NationStates Jolt Archive

Television within the Fiefdom of Uncle Noel, like many things taken for granted in other nations, was a luxury and not a right. While other nations would routinely tune in to cable or satellite channels, enjoying an Allanean soap opera, a Pantocratorian ballet (mostly to do with duty, loyalty and the loss of Constantinople), a Danaan film and, before bed, the late evening news from Knootoss, the citizens of the island of Otiacicoh (to use the country's old name) would sit down to the flickering black-and-white television channels provided by the Ministry for Culture. Once upon a time there had only been one channel, the wittily-named Fiefdom 1 but now two other channels were provided. Fiefdom 2 was an attempt to provide a channel for the nation's young generations (though often suffered from the fact that it was often a group of seventy-year olds imagining what people a quarter of their age would like) and Fiefdom 3 which was a local channel for whichever part of the country you happened to live in. All three channels, however, maintained a pattern of television not seen since the 1950s. All three channels, for example, would only be on air for a few hours a day and most possessed attitude that suggested that educating and informing the populous was a more noble goal that merely entertaining.
"The Fiefdom Tonight" was a prime example of this style of programming. The topical news program was hosted by Crispin Stroessner (immaculately attired in a dinner jacket) and, every Wednesday evening, would discuss news topics with two guests. Most of the time both Crispin and his guests would conclude that the government was right all along. The credits would then roll, the national anthem played, a smiling portrait of Uncle Noel would appear and the channel close for the night at half ten as the happy workers and peasants of the Fiefdom went to bed.
Next week's program, however, was to be different. As part of the process of "Openening-Up", the mandarins at the ministry decided devote the program to international affairs, and in particular the state of the three nations that it hoped to become diplomatically closer to, mainly the Resurgent Dream, Pantocratoria and Excalbia. Since the Dear Leader himself was currently in The Holy and August Empire, it was decided to invite a member of the Danaan government to the island for an open discussion. Failing that, the mandarins decided, Crispin was to interview a leading Danaan academic and political writer. The program would discuss a range of topics, from the situation in Marlund to the Entente, and opposing opinions would be provided by Professor Kang Hyŏng-jik of the University of Pyongyang. A polite letter, detailing the proposed programme was thus sent to the Danaan government in Tarana.

OOC: Though only three nations are mentioned, if you want to join the program then TG me.

After some discussion, Prime Minister Sarah Sacker and her Cabinet decided it would be best were the Right Honorable Ashley Burns, His Most Esteemed High Majesty’s Minister of State for Culture, to appear on the program. It wasn’t an easy decision. Manfred Kaelin, the Foreign Minister was a more obvious choice. Alois Gygax, the Federal Minister, was also considered given the misunderstandings of Danaan federalism Miss Sacker had heard prevailed in Uncle Noel. Betserai Sakara, Commerce Minister, was also an option, as was Education Minister Dawn Caddow. However, in the end it was decided that Miss Burns was in a much better position to explain who the Danaan people were and what they were about to this isolated land. The others, while possessing more specialized knowledge in diplomacy or in specific areas of Danaan Government policy, lacked that perspective.


In the Resurgent Dream, in addition to the political considerations surrounding any Cabinet appointment, the Culture Minister is also expected to be not merely knowledgeable of but in tune with the cultural trends of the nation, an expectation which tends to select for younger politicians. This was true when Sarah Sacker had been Culture Minister immediately before becoming the youngest Prime Minister in Danaan history and it was equally true of thirty year-old Ashley Burns.


Burns became active in politics as a member of the University Modernists when she majored in Literature at the University of Civic Duty where she was also a star Association football player. She had received her Bachelors after submitting a well-argued but not especially groundbreaking thesis on “The Symbolism of Gender Inversions in the Works of William Shakespeare.” As Culture Minister, Burns showed a very light touch, focusing on encouraging the Danaan people to express themselves culturally rather than fostering any particular cultural agenda.


This was the background of the woman sitting on a government plane, no en route to Uncle Noel. She was dressed in a dark brown pantsuit and surrounded by Ministry staffers, diplomatic personnel, and a single security officer, a Lieutenant of the Royal Guard. She was sitting casually, muscled legs crossed and a book opened on one knee. Brown eyes were intent on their reading and a hand moved up to almost casually move a strand of brown hair out of the way.


Most of the staffers assumed she was reading something about Uncle Noel. She had, in fact, been doing a good deal of research on this assignment. But Burns was not a diplomat by duty or by inclination and both work and pleasure were better served by the book she was actually reading, a new work by Angela de Maizière which Burns predicted would be quite influential, especially among Maizière’s usual demographics, Lutherans, young people, and educators.


