NationStates Jolt Archive

Eléanor Sabëlinà had been one of those least enthusiastic to recognise what would eventually come to be known as the Confederated Peoples as an entity important to the Eternal Republic. Perhaps, in many respects, her misgivings were little more than a strange manifestation of the traditional scepticism that traditional adherents of the old international law occasionally show towards the modern concept of supranationalism. True foreign policy, it was held, should be made between the equal and anarchic nation states of the world. Such, however, was a bias that was not shared by the prime minister, and which was in any event quite untenable.

True, in many cases (and often these examples tended to be little more than glorified alliances or leagues), supranational relationships ended up being short-lived and failed to result in any significant institutional development. Not so here. It seemed that the Resurgent Dream’s constitutional experiment had surpassed the expectations of even its most vocal proponents. Not only had it led to the formation of interstate organisations and supranational political systems, but an entirely new nation state had in effect been born.

No one could justifiably downplay the significance of the Confederated Peoples as an actor within the international comity. Not even Eléanor doubted it. A massive union of ten former nation states comprising five and a half billion people, the Confederated Peoples was surely one of the leading countries of the First World. As a successor state to the Danaan High Kingdom, it represented one of Xirnium’s most vital trading relationships and a major bilateral partner. Within their diplomatic relationship, strong political ties were underpinned by a commonality of ideological views, shared interest in international stability and security, a desire to encourage increased growth and prosperity in the Europe-Atlantic, and substantial economic and trade concerns.

From it very earliest days (indeed, when the Confederated Peoples had still been but a nascent dream) it had courted the Eternal Republic as a potential ally. Heather Gílda’s Government had enthusiastically responded, and today theirs was a relationship characterised by the closest friendship.

But it was in many ways an informal friendship. Or at least it had been so far. Plans were underway for the signing of a comprehensive free trade initiative, for mutual defence undertakings and for formal extradition arrangements.

The future of the Eternal Republic-Confederated Peoples alliance was bright indeed.

And not just any extradition treaty! Confederal diplomats had agreed with their Xirniumite counterparts to establish a dual criminality treaty applying to all acts punishable by at least a year of incarceration in both nations providing that the death penalty will not be applied. The Confederated Peoples only had extradition treaties of this type with two other nations. Most Confederal extradition treaties were list treaties applying only to a very small number of specified offenses, normally the various forms of homicide, rape and assault. The Confederated Peoples had no extradition agreement of any kind with most of the nations with which it had diplomatic relations.

The free trade agreement, while potentially the most beneficial part of the treaty, was fairly standard. The mutual defense agreement was a bit more controversial but only a bit. President Eaton billed it as a security cooperation provision designed to protect a Western Atlantic Community of Peace from outside attack. The prevailing isolationism of the Congress saw this as a protective measure securing the Western Atlantic from danger, although not without reservations. Correspondingly, President Eaton accepted an invitation to come to Xirnium and personally sign the treaty on behalf of the Confederated Peoples.

President Eaton’s visit to the Eternal Republic was generally well received and greeted with a warmth charmingly at odds with the brisk chill of Xirnium’s early spring. At the signing of the various bilateral treaties, Prime Minister Gílda spoke highly of the special friendship and deep mutual respect that existed between the Eternal Republic and Confederated Peoples, describing the links between both countries as strong, open and amiable.

‘The singular friendship between Xirnium and the Resurgent Dream is one based firmly upon the sturdy foundations of democratic values and Western liberalism, esteem for the rule of law, a staunch commitment to human rights and the protection of freedom, and the deepest respect for the customary international law,’ declared the prime minister at a joint press conference.

The prime minister explained that the historic step towards the formalisation of their alliance would result in a great strengthening of mutually beneficial cooperation between the two nations in the sphere of trade and commerce, in cultural exchange and on the issue of geopolitical security.

