The Tale of Jacobus

Once upon a time there was a continent that grew rich by making what the world needed. Mills turned. Ships sailed out. Fields stood full. In the harbour, goods changed hands.

And the people thought it would always stay this way.

In a small room by the harbour sits an old man.

Before him on the table stands a glass sphere. In the sphere no lies can be seen, only what is real.

Come closer, he says, and look with me.

I tell only truths, and every one of them is fully documented.

Look into the sphere. A ship sails there. It is ten kilometres long. The bridge sits far at the back. On the bridge, they steer. Votes are cast, speeches are given, photographs are taken. But the bow sails ten kilometres ahead. And the bridge cannot see the bow. The bow is crumpling.

The ship loses speed. The crumpled bow creates resistance. What does the bridge do? The bridge gives more steam. More coal on the fire. More pressure. More resistance. More steam. More resistance. And in the engine room they labour on, and no one asks whether the ship is still sailing anywhere at all.

On the quay stand the ordinary people. They see the bow from the side. They shout. They point. They try to warn. But the bridge is too far away. The wind does not carry their voices upward. And the crew has drawn the curtains, for inside it is brighter than out.

But we, the people, have also become Pinocchio. For three generations we were led into the Land of Toys. Every wish was granted. No one asked anything of us. And unnoticed, we began to change. Our ears grew longer. Our tails grew. In the mirror, we do not see it.

In the great hall at the stern of the ship sit the governors. They are clever. They are well educated. They mean well. They sign papers. They pat each other on the shoulder. On the wall hangs a great map from the year 1992. No one looks through the window. Outside, it is storming.

And it is not one ship. There are five. France sails in front. England follows. Then Italy and Germany together. Spain closes the line. Ahead of them a great reef rises in the mist. They are all sailing straight toward it. And on the bridge of every ship, they are voting on the colour of the lifeboats.

In the great hall on land stands a platform. There, men and women shout at one another. Whoever cuts sharpest wins applause. Below, the crowd cheers as at a medieval joust. Above the door the clock strikes twelve. Nothing said there is truth. Only winning or losing is said.

In the forest stands an old oak. From its branches hang old parchment scrolls. Around the oak grows a wall of thorns, thirty years old, dense and sharp. Behind the thorns lies a green valley with a working mill and a field of sun. Everyone can see the valley. No one can reach it.

Come closer, says the old man. I lay the cards. On the first card, a ship. On the second, a puppet with donkey's ears. On the third, an arena. On the fourth, a hedge of thorns. On the fifth, a distant castle. The cards do not predict, he says. They order what is already certain. Look closely. And think about what you will do.

And then comes the day the white horse is saddled. On its back rides someone who can see ahead. In his bag he carries gold, a book, an instrument. Behind him the city begins to burn. He does not look back. What he carries is too important to lose in the fire.

Far beyond the hills lies a castle on a mountain. Around the castle grows a wall of thorns, thirty years old. In one tower, a light still burns. Within it sleeps the princess of the future. She is not weak. She waits. She waits for someone who can pass through the thorns.

Jacobus prunes the thorns. He clears a path. He finds the chamber. He bends over the sleeping princess and gives her the kiss. The kiss is Nova Democratia. The kiss is the For People Party. The kiss is Carbon Alert. The kiss is the cooperation with the countries on the equator. Through the window shines the first sun.

And the princess awakens. She steps onto the balcony. She sees that the capital has returned — European, not foreign. She sees people arriving from every direction. She sees new ships, smaller and more agile than the old one. And the next chapter begins. That is the chapter you and your children will live. Or not. The choice is yours.