The Fickle Finger of Fate

Charity Wells was woken up early on the morning of November 9th by loud hammering on the door of her apartment. Grumbling loudly, she rolled out of bed and put on her robe and searched for her bedroom slippers. She was 42 years old, black, plump, divorced, childless and worked in a library in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She tottered to the door shouting “I’m coming! Where’s the fire?”

She undid the triple locks and put the chain on before opening the door and peering out cautiously. The hall seemed full of well-built young men in sharp suits wearing sunglasses.

“Good morning, ma’am” said the first, flashing an ID badge, “Secret Service – may we come in?” Confused, she took the chain off and opened the door. Three men came in – one went straight to the window and looked out and another shut the door and put his back to it. The one who had spoken to her took her gently by the arm and escorted her to the lounge, where he sat them both down on chairs face to face.

“I apologise, ma’am, for the shock” he said earnestly, “But I have to inform you that you have just been chosen as President of the USA.”

“What!” shrieked Charity, “This is a joke – right?”

“No, Madame President, it’s the honest truth. You know that the 29th Amendment was passed by both Houses of Congress, changing the way in which President and Congress are chosen. Now all these offices are filled by a random selection from the whole electoral role of the nation, and the choices were generated by computer last night. You have been chosen as the 47th president. My sincerest congratulations.”

Charity’s mouth opened and shut but no sounds came out. She remembered what had happened only recently. Both Houses of Congress and the presidency had been struck down with a mysterious incapacitating virus, and a small surviving coterie had passed the amendment. Their argument was that the electoral system was irredeemably corrupt and had produced so many rotten office-holders recently that a random sample from the population could not possibly do a worse job. Charity had been interested to see what would happen, but had never dreamed that the lot would fall on her.

The clean-cut young agent introduced himself as agent Waldorf Greybody, and then went on “Now, there is much to be done. We need to get you to Washington as soon as possible. The press will be here soon, but we have a helicopter on the roof to take you to the airport, and Air Force One is standing by to fly you to the capital. Leave everything to us.”

The next few hours passed like a dream for the stunned new president. She was allowed to dress, but was told there was no need to pack as everything would be supplied. She hardly noticed her first helicopter flight, or the luxury of the presidential plane, and only came to when she was walking through the door of the White House. She stopped and turned to Waldorf.

“What happens now?” she demanded.

“Well, the Vice President and the rest of your cabinet will all be here by this afternoon. Meanwhile, it would be nice if you could give a press conference.”

“Whatever you say. Lead on, McDuff!”

“My name if Greybody, not McDuff, ma’am. Just come this way.”

Charity was led out on to the lawn where a bank of microphones had been set up, and she faced an array of strangers – the Washington press corps. For a total novice, she did pretty well. She explained how surprised and honoured she was by the appointment, and how she would do her best to serve her country in her new capacity.

At the end she said: “I’m sure I’ll mess things up now and then, but don’t be too hard on me – blame the Fickle Finger of Fate that put me here!” That raised a laugh, and she was able to escape inside to her new apartments and take a well-earned rest with a cup of strong coffee.

Later on she met her new Vice President and the rest of the cabinet in the Oval Office. The VP was a 52-year-old white grocery store manager from Boise, Idaho, and the rest of the cabinet were a diverse mixture of ages and ethnicities, both male and female, from right across the country. The Secretary of Defense was a 60-year-old Navajo and the Secretary of State a young Hispanic woman from Florida.

“Right” said Charity, “This has been a shock to us all, but we need to get over it and get to work. I believe the country’s in a mess and it’s our job to try to sort it out.”

“You’re right, Madame President” said the VP, Bill Preston, “but we’re all amateurs here and don’t really know what we’re doing. How the hell are we going to run the country?”

“I believe it’s known as ‘learning on the job’, Bill. And call me Charity when we’re not in public. You’re right that we’re all amateurs, but look what a shambles the professionals have made. How could we do worse? And we’ve all got advisors to help us with the tricky details – we just need to get hold of the broad picture.”

After that the cabinet got down to the business of brainstorming priorities for the new administration, and then they had a fairly informal dinner together in the White House before going their separate ways. The President was ushered to her suite to rest, after one of the most exhausting days of her life.

The next few days were also frenetic. She was briefed on stuff till her head span, and given the secret codes for the nuclear deterrent, which was a truly scary experience. She had meetings with her cabinet, and they drew up a list of priorities for the administration. The following week Congress met for the first time, and she went to address both Houses. The Capitol had a greater diversity of delegates than ever in its long history.

Charity looked out at the sea of different faces, marvelling at how few middle-aged white men in suits there now were. She rose to address them.