“This is your pilot, Colonel Anne Shelley. We’re now receiving clearance to enter Fiefdom airspace. We should be making our landing in the next half hour. Please return to a seated position and fasten your safety belts. If you look out your windows, you should be able to get an excellent view, the first by Danaan eyes, of the Fiefdom’s tropical terrain.” intoned an increasingly familiar voice behind an intercom. Burns could never quite get over how much Air Force Officers, trained for war, could sound like any commercial airline pilot once you gave them a passenger flight. She let her mind rest on the question for a moment as she slid her book into the webbing on the small, round table directly in front of her chair and fastened her safety belt. She turned her gaze out the window, taking in her first look at the Fiefdom.

It was an overcast day on the island of Otiacicoh, as the country used to be called, and a small group had assembled at the Port Sunlight Aerodrome. The aerodrome had not changed much since its construction during the 1930s, and the men in the Control Tower hoped that the Danaans had sent a plane that was capable of landing on a field as opposed to tarmac.
Since this was not a official visit, in that Minister Burns was a guest of the Fiefdom 1 television channel and not the state (though the two were inseparable in any real sense), there were no brass bands and parades. The first visit of a member of the Danaan government, however, had brought out some of the senior figures in the regime. The Uncle himself was currently in Pantocratoria and the day-to-day running had been placed (theoretically) in the hands of the Supreme Techuhtlatoque, Comrade Tlacateotzin Henderson. Henderson was a rather portly Mestizo who took his role as the Head of the Judiciary very seriously and seemed to enjoy wearing the heavy robes and cape of his office. Though theoretically in charge, real political power within the Fiefdom in Uncle Noel's absence was exercised by the man on his left, the Chief of the Council of War, Admiral Tezozomoctzin Henderson (no relation). Tezozomoctzin, despite being a temporary military dictator, was a career soldier with white hair and a kindly face. He wore a blue parade uniform and, as was traditional in the Fiefdom, a large collection of medals. The third and final man was Gerard Bratt, the Minister for Culture. Bratt was a sprightly 70-year old whose long life had been one of constant service to the regime. He wore a grey woollen suit and, for the most part, was bald with only a few whips of white hair. Though possessing a grandfatherly demeanour, Bratt was also a skilled political operator and many predicted that he would be promoted to a more 'senior' ministry by the time he was 80.
The party stood by the aerodrome's sole terminal and patiently waited for the Minister's plane to land. The weather for this visit was, thankfully, considerably better than the last foreign visit, that of Princess Helen Capet of Pantocratoria, many years ago. The poor girl had been scared enough as it was, without landing in the middle of a thunder storm.
Behind the three men sat a number of Zagreb People's Cars-Limousine Editions. These would transport the Minister and her entourage to the Engels Hotel, a grim and foreboding slab of concrete that tried and failed to pass itself off as in any way luxurious or pleasant, where they would spend the night prior to the programme tomorrow.


OOC: A Limousine, only in black instead of yellow.http://i54.photobucket.com/albums/g83/tsarnoel/25b2d95b.jpg

The C-22 circled the field several times before settling in for a slightly rough landing. Burns grasped her armrests tightly and waited several minutes for the plane to come to a complete stop. When it did, she rose slowly and disembarked, followed by her staff and by a security officer from the Royal Guard. She approached the two Hendersons and offered her hand with a polite smile. “I’m Ashley Burns. It’s a pleasure.”

Burns was actually a tad disappointed at the lack of fanfare. This had been her first ‘official’ visit to a foreign country as a Government Minister and she had been rather expecting a band at least. Still, she smiled and took in the various people there to greet her. “I’m glad to be here in Uncle Noel. The Government has been meaning to establish better relations with your people for some time now.”

Burns and her people walked with the locals to the Zagreb People’s Car limousines, certainly bizarre looking vehicles. They seemed almost like metal skeletons or wheeled submarines, although Burns wasn’t sure either analogy made much sense. What she did know was that they were more alien than ugly, examples of cultural sensitivities she had no real concept of. As a woman whose job was to keep her finger on the pulse of culture, that bothered her a good deal. “So this is a Zagreb People’s Car?” she asked as she climbed in with her hosts, crossing her legs casually at the knee and folding her hands in her lap.

“I’ve actually heard a good deal about these. The one you have to the Pantocratorians has been a topic of quite a lot of conversation back home. The image is popular in certain artistic circles.” Burns said as she let her gaze wander out the window, hoping to get a glimpse of everyday life in the Fiefdom on the way to her hotel. “In addition to the show, is there any chance that we might get a chance to simply walk the city? I’ve very interested in getting a feel for things around here. Uncle Noel is still largely a mystery to most Danaans.”

