Smartystan

His email flooded. Thousands of notes came to Goshen’s inbox. He could count all of them, read all of them, and answer but a few. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to talk about the nation of Colombia finally fully legalizing all drugs, including its most profitable crop, cocaine. This watershed moment led the president of Smartystan to draft a message to his fellow Smarties. His country-state had made every drug licit with the only regulation on age which began at seventeen. A consumption tax remained the only payment for governmental services attached to the substances.

Smartystan saw, actually, rates of drug abuse decrease. Little to no violence occurred with the ruling when the country-state first saw establishment. The president chalked it up to the fact that the citizens valued life over everything and the drug dealers became entrepreneurs. Goshen typed feverishly. He made it his goal to ensure that everyone got a response. He would make a formal address to the nation in a few hours. In the meantime, he thought he had to complete the task of addressing his people. He didn’t let the handlers do this. He didn’t let some office assistant do this. Instead, he evaluated and answered every question posed to him.

While the other states warred over territories and experienced drug gangs and robberies and shootings and even beheadings, Smartystan remained safe from such individuals. The synthetic beings could block anyone with force who had a record of criminal activity. Sure, they could stop anyone else, but the main draw of stopping those who had perpetrated violence against other individuals kept everyone busy.

Goshen kept typing. It seemed like a thrill. He could write out all of the different components of the email he sent. He shifted his weight in his chair. He looked up at the monitors that surrounded his office. They all showed the headline and the chyrons reflected the amount of coverage that the media expressed surrounding this topic. Still, he forged onward. Every syllable had been a love letter to justice and righteousness. For the other states to collapse into chaos and unutterable initiation of force meant that he had to keep steadfast in his position as a leader of a country-state.

His writing didn’t cease. Even if he didn’t address all of the different emails on air, he’d be satisfied if he could just read the text. To savor the written word which poured in from all over the world. He’d send a few words in response to the paragraphs that he read. Just to let people know that someone of his stature had been thinking of them gave some people a jolt of starting an initiative.

Plenty of drug initiatives started in Smartystan. People didn’t have to use hand to hand under lamp posts. They didn’t have to have kilos in the trunk of the car. People’s limbs weren’t chopped off or anything. All the dispensaries could sell all the drugs you can name including life-saving prescription drugs that other organizations in the US had blocked for decades. This harmony of business and pleasure continued to last throughout the entirety of Goshen’s tenure. He made sure of it. Whenever there would be an opposition to the idea of having drugs flow in the streets and in certain places, he reminded the folks that there are private companies that disallow any drug use. There, also, remained different private property which welcomed the buying and selling of narcotics and other drugs.

Goshen kept going. He didn’t stop because he vowed to not let up on such an important ruling as this during his Administration. For him to be the first president of Smartystan and to witness a country that had been frustrated with decades of misdirection and corruption, he took his time and typed. He didn’t even allow speechwriters to come into his office. He looked out from one of the highest floors of the skyscraper. The clouds moved in and threatened to rain. A slight chill ran through his body as he continued to put down word after word.

When he came to a period of the last line to a piece of digital correspondence, he felt a sense of accomplishment. It was like the last note to a symphony. But he knew that he had to get all of this out. A purging of sorts, he sensed the power of ridding himself from all of this pain, torment, and utter hell that had been the fight against drugs. He just couldn’t see how others couldn’t comprehend how detrimental the War on Drugs was as opposed to the drugs, ironically. This kept him in high spirits even through this dark line of thinking.

What made him even more aware about his placement in the knowing of soon enacting lesser restrictions and lowering consumption taxes caused him to fight even more. Lightning flashed. Low rumbles of thunder slightly shook the building. It didn’t matter. He knew this place had been fortified with thought and concrete and steel. That’s all he needed to know. That synths put their power into making this a secure place to work and thrive.

In his mind, he thought about all of the different lives, the millions of lives affected by drug abuse and incarceration. He thought of the lunacy of some politicians who called for the death penalty for drug pushers. This draconian idea truly rankled Goshen. It pissed him off to no end. The babies that had their parents ripped away from them as they suckled on a polluted bosom; the street dealer who had a few kilograms of fentanyl in his possession sent away for life; it all challenged his spirit and his resolve. But he kept reading and writing. With every word, he inched closer like a caterpillar moving towards a new leaf.

With the might of his digital pen he drafted a thank you note to Colombian President Caterina Barbosa. He would send her the message as a conciliatory gesture. They had tacit fights over whether or not she would do what she just did a few hours ago. He was glad about that.