by Terry Morgan
“I visited her again a month later and we discussed it one last time. We sat together, mother and son. She was in bed with her head on the pillow and smiled at me as I held her hand and administered the injection, the injection she herself had put aside twenty years before in readiness. Her last words to me were, 'Thank you, Harold. My dear Harold."
The Professor nodded to himself. “And that was that. She died smiling, Carl.”
Carl blinked, sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and grasped the sleeve of the Professor’s damp sweater with his fingers. "But was it the right thing to do, uncle?"
The Professor straightened up. "Yes, of course,” he said. “Absolutely. She had, as she used to say, 'paid her way' but that 'enough was enough'. She had contributed but had never been a burden on others. She had put in far more than she’d taken out. Possessions meant very little to her. Memories were what she valued. She was deeply satisfied with her work and with what she had achieved. She had been very content with her marriage to your great grandfather. There was nothing left to be done. Her life was complete. She died, Carl, feeling totally fulfilled."
"But what you did was wrong in the eyes of the law," Carl. said.
"Oh yes. I knew I had broken the law. We both knew I would face problems.”
"But you still went ahead."
"We hoped some good might come of it. She knew it would be difficult for me with my background and reputation. But I had argued for years that it was wrong for human rights to be tipped in favour of the young and healthy who wanted to reproduce thus adding to the problem of overpopulation. Instead, they were stacked against intelligent old people, thousands of whom were being kept alive without dignity, and long after the quality of their lives had passed, by a system that required them to be kept alive whatever their health or state of mind or wishes.
“As your grandmother was fond of saying, ‘Quality not longevity’.
And with that the Professor stood and stretched his back. “Any more questions?” he said. He held out a hand, palm up. “It’s starting to rain. Bring on the summer. Winter is such a dark and dismal time. I hope the horse chestnut survives to flower another year.”
“How much longer, uncle?”
The Professor knew what he meant. “Two years,” he said. “I will be seventy-seven. Let’s finish our walk.”
They had completed the full circle. The administration block was less than a hundred metres away.
“I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, Carl. You came here for advice.”
"I came to talk to you, sir. You are my uncle and I admire you for speaking out. My mother always spoke highly of you. It is why she brought me to see you many years ago. It is why I came here. She told me to try to meet you and talk to you. And I think I now understand about my grandmother."
Carl thought for a moment. “I also understand about the newcomers. Fighting seems so pointless. They are not bad people. They came because their futures were bleak. They ran like animals escaping fire thinking they would be safer here. Perhaps they should have stayed to try and rebuild their lives but they had nothing.”
“But humans breed with no consideration for their children’s’ futures,” the Professor replied. “Perhaps it’s time for a new type of spiritual leader, Carl. Someone who can rise above politics and appeal to the dying art of common sense.”
Carl thought about it for a while. “People always blame others, uncle. Never themselves.”
“True.” He paused for a moment. “What are your thoughts on fulfilment now?”
“What we were taught was wrong. It is not about having everything we need. It’s about what we are and becoming what we are capable of becoming. It’s about feeling content about yourself, but contentment only comes from putting in more than you take out not by demanding more and more for doing less and less.
“The problem is, uncle, I think it’s too late. We have taken out too much and not put enough in. It’s as if all the others who went before have stripped it bare. Now we have nothing. So, we are angry because we think that those who went before should have seen the problems they were causing for the future. Now, we see no future at all, uncle. We are overwhelmed by hopelessness.”
Carl took his uncle’s arm again. “Uncle,” he said quietly. “Why did they not listen to you?”
“More human weakness,” he answered instantly. “Truth hurts. Humans like their comfort zone and I made them feel uncomfortable. They will always ignore demands to change their ways to avoid disaster if it means losing their comforts. Animals change instinctively but we don’t.”
“But you were right, uncle.”
“I’m glad you think so but it made no difference. Humans believe they understand everything. In fact, they understand very little, even about themselves. But then, of course, there was the matter of your grandmother and I found myself here – out of sight and out of mind - because those that recommend and propagate unwelcome changes must be hidden from the public.”
Carl thought for a moment. Then: “Was my father a good man?”
“Like us all, he was a victim of circumstances, Carl.”
“But was he a good man?”
“No worse and no better.”
“I’m also a victim of circumstances, uncle. I do not know what to do. I see no hope.” He paused to kick at gravel. “Did you watch the news last night?”
“The street riots in Paris, Berlin and Barcelona?”
Carl nodded. “And down there,” he said pointing towards the city. “They were planning more anti-government riots today. They want jobs and money. I could have gone but I came here instead.”
The Professor said nothing.
Jobs and money and homes were what they all wanted. Thousands had been killed in clashes with government-backed forces during the last ten years but demands for change were now being co-ordinated across borders. It was reaching a crisis but solutions, giving them what they wanted, were impossible. It was exactly what he had warned. Even if population growth eventually slowed as was expected unemployment, food and water shortages, conflict, economic migration and social problems would still continue to grow and anger and discontent would eat deeper and deeper into the fabric of a global society of billions. Finally, it would reach a breaking point and that’s when the global tragedy would unfold. What wold it be? Disease? War? Even the Professor couldn’t forecast that.