The assembled group exchanged the usual pleasantries upon the arrival of Culture Minister Burns at Port Sunlight Aerodrome. Whether any of them recognised the shred of disappointment in her face at the lack of band was impossible to tell. Chances were that neither of the Hendersons noticed and if Bratt did then, being a career politician, it has highly unlikely that he would say anything at all.
As the party moved towards the waiting cars, Admiral Tezozomoctzin Henderson voiced his apologies for not being able to continue. His involvement in the program, and the visit, was only to serve as a high-ranking government official and now, alas, he had to return to work. He did after all, have a country to administer.
Tlacateotzin Henderson, on the other hand, did not have a country to administer (not that he accepted this) and joined Bratt and Burns in the waiting limousine.
“Certain artistic circles you say?” said Henderson to the Minister, more in a note of alarm than interest. Henderson was unaccustomed to diplomatic encounters, and was worried that the Pantocratorian ‘interest’ would, rather, be mocking. The Supreme Techuhtlatoque was about to voice these concerns when Bratt intervened.
“Well it gladdens me to hear of an interest in the products and culture of the Fiefdom,” said the Minister of Culture (avoiding the fact that the design of the Zagreb was a gift from the German Democratic Republic during the early 1960s), “We have for too long allowed the fruits of our labours to go unnoticed in the wider world.”
“Yes, well, I suppose.” mumbled the Supreme Techuhtlatoque to himself.

“In addition to the show, is there any chance that we might get a chance to simply walk the city? I’ve very interested in getting a feel for things around here. Uncle Noel is still largely a mystery to most Danaans.”

“Oh yes,” said Bratt to his Danaan counterpart, “A tour is entirely possible. The Capital has a number of interesting sights, if I do say so myself and you are fortunate to arrive on a [Bratt glanced out the window just as the dark clouds began to rain]…tepid day.”
The limousine left the aerodrome and turned onto the main thoroughfare to the city centre. Only one type of car, the venerable Zagreb, was to be seen on the roads save for commercial vehicles such as vans and lorries. This did not mean that they all looked the same. As well as being different models, such as estates or saloons, a number appeared brightly coloured and some had been customised by their owners in the same manner as those seen in films such as ‘The Fast and the Furious’. Once upon a time this was behaviour that warranted the attention of the police, but the Fiefdom had steadily become a more open and peaceful place. A totalitarian state, if not a terrorising one.
As the limousine’s wheezy tow-stroke engine hauled the dignitaries to the centre, Burns would have noticed that fact that the capital of Port Sunlight (or New Tenochtitlan to use its old name) was architecturally divided into three separate areas. Around the old aerodrome, which had been fields when constructed by wealthy industrialists during the 1930s, was Soviet-inspired architecture of the new town (popularly referred to as “Noelgrad”). Here, a parade of old Soviet architects had constructed vast concrete edifices. Tower blocks, office complexes and communal buildings were all made to the same brutalist demands as the finest (or worst, depending on your viewpoint) examples of the style in the old Soviet Bloc. Not that the death of the Cold War necessarily stopped this. A new generation of Fiefdom architects continued the style, aided by their socialist brothers in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.
This style of architecture, however, began to change. They now entered the areas of the city built by the super-wealthy industrialist during the early twentieth century. The elegant, neo-classical buildings were similar to the grand mercantile architecture that ruled in the wealthy cities of old Europe, such as Liverpool and London. Planning permission on the island was, as the Minister would surely note, a relatively new phenomenon. The European industrialists were able to model the middle quarter of the current city upon the home country with little regard for how the locals would take it. Behind the gleaming beacons of white self-confidence could be glimpsed the terraced housing of the workers. Such housing, however, reflected the fierce racial divide that had operated in the city during this period. European housing was the same as that in Northern England, ‘two-up two-down’ to coin the term. Aztec housing, however, consisted of white-washed bungalows (pre-revolutionary laws had demanded that only the nobility could possess more than one storey on their houses, whites had largely ignored this). The land between neighbourhoods, in the bad old days, had been a war ground between the two races, though both the physical and cultural scars of this had long since gone. The sea of European architecture, however, came to an abrupt stop at the massive walls of the old city. Beyond this point were the old Aztec buildings, with their grind plan arrangement of streets, temples and old noble housing. If one desired to know what pre-Columbus Mexico looked like, the Old Quarter of Port Sunlight provided a clue. Not all, however, was ancient here. On the two hills overlooking the capital stood then ancient temple to Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc and the neo-gothic Anglican Cathedral of St. Peter. Both stood as testaments to the faiths they served and the power of those that built them. The other modern building, however, was the Hotel Engels that loomed like a vast concrete pyramid. A crowd had assembled around the monstrosity to see the Danaan minister (with many wrongly assuming that she would be an fairy of some description).

OOC:

Pretend that this thread is now 'The Danaan Commonwealth and its Place in the World'