making love with her. She uses her body in a direct and intimate<lb/>
way that enables me to do the same, somehow. She is in tune with<lb/>
herself, her own biological being, and through some contagion I find<lb/>
myself doing the same. I feel stronger with her than I usually have—I<lb/>
like my own body better too, have more trust in its functioning. I don’t<lb/>
worry about it getting cold, or sick, or tired, or not performing well<lb/>
sexually; I almost don’t “think” about it at all, the way I have in the<lb/>
past. And the sexual contact between us goes on getting better and<lb/>
better. We are perfectly open and loose and trusting; sometimes we<lb/>
lose ourselves, our selfconsciousnesses, in tremendous bursts of shared<lb/>
feeling—closeness and orgasms that are really difi’erent from anything<lb/>
in my life before. Yet we never speak of it; it just happens. And not<lb/>
that it’s weirdAstrange positions or anything. We sometimes fool around<lb/>
with oral sex in one way or another, and it’s pleasant for fun and games<lb/>
or preliminaries, but for the real contact we both like intercourse, the<lb/>
old standby. (Odd, because Ecotopians are supposed to be so liberated<lb/>
about sex, I had imagined them doing almost everything but straight<lb/>
fucking!) We seem to do it for hours, it just goes on, rising and falling<lb/>
in intensity, changing tone or emotional color, like a leisurely walk<lb/>
up a lovely mountain, in no hurry to reach the top. But then finally<lb/>
we reach it, sometimes without realizing we were near, and the view<lb/>
</p>
<p>
106<lb/>
</p>
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<pb n="111" facs="0111.tif"/>
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<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
is splendid and the air is clear and I feel like I am really living at<lb/>
last—<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Can it go on this way? At any rate it seems I can never get enough<lb/>
of her—I watch for the chance to drag her to bed, I ’m almost shamefully<lb/>
focused on having her, on having more of this extraordinary kind of<lb/>
experience. . . . She is sleeping now, and I study her as she lies stretched<lb/>
out under my quilt. T here is so much intensity in her—it brings out<lb/>
all of mine. When I am with her I feel more solid—heavier, almost<lb/>
literally, as if my feet are planted more firmly on the earth.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I realize the relation with Marissa is changing my whole idea of F<lb/>
</p>
<p>
what men and women are like together. T hings I used to take for granted ,<lb/>
with Francine now begin to seem bizarre to me. Men never snap their<lb/>
heads around to look at Marissa, the way they do with Francine—whose<lb/>
bright blonde hair is like a beacon. Marissa wears no make-up at all, ‘<lb/>
never, and now that the fashion cycle with us has come round again<lb/>
to heavy lipstick and eye—shaa'ow and so on, I first found her a little<lb/>
pale-looking, too reticent about herself. And yet what intensity there<lb/>
is in her eyes, the way she moves her mouth, the liveliness of her body! ‘<lb/>
It is as if Francine possesses the signs or signals that are supposed 1<lb/>
to mean sexuality and vitality, Marissa just has sexuality and vitality, :‘<lb/>
so she doesn’t need the signals“ ‘<lb/>
I used to particularly enjoy going into a fancy restaurant or a cocktail<lb/>
party wzth Francine. It was like displaying a prize won in some contest.<lb/>
And she makes the most of it—breasts always seeming about to burst<lb/>
</p>
<p>
her dress; that special ambiguous look from me to the others, inviting I "<lb/>
competition and comparisons and flirtations. With Marissa, coming into .='<lb/>
</p>
<p>
a place is just coming into the place. We will relate to the people there 5<lb/>
individually or together, intimately or not at all, as it happens to go.<lb/>
Most people find Marissa attractive—she grows on you, subtly—but she<lb/>
never presents herself as an object to be struggled over, and she never 5<lb/>
pretends to feelings she doesn’t have. And yet she expects a greatE<lb/>
emotional commitment from me—we have had terrible scenes because:<lb/>
she felt I was not living up to our relationship ‘<lb/>
Yet sometimes I miss Francine. her frivolousness her lightheartedness,<lb/>
her sense of social style and reparteewMarissa s awfully serious, and<lb/>
sometimes I get angry that she won’t indulge in game-playing. Francine ,<lb/>
is game for anything, I suppose because to her nothing much matters.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
i<lb/>
</p>
<p>
107<lb/>
</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
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</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="112" facs="0112.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Is her appeal that with her I can be irresponsible, loll about on those<lb/>
enormous tits, be childish?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(So why should it be hard for me to be grown up?)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Here I am, 36 years old, involved with one gorgeous, playful woman<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Eat one end of the continent, and with one passionate, serious woman<lb/>
{at the other. Marissa would hate everything about New York, and<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Francine would hate everything about Ecotopia. Lucky ladies, to have<lb/>
such a famous schizophrenic for a lover. . . . But how can I bear being<lb/>
so split?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Maybe I should have been a poet after all, as I used to think when<lb/>
I was a teenager. Maybe it’s only artists who can really handle their<lb/>
personal contradictions—by putting them into their work?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Under Marissa’s questioning (patient but unrelenting!) I have also<lb/>
been thinking back to my marriage with Pat. I don’t see, when I look<lb/>
at Ecotopian love relationships, or marriages, that awful sense of<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Z constriction that we felt, the impact of a rigid streotyped set of expecta-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
. tionsithat this was the way we were goin g to relate to each other forever,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
that we had to, in order to somehow survive in a hostile universe.<lb/>
Ecotopians’ marriages shade of more gradually into extended family<lb/>
connections, into friendships with both sexes. Individuals don’t perhaps<lb/>
stand out as sharply as we do; they don’t present themselves as problems<lb/>
or gifts to each other, more as companions. Nobody is as essential (or<lb/>
as expendable) here as with us. It is all fearfully complex and dense<lb/>
to me, yet I can see that it’s that very density that sustains themwthere<lb/>
are always good, solid alternatives to any relationship, however intense.<lb/>
Thus they don’t have our terrible agonizing worries when a relationship<lb/>
is rocky. This saddens me somehow—it seems terribly unromantic. It’s<lb/>
their usual goddamned realism: they are taking care of themselves, of<lb/>
each other. Yet I can see too that it’s that very realism that allows<lb/>
them to be silly and irresponsible sometimes, because they know they<lb/>
can aflord it; mistakes are never irreparable, they are never never gain g<lb/>
to be cast out alone, no matter what they do. . .. And perhaps this<lb/>
even makes marriages last better—they have lower expectations than<lb/>
we do, in some ways. A marriage is a less central fact of a person’s<lb/>
life, and therefore it is not so crucial that it be altogether satisfying<lb/>
(as ifanything or anybody was ever altogether satisfying.) Though people<lb/>
do split up in ways that are clearly, very painful for them. But not<lb/>
the wrenching feeling of failure that both Pat and I had when we broke<lb/>
</p>
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108<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="113" facs="0113.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
up—Jhe feeling that utter disaster had overtaken us, especially her of<lb/>
course, but also me, really: or the feeling offault, that we had somehow<lb/>
not done it right, the way We were supposed to, that I had not given<lb/>
her what women were supposed to expect to be given (rather than finding<lb/>
for themselves or in themselves) and therefore I and we had failed, and<lb/>
had to ,sufler for it. No Ecotopian seems to carry that kind of guilt.<lb/>
And even though it seems to dilute something intense and precious in<lb/>
life, I am beginning to envy them a little, and also to see that their<lb/>
joint way of protecting themselves is stronger and more fruitful than<lb/>
the individual defensive way I have tried by keeping my relationship<lb/>
with Francine light and tentative and limited. . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
COMIVIUNICATIONS IN ECOTOPIAI PRESS,<lb/>
TELEVISION AND PUBLISHING<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, June 2. As a working newspaperman, I am naturally<lb/>
cun'ous about the press of other countries, and I have spent a good<lb/>
deal of time with Ecotopian editors, writers, and television newsmen<lb/>
and women. The conditions they work under would be intolerable<lb/>
for me or most of my colleagues. Nonetheless, I have gained a healthy<lb/>
respect for their integrity, hard work, and devotion to the public welfare<lb/>
as they see it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The basic situation of the Ecotopian media is that, in the political<lb/>
confusion after Independence, laws were passed Which efl'ectively<lb/>
broke up the existing media corporations. Friends in the legislatures<lb/>
who had previously protected the publishing and broadcasting indus-<lb/>
tries were no longer in power. Thus the fundamental Eeotopian press<lb/>
law forbade multiple owuerships under any circumstances: that is,<lb/>
the corporations that owned magazines, newspapers, TV and radio<lb/>
stations were required to divest themselves of all but one operation<lb/>
in each city. Generally (and mistakenly, as it turned out) they decided<lb/>
to keep their chief TV stations.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
But a series of further confiscatory laws followed, narrowly regulat-<lb/>
ing the types and amounts of advertising that were permitted, requiring<lb/>
augmented quotas of “public service” broadcasting, and so on. These<lb/>
</p>
<p>
109<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
- - -_.—~ "awn:<lb/>
</p>
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</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="114" facs="0114.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
laws worked out to give unfair advantages to small, independent<lb/>
entrepreneurial groups, who came forth in staggering numbers. In<lb/>
place of the one daily newspaper San Francisco fonnerly enjoyed,<lb/>
there are now sixArepresenting every shade of opinionwplus numerous<lb/>
weeklies, monthlies, and specia1~interest newsletters. These service a<lb/>
wider area than the San Francisco paper covered earlier, for the capital<lb/>
city’s media have now, to a certain extent, become national in<lb/>
circulation. Still, papers are thriving in other cities as wen: Seattle<lb/>
has four, Portland three, and even Sacramento has three. There has<lb/>
been an equal proliferation in the magazine field. This fragmentation<lb/>
does not seem to be as hard on the individual reporters and writers<lb/>
as might be expected. They do not yearn for the security of our big<lb/>
media corporations, but seem to enjoy the thrill of doing their<lb/>
freewheeling best for a small operation even though its days may<lb/>
be visibly numbered.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Television has been similarly decentralized and broken up. Each<lb/>
existing station was early forced into a great deal of local program-<lb/>
ming~though centralized news services were allowed. The government<lb/>
itself acquired several channels to be used for political programs—both<lb/>
local and national government affairs (as I reported in an earlier<lb/>
column) are more 01' iess continually visible on TV: hearings, commit-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
tee meetings, debates.<lb/>
In such circumstances entertainment obviously was forced into a<lb/>
</p>
<p>
back seat. It consisted mainly of old films and a plethora of amateurish<lb/>
shows: rock music concerts, comedians, endless technical arguments<lb/>
about ecological problems. It is hard to imagine any large number<lb/>
of Americans watching such programs, which make little attempt at<lb/>
Showmanship and are further dulled by the absence of the surrealist<lb/>
commerciais we have.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
How good is the news coverage in Ecotopia? Spot comparisons<lb/>
with our press from the months just before my trip reveal that<lb/>
Ecotopian coverage is surprisingly competent in those areas of the<lb/>
world it chooses to deal with. Because of the lack of diplomatic<lb/>
relations, of course, no Ecotopian correspondents can be stationed<lb/>
in the U.S., so information on US. events is skimpy and derived<lb/>
mainly from European press services. World news on the other hand<lb/>
seems to be excellent: for instance, the Ecotopian papers had run<lb/>
</p>
<p>
110<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="115" facs="0115.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
accounts of the latest American air strikes in Brazil more than a week<lb/>
before our newspapers had. . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Although the general picture of the Ecotopian media is one of almost<lb/>
anarchic decentralization, a jungle in which only the hardiest survive,<lb/>
here too we find paradoxes. For the newspapers, which are even smafler<lb/>
than your tabloids, are actually sold through electronic print-out<lb/>
terminals in the street kiosks, in libraries, and at other points; and<lb/>
these terminals are connected to central computer banks, whose<lb/>
facilities are “rented” by the publications. Two print-out inks are<lb/>
available, by the way: one lasts indefinitely, the other fades away<lb/>
in a few weeks so the paper can be immediately re-used.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This system is integrated with book publishing as well Although<lb/>
many popular books are printed normally, and sold in kiosks and<lb/>
bookstores, more specialized titles must be obtained through a special<lb/>
print—out connection. You look the book’s number up in a catalogue,<lb/>
punch the number on a juke-box-like keyboard, study the blurb,<lb/>
sample paragraphs, and price displayed on a videoscreen, and deposit<lb/>
the proper number of coins if you wish to buy a copy. In a few<lb/>
minutes a print-out of the volume appears in a slot. These terminals,<lb/>
I am told, are not much used by city dwellers, who prefer the more<lb/>
readable printed books; but they exist in every corner of the country<lb/>
and can thus be used by citizens in rural areas to procure copies<lb/>
of both currently popular and specialized books. All of the 60,000-odd<lb/>
books published in Ecotopia since Independence are available, and<lb/>
about 50,000 earlier volumes. It is planned to increase this gradually<lb/>
to about 150,000. Special orders may also be placed, at higher costs,<lb/>
to scan and transmit any volume in the enormous national library<lb/>
at Berkeley.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This system is made possible by the same fact that enables Ecotopian<lb/>
book publication to be so much more rapid than ours: authors retype<lb/>
their edited final drafts on an electric typewriter that also makes a<lb/>
magnetic tape. This tape can be turned into printing plates in a few<lb/>
minutes, and it can simultaneously be fed into the central storage<lb/>
computer, so it is immediately available to the print-out terminals.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Aside from this “professional” publishing, Ecotopia also supports<lb/>
a sizable “amateur” industry. Authors, artists, political groups, and<lb/>
specialized organizations have easy and cheap access to print because<lb/>
Ecotopia early developed portable, fooi-proof, easily repairable offset<lb/>
</p>
<p>
111<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="116" facs="0116.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
printing presses, and deployed them everywhere—in schools, offices,<lb/>
factories and so on. Ecotopian children of eight know how to operate<lb/>
them with satisfactory results.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The variety of matrials printed in this way is staggering: cookbooks<lb/>
(many Ecotopians are devoted to fine eating, no doubt one of their<lb/>
cultural links to the French), political tracts, scientific papers, comic<lb/>
books (these have a wide and weird development, being the chosen<lb/>
medium of some excellent artists), experimental literature, poetry,<lb/>
how-to-do-it manuals for crafts or skills, and so on. These range in<lb/>
style from the tawdrily home-made to the superbly personal and<lb/>
</p>
<p>
creative.<lb/>
The Ecotopian fondness for a craft, guild, almost medieval approach<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to things also surfaces in their publishing, despite its modern technolo-<lb/>
gy. Each newspaper, magazine, or book bears a colophon—a listing<lb/>
of who edited the manuscript, typed it for the tape, ran the press,<lb/>
handled the binding, etc. When I said this seemed rather immodest<lb/>
in the modern world, I was told that vanity had nothing to do with<lb/>
itwthe main consideration was to fix responsibility, which the<lb/>
Ecotopians try to decentralize and personalize wherever possible.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
(June 3) Sitting around the fire at the Cove last night, swapping<lb/>
old newspaper stories, drinking mulled wine. Every once in a while<lb/>
somebody would stomp in out of the chilly evening and join us to warm<lb/>
up. But they still like to tease me. After a while Bert began it: “Come<lb/>
on, Will, tell us what’s the biggest Story the Times ever suppresse .”<lb/>
“What do you mean by the biggest?” I pam’ed. “Well, whatever you<lb/>
think was biggest. Bay of Pigs was pretty big, I guess, but that was<lb/>
a long time ago and anyway they did decide to run it, even 1f it took<lb/>
three days to get around to it.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“I would have opposed holding up on that,” I said, frowning. “They<lb/>
ran it, as I understand, when they realized other papers would break\<lb/>
the story. Even then the old man felt he was betraying the President.” \<lb/>
</p>
<p>
\<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
A burst of unkind laughter greeted this remark, which didn’t surprise<lb/>
me, of coursemyou don’t find much sympathy for US. government<lb/>
policies or figures among Ecolopians. “After that the paper printed<lb/>
everything, as far as I heard. Do you know about the Pentagon Papers?” \<lb/>
</p>
<p>
\<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
112<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="117" facs="0117.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Yeah, they were okay on that one,” Tom agreed, “even if it was<lb/>
stale news.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Look, Will,” Bert said, leaning back with that intent expression<lb/>
he gets when he’s getting down to serious business. “What are you going<lb/>
to write about the Helicopter War? We think that was the most serious<lb/>
suppressed story since Independence. I know you were only 19 or 20<lb/>
at the time: so was I. But there wasn’t a line about it in any of your<lb/>
major papers. Your underground papers had some stufii but they never<lb/>
get anything straight—it all sounded like third—hand paranoiac raving. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Dead silence, all eyes on me. I took Some deep slow breaths. I know,<lb/>
even though I was just a reporter on a student paper at the time, that<lb/>
rumors had circulated for some while about trouble on the Ecotopian<lb/>
borders. A couple of young hotshot friends, a few years older than I ,<lb/>
wanted to go out and track them down. But the wire service had a<lb/>
good man in Reno, and of course a whole bureau in Los Angeles. The<lb/>
editors thought that if anything important happened, they’d know about<lb/>
it all right. Soon after, the army had put through unusual rush orders<lb/>
for large numbers of replacement helicopters, but these were explained<lb/>
as part of the Latin American buiId-up that was beginnin g then. Besides,<lb/>
by then the shock of the secession had largely spent itself, and readers<lb/>
were tired of Ecotopia. Public attention was mostly on the chronic<lb/>
economic crisis. The public opinion polls showed that while nobody was<lb/>
happy about Ecotopt'a, nobody was too unhappy about it either. The<lb/>
likelihood that our government would risk a secret invasion seemed<lb/>
remote; I certainly hadn’t lost any sleep over it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Are you putting me on?” I said. “What Helicopter War?” “Oh,<lb/>
come on, said Bert angrily. “Are you giving us the old no se nada?”<lb/>
“We heard a few rumors,” I admitted. “Our people must have looked<lb/>
into it. What happened, some skirmishes 0n the border?” “It was a<lb/>
fucking war, man! There were thousands killed on both sides!”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Red, who must be about 50, spoke up from the sidelines. He’s less<lb/>
talkative than most Ecotopt‘ans, so his words tend to carry extra weight.<lb/>
“I was in it,” he said simply. “Tomorrow morning I could take you<lb/>
down and show you something that might convince you. ” But he wouldn’t<lb/>
tell me what it was.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We talked on through the evening. Their stories seem to agree too<lb/>
closely to be merelyfabrt'cations. Amount to something like this: a minor<lb/>
war took place in almost total secrecy. It lasted only a few days, but<lb/>
</p>
<p>
113<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
_ .. .w aflmfi4<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="118" facs="0118.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
