Future Considerations

by Chris

Rating: everyone
Tags: Drama, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 2257

It's hard to get a group of politicians to agree on something. Even when they all agree.

In the wake of the Crystal Empire’s reappearance and King Sombra’s deposement, a thousand thorny legal, cultural, and practical issues need to be addressed by the ponies of both lands. But there’s one issue that’s blindingly straightforward: the thousand-year-old Equestrian State of Conflict Empowerment Act is still technically in effect, and until it’s revoked, Equestria remains—officially—at war with the Empire.

Under the circumstances, nopony in Parliament could possibly consider voting against its revocation.

Right?

*****

A peek at the sausage-making, inspired by GaraTheAuthor’s political fiction.

Written for the Springtime Sandbox-Slash-Sandbox Switcheroo!

Now available in Spanish, courtesy of SPANIARD KIWI.

Published 2018-04-23 21:20:11 UTC
Last updated 2018-04-23 21:20:11 UTC

I Was For It Before I Was Against It

“VOTE GYPSY MOTH—HE’LL SPEAK FOR THE TREES!” blared the words atop the poster. It depicted a pony, his cutie mark the moth that was his namesake, standing atop a pyramid of stacked and corded timber. His hoof pointed to the sky, where a stylized sunburst flanked by a bushel of wheat on one side and a pitcher of cream on the other denoted his party affiliation. Underneath the pyramid, in much smaller text, were the words “Paid for by the Party of Celestia’s Rural Laborers.”

Gypsy stared at it thoughtfully. It was his favorite poster from last year’s campaign; he was so fond of it that he’d had a copy framed and placed in his office after he won his election. The way the pyramid drew one’s eyes to him, and the subtle lightening the artist had included as the poster faded from dark forest green at the edges to nearly white at the middle, made him look a figure of unquestionable warrant. In the poster, he seemed powerful, an authoritative stallion whose wise pronouncements were to be heeded, and who could be trusted to represent the needs of his people.

The reality of being in a 42-way tie for Most Junior Backbencher in a 351-member parliament was somewhat different. And today, the difference was being thrown into especially sharp contrast.

Without turning away from the poster, he addressed the pony standing behind him. “Say that one more time?”

“A simple ‘yes, sir’ will suffice.”

“Humor me.”

Gypsy could almost hear the older stallion’s eyes rolling. “You’re going to vote nay when Parliamentary Bill 1002AC-143 comes to the floor.”

“I thought you said that.” Gypsy turned, arching an eyebrow as he did. “But I was sure that couldn’t be right. Because after all, why in Equestria would anypony vote to remain at war with the Crystal Empire? What possible reason could there be to support continuing hostilities with a friendly nation? One currently ruled by Princess Celestia’s own niece, no less?”

He was quietly pleased by how blandly he managed to say those words. Keeping one’s tone inoffensive when one’s words said otherwise was a highly valued skill in the House of Commons, and although he was by no means a master, he felt he had at least proven a fast learner.

If the venerable West Hold appreciated that blandness, though, he didn’t show it. “Does it matter? This isn’t a free vote, kid—at least, not for you. Tell plebs back home whatever you want, just make sure you vote against the bill.”

Gypsy barely resisted the urge to shift his weight. Instead, he nodded slightly, then added in as blasé a voice as before, “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d still like to know why anypony would agree to do that.”

“And if it is too much trouble?”

“Then I’d understand that to mean that my voting nay isn’t as important as you might want me to believe.”

For a moment, he thought that he might have provoked Hold’s ire—though the stallion was well known in parliament for his “cold geniality,” one didn’t become a whip without being able to break a few metaphorical legs—but he instead took a seat on one of the office’s overstuffed couches. “Do you know how many seats the Monarchist Party presently holds in Commons?”

Gypsy took a seat across from him. “105, isn’t it?”

“And the Alicorn Party?”

“58.”

“And together, that’s…?”

“You’re talking to me like a foal,” Gypsy observed, careful to keep any annoyance out of his voice.

“Are you going to vote nay on 143?” When no answer was forthcoming, Hold snorted. “How many?”

“...163.”

“And how many votes are needed to pass a bill through the Commons?”