Right now, and more fundamentally, Western-style democracy as a system of governance was failing. Weak politicians pandering to the selfish, short-term demands of its electorates had stifled essential changes. If progress was to be made, then hard, unpopular decisions were required, not the simple scattering of small crumbs of short-term comfort. To deal with humanitarian problems on a global scale required a different sort of leadership, the sort that had been dismissed by democracy as too radical, too hard and too extreme. But he didn’t tell Carl that.
Instead, he remembered the figures of twenty years ago.
At least 750 million people worldwide were known to want to leave their place of birth. 33percent of all those living in the impoverished Sahel part of Africa had wanted to leave because of impossible living conditions. Millions had already left.
He remembered his mother’s words on his last visit to her cottage. “Family planning wold help,” she’d said. “But these places are not conducive to providing the sort of comfortable, Western-style living standards they aspire to. But that’s what they want – electricity, housing, jobs, education, healthcare and opportunities. It’s never going to happen, Harold.”
The Professor looked sadly at Carl who was waiting for him to say more. But what could he say?
As if reading his thoughts, it was Carl who spoke next. "We are like rats in a cage, uncle. And the cage is getting smaller and smaller and more and more crowded because thousands and thousands are still arriving."
The people called the immigrants ‘newcomers’ but the politicians still c
alled them economic migrants as if it was their duty to offer them jobs and opportunities. It was, of course, hopelessly impossible for the sheer numbers.
“It is a tragedy, uncle,” Carl continued. “They spend their last money to leave their homes behind, desperate for better lives. It started many years ago when poor, desperate people from Africa and Asia began migrating by boats and across land. The numbers then were small. Now there are so many that no-one can stop them and they disappear into the community. We talk to them and understand but we, too, have just as many problems as they did back in their own countries." He paused, almost breathless. "What can we do?"
The Professor sighed. What could be done, now? The fact was there were no leaders big enough or brave enough to manage a world of over 11 billion people of a thousand different cultures living shoulder to shoulder by the year 2100.
Perhaps those countries who had already foreseen the difficulties and walled themselves in, physically and administratively, might survive, the Professor thought, but the rest? For a young man like Carl the future looked especially bleak.
Compromises would never work. There was only one scientifically sound solution. And that solution - the one he’d written as a single, short paragraph typed on one small sheet of paper and then copied to world leaders - had sat on tables for forty years. But they ignored it because they were all, each and every one of them, scientifically illiterate status seekers who couldn’t make decisions but merely danced on a stage, smiled at cameras and tried showing sympathy whilst conveniently ignoring the fact that it was sympathy that had got the world into the predicament in the first place.
Carl gave up waiting for his answer. "Some people say the leaders are too afraid to act,” he said. “But I do not think they are afraid."
"So why do you think they do not act?" the Professor asked.
"Because there is no longer a solution, uncle. It is already too late."
“That’s it,” his uncle said and walked away.
Looking towards the administration block the Professor could see the grey uniformed figure of Superintendent Sam McIlroy heading towards them. Their time, it seemed, was up. As he grew closer, he could even hear Sam’s keys jangling from his belt.
In the time left, he turned to Carl.
“Don’t rely on world politicians, Carl. They have ruled over a time of overindulgence, greed and excess. By not listening to those who issued sound warnings, they have allowed the taking out of far more than was put in. Through their own weaknesses and selfishness, they have failed to teach the meaning of the word sustainable. By not acting to preserve the environment they have overseen its destruction. By not enforcing living within means they failed to teach that hardship is an essential part of human life in order to understand life itself. By failing to describe the nightmare of a world where humans are allowed to breed and multiply without control, they have overseen the destruction of not only ourselves but the rest of the living world as well. Total extinction of life on earth is not an unrealistic possibility, Carl. Politicians have trashed the world and yes, you are right. It’s now too late.”
The Professor had stopped at that point but he was to regret those last words.
“Time’s up, Professor,” Sam called out from twenty metres away. He then looked from the Professor to Carl and back to the Professor. “Did I interrupt something?”
He patted the Professor’s shoulder and looked at Carl “He’s a very serious old man with some very depressing views, young man. He doesn’t smile a lot but he’s friendly enough.”
He checked his watch. “Two hours, Professor. It’s more than you usually have. And your nice sweater is damp. Inmates with influenza are quarantined. You won’t want that. Are you ready to go back?”
The Professor looked at Carl. “Time’s up, Carl.”
Carl nodded.
They followed Sam towards the administration block and the main exit without talking. Carl sniffed and kicked gravel.