they claim it was a major turning point in maintaining the new nation.<lb/>
Ecotopians knew, ofcourse, that Washington was full ofhawks favoring<lb/>
an immediate and if necessary genocidal “solution” to the secession.<lb/>
Ecotoptans also knew that the hawkish views had so far never won<lb/>
out—partly because of the economic problems that reannexing Ecotopia<lb/>
would have presented by then, partly because it had been feared since<lb/>
secession that New York, Chicago, Washington, and maybe other cities<lb/>
had been mined with atomic weapons.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Red’s story is that immediately after Independence, the Ecotopt’ans<lb/>
realized that anti-helt'copter devices were a high priority, and several<lb/>
rather navel ones were produced in very large numbers. One, taken<lb/>
over by the Ecotopians from the US. Army upon secession and then<lb/>
manufactured by the former missile plants near Sacramento and San<lb/>
Francisco, was a radar—guz‘ded rocket carried by a single man ( or woman).<lb/>
After its bazooka-like shell was fired, however, the firer continued to<lb/>
point the weapon at the moving target, and the radar beam actually<lb/>
steered the rocket till it hit the target. Another type was based on a<lb/>
French and Russian device, and used infrared homing to guide a missile<lb/>
toward the exhaust of a flying target; these were especially useful at<lb/>
night. Another, much cheaper, used a very simple rocket that trailed<lb/>
long wires, which tangled with the copter’s rotors and caused them to<lb/>
lose control and crash. These weapons were, apparently, distributed<lb/>
throughout the country. “You mean to all army units?” I asked. “To<lb/>
all army units and all households and living groups too,” Red smiled.<lb/>
“They were everywhere, hundreds of thousands of ‘em, believe it or not. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
What he says happened was that the US. Army and Air Force launched<lb/>
a major secret attack: from bases in Southern California, Colorado<lb/>
and Montana, and from several carriers oflshore, huge squadrons of<lb/>
helicopters roared over the Ecotopian frontiers, escorted by fighter-<lb/>
bombers. This may not have been too much ofa surprise: the Ecotopt'ans<lb/>
claim an excellent intelligence operation. Much destruction was ofcaurse<lb/>
caused by the jets, which attempted to “soften up” landing sites in the<lb/>
approved Vietnam technique. An alarming number ofjets, however, were<lb/>
shot down. Worse still, when the copters came in, they encountered<lb/>
heavy ground fire from the borders and coastline all the way to their<lb/>
touch-a’own points.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
M “We just shot them all down,” said Red calmly.<lb/>
[”3” “ghfl/‘Vhat do you mean, shot them all down? That’s impossible!”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="119" facs="0119.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“You might think so,” he replied. “But we had many times more<lb/>
rockets than they had helicopters. We just finished them of as fast<lb/>
as they came in. They might have got some on the ground if they had<lb/>
concentrated them all on some open area out in the Valley. But they<lb/>
were overconfident and they had it all carefully programmed to lay down<lb/>
men all Over the country. Well, we got something like seven thousand<lb/>
in three days. A lot near the borders, but all over the place too. When<lb/>
they counted up their losses, and still didn’t have any men on the ground,<lb/>
they steppe .”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“That’s incredible,” I said. “They soon would’ve realized what was<lb/>
going on and changed their strategy.” ‘Maybe their computer wasn’t<lb/>
set up for that, ”said Bert drily. “Also we messed up their communication<lb/>
channels a little bit. I ’ve heard that half the time when they thought<lb/>
they were talking to each other they were actually talking to our guys.<lb/>
Who gave them, um, a lot of wrong information and got them into<lb/>
some nasty wrong places. What really stopped them, though, was<lb/>
probably that we finally told them we would detonate the mines in<lb/>
American cities if the attack went on another day. It was that close.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This fratricidal vision stunned me, though I know what civil wars<lb/>
are like. “What did you do with prisoners of war?” I asked. “There<lb/>
weren’t too many,” said Red. “You don’t usually survive the crash of<lb/>
an exploding copter. We hung onto the pilots for a couple of months,<lb/>
until we were pretty sure it was over. ( Your people were getting busy<lb/>
in Brazil along about then, too.) The other guys we talked to for a<lb/>
while and then shipped them down to L.A. Some of them, I ’ve heard,<lb/>
later came back out here to live. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We talked long into the night. “Well, what are you going to do,<lb/>
Will?” Bert finally asked. What the hell did he expect me to say? ‘More<lb/>
Checking, first of all,” I replied. “And then I’d have to find a way to<lb/>
handle it that wouldn’t be inflammatory. I don’t want another war any<lb/>
more than you do.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Lucky you have broad shoulders so you can carry the world around<lb/>
on it so easily!” Bert laughed. And everybody seemed disappointed by<lb/>
my reply. But I ’m not some irresponsible nut who can write whatever<lb/>
</p>
<p>
' comes into his head.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="120" facs="0120.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIAN EDUCATION’S SURPRISES<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, June 4. Schools are perhaps the most antiquated aspect<lb/>
of Ecotopian society. Our computer-controlled individual home in—<lb/>
struction has no parallels here. Pupils are still assembled physically<lb/>
all day for their Eessons. (Indeed few electronic teaching aids are used<lb/>
at all, in the belief that simply being in the presence of teachers<lb/>
and fellow pupils has an educational effect.) In fact if Crick School,<lb/>
which I visited, is any example , Ecotopian schools look more like<lb/>
farms than anything else. An Ecotopian teacher replied to this<lb/>
observation, “Well, that’s because we’ve crossed over into the age<lb/>
of biology. Your school system is still physics—dorninated. That’s the<lb/>
reason for ali the prison atmosphere. You can’t allow things to grow<lb/>
there.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Crick School is situated on the outskirts of the minicity of Reliez<lb/>
and its 125 students trudge out to the country every day. (About<lb/>
a dozen such schools ring the city.) The school owns eight acres,<lb/>
including a woodlot and a creek. The name is in honor of Francis<lb/>
Crick, co-discoverer of the structure of DNA. There is not a single<lb/>
permanent building of any significance; instead, classes take place<lb/>
either outdoors or in small, temporary-seeming wood buildings barely<lb/>
big enough to hold a teacher and 10 pupils, which are scattered here<lb/>
and there on the school grounds. I was unable to locate the school<lb/>
office, and when I inquired, I was told the school has none—its records<lb/>
consist of a single drawer-full of cards! With only a half dozen teachers,<lb/>
my informants said, the coordination and decision-making for the<lb/>
school is simply part of everyday life. Since class periods fluctuate<lb/>
wildly (there are no hour bells) the teachers can always get together<lb/>
if they feel like it, and they also eat supper together once a week<lb/>
for more extended discussions.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Incredibly enough, the Children spend only an hour or so a day<lb/>
in actual class work. When I asked how they are kept from destroying<lb/>
the school during the times they are not under teacher control, I<lb/>
was told that they are usually busy attending to their “projects.” I<lb/>
could see evidence of such projects on every hand, so perhaps the<lb/>
explanation, optimistic though it may seem to us, is accurate.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The woodlot is a main focus of activity, especially for the boys,<lb/>
who tend to gang up into tribal units of six or eight. They build<lb/>
</p>
<p>
116<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="121" facs="0121.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
tree houses and underground hide-outs, make bows and arrows,<lb/>
attempt to trap the gophers that permeate the hillside, and generally<lb/>
carry on like happy savages—though I notice their conversation is<lb/>
laced with biological terminology and they seem to have an astonishing<lb/>
scientific sophistication. (One six—year-old, examining a creepy-Iooking<lb/>
bug: “Oh, yes, that’s the larval stage”) There are some projects, such<lb/>
as a large garden and a weaving shed, which seem to be dominated<lb/>
by girl children, though some of the girls are members of chiefly<lb/>
male gangs. Most of the children’s study and work time, however,<lb/>
is spent in mixed groups.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
By “work,” I mean that children in Ecotopian schools literally spend<lb/>
at least two hours a day actually working. The school gardens count<lb/>
in this, since they supply food for the midday meals. But apparently<lb/>
most schools also have small factories. In the Crick workshop I found<lb/>
about 20 boys and girls busin making two kinds of small wooden<lb/>
articieswwhich turned out to be birdhouses and flats for seedlings.<lb/>
(The flats, mercifuily, are uniform in dimensions and style. The<lb/>
birdhouses assume fanciful shapes and many different sizes. This<lb/>
double standard is not by accident.) The system is intended to teach<lb/>
children that work is a normal part of every person’s life, and t0<lb/>
inculcate Ecotopian ideas about how work places are controlled: there<lb/>
are no “bosses” in the shop, and the children seem to discuss and<lb/>
agree among themseres about how the work is to be done. The shop<lb/>
contains a lot of other projects in one stage or another of development.<lb/>
In working these out together, as I watched them do for a half hour<lb/>
or so, the children need to use concepts in geometry and physics,<lb/>
(10 complex calculations, and bring to bear considerable skills in<lb/>
carpentry. They marshal the necessary information with a verve that<lb/>
is altogether different from the way our children absorb prepackaged<lb/>
formal learning. The children also, I am told, dispose of the workshop<lb/>
profits as they please. Though some of the money seems to be<lb/>
distributed (equally) among the individual children, some is used to<lb/>
buy things for the school: I was shown a particularly fine archery<lb/>
set that was recently bought in this way.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It was sunny during my visit, but Crick School must be appallingly<lb/>
muddy in the rainy winters. To provide some protection, and also<lb/>
to give a place for meetings, parties, films and video shows, the school<lb/>
possesses a giant teepee-like tent. The white canvas covering is no<lb/>
</p>
<p>
117<lb/>
</p>
<p>
mica:,"__ . u.“<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
a<lb/>
</p>
<p>
w». 3 -;.;Im.-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
3:1?“ ii)». an: ==-..~q¥«:-tnl<lb/>
</p>
<p>
_~M‘m~—~m_ w<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="122" facs="0122.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
longer new and carries many charming decorative patches. Usually<lb/>
the lower rim of fabric is rolled up to head height, making the teepee<lb/>
into a kind of pavilion. Here the children sometimes play When it<lb/>
is raining heavily. (They are never forbidden to go out in the wet,<lb/>
and learn to take care of drying themselves off.) A large pit in the<lb/>
center is the site of occasional barbecues, when a deer (or one of<lb/>
the school pigs) is roasted and eaten; and a kitchen at one side of<lb/>
the teepee is often used by groups of children making themselves<lb/>
lunches or treats,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Does this extremely unregulated atmosphere lead to wild conduct<lb/>
among the children? So far as I could tell, not at all; in fact, the<lb/>
school is curiously quiet. Small bands of children roam here and there<lb/>
on mysterious but obviously engrossing errands. A few groups play<lb/>
ball games, but the school as a whole has little of that hectic, noisy<lb/>
quality we associate with our schoolgrounds. Indeed at first I could<lb/>
not believe that more than 30 or 40 children were present, considering<lb/>
the lack of babble. The tribal play groups, incidentally, are not all<lb/>
of an age; each contains some older kids who exercise leadership<lb/>
but do not seem to be tyrannical. This is perhaps encouraged by<lb/>
</p>
<p>
the teachers, or at least not discouraged, for they work with groups ‘ '1<lb/>
</p>
<p>
at one general level of development but do not object if an older<lb/>
or younger Chitd wishes to join in or just watch one of the class sessions.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Some of the teachers, especiaily those occupied mainly With the<lb/>
younger children, apparently teach everything. But other teachers<lb/>
specialize to some extentwone teaches music, another math, another<lb/>
“mechanics”-by which he means not only that branch of physics,<lb/>
but also the construction, design and repair of physical objects. In<lb/>
this way they feel free to indulge their own interests, which they assume<lb/>
will have an educational effect on the children. Certainly it seems<lb/>
to keep their own minds lively. All the teachers teach a lot of biology,<lb/>
of course. The emphases and teaching loads are flexible, and set by<lb/>
discussion among the teachers themselves. .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This, like the genera} operation of the school, is possible because<lb/>
of the most remarkable fact of all about Ecotopian schools: they are<lb/>
private enterprises. Or rather, just as most factories and shops in<lb/>
Ecotopia are owned by the people who work in them, so the schools<lb/>
are enterprises collectively but personaliy owned by the teachers who<lb/>
run them. Crick School is legally a corporation; its teacher members<lb/>
</p>
<p>
118<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="123" facs="0123.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
own the iand, buildings and reputation (such as it is) of their school.<lb/>
They are free to operate it however they wish, follow whatever<lb/>
educational philosophy they wish, and parents are free to send their<lb/>
children to Crick School or to another school as they wish.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The only controls on the schools, aside from a maximum—fee rule<lb/>
and matters of p1umbing and safe buildings, stem from the national<lb/>
examinations which each child takes at ages 12 and 18. Apparently,<lb/>
although no direct administrative controls exist, the indirect pressure<lb/>
from parents to prepare children for these exams_as well as for lifeuis<lb/>
such that the schools make a strong effort to educate their students<lb/>
effectively. The exams are made up yearly by a prestigious committee,<lb/>
comprising some educators, some political figures, and some parents—a<lb/>
partly elected and partly appointed body whose members have tenure<lb/>
for seven years and are thus somewhat insulated, like our senators<lb/>
or judges, from short-term political pressures.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Indeed there seems to be a brisk competition among schools; and<lb/>
children switch around a good deal. On the secondary level the<lb/>
situation is apparently a little hke ours; one school near San Francisco,<lb/>
which has produced a large number of scientists and political leaders,<lb/>
consequently has a long waiting list.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It is hard to tell how the children themselves react to the competi-u<lb/>
tiveness that exists, on some levels, along With the laxity of Ecotopiani<lb/>
life. I often saw older children helping younger ones with school work, ,<lb/>
and there seems to be an easy working recognition that some people:<lb/>
know more than others and can aid them. But greater ability doesn’t<lb/>
seem so invidious as with us, where it is really valued because it}?<lb/>
brings rewards of money and power; the Ecotopians seem to regard 3<lb/>
their abilities more as gifts which they share with each other. Certainly<lb/>
I never saw happen at Crick School what I have seen in my daughter’s x 1<lb/>
American school: one child calling another “stupid” because he did ‘,<lb/>
not grasp something as fast as the first child did. Ecotopians prize ‘1<lb/>
excellence, but they seem to have an intuitive feeling for the fact<lb/>
that people excel in different things, and that they can give to each<lb/>
other on many diflerent levels.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Do Ecotopians accept the idea that poorer parents might not be will-<lb/>
ing or able, given the tuition costs, to send their children to school<lb/>
at all? In this crucial area, Ecotopians have not allowed their thinking<lb/>
to revert to that of harsher ages. Rather than a scholarship system,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
119<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="124" facs="0124.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
however, they give outright sliding grants to families with incomes<lb/>
below a certain level, and one component of these is marked for<lb/>
tuition. Thus the Ecotopian state, while not willing to lift the burden<lb/>
of education entirely oil the parents’ backs (thus perhaps encouraging<lb/>
larger families!) is still willing to force citizens to educate their children<lb/>
in some manner. The possibility of “kickback schools,” such as arose<lb/>
in the US. when tuition vouchers were first tried, does not seem a<lb/>
great worry in Ecotopia, where the welfare of children is discussed<lb/>
constantlywand where the children themselves generally run school<lb/>
newspapers that are, if anything, ridiculously critical of their own<lb/>
schools, and would surely spot anything sneaky going on.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Judging by my brief visit, the fact that no formal curriculum prevails<lb/>
does not mean that Crick students miss the basics of reading, writing,<lb/>
and arithmetic, though they tend to learn them in concrete contexts.<lb/>
But they also learn a great deal of sideline information and skflls.<lb/>
An Ecotopian 10—year-old, as I have observed, knows how to construct<lb/>
a shelter (odd though some of the boys’ shacks looked); how to grow,<lb/>
catch, and cook food; how to make simple clothes; how hundreds<lb/>
of species of plants and animals live, both around their schools and<lb/>
in the areas they explore on backpacking expeditions. It might also<lb/>
be argued that Ecotopian children seem in better touch With each<lb/>
other than the children in our large, crowded, discipline-plagued<lb/>
schools; they evidently learn how to organize their lives in a reasonably<lb/>
orderly and self—propelled way. Chaotic and irregular though they<lb/>
appear at first, thus, the Ecotopian schools seem to be doing a good<lb/>
job of prepan‘ng their children for Ecotopian life.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 6) This morning Red and I went out to a hidden scrap yard<lb/>
south of San Francisco. T here, piled in formidable heaps as we pile<lb/>
autos in our junkyards, were hundreds ofwrecked US. Army helicopters,<lb/>
most of them badly damaged. H ad been gone over by salvage crews~in-.<lb/>
struments, cables, motors, and so on were missing from most. But<lb/>
, undeniably U.S. aircraft, every last one. I phoned Marissa with this<lb/>
: crushingpiece ofinformation. “Well, didyou reallydoubtit?“ she asked.<lb/>
“Do you still think people would try to deceive you?” “I don’t know<lb/>
what to think, anymore. Except about you.” “And what’s that?” “I’ll<lb/>
tell you when I see you.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
120<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="125" facs="0125.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 7) Just came from the War Ministry, where I tried to get the<lb/>
oficial Ecotopian view on the Helicopter War. The whole Ministry<lb/>
occupies only three floors of what used to be the Federal Building in<lb/>
San Francisco. No press information section at all. I was just taken<lb/>
into an ofiice and introduced to a young man by his name, with no<lb/>
</p>
<p>
rank—dr'sc‘overed later that he’s some kind of general. He confirmed<lb/>
outlines I ’d been given earlier, and offered 7,679 as the precise number<lb/>
of copters shot down, “although some of the count had to be made<lb/>
from rather fragmentary pieces, you know. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
What he really wanted to tell me about was the militia system Ecotopia »<lb/>
adopted after Independence. Regarded it as a great social innovation,<lb/>
seemed not to be aware we had tried it in 1789 and couldn’t make<lb/>
it work. (And if we tried it now the units would probably turn into j<lb/>
gangs of armed looters!) Local arsenals; men “train” yearly, do work ;<lb/>
projects for a couple of weeks T heir organization sounds more like?<lb/>
guerrilla bands than a real army, but they evidently have excellent radio é<lb/>
communications and a very eflicient national command system. Denied<lb/>
that heavy fortifications exist on the borders, though they are mostly<lb/>
mountainous and could be made virtually impenetrable. “Remember<lb/>
Dienbienphu!” he laughed. Would not disclose locations of armaments<lb/>
</p>
<p>
research, which is evidently highly decentralized. Citizenry said to be<lb/>
</p>
<p>
the source of many usable military ideas: “An ordinary person invented<lb/>
one of our cheapest anti-helicopter weaponsma simple rocket trailing<lb/>
wires. He was a bad shot, and his idea enables you to bring down a<lb/>
copter even if you miss the body of the thing. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Says they would like their military establishment to wither away further<lb/>
(it’s now about the size and relative cost of Canada’s) but can’t trust<lb/>
the US. enough yet. Seemed a very smart and hard—working oficer.<lb/>