There needed to exist unanimous solidarity amongst all civilised nations, explained Prime Minister Gílda, with respect to the repression of crime and the safeguarding of law and order. An underlying unity of agreement between Xirnium and the Resurgent Dream on this issue had manifested itself in tangible initiatives for cooperation in the bringing of criminals to justice, and in preventing the same from fleeing criminal prosecution. The signing of a comprehensive extradition treaty was chief amongst these initiatives.

Adhering to the doctrine of double criminality, the process of extradition would be available only in such cases where it was for an offence actually punishable in the surrendering state. Subscribing also to the doctrine of speciality, surrender of the accused would be allowable only on condition that the requesting state undertake not to try the individual for an offence alternative to that included in the extradition request. Attorney General Atâril-Löndé felt at pains to emphasise during Question Time that the extradition treaty had not in any way altered the right of asylum for political offenders.

‘It has, and shall always remain, a tradition of the Xirniumite Law to exclude political offenders from extradition unless they face the charge of an attack on life,’ the attorney general had mentioned from the dispatch box.

The free trade agreement concluded between the Resurgent Dream and Xirnium received by far the greatest attention (and also the most parliament opposition) out of all of the treaties. For the Progressive Gílda Government, the bilateral agreement followed an established general policy of trade liberalisation and a long series of efforts to mutually reduce tariff barriers, import quotas and government subsidies to domestic industries. Trade Minister Aíre-Dâlóme billed the treaty as an initiative that would promote stronger commercial and trade ties between the Eternal Republic and Confederated Peoples, opening up important opportunities for Xirniumite exporters and investors to expand into lucrative free markets throughout the Resurgent Dream.

Arguably, the treaty that might pose the most profound implications for the future of the Eternal Republic-Confederated Peoples alliance was that of the collective security pact. Prime Minister Gílda described it as continuing the development of a strategic partnership that reflected the shared values and interests of Xirnium and the Resurgent Dream, within the guiding framework of a formalised understanding. With perhaps a veiled allusion somewhere to the Kaitan-Leagran affair, the prime minister enumerated the unexplored possibilities for beneficial cooperation on both the security challenges (such as responding to aggressive militarism and gunboat diplomacy) and human security concerns (such as coordinating humanitarian relief) facing the Europe-Atlantic, as well as the general promotion of global and regional peace and stability.

The provision was not popular with everyone in Parliament, however. The Social Democrats, in particular, felt that Xirnium should craft a foreign policy that sought to pursue collective security through broad, multilateral international organisations, rather than exclusionary bilateral treaties. They were concerned also by the fact that the security treaty failed to address issues of international disarmament. The Liberals, by contrast, were interested with maintaining the integrity of the Eternal Republic’s long cherished tradition of splendid isolation. They voiced serious misgivings about Xirnium’s increasing involvement and attention in remote affairs so far from home, and considered the Gílda Government’s frequent reference to a “Europe-Atlantic” as disingenuous and political subterfuge. The prime minister, for her own part, responded by raising the very real issue of Ambâlieva’s regional defence concerns.

President Eaton's speech to the Xirniumite Parliament was not insensitive to some of the concerns many Xirniumites had about the treaty. He began by stating that the treaty was not an isolated bilateral treaty but existed within the context of increasing international cooperation in the Atlantic and among democratic states generally, including security cooperation. Eaton made a sharp distinction between this kind of cooperation and the vast alliance systems which had such a prominent place on the current international stage. Extensive cooperation between nations in the pursuit of peace and prosperity in fact constituted a rejection of the virtue or at least the relevance of large alliance systems which dedicated themselves to the prosecution of competitive advantage against one another, even at the risk of a massive war.

The security cooperation contained in this network of cooperative relations was not that of nations preparing for a war but that of nations which recognized that their interests lay in the maintenance of a positive peace founded on international law. He stressed that this was their interest and not just their ideology, that the democratic peace did not depend upon some special moral altruism but merely on people's understanding of what best secured the national interests of a democratic state.