“After you, Professor,” Sam said pressing the security lock on the door. Carl followed. Sam entered last, clicking the door shut. “Right then. Did you enjoy chatting with your old uncle, Carl? Will you be coming again?”
Carl nodded but didn’t reply so Sam walked a few metres away to wait as the Professor held Carl’s hand with his own and put his other hand on his shoulder. “You’re a credit to you mum, Carl. I’ve enjoyed our chat.”
Carl nodded. “Thank you,” he said. His eyes were wet again and he sniffed.
“Will you come again?”
Carl didn’t answer.
“You decide, Carl. In the meantime, you’ve got other decisions to make. Take care.”
Carl didn’t look at his uncle again but walked straight to the exit door. Sam followed him, clicked the door open. He watched Carl wander away then stop and stare up at the grey and damp winter sky.
Sam turned. “Is he OK, Professor? He looks depressed.”
“A lot on his mind, Sam,” the Professor replied. “He came with some questions. I hope he was satisfied with the answers.” He nodded rather forlornly. “But I enjoyed his company.”
“Good,” Sam said without too much interest. “Now then, Professor, off you go. No need for me to see you back home. You know the way. Tea at 3 pm. I’ll see Carl to the main gate.”
The Professor returned to his room, went straight to his bunk and lay there thinking about Carl. There was so much more he’d have liked to tell him and, now, more questions of his own - about Carl’s daily life, his mother and his childhood. Perhaps it was because he rarely talked to anyone these days but he felt somewhat overwhelmed and, unusually for him, emotional.
He wondered what Carl thought about him now and whether he’d only succeeded in depressing him as Sam had suggested. But it hadn’t just been him who had made such dire forecasts.
He recalled a meeting back in 2017 with an economist with similar views to his own. He, too, had forecast that young people could no longer expect the same level of affluence as their parents. He’d described a future society with a tiny, wealthy elite and a huge sprawling proletariat who had no chance of clawing their way out of a hand-to-mouth existence. It was hardly news to the Professor, of course, and the economist hadn’t mentioned the additional effect of millions of immigrants on jobs and prosperity. To have done so in 2017 would have risked accusations by some of racism. But, thirty-three years on, it was easy to relate to what he’d said about traditional middle classes needing three or four jobs just to maintain their previous lifestyles.
But, of course, it was quite foreseeable that creating that many jobs was going to be impossible. Even in 2018 there had been serious youth unemployment and now in 2050, unless you were one of the privileged few, there was less than one low paid job available per person with the state propping it up from a pot that was getting smaller. Such begging, even from the state, was inhuman, undignified and degrading, It only fed the feeling of unfulfillment and anger that Carl experienced.
"Are old people to blame for the situation, uncle?” Carl had asked. “Is your generation at fault?"
It was not only his generation at fault, of course, but all generations with many having lived through two world wars that were still remembered vividly. They had sought a life free of suffering, war, pain and hardship. In a way, post war governments were right to reward them for their sacrifices but only to a point because they had then started demanding rights without responsibilities. Good leaders should have withstood such pressures, looked to the future and seen the warning signs.
Instead, desperate for popularity, they had failed to understand that kindness also means ensuring that people are self-sufficient, that life without struggle is utterly meaningless and that fulfilment always comes from succeeding against the odds. But politicians also loved the apathy that came with a culture of dependency on the state because it ensured their own survival. Apathy explained why uprising against bad governance was now too late.
“
Looking back, Carl,” he’d said, “Would you say that the self-indulgence of the past improved the quality of life, of the need for fulfilment and happiness? Did it succeed in reducing human suffering? Have past generations given your generation anything that you would like to thank them for?”
If Carl was already depressed then those words could only have made him worse. So he lay there worrying about what he’d said, about how Carl lived with no job and no future and how he could help him.
His mind moved on.
“They are always promising solutions, uncle, but we need them now,” Carl had said.
“They are cruel diversions,” he’d replied. “They will always say there is light at the end of the tunnel. Don’t worry, our technology will allow exciting new opportunities and ensure things will only get better, they will say. Look at our space technology and our plans to colonise new planets, they say. And, of course, that might be possible for a few chosen pioneers but what about the billions left here who could well be facing extinction along with every other living thing?”
And then he’d gone even further.
“If urban fighting spreads, it will be like no other war in history. But that, in my opinion, is when a real decision maker may arrive on the scene. It will be someone just like some who have gone before - a self-serving individual seeking power, fame and prestige and with a vision of going down in history as the saviour of the human race. But be aware. This leader may then show his ultimate leadership qualities merely by the pressing of a red button."
Carl had looked shocked. "Do you really believe that might happen?" he’d asked and it had been his reply that then changed Carl. A look of desperation had spread across his young face and, despite the cold, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
“Yes,” he’d said. “It is too late for a planned, controlled and gradual reduction in population, so someone, somewhere might decide to go for mass extermination. Selective extermination has been tried before. Humans are well capable of it. The ultimate extermination? The final cull?”