Not a trace of the kind of bureaucratic featherbedding mentality that<lb/>
plagues our armed services, either. I bet they do have Washington mined.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(Later) Have finally decided not to file a story on the Helicopter War.<lb/>
Can’t see any useful purpose being served, at this late date. Yes, the<lb/>
Times was wrong not to pursue and print the story while it was happening.<lb/>
And I suppose, hard though it is for me to admit it, there may be}<lb/>
other unknown chapters of similar enormity in our recent nationalk<lb/>
historymthtngs that were mistakes, or at any rate grave risks, and should<lb/>
have been exposed, attacked, debated. But I can see what would happen<lb/>
</p>
<p>
121<lb/>
</p>
<p>
z<lb/>
I<lb/>
E<lb/>
i<lb/>
i<lb/>
%<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
-m:.=gwa=umm - MM.<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="126" facs="0126.tif"/>
<p>
9<lb/>
a<lb/>
i]<lb/>
i<lb/>
3:<lb/>
?<lb/>
y<lb/>
.1-<lb/>
1<lb/>
3”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ifI re—opened all those old sores now. (Assuming, of course, that Max<lb/>
would print the story if] sent it, which is, to say the least, uncertain.)<lb/>
I would be the agent of new rancor between our people and Ecotopia.<lb/>
I’d be attacked by our rightwingers as a turncoat, “giving away our<lb/>
secrets. ” And I confess this charge would hurt a little, silly as it seems.<lb/>
Whatever seeds of mutual understanding my series of reports may be<lb/>
generating would be killed. The resulting tension would be Sure to make<lb/>
it impossible to have any kind of serious opening conversations with<lb/>
President AIIwen—or even to remain in the country, for that matter!<lb/>
(Responses from her secretary are a little warmer these days—he even<lb/>
commented favorably on that column about the economy. Still, nothing<lb/>
</p>
<p>
definite about seeing her.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” I<lb/>
remember the chill that motto used to be able to send down my back.<lb/>
Then I had to learn that truth was not some single easy thing you<lb/>
could “know” automatically, but an uneasy and always tentative com-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
.‘I pound of facts, inferences, balances—inherently hypothetical even when<lb/>
" it seems altogether obvious: like science, I suppose. We go on refining<lb/>
</p>
<p>
it, through the years, but we never ever really reach it. (And so our<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘ freedom is conditional too?) Someday I will write the Helicopter War<lb/>
</p>
<p>
story. But it is not part of this assignment.<lb/>
Now must go downstairs and face the goading from Bert and the<lb/>
</p>
<p>
rest. Luck y bastards.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
LIVING IN PLASTIC TUBING<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Santa Cruz, June 8. We extrude plastic sausage casings, wire, garden<lb/>
hose, aluminum shapes, and many other items, but the Ecotopians<lb/>
extrude whole rooms. They have devised machinery that produces<lb/>
oval-cross-section tubing, about 13 feet wide and 10 feet high; the<lb/>
walls are six inches thick, and there is a flat floor inside. The tubing<lb/>
can be made solid, 01' windows can be punched out along the sides.<lb/>
It can be bought with ends cut off square or on the diagonal. The<lb/>
resulting houses take many shapeswin fact I’ve never seen two that<lb/>
were alike—but you can get the general impression by imagining that<lb/>
</p>
<p>
122<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="127" facs="0127.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
jet airplane cabins could be bought by the yard and glued together<lb/>
into whatever shapes you had in mind.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Most Ecotopian buildings are wood, the material Ecotopians love<lb/>
best. But wood houses are complicated to build and thus expensive<lb/>
compared to these extruded houses, which are made of a plastic derived<lb/>
from cotton. The extruded houses also have the advantage of portabil~<lb/>
ity (a standard section about 12 feet long is light enough to be lifted<lb/>
by four men) and Ecotopians show great ingenuity in using them.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Cut off at one angle and glued together, they produce a square<lb/>
house; on a different angle, a hexagonal 0r octagonal house. You<lb/>
can glue sections together into an irregular zigzag shape, or make<lb/>
them into a long looping string, with branches or protrusions, enclosing<lb/>
a sort of compound—a common pattern for extended-family groups<lb/>
living in open country. You can build a central space out of wood<lb/>
or stone and attach extruded rooms onto the outer edge. You can<lb/>
cut doors or windows with a few minutes work. And not only can<lb/>
the sections be glued together by unskilled labor, their cost is very<lb/>
low—a room~size section costs less than a fifth of what a standard-con-<lb/>
struction room costs, including 2i couple of windows. This, I was told,<lb/>
is the astonishing result of producing housing on a truly industrial<lb/>
eontinuous-process basis, instead of by handwork.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I have just inspected one of the plants in which these extruded<lb/>
houses are produced. It resembles one of our car—washes. A large<lb/>
vat cooks the ingredients into a foam-type moldable plastic. The foam<lb/>
is then squirted under pressure though a huge oval slot, and hardens<lb/>
as it comes in contact with the air. After passing over some supporting<lb/>
rollers, it has window holes punched if desired, and is then sprayed<lb/>
inside and out with a hard-surface plastic. This has a strange neutral<lb/>
color and resembles a dried corn leaf—which is not surprising since<lb/>
it is derived from corn plants; it is washable, can be painted though<lb/>
few Ecotopians use paint, and modestly fits in with natural landscapes.<lb/>
Finally the tubing is cut ofl‘ into different lengths and stored in a<lb/>
nearby field until needed.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The floor of the tube has troughs molded along the sides to<lb/>
accommodate Wiring and water pipes, which are also avilable in<lb/>
standard section lengths and connect to outlets, toilets, and so on.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopians are always talking of “integrated systems,” by which<lb/>
they mean devices that cater to several of their ecological fetishes<lb/>
</p>
<p>
123<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="128" facs="0128.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
at once. The extruded house system oflers a number of examples.<lb/>
Probably the most startling is the bathroom. Ecotopians have put<lb/>
into practice an early notion of our architects, and produce entire<lb/>
bathrooms in one huge molded piece, proportioned to slide neatly<lb/>
into a section of extruded room. It contains all the usual bathroom<lb/>
components, including a space heater. A companion unit, a large<lb/>
plastic tank, is buried outside, and connected by two flexible hoses.<lb/>
This, it turns out, is a septic tank, which not only digests sewage<lb/>
but produces methane gas in the process, which in turn operates the<lb/>
heater! The effluent that runs out the other end is not at all repulsive,<lb/>
but clear and excellent for watering gardens, so that ordinarily the<lb/>
garden is placed adjacent to the bathroom. Sludge is removed from<lb/>
the tank every few years and used for fertilizer. This system may<lb/>
seem disgusting to some, but it has its advantages, especially in rural<lb/>
areas. And when you remember that gas and electric energy in<lb/>
Ecotopia are inordinately expensive (costing about three times what<lb/>
they cost us) it is clear why such an odd but thrifty idea has caught<lb/>
on widely. Another integrated system Ecotopians are proud of is the<lb/>
heat-pump solar heating device; these are especially effective with<lb/>
the extruded rooms, consume no fossil fuel or even water, and require<lb/>
only a small amount of electricity to operate their pumps.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Incidentally, one curious symptom of the high cost of energy in<lb/>
Ecotopia is that houses tend to be abominabiy iil—lit. They contain<lb/>
lamps of several kinds, used for reading and work purposes—though<lb/>
Ecotopians avoid fluorescent tubes, claiming their discontinuous emis-<lb/>
sion patterns and subliminal flicker do not suit the human eye. But<lb/>
for ordinary socializing their houses are lit by small bulbs and often<lb/>
even by candles (which they produce from animal fats as our ancestors<lb/>
did).<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Such peculiarities aside, an extruded house has a comfortable feeling<lb/>
once you get used to it. The fact that walls and ceiling merge into<lb/>
one another can make for unease at first, yet it is snug and secure<lb/>
too. Ecotopians decorate houses in many different modes, but those<lb/>
who live in extruded houses tend to use even more rugs, coverlets,<lb/>
blankets, and other woven objects, presumably to soften the severe<lb/>
geometrical lines of the structure. Sheepskin and fur rugs are also<lb/>
common. Because of the extremely good insulation and air seal<lb/>
provided by the foam shell, extruded houses are easy to heat—in fact<lb/>
</p>
<p>
124<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="129" facs="0129.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
the windows are usualiy kept wide open—and their inhabitants thus<lb/>
tend to wear little clothing indoors. (Indeed some of them are totally<lb/>
unconcerned about nudity~l was once greeted at the door by an<lb/>
Ecotopian wearing nothing at all.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
One of the pleasantest houses I have yet visited had extruded rooms<lb/>
arranged like spokes of a wheel around a central stone core. This<lb/>
provided the living, cooking and eating area, which was octagonal<lb/>
in shape and had a translucent dome over it. An indoor tree, perhaps<lb/>
15 feet high, stood in a miniature garden under the dome. One side<lb/>
of the main octagon opened out toward the river from which the<lb/>
house stones had come. The other sides had sliding doors opening<lb/>
into a sen'es of tube rooms, five of which were bedroom-study-retreat<lb/>
rooms, one a spacious and luxurious bathroom complete with fireplace,<lb/>
and one a sort of work room with a small bathroom. Plants and<lb/>
woven fabrics were everywhere, forming beautiful contrasts with the<lb/>
pale, graceful extruded shapes. In one of the bedrooms, a soft,<lb/>
deepwpile rug continued up the walls to window level; aside from<lb/>
a low bed, there was 110 other furniture, though a bank of cabinets<lb/>
lined the far end of the room. These, I discovered, are available<lb/>
prefabricated, like other kinds of dividers for the extruded rooms;<lb/>
but often people devote great artistry to making their own, with<lb/>
fantastically beautiful woods and intricate detail work.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Extruded houses lack the many built-in appliances of our trailers,<lb/>
but they are probably much more durable; some have been lived<lb/>
in for 15 years now. They are easily patched by the occupants. Once,<lb/>
to demonstrate this, an Ecotopian who was showing off his house<lb/>
to me took an axe and chopped a gaping hole in it! Then the family<lb/>
gathered round, plugged up the hole with shreds of foam, and neatly<lb/>
glued on a piece of surface plastic. The whole process, accompanied<lb/>
by much laughter, took about 10 minutes.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Like all plastics manufactured in Ecotopia, the extruded houses<lb/>
can be broken up and thrown into biovats, digested by micro-organ—<lb/>
isms into fertilizer sludge, and thus recycled onto the fields from<lb/>
whence their materials came. Oddly, the one serious problem encoun-<lb/>
tered when they were first used was that they tended to blow away<lb/>
in high winds. But instead of our heavy, excavated foundations, they<lb/>
now use large adjustable corkscrew devices which anchor each corner<lb/>
but leave the earth surface undisturbed.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
125<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="130" facs="0130.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Many Eootopians are fond of these products of housing automation.<lb/>
But they are very unceremonious about them, and treat them with<lb/>
none of the almost religious respect they extend to wood structures.<lb/>
If a family member dies or leaves, his room may be siiced off and<lb/>
recycled. When a baby is born or a new person joins a group, a<lb/>
new room can be glued onto the existing constellationma long room<lb/>
for an adult, a short one for a child. Any self—respecting architect<lb/>
would shiver at such a prospect, but it does make the houses a direct<lb/>
expression of the life inside them.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 9) Marissa and I apparently an a more flexible basis now—after<lb/>
doing the Helicopter War checking I went out to the camp for a bit<lb/>
of rest, and yesterday she went down with me to the extrusion plant.<lb/>
It turned out she had never been in an extruded h0use~must have put<lb/>
a lot of energy into avoiding theml—and concluded they were awful.<lb/>
G0! furious when she saw I was fascinated and impressed. “I knew<lb/>
it! They’re just a piece of your American junk!” She banged 0n the<lb/>
slick surfaces, made terrible faces. For a moment I didn’t take it too<lb/>
seriously, but then suddenly realized her reaction was intensely personal<lb/>
and concerned something much more important: she felt I was backslid-<lb/>
ing, losing whatever sense she and other Ecotopians have banged into<lb/>
my head since I ’ve been here. Began to weep. “How can you love wood<lb/>
the way you say you do, and yet be sympathetic to this insane artificial<lb/>
crap? Just feel it, feel it!” (I felt it. She’s right: it’s got a sort ofpale,<lb/>
neutral, clammy feel, and no smell, and very little texture.) Wildly, and<lb/>
. crying again: “I will never, never, never live in one of those things,<lb/>
‘. never!”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Suddenly I knew we are on the verge of new developments I don’t<lb/>
understand, where everything has taken on a new and subterranean<lb/>
importance; there is some sense in which she is watching me, evaluating<lb/>
me, which is diflerent from her playful cultural arm-wrestling at the<lb/>
beginning. Whatever it is in me that she cares about, she really cares<lb/>
about. . . . We have also reached some new, more relaxed level 0fsexual<lb/>
relating. For weeks she accepted my sexual appetite for her as a kind<lb/>
of aberrant fact of nature that would pass, and it has—we are now<lb/>
in a much better balance, she pursues me as much as I pursue her.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
126<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="131" facs="0131.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We look at each other with a lovely sense of mutual desire —Strange,<lb/>
swelling, bursting sensation in chest when I think about [teas if I want<lb/>
to pour myself out to her, from the heart. “I always worry about being<lb/>
sentimental,” I said last night, “but I’m going to say anyway that I<lb/>
love you.” She looked at me intently. “What do you love about me?”<lb/>
“Your intensity and your freeness. And the way we are joyful togetheri<lb/>
not just in bed, other times too.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Well,” she said, speaking carefully, “I have begun to love you too.<lb/>
I love your intelligence, your kindness. And you startle me with your<lb/>
strange viewpoints on things. And actually I’m more joyful with you<lb/>
than with other people. Maybe you liberate me in some way. You’re<lb/>
the most powerful person in my life these days.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
’1' “What do you mean) powerful? That I have friends in Washington?”<lb/>
, She laughed. “My God, no! You just bring out a stronger kind of<lb/>
glove than I have for anybody else. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
z “The kind of love you would have for a mate?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We looked at each other gravely for a while. “I’m not sure,” she<lb/>
:said finally. “If you were an Ecotopian, I think it would be. But maybe<lb/>
{it’s because you aren’t an Ecotopian that it’s so exciting to be around<lb/>
you. You’re more of a cynic than we are, so I want to test everything<lb/>
against you! But you’re so terribly rootless too—”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
At this, to my surprise, she began to cry. And to tell the truth I<lb/>
suddenly didn’t feel so cheery myself She’s right: I am a homeless<lb/>
wanderer, and somehow this trip is bringing into new perspectives the<lb/>
things I thought were settled—the way Pat and I had worked things<lb/>
out with each other and the kids, my easy loose relationship with Francine.i<lb/>
I ’m beginning to see that to an Ecotopian, who always has a strong;1<lb/>
collective base to return to, a place and the people of that place, my;i<lb/>
existence must seem pathetically insecure. I have never cried about it.'<lb/>
But maybe I should. _ . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
E<lb/>
%<lb/>
</p>
<p>
SEPARATION OF FUNCTIONS: RESEARCH<lb/>
AND TEACHING IN ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Berkeley, June 9. American universities are our major source of<lb/>
scientific innovations, and important for social policy formulation as<lb/>
</p>
<p>
127<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="132" facs="0132.tif"/>
<p>
' 9%:Meawi<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
well. But, in line with their penchant for small—scale organization,<lb/>
the Ecotopians have attempted to separate research functions from<lb/>
teaching functions. This has brought about a striking proliferation<lb/>
of small research institutes. These are usually located near universities<lb/>
and their staffs are partly permanent members and partly university<lb/>
professors on their year-off research rotation. These institutes seem<lb/>
to contain 30—100 membeIs—scientists, technicians, machinists, and<lb/>
so on—it is hard to tell who is what, as their professional roles are<lb/>
not so well defined as with us. One such institute I have Visited, near<lb/>
Monterey, was studying a variety of oceanographic and related<lb/>
biological problems. Another, south of San Francisco, concerned itself<lb/>
with astronomy, astrophysics, and so on. (The Mt. Hamilton telescopes,<lb/>
I am told, are once again usable due to the drop in air pollution<lb/>
and city illumination levels since Independence.) Scientific institute<lb/>
laboratories such as these appear to a layman to be well equipped,<lb/>
and Ecotopian scientists are often invited to international congresses<lb/>
Where their work is highly respected for its originality, though Ofcourse<lb/>
it is not as broad in scope as ours, nor anywhere near as well financed.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The atmosphere of the research institutes, considering the great<lb/>
national responsibility they bear, is surprisingly playful. There isra<lb/>
great deal of sitting around with coffee or tea or marijuana, and many<lb/>
projects seem to make constant use of children’s construction-set<lb/>
materials. The electronic equipment in many 1abs lends itself to games<lb/>
in which, I was told, a certain amount of fooling around turns out<lb/>
to generate surprising and useful ideas.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopia also manages to support a sizable number of utterly<lb/>
independent and very small research outfits, often two~ or three—person<lb/>
labs. Many scientists think these tiny grouplets are the source of the<lb/>
most brilliant ideas in Ecotopian science—for reasons that are not<lb/>
well understood but are thought to involve the kind of solitary,<lb/>
independent minds attracted to such free circumstances.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It is not clear how these small projects are financed, much less<lb/>
supervised, if indeed they are supervised. Evidently there are central<lb/>
government funds that are disbursed through an organization like<lb/>
our National Science Foundation, Whose advisory committees are<lb/>
required to devote certain sums to high-risk projects, usually proposed<lb/>
by younger scientists. It is believed that if one in a hundred of these<lb/>
projects results in an interesting discovery, the money can be consid-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
128<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="133" facs="0133.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ered well spent. The great example cited to me was the finding of<lb/>
a photochemical mechanism that could tap electrical energy directly<lb/>
from algae and other growing plants. This was the work of two<lb/>
26-year-olds, reportedly rather antisocial types with somewhat odd<lb/>
interests that happened to contain an unusual combination of botany,<lb/>
plant physiology, and electronic miniatun‘zation. (Although this<lb/>
achievement has not yet proved itself in practical power-generation,<lb/>
it did win them a Nobel Prize.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
My scientific background is not sufficient to evaluate some of the (<lb/>
claims that have been made to me, but great stress has been laid ,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
on the fact that natural processes have been adapted to produce<lb/>
</p>
<p>
chemicals we obtain from coal and oil. Thus fermentation—which we ‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
use mainly to make liquor—turns grain, beet sugar, and other crops<lb/>
into alcohol which is widely used for heating and cooking, as well<lb/>
as for the production of other chemicals. The Ecotopians are extremely<lb/>
proud that they employ petroleum products solely for lubrication—and<lb/>
even there are making progress toward producing heavy, durable oils<lb/>
from vegetable sources. Plant breeding is highiy developed, and plant<lb/>
care has attained a positively Japanese level of sophistication. Special<lb/>
types of oceanographic research are highly advanced; a seaborne unit,<lb/>