“Brother and sister Americans, I, like you, have no special qualification to be here. We have been drawn as a random sample from the adult population of this nation. In that sense we truly represent the nation – in fact, we are the nation. We can put aside the special interests, horse-trading and, frankly, corruption of previous administrations and legislatures. They needed votes, and to get votes needed money, more and more money, and therefore were beholden to those who gave them that money. We are free instead to act and vote as our consciences dictate, for the good of the nation as a whole.

“How should we act? My cabinet and I have drawn up a list of the key issues facing this country, and the measures we should take to address them. First is healthcare – it is a shocking fact that this is the only advanced nation without universal healthcare for its citizens. Second is the environment – we need to act now to ensure that we leave a country, and a planet, which is fit for future generations.

“Third is gun violence. It is a shame and a disgrace that we have hidden behind an out-dated Second Amendment to allow the indiscriminate acquisition and use of weapons whose only use is to kill people. No other country has anything approaching the number of gun-based deaths that we do, and we will act to put an end to this.

“Fourth is human rights. We need to act to outlaw any form of discrimination and injustice, based on sex, ethnicity, religion, wealth or personal orientation. These are our priorities as an administration – will you work with me to bring them to pass?”

She sat down to loud cheers from most of the assembled representatives and senators. She whispered to Waldorf Greybody, sitting next to her “That was a tough one, but I think I did OK, for an amateur.”

“You sure did, ma’am. I’ve heard lots of professionals in my time, and there’s not many did half as good as you.”

* * *

Months later, sitting in the Oval Office, she rang the head of the FBI and gave him some instructions. As a result, two days later a folder landed on her desk. She studied it with interest, and asked her secretary to summon ex-Senator Hiram Abernethy to come and see her. The next day he was sitting opposite her, with no-one else present.

“Congratulations, Madame President, on your new legislative programme. It looks like it’s going to get the support of Congress.”

“Thank you, senator. Before we begin, let me assure you that this conversation is not being recorded, so you are at liberty to tell me the truth.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Not necessarily. Is it true that before your election to the Senate for California you worked as a scientist at the secret government Virus Research Centre in Pasadena?”

“Indeed. I was mainly a statistician, working on all the bespoke virus generation projects there.”

“And you would have had access to strains of some of these viruses?”

“Conceivably, but with some help from other colleagues.”

“And one of these strains, XBG-39, had the property of totally incapacitating its subjects for a period of two weeks, after which they recovered with no ill-effects?”

“Your information is most accurate, Madame President.”

“And the centre also developed an antidote to the virus?”

“Indeed it did.”

“Turning now to the events of last summer in Congress, you were one of the handful of senators and representatives who were not laid low by the mystery virus that swept through both Houses, incapacitating the vast majority of the delegates for a period of two weeks?”

“Strangely enough, I was.”

“And you and your colleagues immediately pushed through the 29th Amendment, which brought about the present system of government by randomly selected representatives?”

“I can see where you’re going with this, Madame President, and as this conversation is strictly private, I confess that the connections between these events may not be entirely coincidental.”

“The link is pretty obvious to anyone who has access to highly classified information. Do you have any excuses for your actions?”

“It was Winston Churchill who said that democracy was the worst form of government, except for all the others. He was right of course, but it occurred to me that the problem with democracy is not the concept itself, but the way in which the representatives are chosen.”

“Go on.”

“The previous system of elected representatives fell foul of the need for them to attract votes, and the ones who won were those who spent the most money, told the most lies, and appealed to the basest instincts of the populace. They were also in hock to the outfits who funded their campaigns, including the scum of the NRA and vested interests like the oil companies.”

“I can see some truth in what you’re saying, Senator Abernethy. Do go on.”

“If the ideal is for our representatives to truly represent the whole population of the nation, then as a statistician I know that the best way is a truly random sample, designed to produce the same balance of sexes, ethnicities, ages and religions as the whole country. That’s how we do it in a scientific study – why not for governing the nation?”

“And how will we know that your random sample does a better job than the old system?”

“Just look at the results in less than a year. You are about to repeal the 2nd Amendment and your Universal Healthcare Bill is moving rapidly through both Houses. The vested interests have no more clout, and you can do what the majority of people truly want. I call that a success.”

“I hope you’re right, senator. In any case, let’s try to forget we’ve had this conversation. I have sealed the files on the Pasadena Virus Research Centre and forbidden any further investigation into these issues. Now that you are an ex-senator, what are you doing with yourself?”

“I have returned to my scientific studies, Madame President.”

“Good. Try to stay away from viruses and politics. I think this meeting is ended.”

“Just one last question before I go – how would you like your term of office to be remembered?”

“I’d like people to say: ‘She made America great again’. Goodbye.”

(The photograph of the White House in Washington was taken in 1976)