would be a place where
no one had last names.
If, in conversation, you wanted to distinguish
this one from that one, you would say, “No,
not Tall Mary who works at the hardware store–
Funny Mary, who always wants
heavy cream for her coffee.

In the Perfect Democracy, once a month
the citizens of each village would gather
and the mayor would stand before them
and say, “OK, who wants to be Mayor
next month?” And if the village idiot
stepped forward, everyone would cheer
and congratulate him and go home happy
because the business of the village had been done.

But if some job in the Perfect Democracy
were so important as to require
an election (say, ordering replacement
street lamps– term: one year), the election
would be conducted in the following manner.
In order to ensure consensus,
an 80% majority would be required.
If the first ballot proved inconclusive,
all candidates with less than 10% of the total
would be dropped from the second ballot.
If no one won on the second ballot,
those with less than 20% would be dropped.
If the third ballot did not result in a decision,
the election would be placed
in the hands of God/Fate/the Universe
by a lottery of all the candidates. Thus,
the one who received only his/her own vote
on the first ballot might well win.
With such a system firmly in place,
all elections would be unanimous
on the first ballot.

Those elected would have no
authority–only responsibility.
They would be servants, not leaders, but if
one proved untrustworthy,
such a one would be replaced, forgiven
immediately, and the matter would never
be discussed again.
No one, good or bad, would ever be re-elected.
Politicians will think this anarchy,
because there would be no politics
in the Perfect Democracy.

In the Perfect Democracy,
taxes would be collected by passing a basket.
This, of course, would not be fair,
but it would be enough.
And if some time it were not enough,
the one who had the job of passing the basket
would stand and say, “This is not enough.”
and the basket would be passed again.

All firefighters would be volunteers and
there would be no police in the Perfect Democracy
–because there would be no laws–
only this one, simple, universal principle:

“If you harm yourself or someone else,
you will feel apart
from all others in
direct proportion to the severity of your offense,
and you will live
in a self-imposed
prison of isolation as harsh as any fence of razor-wire.”

Those who violated this principle
would be regarded with pity, not anger.
They would be pitied, forgiven
and (human nature being what it is)
not trusted for a time.

All loafers, liars, vandals, drunks,
whores, drug dealers, petty thieves,
embezzlers, wife-beaters, rapists,
child molesters, and murderers
would be treated this way. Every damaged person–
victim and perpetrator (which is to say–all of us)
would have worth.
Crime in the Perfect Democracy would be rare,
because each person, valued and respected
by every other person, would, in turn,
value and respect every other person.
It’s that simple!

The highest respect would be given
to those most different from ourselves.
For example:
people of a different color
would be regarded with dignity,
because we just might want to learn what they have to teach;
or for example:
people who speak with a
foreign accent would be regarded
as at least equal, because in the Perfect Democracy,
the ability to speak more than one language
would be considered an accomplishment, not a mark of stupidity;
or for example:
those unable to walk unassisted
would receive help, because, for Christsake,
they are unable to walk unassisted.

There would be a few great ones
in the Perfect Democracy, as everywhere else,
and they would be remembered thus: “Mary,
you know, the big-hearted one who
wrote all those terrific books.”
And there would be so so many ordinary ones.
And they, too would be remembered for
their generosity and wisdom.