for instance, has been at work for some years in an attempt to decode<lb/>
the “speec ” of dolphins and Whalesispecially equipped divers live<lb/>
among dolphins at sea for long periods, just as ethnographers would<lb/>
do if they wished to learn the language of an unknown tribe. Active<lb/>
research also continues on additional ways of harnessing solar, wind<lb/>
ad tidal power.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopian scientists complain as ours do about lack of funding for<lb/>
particularly intriguing projects. There is some grumbling even now<lb/>
about the abandonment of expensive high-energy nuclear and fusion<lb/>
research soon after Independence. But money seems to be available<lb/>
for a great range of basic biological investigations, and the reorienta~<lb/>
tion of nationai production technology which foilowed Independence<lb/>
was achieved only through massive scientific efl‘ort.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
There is one striking lack in Ecotopian science, which reminds one<lb/>
how drastic have been the efiects of secession in some areas. Neither<lb/>
in Ecotopian universities nor in research institutes can one find<lb/>
professors of several once flourishing disciplines: political science,<lb/>
sociology and psychology. Their practitioners evidently drifted ofl into<lb/>
</p>
<p>
129<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
z A mm -<lb/>
</p>
<p>
E”. «A,»<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘X. a?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
«26m<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="134" facs="0134.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
other fields—philosophy, biology, and so on. Many books on the former<lb/>
subject matters of these fields continue to appear, but they are treated<lb/>
as part of general citizenly concern and are not considered to have<lb/>
“scientific” standing. History, 011 the other hand, is an academic<lb/>
discipline that has blossomed in Ecotopia, although a good deal of<lb/>
it is occupied with muck-raking in pre—Independence archives. (A<lb/>
branch little known among us, “industrial history,” is devoted to the<lb/>
alleged cn'mes of American industrial leaders and corporationsfiwhose<lb/>
records fell into the public domain at the time of secession.) Economics<lb/>
is also still an active field, though of course its direction would seem<lb/>
questionable to most of our economists, and anthropology is very<lb/>
active. Such curious imbalances in academic life may help explain<lb/>
the disorganized and chaotic nature of Ecotopian life generally.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
Student unrest seems to be even more chronic in Ecotopian univer— s V<lb/>
sities than in ours. While I was visiting Berkeley, a college dean was L<lb/>
expelled through the combined votes of students and a few disaffected<lb/>
faculty in the college assembly~a sort of quarterly town meeting.<lb/>
In keeping with Ecotopian notions of decentralization, the universities<lb/>
were broken up after Independence into a number of separate colleges,<lb/>
each managing its own aflairs without benefit Of—eOl’ interference<lb/>
fromlwa central administration. (In time, the universities are to spin<lb/>
off into totally non—governmental forms, like the schools.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
During the alternating years they are on campus—and they often<lb/>
reside in former office buildings which have been made into living<lb/>
quarters—the professors devote full energy to teaching. In each college<lb/>
there is a group of professors actually hired by the students, and<lb/>
paid directly from student fees. These “coilegial” professors, who are<lb/>
often felt to be brilliant but erratic by their regular colleagues, are<lb/>
sometimes lured away from other univerities for a year; sometimes<lb/>
they are eminent men of Eetters, or scientists, or politicians, or simply<lb/>
people who have had unusual life experiences that the students wish<lb/>
to hear about and discuss in detail.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Another surprise is that the student body, at most Ecotopian 31<lb/>
institutions of higher education has shrunk considerably. People seem i<lb/>
to attend university because they like the intellectual life there, not<lb/>
for practical or ulterior motives. Ecotopian society is oriented toward<lb/>
experience and activity rather than credentials, licenses, and require- 1<lb/>
</p>
<p>
130<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
a<lb/>
</p>
<p>
9<lb/>
</p>
<p>
§<lb/>
</p>
<p>
1<lb/>
A, .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="135" facs="0135.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
«W1WWWNwmmsmmew _<lb/>
</p>
<p>
, «,Wwwqm, WNWMMW.“<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ments. The mere possession of a degree confers little status, and<lb/>
Ecotopia has none of our scrambling for Ph.D’s. (There are, as far ;<lb/>
as I can tell, no jobs in Ecotopia for which a degree is an absolute l<lb/>
prerequisite.) The respect given to people thus turns upon achieve-<lb/>
ment; and creativity and inventiveness are highly prized, both as<lb/>
intriguing personal qualities and because they are useful to society.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This has meant much less emphasis on certifiable expertise and<lb/>
defined professional fields, often with severe consequences. Thus the<lb/>
magnificent departmental system at Berkeley was abolished, together<lb/>
with its elaborate cum'culum of huge standardized lecture courses.<lb/>
These lectures were videotaped by the best professors, and made<lb/>
available on videodiscs to students; they were also broadcast regularly<lb/>
on television, which took on extensive educational functions after<lb/>
Independence. Education through residence at a college assumed a<lb/>
pronouncedly novel form, by contrast. The elective system, where<lb/>
every student could choose, cafeteria—style, among the offerings of<lb/>
the various departments, became a public institution through video;<lb/>
and any citizen may acquire an education in biology, engineering,<lb/>
musicology, or hundreds of other subjects by enrolling in video courses.<lb/>
Students on campus, however, are expected to develop the ability<lb/>
to participate in the whole range of intellectual and creative activities<lb/>
Thus each student is supposed to develop competence in the mentalf<lb/>
processes proper to the humanities, the biological and physical!<lb/>
sciences, and political thought. l<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Incredible as it may seem to us, this competence is thought to be :<lb/>
objectively definable, and thus testable; achieving it is taken to be<lb/>
the joint responsibility of the students and the teachers, who operate<lb/>
in small tutorial groups of 20 students each. The testing is apparently<lb/>
very tough. Exams in the basic yearwlong courses are given at the<lb/>
end of the year only, and are planned and prepared by intercollege<lb/>
boards of professors. I have seen some of the test materials, and they<lb/>
assume that a “generally educated person” will be able to think clearly<lb/>
about both the tonal system of gamelan orchestras and the endocrine<lb/>
functions of the cat. Judging by some of the weird conversations I<lb/>
have had here, the system works appallingly well!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Some specialized courses are also given, and even the basic courses<lb/>
involve a great deal of specialized knowledge, but most of what we<lb/>
would call graduate instruction has been converted into apprenticeship<lb/>
</p>
<p>
131<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="136" facs="0136.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
programs that take place in research institutes, farms, factories, and<lb/>
other productive institutions of the society. Here students are subj ected<lb/>
to the same standards as their “masters.” The publication of a briiliant i<lb/>
short paper counts for more than a number of dull long ones.<lb/>
“Inventions,” whether abstract ideas, proposals for better production ‘<lb/>
processes or creative works, are greatly respected and much discussed. E '<lb/>
And panicipation in the community, whether a college, a living group, t<lb/>
</p>
<p>
01' an academic association, is thought to be important for all. ‘<lb/>
(Dissident loner types refer to this last as the “togetherness test.”)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Thus the service-station and degree-mill concept of the university, ¥<lb/>
which stiil tends to prevail with us, has been destroyed in Ecotopia. ’<lb/>
The services in research, weapons development, policy formulation,<lb/>
and the like, which universities rendered business and government<lb/>
before Independence, must be performed by entirely new organiza- i<lb/>
tions. Such a great departure was, of course, facilitated by the fact '<lb/>
that at Independence the support of the federal government in<lb/>
Washington, which had been the mainstay of virtually all university<lb/>
research, was abruptly ended. What has taken its place may not be<lb/>
as grand as the old universities, with their exciting conduits to the<lb/>
White House and Walk Street.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
011 the other hand, the curious combination of inteliectual rigor {<lb/>
and lack of customary disciplinary boundaries may explain why so i<lb/>
many Eootopians are expert at arguing esoteric positions (sometimes 3'<lb/>
merely to see if they can successfully defend them!); intellectual ‘- :<lb/>
discussion is enjoyed almost for its own sake, as an art. And this<lb/>
hypothetical turn of mind, encouraged by the Ecotopian universities, ‘<lb/>
may have facilitated the adoption of so many startling innovations<lb/>
so quickly and with so little relative disruption.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
(June 10) Encouraging message from President Allwen’s ofice: she has<lb/>
expressed interest in my columns, and will work me into her schedule<lb/>
soon. This clearly justifies an extension of another ten days here if<lb/>
necessary. Sent message to Max, asked him to tell Francine and Pat.<lb/>
Felt odd and a little guilty about both of them. ,<lb/>
Worse still, Marissa upset because of my dumbly mentioning the<lb/>
forthcoming interview, and then going back to New York. Looked at<lb/>
</p>
<p>
132 .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="137" facs="0137.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
me as if I was a candidate for a buzz-saw execution. “You lousy rotten<lb/>
son of a bitch!” she said, and gave me a clout. We wrestled fiercely<lb/>
for a moment, and then both began crying, tears pouring all over us,<lb/>
holding each other very tightly. Not saying anything, just crying for<lb/>
a long time, not being able to bear letting go. Then after a while she<lb/>
got up. and headed home, still tearful.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
This thing between us, which began so easily and naturally, begins<lb/>
to look as if it has gotten out of hand. ‘Maybe it was out of control<lb/>
all along, and I just didn’t see it. Maybe I didn’t want it under control,<lb/>
for that matter? But how can it end, without terrible pain all around?<lb/>
Is that what love is, just a crazy lure and prelude to pain?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I sit here, drained, exhausted, tight behind the eyes, watching the<lb/>
first summer tongue of fog creep past Alcatraz, heading up the Bay<lb/>
toward the great hot interior valley. The foghorn out at Land’s End<lb/>
has begun moaning even though it’s only midday. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIAN MUSIC, DANCE, OTHER ARTS<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, J une 10. Just as Ecotopians blur the difference between<lb/>
professional and amateur in science, there is almost no distinction<lb/>
between amateurs and professionals in the arts. People of all levels<lb/>
of skill and creativity put themselves forward unabashedly. There<lb/>
is hardly a young person in the whole country who doesn’t either<lb/>
play an instrument, dance, act, sing, write, sculpt, paint, make video-<lb/>
films, or indulge in some original artistic activity. However, few of<lb/>
these gain the recognitionwand sales—to sustain themselves entirely<lb/>
through their work.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
And competition is harsh in other ways too. Not only do audiences<lb/>
treat bad performances rudely, With whistling, booing, and taunts,<lb/>
but even successful artists cannot turn to foundations for the grants<lb/>
that are so desperately sought by our officially recognized artists. If<lb/>
they cannot make it with their art, young Ecotopian artists have only<lb/>
two alternatives: living on the minimum-guarantee level and continu—<lb/>
ing to strive for recognition, or taking a job and pursuing their art<lb/>
as a part-time activity.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Oddly enough, the avidity with which almost all Ecotopians pursue<lb/>
</p>
<p>
133<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="138" facs="0138.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
some kind of art work actually adds to the difficulty of achieving<lb/>
success as an artist, because it seems to diminish the respect for “name”<lb/>
artists. Even in music, people collect records by groups they like, but<lb/>
they don’t seem to go terribly far out of their way to hear a visiting<lb/>
group if one of their own is playing. They collect paintings and<lb/>
sculpture, but mix them in with works given to them by friends, or<lb/>
which they’ve done themselves. Although international traveling art<lb/>
exhibitions come to Ecotopian museums, they do not generate the<lb/>
intense excitement we have in New York. Ecotopians spread their<lb/>
*appreciation thin; they have a near provincial disregard for the very<lb/>
[Jhighest achievements, a kind of ultrademocratic shrinking of the scale<lb/>
fof creative excellence. Apparently, if art is something everybody does,<lb/>
{a Picasso or a Van Gogh no longer seem quite so special.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Nor do there seem to be big-name architects in Ecotopia. People<lb/>
themselves design and built structures for their living groups or<lb/>
enterprises with astonishing competence and imagination, often using<lb/>
modularized designs and standard materials that by now have taken<lb/>
on practically the quality of folk architecture. The community govern-<lb/>
ments have design staffs for public buildings (and presumably to check<lb/>
plans before construction) but architecture is not at all the preserve<lb/>
of experts.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Among all the arts, music seems the most important to Ecotopians.<lb/>
Every farm, factory, or extended family has some kind of musical<lb/>
group, and those with professional status usually began in such places.<lb/>
There are several styles of new music being composed. Black bands<lb/>
play a music with roots in the jazz and blues we know from Chicago<lb/>
and New York, and in Can'bbean music. Bands from Spanish back—<lb/>
grounds play with an obvious Latin American influence. White bands<lb/>
tend to play music that sounds to me something like Balinese gamelan<lb/>
orchestras—an intn'cate, cerebral, yet driving jazz, with many home-<lb/>
made drums and gongs prominent in it. (This is said to be derived<lb/>
from earlier rock styles.) There are also groups using classical instru-<lb/>
mentation—violins, clan'nets, flutes, and so onwwho play an unearthly<lb/>
improvised music like nothing I have ever heard, and there are<lb/>
musicians who play instruments of a totally electronic, synthetic-sound<lb/>
type. The one dominant characteristic of all such music styles, however,<lb/>
is a strong dance beat. In fact you seldom'see a band playing Without<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I34<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="139" facs="0139.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
some people in the vicinity dancing. Classical music, incidentally, is<lb/>
also heard Widely, especially as played by street musicians.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It’s difficult for my ear to catch the words of songs, and people<lb/>
dislike the idea of writing them down for me. Still, I was able to<lb/>
pick up the themes of several currently popular ones. They turned<lb/>
out to be largely romantic lamentations, not terribly different from<lb/>
our hillbilly music—oomplaints about being deserted, diIges for the<lb/>
unhappy end of true love, expressions of anger or despair. There I<lb/>
is a resilient humor to some of these songs, but evidently the Ecotopian ”I<lb/>
revolution, whatever else it may have accomplished, has not touched{<lb/>
the basic miseries of the human condition. ‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The burning musical issue in Ecotopia at present concerns electrifi-<lb/>
cation. At the time ofIndependence, rock music was entirely electronic,<lb/>
and groups carried around with them a whole truckload of heavy<lb/>
amplifiers. They soon came under attack from “folkies,” musicians<lb/>
who used only traditional instruments such as the recorder, banjo,<lb/>
guitar, piano, and antique types such as the lute or orientai types<lb/>
such as the sitar. Folkies argued that music could not be a truly people’s<lb/>
art, accessible to all, if it depended on high-cost electronics; and they<lb/>
also maintained that music should not depend on the artificial aid<lb/>
of electricity. Their final argument was that amplified music was a<lb/>
biological ofiense because it damaged eardrums. The development<lb/>
of small, inexpensive amplifiers undermined their first point, and the<lb/>
last didn’t seem to impress young Ecotopian musicians any more than<lb/>
it had our ovm. And so the debate rages on.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A number of Ecotopian artists have apparently gained some inter—<lb/>
national status, with shows in Paris and Tokyo However, the main<lb/>
focus of Ecotopian artistic activity is aggressiveiy domestic In fact I<lb/>
one young artist went so far as to refuse even to give me his name,<lb/>
test it be bmited about the world through my coiumns. “We’ re likeé'<lb/>
the Balinese,” he insisted. “We have no ‘fart we just do everything ,<lb/>
as well as we can.” The effects of this attitude can be seen not only<lb/>
in the high level of beauty attained by craft products—pottery, weaving, 2<lb/>
jewelry, and so onw—but also in the quality of Ecotopian furniture,<lb/>
utensils, and house decorations. Some of these last, like a stunning<lb/>
feather mandala given to me by an Ecotopian friend, are not exactly<lb/>
art and not exactly anything else either. But they certainly add to<lb/>
the aesthetic enjoyment the Eootopians provide for each other.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
135<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="140" facs="0140.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 13) Must get this down straight before it gets furred over.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Got up yesterday morning and found the Cave all busy and excited<lb/>
about the War Games our team was to be in. Tom especially, but<lb/>
everybody tuned in with it. Lorna, to my surprise, very militant. Even<lb/>
with me there, making an occasional crack, they had no shame about<lb/>
it, no hesitatt'on—it’s all real and accepted, they simply like it. After<lb/>
a bit I stopped saying much: felt like some nut who would ask, in<lb/>
a hot World Series game, “Why all the fuss? It’s just a little old ball<lb/>
made of leather!”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Breakfast more ceremonious than usual: melons and champagne. But<lb/>
people not too hungry. The excitement was contagious, I had to admitwit<lb/>
even got to me a little. People joking a lot, with a certain bravado.<lb/>
Somebody remarked on the warm weather, and Tom quoted the old<lb/>
plains Indian saying: “It is a good day to die.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
About ten o’clock it was parade time. Some selficonsciousness as<lb/>
the men got up, looked at each other. Hugs all around, glances at<lb/>
the door. Nina, Tom’s friend, had come over and cried a little, which<lb/>
embarrassed him: “Don’t cry, we’re going to stomp them,” he said.<lb/>
But she cried all the louder. I was to go along and observe it all. “It’ll<lb/>
make a man of you, ” Bert jibed at me. They all picked up their spears<lb/>
and we jostled out the big door and into the street—the fighting band<lb/>
of about 15 men, and maybe 30 of the rest of us. The warriors began<lb/>
to chant as they set out, waving their spears, and the rest fell in behind<lb/>
them. A steamy hot day for San Francisco, humid and with little wind.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It was several miles to the place in a huge, wild park where the<lb/>
encounter was to be held. We headed there bravely, the men singing,<lb/>
the rest of as sometimes coming in on a refrain. People along the way<lb/>
watched as pass—if one of the men gestured with his spear or jumped<lb/>
around a little, they would cheer and smile. Couldn’t help thinking of<lb/>
the highschool football games of my youth—and the rest of us were<lb/>
like the indulgent parents come to watch the pre-game rally. . ..<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Very hot, and the champagne on so little breakfast got to me. T 00k<lb/>
ofl my sweater and gave it to one of the women—not sure if it was<lb/>
Brit 0r Lorna. The chanting grew stronger, and the spirit of the group<lb/>
changed. As we approached the park it was as tfthe voltage had suddenly<lb/>
been turned up. People were linking arms and looking at each other<lb/>
strangely; the rhythm of the walking was stronger, more like a march,<lb/>
more like a war-dance.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
136<lb/>
</p>
<p>
l<lb/>
I<lb/>
|<lb/>
I<lb/>
a<lb/>
i<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="141" facs="0141.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Then suddenly we were 017 the street and into the park, and there<lb/>
was the ritual cauldron, with barbaric cups hanging from the rim,<lb/>
gleaming in the sun. And ofl a few hundred yards, on the other side<lb/>
of a meadow, was the enemy, gathered around their cauldron. A thrill<lb/>