“176. Is this—”

“So,” Hold didn’t raise his voice, but managed to talk over him nevertheless, “How many short of a majority are the two largest pro-Celestia parties combined?”

“13.”

Hold smiled collegially. “Very good. Now, I’m sure you know that our CRL party has 15 members in Commons at present. That makes us the next largest pro-Celestia party, and more importantly, the only single non-opposition party that the Monarchists and Alicornists can partner with to pass legislation.” He leaned back on the couch, then frowned and sat back up. “Damn uncomfortable furniture you have in here. A word of advice from someone who’s been in parliament longer than you’ve been alive: get some cushier couches. You’ll thank me when a talking fillybuster means you end up spending a couple of nights sleeping on it. Now, do you understand why you’re voting nay yet, or do I need to spell it out for you?”

Gypsy blinked, but quickly recovered his languid demeanor. “I’m afraid that I don’t see quite what the party makeup of parliament has to do with declaring peace with the Crystal Empire.”

“Well, let me give you a few more clues. This bill is going to pass easily; not a single party is speaking in opposition to it. So in a practical sense, it doesn’t matter how—or even if—you vote. The Conflict Empowerment Act will be history by this evening.” He paused a moment, then continued when Gypsy didn’t speak up. “If I tell you that you’re one of three party members who’ll be voting against the bill, does that answer your question?”

Gypsy frowned slightly, shaking his head. Hold mirrored the shake, looking vaguely disappointed. "It means,” he said, speaking a bit more slowly, “That this is an ideal vote to send a message to the larger parties. We’re kingmakers, Gypsy—but only if the whole CRL holds together.”

“And we’ll be holding together by splitting the party vote on the most omnipartisan piece of legislation imaginable.”

“We’ll be sending a message, you simpleton.” Gypsy bristled, but bit his tongue as Hold bulled on. “The Monarchists didn’t bother consulting with anyone before introducing the bill to committee, because they knew there’d be plenty of votes to pass it. So if three CRL backbenchers vote nay, that tells them that they can’t assume our total support without consultation. We don’t want them thinking that they have a unified pro-Celestia block; they need to know that our support is available, but that if it’s taken for granted… well, what’s 163 plus 15 minus 3?”

“...A minority.”

“Exactly.” Hold stood up, taking a couple of steps in the direction of the door. “None of the party leaders can vote against the legislation, obviously—our party supports the bill, and if we were engaged in the legislative crafting, then the whip would certainly have been sure to lock in a unified vote. Of the rest of us, you, Cotton, and Grindstone had the largest margins of victory last year, so you’re the ones least likely to take a beating for this next election.”

“I finished less than four percent ahead of Straight Narrow, and Clear Mud wasn’t far behind either of us.” Gypsy made a point of staying seated. “I’m sure you know more about parliamentary politics than I do, but I think I’ve got a better handle on my own district. Do you really think this kind of vote won’t come back to haunt me? If a snap poll were to be called soon, I might not even make it to the election. Or do you think the local party apparatus wouldn’t prefer to nominate a candidate who wasn’t on record as supporting war against friendly nations?”

“First of all, you’re not supporting war, you’re opposing peace. Second, and more importantly, I do know more about your district than you do. For example, I know that your local apparatus will gladly continue to support you when you emerge from the coming fiscal quarter with over 150,000 bits in fundraising for your re-election campaign. I also know that there aren’t nearly enough anti-royalist voters in your district to make a challenge from that direction credible, and that the presence of the Grand Western Lumber Mill and associated forestry industry give any CRL member a sizeable built-in edge over the other pro-Celestia parties. As long as your frontbenchers are here to steer some large donations into your re-election fund, you have nothing to worry about.”

Gypsy realized, with some irritation, that he’d let his eyes widen at the thought of an extra six figures for his election fund. He tried to cover it with a glare. “Okay, so I’ll allow that there’s a reason why it helps the party if I vote for war.”

“Against peace.”

“Noted. And, insofar as doing so will give our party slightly more clout when negotiating with the Monarchist/Alicorn coalition, it could even be argued that it benefits my district. Sure, it’s selling out basic morality for the sake of transient secondary benefits, but at least it’s an empty gesture.”