Eaton then laid out a specific vision for the Western Atlantic, including Xirnium through Ambalieva. It was a more concrete vision of a Community of Peace which followed from the general principles he had already spoken of. It was to be grounded in mutual territorial guaranties between the nations in the region, shared liberal democratic principles, the settlement of disputes through diplomacy, abstention from aggressive wars outside as well as within the Community, respect for international law and widespread people-to-people contacts

The Palace of Faëdaryávë, main seat of the Ministry for Foreign Affairs
In the Dreaming City of Naèräth, eternal capital of the Xirniumite Republic

It was the first week of April, and the season’s late equinoctial gales had descended upon Naèräth with a violence both ferocious in its intensity and alarming in its singular nature. The wind had howled desolately all day, with frenzied rain lashing unceasingly at the windows. Towards evening the terrible storm had only intensified, growing louder and louder, so that the fierce gusts of icy sleet seemed to carry with them the awful sound of tortured shrieking, punctuated regularly by those bright white flashes that heralded the rumbling of thunder.

Eléanor Sabëlinà sat broodingly at her desk, a thick mass of papers and various state documents spread out untidily in front of her. It was very late, well past twelve. The only light in the office came from a small, ornamental lustred glass lamp at Eléanor’s desk, from the few remaining glowing tapers of a number of marble candelabra, which were decorated with fluted groves and intricate acanthus scrolls, and from the dancing, flickering flames of a dying fireplace, the latter of which cast strange and unnaturally long shadows about the room.

The countess played with a small silver key for a while, and then unlocked one of her desk’s drawers, taking from it a neat little case covered with fine, burgundy-coloured morocco leather and elaborate gilt. Opening the case, she produced an exquisitely engraved phial and a thin glass hypodermic syringe. With deliberate and precise movements that betrayed the familiarity of her actions, Eléanor removed her skirted suit’s expensively tailored jacket, draping it over the side of the desk, and carefully adjusted the delicate needle, methodically rolling back her blouse’s silk sleeve to reveal the slender, fair-skinned arm beneath.

Eléanor appeared to vacillate here for a moment, her lovely brown eyes briefly indicating revulsion and loathing as she peered at the recent scars of several fresh pockmarks. Evidently the countess lost whatever brief struggle may have played out in her mind, for with fresh resolution she pierced the flesh with the needle’s sharp point, pressing down gently on the tiny piston.

Izabétha, arms folded across her chest and leaning with her back against the doorpost, frowned at her superior. ‘Working late, Minister?’

The countess merely sank back into her velvet upholstered armchair and sighed contentedly, not condescending to reply. Crossing her legs she stared at her subordinate.

‘Is it opium, again?’ asked the aide, her eyes darting briefly over the used syringe and then back to the countess.

‘No... I’m experimenting with a new dilute solution of cocaine,’ explained Eléanor languidly.

‘But parliament is sitting tomorrow,’ reminded the principal private secretary.

‘I know that,’ Eléanor said, becoming slightly irritated at her subordinate’s tone. Truth be told, she would rather have been left alone to appreciate the drug’s euphoric effects in peace.

‘I’m concerned that it might not be very wise for you to be using opium and cocaine so heavily, Minister,’ Izabétha explained gently.

‘And I have not your puritanical tastes,’ Eléanor responded tersely and with a cruel sneer. ‘Now I will trouble you to relieve my office of the honour of your presence,’ she said, curtly dismissing the young lady as somewhere nearby a storm cloud rumbled.

Izabétha turned silently to leave, but Eléanor quickly changed her mind.

‘No, no, stay please,’ she said suddenly, the sound of regret in her voice. ‘I’m sorry, Izabétha. Won’t you sit with me a while?’

A momentary flash of lightning in the window pane briefly illuminated the narrowing of Izabétha’s striking, violet-coloured eyes, but despite her misgivings she turned back from the doorway. She sat down opposite her superior, stiffly taking a seat in an ornately carved high-backed. The countess offered the secretary one of her excellent cigarettes, to which the latter readily accepted, if only because smoking would give her something to do. Before long slender wisps of blue-grey smoke were curling and twisting away towards a ceiling heavy with gilded stuccowork and silvered cartouches.