went down my back, taking me completely by surprise—I hated them!<lb/>
And my pride in our fighters was enormous, as they gathered around<lb/>
our cauldron. How beautiful they were, how courageous! One by one,<lb/>
they stripped ofir their street clothes and put on their war garments:<lb/>
leather jackets and shorts, decorated in gorgeous designs, some astrologi-<lb/>
cal, some totem-am'mal, some purely arabesque. Cups began passing<lb/>
around (nobody helped himselfwyou drank only from a cup given you<lb/>
by a brother) and the rest of us crowded in, yelling encouragement.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Can’t recall exactly what happened next. Somebody—I think it was<lb/>
Bert—put a cup in my hand, closed my hand around it, clasped my<lb/>
arm. Yet I can’t remember his face. Do remember feeling weak, as<lb/>
if my hand could not grip the cup, and expecting it to fall to the ground,<lb/>
ignominiously. Don’t remember if I even made an efort to hold it.<lb/>
But I drank somehow, and there was a great shout, and hands were<lb/>
</p>
<p>
, patting me on the back, and a fighting outfit was being pieced together<lb/>
</p>
<p>
for me, and another cup of the brew was in my hand. Out of the side<lb/>
vision of my eye I spotted a woman who looked like Marissa, and a<lb/>
pang went through me; turned to look, and couldn’t see her anywhere.<lb/>
{My God, I thought, how much I love that woman.) My heart was<lb/>
beating strongly, with a terrible surge ofenergy, like what we call “second<lb/>
wind” but moreso—all my muscles felt strangely powerful.<lb/>
They banged the gong for the fight to begin. I had watched our men<lb/>
practice in the garden with their spears, but the actual weapon seemed<lb/>
1 heavy and awkward. I was afraid my inexperience would endanger my<lb/>
brothers. But their eyes flashed companionably and we all rushed onward<lb/>
Etogether, and began with our enemies the fearful dance I had dreaded<lb/>
and dreamed of. Their first charge horrified me. I had never seen such<lb/>
open looks of murderous malice in another man’s eyes, and it was hard<lb/>
not to break and run and cry for mercy. But we rallied, regrouped,<lb/>
pushed back against their advance with a compact front of man y spears;<lb/>
and they could see that if they pushed further, one of them would be<lb/>
mortally exposed. Step by step then, not wishing to abandon an<lb/>
opportunity If we should falter, they began to retreat.<lb/>
At this, or so I seem to recall, I or someone near me uttered a bestial<lb/>
</p>
<p>
137<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="142" facs="0142.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
kind of triumphant growl, a truly blood-curdling noise. At any rate,<lb/>
I have never felt anything quite like that moment. The dread of their<lb/>
advance was replaced by an unutterable feeling of strength which we<lb/>
all shared, and knew we shared. Making feints and jabs with our spears,<lb/>
and threatening cries, we spread out and pushed them back, looking<lb/>
for weak spots, occasionally ganging up to single out one of their men<lb/>
and try to cut him ofi’.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
On one of these surges I must have gotten carried away by my<lb/>
enthusiasm and misjudged the distance. The balance of movement in<lb/>
these war games is more delicate than it seems, and the other side can<lb/>
seize an advantage in a fraction of a second. At any rate, I must have<lb/>
stepped a pace or two too far, or too much to the left or right. The<lb/>
enemy suddenly counterattacked in a way that isolated me on my left.<lb/>
Jerry, who was there, had to jump back for an instant until Tom leaped<lb/>
forward to give him added strength—and in that moment a spear pierced<lb/>
my side just above the waist.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Must have passed out immediately, though I dimly remember cries<lb/>
and shouting and hands helping me to lie down on bloody grass.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
By asking people later, have found that I was then bandaged up<lb/>
by a doctor and taken to the small nearby hospital where I am making<lb/>
this diary entry. It is a messy wound, apparently, but did not aflect<lb/>
anything crucial. It aches dully, but I can bear it. T hey took most<lb/>
of an hour to operate, cleaning up the wound and sewing me back<lb/>
together. I came to again just at dusk, and found I am assigned a<lb/>
rather beautiful nurse named Linda. “You were brave,” she said, after<lb/>
explaining to me that I was emerging from the anesthetic fog. Did<lb/>
she mean the war games or the operation? I was too drowsy to ask.<lb/>
The hospital must be empty—she seems to have little to do except look<lb/>
after me. But this is very welcome, since I tend to hallucinate more<lb/>
fighting when I close my eyes, and I don’t like the idea of going to<lb/>
sleep. . ..<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 14) Last night after I finished diary entry I told Linda about<lb/>
the hallucinations. Figured she would get me a sleeping pill, but she<lb/>
just asked me to tell her about them. T hen she began to massage my<lb/>
forehead and shoulders, which slowed my mind down very soothingly.<lb/>
After a while she just sat there, with a hand resting on my chest. Calmly,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
138<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="143" facs="0143.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
as if she would stay all night if necessary. I must have gone right to<lb/>
sleep, and this morning when I woke up she was sitting in the chair<lb/>
next to the bed. It turned out she did stay all night (the couch in the<lb/>
corner of the room was rumpled and sleptq‘n) and that, furthermore,<lb/>
this is standard practice in Ecotopian hospitals.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Her long hair swung as she came over and sat on the bed. “How<lb/>
do you feel?” she asked It was hard to say. I was tired, as if] could<lb/>
sleep for hours more, Yet the sun was appealing, it made me want<lb/>
to stretch. I became conscious of bandages, and of the fact that moving<lb/>
caused pain. I lay still and looked at her.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Some of your friends will come visit in a bit, ” she said. “But maybe<lb/>
you’d like some breakfast?”“Yes, I’m very hungry. ”“T he doctor’ll<lb/>
be around in a little while. We can fortify you first. What would you<lb/>
like to eat?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I thought a minute. “I’d like to have a farmer-style breakfast: steak,<lb/>
eggs, potatoes, pie, tomato juice, coflee, t0ast—” She smiled. “You do<lb/>
want to get well, don’t you? All right, I ’11 see what the cook can do<lb/>
for you.” She pointed to a button at the head of the bed. “If you push<lb/>
that, it buzzes me here, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”<lb/>
She indicated a small radio receiver at her waist.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
As she went out, I felt something like you do when a slot machine<lb/>
pays of: you have trusted yourself to the fickle fingers of fate, and<lb/>
instead of the expected loss, you get bounty. I have survived, the sun<lb/>
is shining, and somebody has sent around this marvelous woman to<lb/>
take care of me. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I gorgea' myself on the breakfast, though I wasn’t quite as hungry<lb/>
as I ’d thought. The doctor arrived. Not my favorite image of a physician<lb/>
—long of hair and loose of attire, and took a personal interest in my<lb/>
background and business which vergea' on prying, but he seemed<lb/>
competent enough. Probed and poked and listened, pronounced me well<lb/>
on the road to recovery. The antibiotics are evidently working: no signs<lb/>
of infection. Tomorrow, he said, I ’ll be able to move around. “Today,<lb/>
you’ll have to content yourself with passive pleasures. I ’II have Linda<lb/>
give you a bath this afternoon. And maybe a little massage for now."<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I had been thinking of asking someone to phone Marissa for me,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
but Linda rather pointedly said she’s already taken care of it, and to I<lb/>
</p>
<p>
just relax and enjoy the massage-whtch turned out to be a lovely sensual<lb/>
experience. Linda’s aim seemed to be to make every muscle and nerve<lb/>
</p>
<p>
139<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="144" facs="0144.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
in my body warm and conscious of itself. She stroked and kneaded,<lb/>
with a soft, steady rhythm that put me into a dazed, dreamy state.<lb/>
As she worked I couldn’t help sighing repeatedly with sheer joy and<lb/>
amazement, and this must have pleased her; at the end she sat down<lb/>
beside me, covered me up, gave me a hug, and said, “You’re certainly<lb/>
appreciative! ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Well, I ’ve never been treated so well in hospital before. Our hospitals<lb/>
are—. Well, they’re excellent medically ofcourse, but they’re impersonal.<lb/>
The nurses are all business, very overworked, and they’re not so pretty.”<lb/>
“I’m probably not so pretty as you think right now, either. ” “It doesn’t<lb/>
matter, does it. ” “Not much. ” She sat back, and I closed my eyes happily.<lb/>
I must have dozed again. In a while I was wakened by voices, and<lb/>
there in the room was Marissa, full of a sardonic kind of sympathy,<lb/>
with some friends from the Cave. She appraised Linda with steely calm<lb/>
and efliciency; evidently decided she was all right. (But while Marissa<lb/>
was there she didn’t let Linda near me, I noticed; and Linda took this<lb/>
in good grace, evidently feeling the patient would be back in her hands<lb/>
soon enough.) My guests had brought a picnic basket and a good deal<lb/>
of wine, which they proceeded to open. Linda pitched in too, as ifsuch<lb/>
things were the normal way of life in a hospital room. They cranked<lb/>
up my bed so I could see the Bay, half hidden by trees, and opened<lb/>
the window; and before long the room was littered with bottles, little<lb/>
cloths spread out for the food, and laughing people.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Marissa’s attitude toward me has somehow changed. Maybe it’s my<lb/>
participating, even if sort of inadvertentbz, in the war games: she seems<lb/>
to feel I am a better person for it—more solid and real. (In a roundabout<lb/>
Way I mentioned that I thought I had seen her in the park~could she<lb/>
have been there? She laughed and denied it.) And I am proud ofmyselfi<lb/>
after all. I will treasure my scar. Most of all, it feels good to be treated<lb/>
as less of a foreigner by her, even in jokes: “Anyway,” she said, “now<lb/>
you have a little Ecotopian blood in your veins!” (because of the<lb/>
transfusion during my operation).<lb/>
</p>
<p>
What with the wine and the good company, it turned into rather<lb/>
a party. It was fine to be the center of attention, and I blurted out,<lb/>
“You know, I’m not used to being made happy when I’m supposed<lb/>
to be sufiering!” This caused a burst of laughter. Linda looked at me<lb/>
protectively, as if] was a child who had just said something ridiculous<lb/>
but lovable, and everyone was beaming at me. It was some kind of<lb/>
</p>
<p>
140<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="145" facs="0145.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
magical moment. I became overwhelmingly certain that I was, indeed,<lb/>
going to get well. “You certainly have funny hospitals in Ecotopia,”<lb/>
I said “We try to stay out of ours, but yours are about the nicest<lb/>
places to be.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“T hat’s the idea exactly, ” said Linda. “People recover best if they ’re‘<lb/>
happy. {We don’t separate medicine and life. So we do try to make._<lb/>
the hospitals the best places there are. That’s why what you said about<lb/>
</p>
<p>
saflering seemed so crazy to us.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Don’t patients just try to prolong their stays indefinitely, then?” I<lb/>
</p>
<p>
asked. “Why go home?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“No, actually, they don’t. They really truly recover, and want to get<lb/>
on with living. You’ll see. In a couple of days. . . .” She smiled at me<lb/>
</p>
<p>
softly.<lb/>
(Don’t you see, I wanted to tell her, I am still needy of contact and<lb/>
</p>
<p>
aflection and human directness, from Marissa and you and everyone, ‘<lb/>
and I love you because you sat by my side during the long night when .'<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I was raw and wounded in body and soul, and because you somehow’<lb/>
know what I need and simply give it to me, for this little while when-<lb/>
I need it most, without my having to give anything in return—)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 15) “We believe in encouraging all your life forces,” the doctor<lb/>
said when I expressed pleasure in Linda’s massages. And then, as I<lb/>
half expected (is it Doctor’s Orders or her own initiative?) in giving<lb/>
me a sponge bath she wryly stroked me into an erection and got me<lb/>
oflj My ambitions leaped up, quite obliterating thoughts ofsutures and<lb/>
bandages. Marissa has gone back to the camp, speaking stern words<lb/>
to Linda on leaving. Linda’s hands and quiet smile fascinate me, but<lb/>
the pains I still have under the bandage keep me from moving my pelvis<lb/>
very much Will I be considered well enough to leave just at the point<lb/>
I am well enough to really fuck her?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(Later) Cable Sent over from Cove: “WHY DON’T YOU GET A GUITAR<lb/>
AND GO SING UNDER THE PRESIDENTIAL BALCONY? FAINT HEART NEVER<lb/>
WON FAIR INTERVIEW. THEN GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE WHERE IT’S<lb/>
SAFE. FRANCINE.” That damned woman could foul up my whole project<lb/>
yet. Hope the Ecotopian secret police have a sense of humor—and still<lb/>
understand our kind of women.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
141<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="146" facs="0146.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
HOSPITALS AND HEALTH CARE:<lb/>
THE ECOTOPIAN WAY<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, June 15. An unfortunate accident has given me the<lb/>
chance to observe Ecotopian hospital procedures first hand. I have<lb/>
been recuperating, the past few days, from a nasty gash. But I am<lb/>
mending well, and expect to be out of the hospital tomorrow, though<lb/>
I will have to take it a bit easy for a while.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The greatest difference between Ecotopian hospitals and ours is<lb/>
in scale. Though the medical care I have received seems to be at<lb/>
the highest level of sophistication, from the atmosphere here I might<lb/>
be in a tiny country hospital. There are only about 30 patients 'all<lb/>
together, and we are practically outnumbered by the nursing staff<lb/>
(who, by the way, work much longer hours than ours, but in compen-<lb/>
sation spend as much time on vacation as they do on the job). X-ray,<lb/>
surgery, anesthesia, and other services seem to be fully as competent<lb/>
as ours, though the physical appearance of the hospital might strike<lb/>
an American as a bit rustic: the walls are not tile, and I missed the<lb/>
smell of disinfectant which I’ve always associated with hospitals. On<lb/>
the other hand everything seems clean and well cared for, and the<lb/>
doctors, though clearly unfamiliar with the expectations of American<lb/>
patients, are alert and seem well trained.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
In one respect the Ecotopians have taken a profoundly difierent<lb/>
direction than our modern hospitals. They do not employ electronic<lb/>
observation to enable a central nurses’ station to observe many patients<lb/>
at once. The theory, as I have gathered it, is that the personal presence<lb/>
and care of the nurse is what is essential; and the only electronic<lb/>
gadget used is a small radio call set that can retrieve your nurse<lb/>
from anywhere on the hospital premises without bothering anybody<lb/>
else. The nurses are highly trained in a number of specialties unknown<lb/>
to ours, particularly massage, which they regard as important for<lb/>
stimulating the body’s recuperative powers.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopians are covered by a type of cradle-to-the—grave medical<lb/>
insurance which has had drastic effects on the medical system. Instead<lb/>
of control by the profession itseIf, the clinics and hospitals are respon-<lb/>
sibIe to the communities—normally to the minicity units of about<lb/>
</p>
<p>
10,000 people. Thus the power of the physician to set his own fees ‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
142<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="147" facs="0147.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
has evaporated, though a doctor can always bargain between the sala-<lb/>
ry offers of one community and another, and in fact doctors are reput-<lb/>
ed to have among the highest incomes despite the fact that they are<lb/>
much more numerous than with us. Doctors perform many duties<lb/>
that nurses or technicians perform in our more specialized system;<lb/>
on the other hand, nurses and technicians also perform a good many<lb/>
of the services that our doctors reserve for themselves. I have noticed<lb/>
that conversations among doctors, staff, and patients are a good deal<lb/>
livelier than in our hospitals; evidently the moral and scientific author—<lb/>
ity of the doctor has been diluted. Conditions can’t be too miserable<lb/>
for the doctors, however, or more of them would leave the country;<lb/>
as far as I can tell, only a few hundred left at the beginning (mostly<lb/>
very high-income specialists) and none at all have left in recent times.<lb/>
Ecotopia does not import foreign-trained doctors to stalT its hospitals,<lb/>
as we are still forced to do, because its medical schools were almost<lb/>
doubled in capacity immediately after Independence.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
My strength has not permitted me to do much investigating while<lb/>
hospitalized. However, the gravest problem of Ecotopian medicine<lb/>
would seem to be a dearth of really top—noteh specialists. Specialists<lb/>
do exist, and are consulted on many occasions, but they are required<lb/>
to do general practice as well. This wasteful system is justified by<lb/>
the argument that it keeps them in touch with the medical needs<lb/>
of the people as a whole; but it clearly represents a serious reduction<lb/>
in the best utilization of specialist training and abilities. In fact some<lb/>
specialties have died out entirely. For instance, babies are usually<lb/>
delivered at home by nurse-midwives except in a few cases that<lb/>
</p>
<p>
present complications, and the hospitals have neither maternity wards<lb/>
nor obstetricians.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Intensive-care units are also not developed as highly as in our hospi-<lb/>
tals. This clearly involves a certain hard—heartedness toward terminal-<lb/>
ly ill 01' very critically ill patients, who cannot be kept alive by the<lb/>
incredibly ingenious technology American hospitals have. This may<lb/>
be partly an economic necessity, but also Ecotopians have a curiously<lb/>
fatalistic attitude toward death. They prefer to die at home, and elder-<lb/>
ly Ecotopians spend a good deal of time and energy preparing them-<lb/>
selves for death. It is even said that, like American Indians, they<lb/>
can select the day of their death, and almost will themselves to die.<lb/>
At any rate, when they feel their time has come, they let it come,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
143<lb/>
</p>
<p>
m__ er-c 4<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
E<lb/>
I<lb/>
l'<lb/>
l<lb/>
l,<lb/>
E<lb/>
E-<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="148" facs="0148.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
comforting themselves with their ecological religion: they too Will now<lb/>
be recycled.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
On the other hand, the Ecotopian medical system has a strong<lb/>
emphasis on preventive care. The many neighborhood clinics provide<lb/>
regular check—ups for all citizens, and are within easy reach for minor<lb/>
problems that might develop into major ones. No Ecotopian avoids<lb/>
getting medical care because of the expense or the inaccessibility of<lb/>
health facilities. -<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A11 Ecotopian doctors receive what we would call psychiatric train-<lb/>
ing, though psychology and psychiatry no longer constitute separate<lb/>
fields. My doctor, thus, paid considerable attention to my psychic<lb/>
state as well as to my medical injuries. It is claimed that mental illness<lb/>
has shown a decline since Independence, but it would be extremely<lb/>
difficult to evaluate such claims because of the drastically altered cir-<lb/>
cumstances. I can confirm, however, that Ecotopian streets are not<lb/>
enlivened by the numerous and obvious crazies we are familiar with<lb/>
in our cities. 011 the other hand, the security and confidence achieved<lb/>
by the Ecotopians with their dense, highly personalized style of neigh-<lb/>
borhood and extended-family living are bought at a substantial price<lb/>
in anonymity and freedom. Ecotopians have the feeling, I was told<lb/>
by one doctor, of “never being alone.” The commonest psychiatric<lb/>
symptom for which people visit doctors, he told me, is having fantasies<lb/>
about solitude and about committing violent crimes. (It is a strange<lb/>
tribute to the ritual war games that it is mainly older people and<lb/>
women, who do not take part in the games, who are troubled by<lb/>
</p>
<p>
such violent impulses.) Some people find it helpful to take wilderness<lb/>
</p>
<p>
hiking trips by themselves, where they can be totally alone for weeks<lb/>
at a time. Still, it is doubtful if Ecotopians are happier than Americans. i}<lb/>
It seems likely that different ways of life always involve losses that<lb/>
balance the gains, and gains that balance the losses. Perhaps it is j<lb/>