“That’s right.” So far as Gypsy could tell, Hold spoke without a trace of irony.

“Well then, my answer is no. Basic morality matters.”

It was the first time Gypsy had given a flat refusal to the whip. Somehow, he’d expected it to be more. More what, he wasn’t sure, but definitely more.

Instead, Hold seemed totally unperturbed. He simply crossed back to the couch and sat back down across from Gypsy.

“If you’re really concerned about the morality of it, just make sure you don’t cast your vote until we’ve crossed the 176 aye threshold. Then you know it’s—how’d you put it?”

“An empty gesture.”

“Right. An empty gesture. Something devoid of meaning, except for the fact that you’ll be helping your party, which means helping your district, which means doing your job. But other than that, devoid.”

Gypsy opened his mouth, but Hold wasn’t done. “Now, if what you’re actually asking me is ‘How do I explain this to my constituents?,’ then I can help you with that as well. Right now, the Subcommittee on International Trade is reviewing the bill. And our member on the subcommittee is going to propose an amendment that would place a 100% tariff on all timber and timber products imported from the Crystal Empire. Given the economic niche your district occupies, that ought to play well to your base, wouldn’t you say?”

Gypsy did interject then. “Every major party except the Neo-Republicans are some flavor of free-trade. There’s no way you’ll get a majority of the subcommittee to pass that amendment.” He paused. “Wait, is there?”

“Of course not. Even the Neos probably won’t support it; 100% is too high to justify as simple protectionism, and “timber products” is too broad and ill-defined a category. But the point is, our party will propose it, and it will be voted down. And when you have to explain your nay vote on the full bill…” He gestured with a hoof for Gypsy to finish the thought.

“...You want me to say I didn’t vote for war, I—”

“Against peace.”

“...I voted against letting Crystal Empire pine undercut our hardworking timberponies.”

“Exactly.” He scratched his chin. “Actually, I suppose it doesn’t really matter what you say; your district is safe enough to survive some poor marketing on your part.” Hold stood again. “But I imagine you’ll find the town halls a lot more pleasant when you’ve got a line like that to sell them with.”

“So what will happen to the timberponies?”

Hold shrugged. “There are a lot of trees in the Crystal Empire, and they hardly use any for local construction. That’s why they don’t call it the 2x4 Empire, I suppose. So, while I don't know what's going to happen, I'd be very surprised if they didn't start exporting a lot of lumber in the near future.” He looked Gypsy up and down. “Once the high-priority legislation gets passed, we might be able to squeeze some sort of protective tariff through. Of course, we only have 15 votes in a 351-seat chamber, so that would depend on us being able to convince the Monarchists and the Alicornists to back us on legislation they’ll be lukewarm at best towards. Which we certainly won’t be able to do… if they don’t respect the need to keep our party happy as part of a voting majority.”

Gypsy raised an eyebrow. “You’re not being very subtle.”

“Subtle is for the citizenry. When I’m whipping, I don’t like to leave things ambiguous. For example, I’m going to ask you now: how will you vote on 143?”

Gypsy bit his lip, looking back to the poster.

“HE’LL SPEAK FOR THE TREES,” it silently shouted.

“Obviously, I support the immediate normalization of relations with the Crystal Empire,” he slowly said. “But it’s absurd to say that that normalization must be predicated on the disenfranchisement of Equestria’s lumber producers and exporters. I would not hesitate to vote for any bill which safeguarded both Equestrian jobs and foreign relations, and I will never waver from that commitment.”

“Smart lad.” Hold walked to the door. “Vote’s scheduled for 4:45, get there early if you want to make that statement on the Commons floor. You aren’t the only one who’ll be looking to get a sound bite on the record.” With that, he left.

As soon as Hold was out the door, Gypsy collapsed into his seat with a whump. Then he frowned. “He’s right, I should get some more comfortable furniture in here,” he muttered.

Behind him, the poster hung. “VOTE GYPSY MOTH—HE’LL SPEAK FOR THE TREES!” blared the words atop it.

Underneath, in much smaller text, were the words “Paid for by the Party of Celestia’s Rural Laborers.”