‘So what has kept you here at so late an hour?’ asked Eléanor after a while, doing her best to try and seem friendly and approachable.

‘Oh, I had some... work to do,’ indicated Izabétha with a vague gesture, perhaps concealing something from her superior.

‘Yes?’ pressed the countess.

‘Setting up that advisory subcommittee on the Kaitan-Leagran issue,’ Izabétha lied.

‘Oh, I see. And how is that going?’ asked Eléanor absentmindedly as she cleared away part of her desk. The countess noticed that her mouth suddenly felt rather parched, and took a small sip from a glass of splendid, nutty flavoured sherry, licking her dry lips.

‘It should stall the troublesome matter of their recognition for several months at least,’ the principal private secretary indicated with a small shrug. ‘As you instructed me that it should,’ she added.

‘Hmm, well that’s something at least,’ muttered the countess, glancing at the swinging brass pendulum of an elongated longcase clock.

Izabétha agreed with a grim nod. ‘I am given to understand that our friends in the Resurgent Dream are somewhat displeased with how long we are taking to recognise the provisional government of Kaitan-Leagran,’ she added. The clock suddenly struck the hour, and chimed alarmingly loud.

‘Oh, yes? Well let them be displeased. It’s their own fault, anyway,’ Eléanor replied, unlike her subordinate not startled at all by the abrupt noise. ‘After all, whose decision was it to exclude the Xirnium from the Camp Penthesilea conference?’ asked the countess suspiciously.

‘Minister, I’m not really sure what you are getting at,’ said Izabétha, squirming in her seat uncomfortably. ‘We know of course that the government of the People’s Fiefdom didn’t want us there.’

‘And the Danaans were only too willing to acquiesce,’ pointed out the countess.

‘That sounds rather paranoid,’ said Izabétha, glancing again at the used syringe. Eléanor cleaned it away. ‘The Danaans were naturally concerned with resolving the matter, and if to do so they needed to appease the Otiacicohans, well...’

Eléanor made a snorting noise. ‘You know, Izabétha, Kaitan-Leagran was my first real public failure as foreign minister,’ she observed sullenly.

‘One can hardly describe it as a failure, Minister,’ replied the secretary. ‘That would be to take a bizarre, completely Xirnocentric perspective of events. And the truth is that the matter had almost nothing to do with the Eternal Republic.’

The countess frowned but said nothing. Perhaps it was the sharp light of her desk lamp, but she appeared to Izabétha a creature tired and drawn, visibly uncertain of herself and her ability now that she was in private with someone she felt she could trust.

‘You mustn’t obsess over the past, Minister,’ added the principal private secretary with a smile intended to be encouraging. In the eerily flickering light of the office, however, it seemed instead almost a disdainful sneer.

‘My burden is great and wearisome,’ reflected Eléanor with a grim look, switching tongues to ancient High Xirnian for melodramatic effect. At times like this, when an inclination for moodiness overtook her, the countess often sought refuge in the darkest pessimism.

‘But it is thine own to bear,’ intoned an Izabétha increasingly embarrassed with her superior’s show of vulnerability, replying in the same euphonious sounding language.

As a member of the landed gentry (Izabétha’s appointment, indeed, had been in part a favour to her mother), the lady had naturally learnt the dead tongue of her ancestors from earliest childhood, and her command of it was strong, if perhaps not as natural and flowing as Eléanor’s.

‘Tell me something, Izabétha, dost thou trust the Resurgent Dream?’ asked Eléanor, draining her glass and slowly twirling it around, distracted by its shape. In the dim light of the hearth’s glowing embers it glinted most strangely indeed.

‘That is for thee to more properly answer,’ replied Izabétha, carefully avoiding the question.

The countess pondered the question, although she had done so before at length and already reached a conclusion in her mind.

‘I think that, fortunately, we will not need to,’ replied the foreign minister after a moment’s sombre thought. ‘Not if we are careful.’

‘Thou knowest best, of course.’

‘I hope so,’ murmured the countess later that evening.