Only that Ecotopians are happy, and miserable, in different ways from i‘<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ourselves.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 15, later) Have just been given a message from the President’s<lb/>
assistant: they hope I recover satisfactorily. I am to let them know<lb/>
when I am back in action. Good news!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
144<lb/>
</p>
<p>
«vWW4“uKN«NavmwwtrawthxrA mmwmuu» QJ.WHW>~\M-v ”awn“ \ “m”, t H »- ».. N p<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="149" facs="0149.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
i<lb/>
a;<lb/>
‘2<lb/>
i<lb/>
s,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The doors in the thick masonry walls have been opened, and I can<lb/>
chat with my neighbor—a woman of 45 who almost lost an arm in<lb/>
a fishing-tmwler winch accident. Her nurse is a debonair man, maybe<lb/>
30, good at telling stories, and probably at other things too. Gets her<lb/>
to laugh a lot, anyway, sometimes with pleased blushes. I am now allowed<lb/>
to take short walks along the hill outside. We see other patients, generally<lb/>
(though not always) with opposite-sex nurses. Remarked to Linda that<lb/>
</p>
<p>
their intimate methods of treatment could sometimes pose problems for<lb/>
the nurses. She was irritated by my attitude. “First,” she said, “every<lb/>
treatment is unique. Second, there is something in every person to values<lb/>
</p>
<p>
and love” (here she smiled) “even in a dumb chauvinist ugly American<lb/>
bastard like you. Third, nurses are also persons, and we have control<lb/>
of what we do or don’t do. Do you think I ‘m your slave or somethingP’f<lb/>
She made a face, cufled me on the shoulder, took me back inside. I ’m<lb/>
afraid she was right. My culture has inflicted many handicaps along<lb/>
with its blessings.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Have been reading some Ecotopian novels. They exude a curiaus<lb/>
feeling of security, almost like 19th-century English novels: 0 sense,<lb/>
probably derived here from the stabIe—state notion, that the world is<lb/>
a decent and satisfactory place which will sustain us despite some<lb/>
dificulties. There are terrible dramatic incidents and psychologically<lb/>
harrowing events, ofcourse, but none of the totally freaked out, nihilistic<lb/>
paranoia of our novels. At first the stories seemed puzzlingly vapid to<lb/>
me; I couldn’t figure out why anybody would find them interesting.<lb/>
How come they didn’t have that exciting nightmare quality? Some of<lb/>
them even have happy endings. . . . After a while, they seem more like<lb/>
life—okay to spend time with, reassuring. Come to think of it, Ecotopia<lb/>
</p>
<p>
itself is beginning to feel a good deal more reassuring: when I needed<lb/>
care, I was taken care of.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 16) Now my wound has been given a new bandage—very small.<lb/>
Linda and I have initiated it with a long, gentle session of love—making<lb/>
”with hardly any pain, just occasional small squeaking shoots of<lb/>
discomfort.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Linda, I’m beginning to realize, really isn’t quite as pretty as I thought<lb/>
at first, and she is not perhaps the most piercingly intelligent person<lb/>
</p>
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<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
in the world either. But she is a born nurse: immensely kind, warm,<lb/>
sustaining, with an extraordinary accepting, loving, physical presence.<lb/>
Does she want me to leave, or stay longer? (I gather that an Ecotopian<lb/>
with friends or family in the vicinity would probably go home tomorrow.)<lb/>
But she won’t discuss it. “There’s nothing that can be said about that, ”<lb/>
she always replies, a little crossly. “When you are well enough, you<lb/>
will leave. You’ll know when the time has come.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“And then you’ll get another patient-lover?” “Idiot.” But she knows<lb/>
I have not overcome my confusions on these things, so she comes over<lb/>
and hugs me. “When you go, I get a vacation, and I can go anywhere,<lb/>
on my railway pass. I’m planning to go hiking in the desert. And I ’11<lb/>
think about you a lot. And you ’ll write about me in your diary.” (She<lb/>
has discovered my notebook.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” is all I can reply, and I hug her, and feel like crying. This<lb/>
country has certainly taught me to cry, and for some reason it feels<lb/>
good, as if it is not only my tear ducts that have been opened up. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 17) I’Vhen I left the hospital this morning and headed out to<lb/>
see M arissa at the camp, I stopped at one of those fantastic camping—sup-<lb/>
ply stores they have, and bought Linda 0 new sleeping bag—a super<lb/>
down-fillea’ job that rolls into a tiny stufi' sack and will keep her snug L<lb/>
in the coldest desert night. Choice of dark green, brown, blue, or flaming<lb/>
orange. I picked orange. Feeling foolish, I wrote on the card, “Stay<lb/>
warm Love. ” Had it delivered to the hospital so she would get it before<lb/>
her vacation begins.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Marissa delighted to see me. Asked wicked titillating questions about<lb/>
Linda’s attentions, insisted on inspecting my scar, made fun of ‘pretty<lb/>
nursie taking care of poor wounded Willie.” We laughed and horsed<lb/>
around gleefully—it really did feel sensational to be back with her.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Somehow, though, we got into this ferocious argument. Carried away,<lb/>
I mentioned my recurrent fantasy of taking her back to New York<lb/>
with me when my assignment here is over. She reacted instantly that<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I it was an asinine idea, absurd: “What would I do there? I ’a' be just<lb/>
E an appendage to you. There’s no way I could make a life for myself<lb/>
‘1<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
in that kind of society.” I felt, to my surprise, terribly hurt at this:<lb/>
as if our love for each other could have no impact on the real world.<lb/>
E I raged and moaned, accused her of not caring for me, of not wanting<lb/>
</p>
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<pb n="151" facs="0151.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to continue being with me. She reassured me about loving me, but would<lb/>
not budge on the basic question. I broke out in a cold sweat, feeling<lb/>
horrible. I wanted desperately to make love to her, but my sexual felings<lb/>
were somehow bottled up; nothing would happen.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Eventually we took a long walk through the forest. Am beginning<lb/>
to understand how she feels about trees. We walked up the valley, taking<lb/>
it easy, then came back past the hollow tree where we had first made<lb/>
serious love. It was still a magical place. But this time we just sat<lb/>
down quietly inside the old trunk, watching the light fade into dusk,<lb/>
touching each other lightly. Despite the quarrel, I am happier than<lb/>
I have been in a long time, and dread it coming to an end. Will put<lb/>
0/7 for one more day going back to the city, and the work which will<lb/>
soon be over.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 18) Was told this morning that Vera Allwen would see me today<lb/>
at four, though strictly of the record and informally. Have just returned<lb/>
from her ofice, and transcribe here the essentials of what happened.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The President is a very direct person. Despite being rather small and<lb/>
a trifle stout, gives of a strong air of authority. Clearly well used to<lb/>
exercising power. But not businesslike and cool about it, like many<lb/>
of our politicians, who are sometimes hard to tell from business-<lb/>
men—heads full of impersonal calculations that happen to be power<lb/>
equations instead of money ones. She is powerful as a person, not as<lb/>
a bureaucrat or the head of an institution. Difficult to express. (Have<lb/>
heard that some of the old-ttme communist leaders, Ho Chi Minh and<lb/>
Mao Tse—tung, had this quality too.) Gave me the feeling I ’ve had in<lb/>
playing chess with people who turn out to be much better playerSMOf<lb/>
bein g mysteriously outclassed. A truly remarkable woman. Found myself<lb/>
taking refuge in the feeling of being an emissary—I might not measure<lb/>
up to her myself, but at least I had a mission to carry out.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I presented our President’s case for normalization of relations, ex-<lb/>
plaining the advantages, chiefly economic, that could ensue for Ecotopia.<lb/>
She is not against thisn-replied that Ecotopia already has a certain<lb/>
trade with many other countries, and in fact would welcome additional<lb/>
outlets for some surpluses (wine above all) and would buy a few things<lb/>
from us in return (though vague about what). Medium of exchange<lb/>
would have to be yen, but this could be concealed from our public.<lb/>
</p>
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<pb n="152" facs="0152.tif"/>
<p>
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<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Asked me why we are prepared to take risk of having Ecotopian<lb/>
consulates in our major cities, considering the unrest already generated<lb/>
by Ecotopian ideas among our youth. Not sure I handled this right—made<lb/>
light of dan ger, expressed confidence, etc. May have seemed ridiculously<lb/>
naive if their intelligence service is as good as I suppose. For all I<lb/>
know, they may be financing the secessionist movements we are beginning<lb/>
to notice in the Great Lakes region and the Southeast.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Main point: absolutely no hope for reunification, now or ever. Long,<lb/>
impassioned speech on this—that the notion shows the lack of contact<lb/>
with reality of our government, that on every major social index Ecotopia<lb/>
would lose by reunification (she ran down the list), the problem is how<lb/>
the United States can follow Ecotopz‘a’s lead, not vice versa, that all<lb/>
the large countries should break up into smaller ones, that even if her<lb/>
government wanted reunification her people would not stand for it, and<lb/>
so on. A wildly nationalistic, aggressively secessionist diatribe. Then<lb/>
she stopped short, fixed me with powerful eyes: “You cannot be serious. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“My government—” I began, but she interrupted: “You cannot be<lb/>
serious.” Silence. Long silence. She waited, sat back, still glaring at<lb/>
me. Uncomfortable moment—to be sure, at that point I was no longer<lb/>
clear what would really be gained from steps toward reunification. For<lb/>
the U.S. or anybody, including myself.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
She gave me a faintly ironic smile. “You know,” she said, “I have<lb/>
now said everything I have to say as an oficial. Perhaps we could just<lb/>
talk as two human beings from now on?” She poured me a brandy<lb/>
(Ecotopian, I noticed, not French!) from a shelf next to her desk. She<lb/>
walked around, sat down nearer to me. “It is Friday afternoon, the<lb/>
end of a long week. No more business—but I would like to hear what<lb/>
~ you really think of our country, what you have seen and done. We<lb/>
have, naturally, been reading your reports with care. To be frank, we<lb/>
have been pleasantly surprised at their growing fairness, and the unusual<lb/>
curiosity they reflect. Perhaps you have had a better time in Ecotopia<lb/>
than you expected?” Her eyes crinkled in an almost conspiratorial smile.<lb/>
Startled, I looked back rather blankly, then managed to say, “Well,<lb/>
yes, in fact that’s true.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“You are not as personal in your columns as our journalists tend<lb/>
to be, so we have not been able to judge if you have had good experiences<lb/>
</p>
<p>
among us.”<lb/>
“I put down my personal experiences in a diary. Many of them have<lb/>
</p>
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148<lb/>
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mmtmwnmnr xwaswxaaxdw>m7uwxxm<wwxn—Hmwksvzrrnavmmnvmmsxwfi 7mgumwmmmw“n m g; ”w.<lb/>
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I<lb/>
I!<lb/>
</p>
<p>
mm:memoswygnfi-Amaau-Am{dw/m1«wz(Mvwxvv'vmyn\wa:n1>~mmbvmm3fi9<\“7(“>>:Y)M\'/mfla\\ws~z'CA-AuuAuxu wmmxmvm<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
been very good, but they’re not for publication. — You should understand<lb/>
that by our standards my columns have probably seemed rather too<lb/>
personal.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Yes, I know. I also know that you have been doing in Ecotopia<lb/>
as the Ecotopians do, where that has been possible for you. We are<lb/>
grateful for the moderation you’ve expressed. But of course we want<lb/>
more of you still. We have more to give you, I suspect, and there are<lb/>
still things you haven’t graspe .” “But I have grasped correctly that<lb/>
I cannot give our President any real hope?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“None whatever.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“And if our hawks prevail?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Your hawks were not insane enough to destroy the country in order<lb/>
to reunify it at Independence, so we doubt they will be now. —But that’s<lb/>
enough of that. I’d like to know what you have been feeling while<lb/>
you’ve been with us. You can be frank; I have not reached this position<lb/>
by being a gossip, and nothing will go beyond these walls. I like you—you<lb/>
have done brave and good work. I am interested in everything that<lb/>
has happened to you here.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Rest of conversation uncomfortably personal, cannot record. It was<lb/>
almost like a psychiatric interview. Kept getting the feeling that she<lb/>
was somehow, without ever even'hinting at it, probing my loyalties,<lb/>
exploring the ambiguities of my feelings. I kept quoting what I have<lb/>
so gingerly written in the columns—to which she would always have<lb/>
some oblique reply, pretty much indicating that she saw how my mind<lb/>
had worked. Even seemed to know about Marissa—which I suppose<lb/>
should be no surprise. (In a small country ordinary conversation does<lb/>
the work that a secret service is required for in a big one?)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The talk left me feeling exhausted depressed, as if a huge weight<lb/>
has settled on top of my head This country is really too much Even}<lb/>
the President wants to mess with your soul. .W'hat I had hoped would:<lb/>
happen in the interview did not happen. Whatever she was hoping for<lb/>
must not have happened either—got the feelin g that she was disappointed,<lb/>
had expected more. As I left: I had the flash that she reminded me<lb/>
of my grandmother, whose disappointments were visited upon several<lb/>
generations of my family.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Went back to the Cove, where everybody was dying to know what<lb/>
happened. Was surly to them, came upstairs to write down these notes.<lb/>
It has stayed cloudy the whole day today. Dismal auguries all around.<lb/>
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<pb n="154" facs="0154.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
E(June 18) Visit with the President has really gotten me down. Whole<lb/>
trip now seems like a waste of time. This place is lost for us—no question<lb/>
?about it! Forever. Period. The journalists at the Cave keep hounding<lb/>
</p>
<p>
'me to tell them what was discussed. I say nothing. Since they’re not<lb/>
dummies, they know there may have been more than reportorial reasons<lb/>
for my visit out here. And they can see from my downcast state of<lb/>
mind that it didn’t work, whatever it was. They are sympathetic but<lb/>
a certain distance between us has been apparent since the interview.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Have caught some sort offlu—headache, sore throat, a little tempera-<lb/>
ture. (Thermometer is marked in Centigrade, so I don’t quite know<lb/>
how serious, but only one notch above normal.) Couldn’t sleep at all<lb/>
last night. I go down for a bite now and then, but everybody is always<lb/>
after me. Even Bert. Had to tell him plainly to stop it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Must try and sort the whole experience out in my head in some new<lb/>
way. Find that I dread the idea of Marissa coming in and seeing me<lb/>
in such dismal shape. The ‘jverspective” she said she loves in me seems<lb/>
to have dissolved utterly. Must phone her and tell her I’m sick so she<lb/>
won’t come.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Was fantasizing a balance sheet headed “Ecotopia,” and down in<lb/>
two long columns go all the pros and cons. The list gets grotesquely<lb/>
long and dim and blurry, and I hear Marissa laughing Finally I just<lb/>
rip it up, and my head spins, and I despair<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIAI CHALLENGE OR ILLUSION?<lb/>
</p>
<p>
San Francisco, June 19. Where is Ecotopia going in the future? After<lb/>
more than six weeks’ intensive study of the country, I find it still<lb/>
hazardous to guess. There is no doubt, I have been forced to conclude,<lb/>
that the risky social expen'ments undertaken here have worked on<lb/>
a biological level. Ecotopian air and water are everywhere crystal<lb/>
clear. The land is well cared for and productive. Food is pientiful,<lb/>
wholesome, and recognizable. A11 life systems are operating on a<lb/>
stable-state basis, and can go on doing so indefinitely. The health<lb/>
and general well-being of the people are undeniable. While the<lb/>
extreme decentralization and emotional openness of the society seem<lb/>
alien to an American at first, they too have much to be said in their<lb/>
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. .1.mmmeWmmmmmmfiwmfiwfifi WV<lb/>
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mamtwvmfl-m<lb/>
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ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
favor. In these respects, I believe, Ecotopia offers us a difl‘icult<lb/>
challenge, and we have far to go to even approach their achievements.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
On the other hand, these benefits have been bought at a heavy<lb/>
cost. Not only is the Ecotopian industrial capacity and standard of<lb/>
consumption markedly below ours, to a degree that would never be<lb/>
tolerated by Americans generally, but the Ecotopian political system<lb/>
rests on assumptions that I can only conclude are dangerous in the<lb/>
extreme. In my earlier columns I described the city—states that have<lb/>
already, in effect, themselves seceded within Ecotopia. There is talk<lb/>
currently of formalizing the Spanish—speaking and J apanese commu-<lb/>
nities of San Francisco—the latter, of course, an economically sinister<lb/>
development because of the threat of Japanese capital taking over.<lb/>
Jewish, American Indian, and other minorities all contain militants<lb/>
Who desire a greater autonomy for their peoples.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
It is, admittedly, difficuit for an American to criticize such trends<lb/>
when our own society, after the failure of the integrationist campaign<lb/>
of the sixties, has grOWn ever more segregated—though somewhat less<lb/>
unequal. However, it is still the American ideal that all men and<lb/>
women should obtain equal protection from the law and have equal<lb/>
</p>
<p>
status as citizens of one great and powerful nation. The Ecotopian :<lb/>
principle of secession denies this hope and this faith. While seemingly 1<lb/>
</p>
<p>
idealistic, it is in fact profoundly pessimistic. And the consequences<lb/>
seem clear. The way propounded by Ecotopian ideologues leads away<lb/>
from the former greatness of America, unified in spirit “from sea<lb/>
to shining sea,” toward a balkanized continent—a welter of small,<lb/>
second-elass nations, each with its own petty cultural differentiations.<lb/>
Instead of continuing the long march toward one world of peace and<lb/>
freedom, to which America has dedicated itself on the battlefields<lb/>
of Korea, Vietnam, and Brazil (not to mention our own Civil War),<lb/>
the Ecotopians propose only separatism, quietism, a reversion toward<lb/>
the two—bit principalities of medieval Europe, or perhaps even the<lb/>
tribalism of the jungle.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Under Ecotopian ideas, the era of the great nation—states, with their<lb/>
promise of one ultimate world—state, would fade away. Despite our<lb/>
achievements of a worldwide communications network and jet travel,<lb/>
mankind would fly apart into small, culturally homogenous groupings.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
In the words of Yeats (an early 20thvcentury poet from Ireland—a<lb/>
very small and secessionist country) “The center cannot hold.”<lb/>
</p>
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151<lb/>
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</p>
<pb n="156" facs="0156.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopians argue that such separatism is desirable on ecological<lb/>
as well as cultural groundswthat a small regional society can exploit<lb/>
its “niche” in the world biosystem more subtly and richly and<lb/>
efficiently (and of course less destructively) than have the superpowers.<lb/>
This seems to me, however, a dubiously fetishistic decentralism. It<lb/>
assumes that the immensely concentrated resources of the superpowers<lb/>
are innately impossible to use wisely. I would be the last to deny<lb/>
that the huge administrative machines of our governments and<lb/>
international corporations must commit an occasional error, or miss<lb/>
an occasional opportunity. Nevertheless, to condemn them and elimi-<lb/>
nate them, in favor of small-scale innovations modeled on' the<lb/>
Ecotopian experience, would seem to risk throwing the baby of<lb/>
civilization itself out with the polluted bathwater. If we wish to achieve<lb/>
better living conditions for ourselves and our descendants, surely the<lb/>
wiser utilization of the methods we know best is the only way to<lb/>
accomplish it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 20) Blah, blah, blah. Can hardly bear to reread that last column.<lb/>
They’ll probably love it in New York. Real “objective” pseudo—think,<lb/>
trying to come to conclusions at any cost. . . . But have just about decided<lb/>
to cut and run, hack to N Y. I ’1] probably come down with pneumonia<lb/>
if I stay here. Can’t stand talking to Bert or the others, though they<lb/>
keep after me, and the attention does sometimes feel good, but I can’t<lb/>
afford to give in to it or I’ll lose my bearings entirely. So I stick in<lb/>
my room, try to sleep, without much success. Alternate between desperate<lb/>
desire to see Marissa and horror at the thought. Nothing further to<lb/>
do here really. Could tidy up a few further columnsAamusing details,<lb/>
a little expansion here and there. But I know everything I basically<lb/>
need to know.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Marissa said she wants to come to the Cove and cheer me up. Don’t<lb/>
know if I could bear that, and then leaving—. Got out my suitcase<lb/>
and tossed a few things in it. T hought about the evening train to the<lb/>
Sierras and Reno. Or could drop down via Los Angeles and return<lb/>
that way. No goodbyes are the best goodbyes.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Last night, hardly slept at all. Disjotnted flashes of interview with<lb/>
AllwenJ bits of experiences keep floating through my mind. Times with<lb/>
</p>
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152<lb/>
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<pb n="157" facs="0157.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Marissa when there is nothing particular to be said and we just look<lb/>
at each other, touching lightly. Walking through San Francisco in my<lb/>
snug serape in the fog. Receptor plates at the solarpower station—soaking<lb/>
up the sun, patiently, silently; no movement, just a lark singing. And<lb/>
the way people here look at each other—and then in my fantasies they<lb/>
turn and look at me, expectantly, and I can’t meet their eyes. Except<lb/>
Marissa’s. Hope I’m not cracking up. Have got to get out of here.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 21) Notebook may be taken away from me, but I ’11 write this<lb/>
entry anyway. I ’ve been kidnapped! Yesterday as I was packing, three<lb/>
men and a woman came into my room and told me to come along<lb/>
with them. “What the hell for?” I asked. I knew two of them—one,<lb/>
with huge bushy eyebrows that give him a demonic look, was a fliend<lb/>
0f Marissa’s brother. (My first thought was that this must be the<lb/>
Ecotopian Mafia.) But he smiled as he came in, put his hand on my<lb/>
shoulder for a moment. The other I recognized from parties and had<lb/>
also seen him around the Cove, talking to Bert. Some kind of scientist,<lb/>
and I remembered conversations as a little creepy, something about<lb/>
“vibrations. ” ( You never know whether some of these people are creeps<lb/>
or geniuses.) The other two I hadn’t seen before as far as I know.<lb/>
Girl is attractive but in a frizzy blonde way. They all appear to be good<lb/>
friends.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Come on.” They began to edge me toward the door, and one threw<lb/>
the rest of my clothes in the suitcase. Suddenly I was sure they must<lb/>
be secret police. I waited until we were downstairs in the hall, then<lb/>
shouted for help. Bert and seven or eight other Cove people appeared,<lb/>
and gathered round. I felt much relieved. My captors, however, didn’t<lb/>
seem at all abashed. I began to think I ’d have to ask somebody to<lb/>
call Washington. One of the group took several of my friends aside<lb/>
and spoke to them out of my hearing. T here was some argument, with<lb/>
glances in my direction, but then apparently agreement. “Will,” said<lb/>
Bert, ‘five think it’s all right for you to go with them.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“What do you mean, all right?” I shouted. “I don’t want to go. Is<lb/>
this a free country or is it not? Somebody please get on the phone.<lb/>
This is going to mean a big diplomatic mess, do you all understand?<lb/>
I want to get hold of the State Department, or the White House if<lb/>
necessary. This is ridiculous!”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Bert came over and took me aside. “Look, Will,” he said, “we know<lb/>
</p>
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153<lb/>
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<pb n="158" facs="0158.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
you’ve been through a bad time since you saw Vera Allwen. Sitting<lb/>
up there in that room is not doing you any good at all. You could<lb/>
use a change for a few days. These people are friends, really. T hey<lb/>
want to take you to a really extraordinarily lovely place near here for<lb/>
a few days. I’ve been there myself when I’ve been in a difi’icult situation,<lb/>
and we all think it’s a good idea. I’d go with you now if] could, but<lb/>
tomorrow’s impossible. They’ve promised you can phone the Cove<lb/>
anytime you like, and I ’11 come down tomorrow evening and see you. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“What I could use right now is to get out of this fucking country!”<lb/>
I burst out. “And right now! Take me to the train station!”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
‘ “That’s where they’re taking you,” said Bert. “But it would be a<lb/>
5 defeat if you left Ecotopz‘a in your present state of mind. T hese people<lb/>
Eknow that too. Go on, Will, take our word for it. They’re not police,<lb/>
517" that’s what you’re worried about. Somebody from the Cove could<lb/>
come with you if you feel that’s essential.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
T his somehow relieved my mind. I was probably a lunatic to go,<lb/>
but I have learned to trust Bert, even about unusual things. Washington<lb/>
is a long way ofl, and I would feel bad about just retreating. Besides,<lb/>
my “captors” had begun to seem less forbidding as they talked with<lb/>
the people at the Cove. The thought hit me that even If they weren’t<lb/>
Ecotopian police, they might be from our C.I.A..' if our President really<lb/>
attaches importance to my mission, he might have made arrangements<lb/>
to ensure I stay here as long as needed to carry it out! God knows<lb/>
it was no secret at the Cove how depressed my Allwen visit had left<lb/>
me; and several people saw me get my suitcase from the hall closet. . . .<lb/>
</p>
<p>
They took me to the train and we sped ofl southward, but got ofi’<lb/>
at the third stop. Then transferred to a minibus that headed east into<lb/>
the mountains. Soon it began winding along a small river, through<lb/>
country halfforest and half grassland. We got out at the end of the<lb/>
routeiin a spot that, as the sun sank lower, looked more like a resort<lb/>
than a community. A large low building wtth relaxed people strolling<lb/>
on its verandas lay to the right. Cabins with little porches were scattered<lb/>
all about, 0/" a rough-board design.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“We’ll eat after a bit,” they told me, “but first we’ll go down to<lb/>
the baths. ” Turns out this is a famous hot Springs resort that has been<lb/>
rehabilitated by a Japanese commune. My captors seem to half-believe<lb/>
in its alleged restorative powers. We put our luggage in one of the<lb/>
cabins and headed down the hill. N obody had said much all along—a<lb/>
</p>
<p>
154<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="159" facs="0159.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
resentful silence on my side, and who knows what on theirs. I looked<lb/>
around to study escape possibilities. It was all open country around<lb/>
the resort. Once out of sight I ’d have a good chance of making it.<lb/>
The problems would be in getting away to start with, and making the<lb/>
six or eight miles back to the station through open farmland, hard<lb/>
to hide in. I ’d have to do it at night.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Baths housed in beautiful but simple buildings. Each has a changing<lb/>
and sweating room. You leave your clothes and go in, naked, to the<lb/>
bath room, which has a tub about 12 feet square and maybe four feet<lb/>
deep. You wash with soap under a shower, then lower yourselfi inch<lb/>
by inch, into the steaming hot water. It doesn’t smell foul, to my reliefi<lb/>
though it does have a slightly unusual odor and a silky feel. We all<lb/>
sank into it gratefully, my captors smiling at me and making loud happy<lb/>
groans in the water. The tension dropped a bit. The tank is big enough<lb/>
that you can move around in it; has scratchy walls to rub your back<lb/>
against, and an underwater bench to sit on.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Besides us, there were a young couple, who sat in one corner with<lb/>
eyes closed, oblivious to us, and one old Japanese man, who ducked<lb/>
his head occasionally and then, coming up slowly, said “Aaaaaahh.”<lb/>
We stayed in about 15 minutes, then went out, wrapped ourselves in<lb/>
huge towels, and lay down to sweat. Sweating room has large windows<lb/>
through which I could see the dimming sky and trees moving gently.<lb/>
Made me doze a little. Even thought I might be able to sleep tonight.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The nonconversational behavior of my captors was still annoying,<lb/>
but I held to my resolve to let them start whatever they were going<lb/>
to start. My only request was to call the Cove, and this I was allowed<lb/>
to do right after supper. Bert, it turned out, couldn’t come until the<lb/>
second day, but it was reassuring to talk to him anyway, and he said<lb/>
he had already let Marissa know where I was. T hen we settled down<lb/>
in big chairs in the main lounge. It had gotten fairly cool, so there<lb/>
was a fire, which felt good. Somebody produced a bottle of brandy in<lb/>
another corner of the room‘. Glasses were sent for, and we all lifted<lb/>
our drinks to the giver. Chess and domino and go games were in progress.<lb/>
This was all pleasant enough for a while, but I found my nervousness<lb/>
returning. My companions just seemed to be patiently waiting for<lb/>
something~0r someone? T hey are the most silent Ecotopians I ’ve yet<lb/>
met in this nation of blabbermouths.<lb/>
</p>
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155<lb/>
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<pb n="160" facs="0160.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Finally went back on my resolve. “All right,” I said, “let’s get on<lb/>
with it. What do you want from me? What’s this little game all about?”<lb/>
I “We don’t want anything from you,” said the devilish one who knew<lb/>
Ben. (His name is Ron.) “We’re just giving you the chance for a few<lb/>
'days ofchange. You can do with it what you will. ” “By whose authority?”<lb/>
:7 said. “Who are you, anyway?” “We can’t tell you that right now.<lb/>
But we’re friends. We will do you no harm. We wish you would treat<lb/>
fus as friends. You remember that’s Marie, and this is Vince, and he’s<lb/>
Allan.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“It’s not harm to keep me here against my will?” Nobody answered<lb/>
this; they just sat there and looked at me, a little uncomfortable perhaps,<lb/>
but unmoved. “Look,” I said, “I don’t know who you’re working for,<lb/>
but this caper is going to cause somebody a lot of trouble.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Why do you assume we’re working for somebody?” asked Marie.<lb/>
“It’s obvious,” I replied. “You’re committing an illegal act, for one'<lb/>
thing. You’re dealing with a quasi-oflicial visitor to the country, for<lb/>
another, whose welfare can’t be a matter of indiflerence to your<lb/>
government. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“T hat’s true enough, ”she said. “Well, how about telling us the current<lb/>
state of your welfare?” “I am sick of being held against my will That’s<lb/>
the only part of my welfare that concerns you. ” “No, ” said Ron, “you’re<lb/>
wrong about thatwit all concerns us.” He sounded almost hurt; the<lb/>
others nodded. I folded my arms staunchly, and would say no more.<lb/>
In a few minutes we all Went of to the cabin. Ron and Marie went<lb/>
to sleep; Vince and Allan are sitting up, watching me write this diary<lb/>
entry.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 22) Hardly slept at all again last night. Being watched by them<lb/>
adds to the strain. About three o’clock they woke Ron and Marie up,<lb/>
to change shifts I guess, seeing I wasn’t going to sleep. By this time<lb/>
I was pretty jittery, so asked if I could go outside and walk around.<lb/>
Marie volunteered to accompany me. “We’ll stay in shouting distance,”<lb/>
she said.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We walked around a while. She seemed to be in a friendly mood,<lb/>
put her arm through mine. Surprisingly sexual feeling flooded over me<lb/>
at this, but I resisted the temptation to make some kind ofpass. T hen<lb/>
</p>
<p>
156<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="161" facs="0161.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
she spoiled it by beginning to pry, like some miserable amateur psycholo-<lb/>
gist: “Why don’t you open up and tell us what you’re thinking? It’s<lb/>
not human to try to keep it all inside!”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I pulled away. “Why should I talk to you? Give me one earthly reason. ”<lb/>
“Well, we’re here with you.” “I was aware of that. Now give me some<lb/>
good news. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We walked on in silence around the courtyard of the resort. She<lb/>
took my hand, and I suddenly realized this girl is probably only 20<lb/>
or so. “A ll right,” I said, “I’ll tell you something. I want 10 go home,<lb/>
to get away from this country. Everything here upsets me. It isn’t real,<lb/>
it just isn’t real.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“It’s real for us~you’re not letting it be real for you.” “Well, I’ve<lb/>
done my job here, as well as anybody could, but now it’s time to go.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Why do you think about it just as a job?” she asked. “It’s also<lb/>
been an adventure, if that’s what you mean.” “It’s still an adventure.<lb/>
Even if we’re the ones who’re keeping it going. ” She grinned. We went<lb/>
back to the cabin. Ron greeted us with some curiosity, but I wouldn’t<lb/>
respond and Marie wouldn’t say much either. I must have dazed a couple<lb/>
of hours; it’s six am. now. I’ll get through the day somehow. Quiveryw<lb/>
</p>
<p>
don’t dare drink any more coflee.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 22, evening) We took the baths morning and afternoon, and did<lb/>
</p>
<p>
some walking. I don ’t know what they’re up to. Seem genuinely interested<lb/>
</p>
<p>
and curious about what I think ofEcotopia, what happened to me here,<lb/>
</p>
<p>
what I’m going to do next. After we sweated out the morning bath<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I felt like talking to them about it a little. It’s very hard, I find, to<lb/>
</p>
<p>
get my ideas and my feelings within range of each other and I keep<lb/>
</p>
<p>
flying into a kind of flat blind rage at the whole situation.1’ve gathered ;<lb/>
a lot of facts many of them hard to accept rationally I ’ve gone through;E<lb/>
</p>
<p>
remarkable personal experiences. Does it all add up to good or evil?§<lb/>
I honestly don’t know.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Some aspects of the country strike me ax downright entrancing—the<lb/>
beauty of it, even the cities, which make such a contrast with the hellish<lb/>
way we live. Some aspects of life here reach me emotionally in ways<lb/>
I wouldn’t have believed just a few weeks ago—everything connected<lb/>
with Marissa, the horror of the ritual war games, the security of the<lb/>
hospital and the Cave. Other things are just mystifying, like their<lb/>
</p>
<p>
157<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="162" facs="0162.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
economic system. Over it all hangs a kind of feathery curtain ofdisbeliefi<lb/>
which I keep wishing I could tear aside, or maybe duck under.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
They listened to me talk, but don’t seem to find much to respond<lb/>
to. At one point Ron interjected impatiently, “Well, you’ve told us all<lb/>
this stufl about what you think. It’s interesting, but we really pretty<lb/>
much knew how you think. What are you feeling? And what are you<lb/>
going to do?”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“What do you mean? Go back to New York, of course. ” But precisely<lb/>
as I said that a great twinge of pain throbbed through my head. ‘My<lb/>
God,” I said, “I have this awful headache.” I staggered over to the<lb/>
bed and lay down. Vince brought a cold cloth for my forehead. Paranoid<lb/>
fantasies: the baths must have screwed up my circulation or something!<lb/>
N ever had anything like this happen before. They seemed pretty worried.<lb/>
Vince went to the ofice and found a doctor who was staying at the<lb/>
resort. She came in, checked me over, gave me the names of some tests<lb/>
I should have made when I get back to the city, but said the chances<lb/>
were 99 to one that it was psychological. Certainly not due to the baths.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
By that time it was midafternoon. The headache subsided. We went<lb/>
down to the baths again. Ron, as if thinking it might make me feel<lb/>
better, suggested I file by phone, at their expense, one of the briefer<lb/>
stories I’ve got stockpiled. So I polished one up a little. Not one of<lb/>
my favorites; but it felt good to be working again. Toyed with the idea<lb/>
of tacking on a message to Max about my kidnapping. But decided<lb/>
it might risk some kind of international confiontation, and I don’t after<lb/>
all seem to be in any personal danger.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
WORK AND PLAY AMONG THE<lb/>
ECOTOPIANS<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Gilroy Hot Springs, June 22. The more I have discovered about<lb/>
Ecotopian work habits, the more amazed I am that their system<lb/>
functions at all. It is not only that they have adopted a 20—hour week;<lb/>
you can’t even tell when an Ecotopian is working, and when he is<lb/>
at leisure. During an important discussion in a government ofiice,<lb/>
suddenly everybody will decide to go to the sauna bath. It is true<lb/>
</p>
<p>
158<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="163" facs="0163.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
they have worked out informal arrangements whereby, as their phrase<lb/>
has it, they “cover” for each other—somebody stays behind to answer<lb/>
phones and handle Visitors. And it is also true that even in the sauna<lb/>
our discussion continued, on a more personal level, which turned out<lb/>
to be quite delightful. But Ecotopian society offers so many opportu~<lb/>
nities for pleasures and distractions that it is hard to see how people<lb/>
maintain even their present levels of efficiency.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Things happen in their factories, warehouses, and stores which<lb/>
would be quite incredible to our managers and supervisors. I have<lb/>
seen a whole section close down without notice; somebody will bring<lb/>
out beer or marijuana, and a party will ensue, right there amid the<lb/>
crates and machines. Workers in Ecotopian enterprises do not have<lb/>
a normal worker’s attitude at all. Perhaps because of their part<lb/>
ownership of them, they seem to regard the plants as home, or at<lb/>
least as their own terrain. They must be intolerable to supervise: the<lb/>
slightest change in work plans is the occasion for a group discussion<lb/>
in which the supervisors (who are elected and thus in a weak position<lb/>
anyway) are given a good deal of sarcastic questioning, and in which<lb/>
their original plans are seldom accepted without change. The supervi—<lb/>
sors try to take this with good grace, of course, even claiming that<lb/>
the workers often come up with better ideas than they do; and they<lb/>
believe that Ecotopian output per person hour is remarkably high.<lb/>
It 'may be.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Incidentally, many rather intellectual people seem to be members<lb/>
</p>
<p>
of the ordinary factory and farm work force. Partly this seems to 1<lb/>
be due to the relative lack of opportunity for class differentiation f<lb/>
in Ecotopia; partly it is due to a deliberate policy which requires<lb/>
students to alternate a year of work with each year of study. This<lb/>
</p>
<p>
is perhaps one of the most startling arrangements in the whole<lb/>
Eootopian economy—for not only is the students’ education prolonged,<lb/>
but their ideological influence is responsible for many of the new<lb/>
policies that prevail in Ecotopian enterprises. (I was told, for example,<lb/>
that it was students who were originally behind the whole movement<lb/>
toward workers’ control.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Ecotopians are adept at turning practically any situation toward<lb/>
pleasure, amusement, and often intimacy. At first I was surprised<lb/>
by the ease with which they strike up very personal conversations<lb/>
with casual strangers. I have now gotten used to this, indeed I usually<lb/>
</p>
<p>
159<lb/>
</p>
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</p>
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</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="164" facs="0164.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
enjoy it, especially where the lovely Ecotopian women are concerned.<lb/>
But I am stiJI disconcerted when, after speaking with someone on<lb/>
the street in a loose and utterly unpressured way for perhaps ten<lb/>
minutes, he mentions that he is working and trots off. The distinction<lb/>
between work and non-work seems to be eroding away in Ecotopia,<lb/>
along with our whole concept of jobs as something separate from<lb/>
“real life.” Ecotopians, incredibly enough, enjoy their work.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Unemployment does not seem to worry Ecotopians in the slightest.<lb/>
There were many unemployed just before Independence, but the<lb/>
switch to a 20-hour week almost doubled the number of jobs—although<lb/>
some were eliminated because of ecological shut—downs and simplifi—<lb/>
cations, and of course the average real income of most families dropped<lb/>
somewhat. Apparently in the transition period when an entirely new<lb/>
concept of living standards was evolving, the country’s money policy<lb/>
had to be managed With great flexibility to balance sudden inflationary<lb/>
or deflationary tendencies. But the result now seems to be that, while<lb/>
enterprises are not seriously short of member-workers, there is also<lb/>
no significant number of people involuntarily unemployed. In any<lb/>
case, because of the minimal-guaranteed income system and the core<lb/>
stores, periods of unemployment are not considered disasters or threats<lb/>
by individuais; they are usually put to use, and sometimes deliberately<lb/>
extended, for some kind of creative, educationai or recreational<lb/>
purposes. Thus in Ecotopia friends who are unemployed (usually<lb/>
thIOugh the collapse of their previous enterprise) often band together<lb/>
and undertake studies that lead them into another enterprise of their<lb/>
own.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
If it is sometimes hard to tell whether Ecotopians are working or<lb/>
playing, they are surprisingly generous with their time. I was told,<lb/>
for instance, that many workers in factories put in extra hours to<lb/>
fix machines that have broken down. They evidently regard the<lb/>
20-hour week quota as applying to productive time only, and take<lb/>
the repair of machinery almost as a sideline responsibility. Or perhaps<lb/>
it is just that they enjoy tinkering: despite the de-emphasis of goods<lb/>
in Ecotopia, people seem to iove fixing things. If a bicycle loses a<lb/>
chain or has a flat tire, its rider is soon surrounded by five people<lb/>
volunteering to help fix it. As they do during many casual social<lb/>
encounters, someone will bring out a marijuana cigarette and pass<lb/>
</p>
<p>
160<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="165" facs="0165.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
it around; people joke, touch each other, and take turns heiping with<lb/>
the work.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The propensity of Ecotopians to touch one another is remarkable.<lb/>
To most Americans, it is offensive to be touched familiarly by a<lb/>
stranger, except under special circumstances, and even friends do not<lb/>
have 43 great deal of physical contact, which is reserved for lovers<lb/>
and children. The Ecotopians seem to have abandoned such proprie-<lb/>
ties, and are virtually indiscriminate in their contacts. Adults will pat<lb/>
children approvingly as they go by. Acquaintances routinely shake<lb/>
hands whenever they meet, even if they have seen each other a few<lb/>
hours before, with a novel arm—to-arm clasp. When people sit down<lb/>
to talk, they snuggle up to each other or interlace arms or legs quite<lb/>
intimately. And I have even seen a man in the street walk up to<lb/>
an attractive woman, say something to her With a smile, give her<lb/>
a hug or a stroke on the shoulder, and walk on; the woman continued<lb/>
on her way, with a friendly glance back.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
To us, such behavior is a forbidden fantasy. The Ecotopians act<lb/>
out such fantasies all the time. They bathe and take steam baths<lb/>
together freely. Both men and women, not to mention children, stroll<lb/>
public streets arm in arm. Old friends who have not seen each other<lb/>
for some time customarily give each other a warm and extended<lb/>
embrace, and occasionally they even excuse themselves and go off<lb/>
to a private place, evidently for sexual purposes. Naked massage is<lb/>
a common group amusement.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Such looseness in personal contact may be a result of widespread<lb/>
marijuana usage; certainly it is associated with it. One of the riskiest<lb/>
experiments of the new government was to deliberately make mari-<lb/>
juana a common weed. Not only were legal prohibitions ended, but<lb/>
free top—quality seeds were distributed, in a campaign aimed at<lb/>
providing “do—it-yourself highs.” The result is that every house and<lb/>
apartment can have its own garden or windowbox where the hemp<lb/>
is grown. It is as if, among us, we had a third tap in the kitchen<lb/>
Which provided free beer. But most Ecotopians seem to smoke mari—<lb/>
juana with considerable discretion, and it is likely that the worst<lb/>
</p>
<p>
feature of the policy is that it deprives the government of a large<lb/>
source of tax revenue.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
raj<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="166" facs="0166.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 23) Last night I made my move. Nerves must have woken me<lb/>
about two o’clock; suddenly felt overwhelmingly anxious to get out of<lb/>
here. Looked around cautiously, surprised they would all be asleep at<lb/>
once; they’ve grown lax about watching me. Marie, I noticed with a<lb/>
tie ofenvy, had crawled in with Ron: damn, I felt around for my clothes,<lb/>
wormed into them under the covers. Picked up my shoes, slid softly<lb/>
t0 the door, and got out. Quiet outside, no wind stirring. Went barefoot<lb/>
for a while; it felt good. Headed away from the concentration ofbuildings,<lb/>
uphill—once over the brow of the hill I’d be in the clear. There was<lb/>
a half moon, so I could pick my way all right.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Coming to a clearing on top of a rise, found a small square structure<lb/>
raised on posts, a kind of pavilion with a roof but no walls. Fascinated<lb/>
for some reason, I crept up the ladder for a quick look around. It<lb/>
appeared my route was well chosen. In the moonlight the scene had<lb/>
an unearthly beauty. Saw a huge owl coasting along silently, and realized<lb/>
I could hear the creek, even though it was 50 yards away.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Suddenly there was a rustle and thump directly below the floor of<lb/>
the pavilion, and then a heartstopping scream. I froze utterly, against<lb/>
one of the posts that supported the roofmnot daring to look down through<lb/>
the ladder hole. Dogs instantly began barking in the resort, and in<lb/>
a moment I saw a large tan shape [oping ofl toward the woods—a<lb/>
mountain lion, carrying the rabbit it had seized under the pavilion!<lb/>
By the time I grasped what had happened, and my blood had unfrozen<lb/>
a little, it was too late—two large dogs appeared, barking and Sni/fing,<lb/>
and a few yards behind them was Vince. I wasn’t sure if he had spotted<lb/>
me, but clearly my absence had been noticed; the game was up. I crawled<lb/>
down, rather shakily. “Lion killed a rabbit right under the platform,”<lb/>
I said. “That set the dogs barking.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“Scary, isn’t it?” Vince said. “Nice night though. How do you like<lb/>
the moon-viewing porch?” “So that’s what it is. Actually I was sitting<lb/>
on it, viewing the moon, when that damned monster struck.”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
He eyed me quietly. “Out for a little walk, huh? Nasty scare number<lb/>
two.” “For me, anyway,” I said.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
“For all of us.” We walked back to the cabin. Evidently the others<lb/>
were out searching for me too, but after a bit they came back. Nobody<lb/>
accused me of anything, but a kind of disappointment hung in the air.<lb/>
I felt depressed and confused. For the rest of the night somebody sat<lb/>
</p>
<p>
162<lb/>
</p>
<p>
rtoytAxkaLZ).>~1>A_.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
.33;<lb/>
i<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="167" facs="0167.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
E<lb/>
|<lb/>
I<lb/>
F<lb/>
</p>
<p>
'W—“WW‘RWWIIWM$LWL\5H4WAn ,.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
guard, reading a paperback in the corner. M arie went back to her own<lb/>
bed.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
A fter breakfast, finally decided I must face the fact I will stay depressed<lb/>
for a while, and could use some companyflso I phoned Marissa. She<lb/>
isn’t at all worried my captors are up to anything sinister; didn’t exactly<lb/>
make light of my anxieties, but seemed to imply they were pretty<lb/>
excessive. She is doing heavy tree-cutting today, but will come down<lb/>
late tonight or tomorrow. I must get myself together a little, somehow.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(June 25) Dream: I am at home in New York, in my apartment. It<lb/>
must be night, and I am working on a column. I get a tremendous<lb/>
urge to talk to Marissa. I pick up the phone. I give the international<lb/>
operator the instructions, and there is a pause. “I’m sorry, sir, but we<lb/>
cannot complete that call.” “Why not?” “We are not allowed to carry<lb/>
traflic to San Francisco at this time.” We argue about a possible<lb/>
Vancouver routing, me feeling increasingly frustrated and desperate,<lb/>
the operator driving me crazy with her mindless “I’m sorry you feel<lb/>
that way, sir.” Is something wrong? Has war broken out? All she will<lb/>
say is that she is doing her job. I wake up, furious, thinking of that<lb/>
maniac Jerry in the San Francisco wire ofice, who used to piss me<lb/>
oflr because he’d never just do his job. Jerry would have given me a<lb/>
hard time, maybe, but he would have worked out some clever way to<lb/>
get my call through, even if it had to go via Timbuctu, because he<lb/>
</p>
<p>
could tell it mattered.<lb/>
After that dream, lay awake for a while. Looked around the cabin;<lb/>
</p>
<p>
my captors were, surprisingly, all asleep again. Maybe they no longer<lb/>
cared. In my imagination I saw myselfgetting up, sneaking of, hiking<lb/>
to the train, probably making it across the border near Los Angeles by<lb/>
the time they woke up. Could be back in New York by dinner time!<lb/>
Max would still be at the ofice. I could get hold ofFrancine, we could<lb/>
hit the town, celebrate my safe return.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Why didn’t it sound more inviting? I goaded my imagination on a<lb/>
little, toward the end of the evening with Francine, and the delicious<lb/>
new tricks she was always coming up with. Nothing. All I felt was<lb/>
the warmth of my blankets, the slight chill of country air on my face,<lb/>
and an enormous inclination to just lie there, snug, waiting for dawn,<lb/>
waiting for whatever would happen next.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
163<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="168" facs="0168.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Marie’s eyes opened and she looked over and saw I was awake. “You<lb/>
look better,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep!” Then the Silly kid<lb/>
blew me a kiss. Next thing I knew it was morning.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Everyone else went down to the baths early, but I didn’t feel like<lb/>
z't—afraid of my flu coming back or something. Ron stayed with me,<lb/>
sitting in the corner, reading some poetry. I decided to kill a little time<lb/>
by putting my clothes in order. Shook out my New York clothes, laid<lb/>
evetythtng out neatly. Then, just fooling around, thought I’d put on<lb/>
my regular shirt, see how I look—it’s been seven weeks since I last wore<lb/>
it, and I had the feeling I’ve lost some weight out here. It felt sort<lb/>
of comfortable slipping into my cool drip-dry shirt, and I tucked it<lb/>
into the snug pants—first time in weeks that I have had a shirt tucked<lb/>
in. Belt a little loose, but not too bad—one extra notch. Figured what<lb/>
the hell, might as well put on a tie too, just to see what it looks like.<lb/>
I walked over to the mirror, putting the me around my neck and absently<lb/>
beginning to tie it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Suddenly I caught sight of myself in the mirror. The hair stood up<lb/>
on the back of my neck. I looked awful, I didn’t look human! My<lb/>
image was tight, stifl. I sat down, stunned. T hen, curious, I finished<lb/>
tying the tie, and put on the jacket besides, and went over to the mirror<lb/>
again. This time the ugly American me was almost sickeningml really<lb/>
thought I might have to throw up. I was filled with the desire to get<lb/>
into the hot water of the baths. My body longed to get out of those<lb/>
terrible clothes and sink into the lovely supporting water, and just float<lb/>
there. I pulled the clothes ofii threw an a robe, and told Ron (who<lb/>
had watched my clothes experiment without comment) that I wanted<lb/>
to go down to the baths now.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We took the baths for a long time—I couldn’t bear to get out, and<lb/>
sat neck-deep, staring at the water splashing from the pipe, listening<lb/>
to the complicated sounds it made. My body floated weightlessly in<lb/>
the warm, comforting water, feeling only the slightest of sensations.<lb/>
I closed my eyes and sank deeper, with practically nothing but my nose<lb/>
above the water. I lost all sense of horizon, of place—all sense of<lb/>
everything except the steady gurgling 0f the water coming to me from<lb/>
deep inside the warm earth. I have no idea how long I remained in<lb/>
that state, but suddenly I heard my own voice saying, “I am going<lb/>
to Stay in Ecotopial”——startlingly loud and clear. All at once my head<lb/>
felt light againfiand I realized I must have been fighting of saying<lb/>
</p>
<p>
164<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="169" facs="0169.tif"/>
<p>
-e_-Tt....«_y_\.4w.::mm.=<lb/>
</p>
<p>
:1<lb/>
t<lb/>
i<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
that for weeks. I stood, rising up out of the water, dripping and smiling<lb/>
and quivering. The quiet of the room was split by shrieks of joy from<lb/>
Marie, and we all staggered up the steps, everybody patting me on the<lb/>
back and hugging me: five grown people, naked, prancing around and<lb/>
laughing and yelling.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
We‘ went out into the sweating room, getting curious smiles from<lb/>
people dozing there. Then Vince threw on his big towel like a poncho<lb/>
and dashed out, returning in a minute with Marissa—it seems she had<lb/>
come down late the day before, but they had told her they thought<lb/>
I was about to “break through,” as they put it, and she had decided<lb/>
she didn’t want to influence the process by her presence, no matter how<lb/>
badly she wanted to see me. She looked splendidly radiant. We hugged<lb/>
and cried a lot, the tears feeling liberating and warming, and the others<lb/>
held onto us, obviously very pleased with themselves. Then we got up,<lb/>
threw on our clothes, and went outside. There was a spot nearby with<lb/>
an accumulation ofsoft dry pine needles, and we began dancing around,<lb/>
kicking them in the air and sliding on them and leaping, Marissa and<lb/>
I doing a sort of courtship dance in the middle, and then walking ofl<lb/>
together past the moonwiewing porch, up the hill to the foot of a large<lb/>
oak tree, where the spring grass had remained thick and green. We<lb/>
made love slowly, solemnly, feeling the earth heavy and solid beneath<lb/>
us, resting our beings on it, smelling its richness and fertility. When<lb/>
I am with Marissa I feel like all the lusts 0f the universe are focused<lb/>
through me and onto her; it is supremely intimate and yet almost<lb/>
impersonal at the same time. Afterward she smiled lazily. “Good place<lb/>
to conceive a child,” she said, glancing around at the oak. But she<lb/>
wouldn’t tell me whether she was in her fertile period, or whether she<lb/>
still had her loop in. “It’s my body,” was all she would say. Knowing<lb/>
the kind of commitment she feels to family and the continuity of<lb/>
generations, the idea was profoundly scary—yet I seem to be ready for<lb/>
it.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
After a while we went down the hill, found the others, and went into<lb/>
the baths for a last quick time. Then we headed back to the city, and<lb/>
went to the Cove. Somehow a great party had already been prepared.<lb/>
(Ecotopians are good at impromptu celebrations!) M uch to my surprise,<lb/>
Marissa’s brother Ben was in the forefront of everything, and played<lb/>
cht'efhost with enth usiasm as great as his earlier bz’ttern ess: huge bearhugs<lb/>
and backslappt'ng.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
165<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="170" facs="0170.tif"/>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
When I decided to publicly thank my mysterious captors for taking<lb/>
me to the hot springs when I was in such bad shape, they insisted Ben<lb/>
share in the honors. “Well,” he said, “I will now divulge a state secret.<lb/>
You know, Will, I got so mad I went to Vera Allwen to try and get<lb/>
you thrown out of the country. She wouldn’t have any of that. But<lb/>
she thought the hot springs might do you some good, help you get<lb/>
through it al. ”<lb/>
</p>
<p>
I was dumbfounded: that weird old woman must have seen what was<lb/>
going on in my mind when I didn’t know it myself. “After all,” Ron<lb/>
whispered to me, “Ben did manage to protect his sister!” It was too<lb/>
much. I began crying openly, happily, amid those shining faces.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
As I write this all down, it is early the next morning. Marissa is<lb/>
still sleeping, black hair a tangle on the pillow. I begin to see that<lb/>
I have fallen in love with her country as much as with Marissa. A<lb/>
new self has been coming to life within me here, thanks to both her<lb/>
and her people. This new me is a stranger, an Ecotopian, and his advent<lb/>
fills me with terror, excitement, and strength. . . . But I am ready for<lb/>
it at last. I don’t know what it will all mean, how we will live, or<lb/>
even where. But all the possibilities seem natural and inviting. I want<lb/>
to stay at the forest camp for a while—have never lived in such close<lb/>
touch with natural surroundings, and would like to know what it’s like<lb/>
to work with my hands. There are painful breaks ahead with Francine<lb/>
and Pat. I have decided, though, to ask Pat to send the kids out for<lb/>
the summer. If it takes a diplomatic passport, well, the President owes<lb/>
me a favor! And I want to try out some diflerent kinds of writing.<lb/>
There are a lot more things about Ecotopia that the rest of the world<lb/>
needs badly to know. Maybe I can help in that.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="171" facs="0171.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
t<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ECOTOPIA<lb/>
</p>
<p>
EDITORS’ EPILOGUE<lb/>
</p>
<p>
The foregoing text has been printed from the notebook and<lb/>
news stories wn'tten by William Weston during his trip to<lb/>
Ecotopia. Despite the questionable or controversial nature of<lb/>
some of the notebook entries, we have respected Weston’s wishes<lb/>
in keeping the text just as he wrote it. Readers may also be<lb/>
interested in the foliowing note, which was enclosed with the<lb/>
notebook when it arrived at the Times-Post offices, addressed<lb/>
</p>
<p>
to the editor-in-chief:<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Dear Max—<lb/>
</p>
<p>
You told me to go ahead and write the whole story, but I realized,<lb/>
once I had gotten into it, that I couldn’t really do that. So I<lb/>
am sending you my notebook, even though I’m not sure what,<lb/>
if anything, you can do with it. As far as I’m concerned, you<lb/>
can pass it around the ofi‘ice, put it in the archives, or print it.<lb/>
(Intact or not at all, please) I ’ve decided not to come back, Max.<lb/>
You’ll understand why from the notebook. But thank you for<lb/>
sending me on this assignment, when neither you nor I knew where<lb/>
</p>
<p>
it might lead. It led me home.<lb/>
—WILL<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
167<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<pb n="172" facs="0172.tif"/>
<p>
JACKET CALLIGRAPHY: Patty King<lb/>
TYPE: 10/12 Times Roman<lb/>
TECHNOLOGY GUIDE: Sallie Wells<lb/>
KEYSTROKING: Ernest Callenbach<lb/>
</p>
<p>
SCANNING & TYPESETTING: Times Litho<lb/>
PRINTING & BINDING: Publishers Press<lb/>
</p>
<p>
BOLSTE RING: Grant Barnes , J ackson Burgess, Eleanore<lb/>
Callenbach, August Frugé, Robert Greensfelder, Barbara<lb/>
Ingic, Paul Kaufman, Philip Lilienthai, Jerry Mander,<lb/>
Nick and Lynn Margulis, William J. McClung, Joan<lb/>
Mellen, Conrad Mollath, Lucy Shapiro, Michael Singer,<lb/>
Henry Swan—wand many others, aiive and dead, writers and<lb/>
thinkers and friends, who participated knowingly or<lb/>
unknowingly in the genesis of this book.<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
’s<lb/>
</p>
<pb n="173" facs="0173.tif"/>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
OTHER BOOKS BY ERNEST CALLENBACH<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Individual Order Form<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Banyan Tree Books<lb/>
1963 El Dorado Avenue<lb/>
Berkeley, CA 94707<lb/>
</p>
<p>
[ ]Ec0t0pia Emerging—-This "prequel" shows, through a<lb/>
panoramic, many-stranded story, how the new Ecotopian<lb/>
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$ 9.95<lb/>
</p>
<p>
[ }The Ecotopian Encyclopedia--A "citizenship guide"<lb/>
for Ecotopians: how to iive an ecologically sensible life, while<lb/>
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</p>
<p>
$9.95<lb/>
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<p>
[ ]A Citizen Legislature (with Michael Phillips)-—A<lb/>
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</p>
<p>
representatives. "A Ihought-provoking alternative to campaign<lb/>
reform proposals . . . a lively, intelligent brief." --Booklisz<lb/>
$6 .00<lb/>
</p>
<p>
Please send me the titles marked above. I enclose a check or<lb/>
money order including $2.00 for shipping of one book, $3.00<lb/>
for two or three books. (California residents must add 6%<lb/>
sakes tax.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
NAME _____________________________________________<lb/>
</p>
<p>
ADDRESS __________________________________________<lb/>
</p>
<p>
(Bookstores: Please order through Bookpeople.)<lb/>
</p>
<p>
</p>
<p>
</p>
</body>
</text>
</TEI>