1999

        The Noon News is on. Lead story.

        "Dunloe Ingredients, the global food corporation, has declared itself a government. It claims full sovereignty. Some are already calling it a 'corponation.' There has been no comment from Washington. Here is more from our correspondent in Ireland."

        "The corporation is the most successful form of human organization because it best expresses human psychology. It is only through the corporation that Utopia will be achieved. Governments which are corporate in structure and motivation have always been the most successful. But governments differ from corporations in that governments claim powers of military enforcement and taxation. We, as a corporation, claim equal right to the same military power and taxation. Therefore we, Dunloe Group, do this day, Monday, August 23, 1999, declare ourselves a nation among nations, and do hereby claim all rights and privileges normally accorded any sovereignty.'"

        It's 10 pm at the No Name in rainy old Tralee. Four dart players complain or rejoice. Gerard is about to head home. He and Ian are agreeing to disagree about the new corpo-nation.

        "From a business point of view, you have to have a wait-and-see attitude," says Ian.

        "I don't know," says Gerard shaking his head. "A corporation can't be a country."

        "Why not?"

        Gerard thinks a moment. "It's private property."

        "Yes, and we have a right to protect it, and we have a responsibility to govern and control it. We want to take that responsibility for ourselves. We don't want to leave it to governments. Besides, governments are corporations. It's just that they have legal power. That's what we want. It's just a shift of emphasis."

        "You're a private organization. No one will know what you are doing."

        "We have a right to be private. Governments do much of their business in private."

        "Well, yes. But haven't you enough money & power already?" asks Gerard. "Do you really need more?"

        "There's never enough. You have to stay ahead just to keep up."

        Gerard thinks that Ian is just linking catch-phrases and soundbytes together. It seems to impart a logic to them as if one implies or proves the next. But they only sound good together, they are not a logical argument. Saleslink is everything in corpoworld. It's kind of schizophrenic: half-sentences sounding good, but with no overriding logic."

        Like a schizophrenic, an addicted corporation operates in totalitarian self-interest, with no overriding logic to its actions except its own paranoic fear for survival. Dunloe's 'self' is really a compendium of each of the owners competing for supremacy. It is Webster's legal-fiction 'corporation' that rises above the pyramid, somehow separate from its owners, and surrounded by a protective aura.

        "Except where competition forces it to give the consumer more."

        "Governments are not supposed to make a profit."

        "They should have a surplus at all times," retorts Ian. And Ireland gives its consumers more than any other country. It's Erintopia here. We're sick of tax attacks.

        Crack! Broken glass. Silence sweeps the No Name. But for a moment. There are no follow-up surprises. TV and music system continue their clash. All is well. Conversation quickly returns to its previous level. Pat sweeps up the errant pint glass.

        "Well you seem to have an answer for everything," says a tired Gerard. He's overwhelmed with these ideas. But Ian is unrelenting.

        "We're doing the right thing," says Ian. We, and your father, are former farmers who grew up in Kerry weather.  Day after day, throughout our lives. It's made us learn how to survive uncertainty: we save cash. AND WE DON'T BORROW TO BUY SOMETHING. When we buy another food corporation, we pay cash. Cash is king here in the Kingdom of Kerry, in government, and in the real world. In this way we don't lose control. We just wait till we build up enough cash."

        "Well, yes," as Gerard sips his pint. He sees, as usual, he needs to be on the same page as Dunloe. They'll always have a lot of business for his corner store just off an exit on the information superhighway. Kerrymen stick together. "Ian, you're amazing."

        The song "The Pub With No Name" comes over the music system. A few in the place sing along. "Oh, down by Tralee way in old Ireland, 'twas an old pub gone empty though it was just grand. So Pat took his sign down, but this brought much fame, now ev'ryone goes to the pub with no name. Oh, the pub with no name, the pub with no name, blow-ins pass by it not knowin' its fame. So if you're on Strand Street and lookin' for fun, go down to the No Name 'cause it's number one." Song continues, Gerard takes leave, Ian orders another Dry Irish Manhattan. He'll only have a five-minute walk up Matt Talbot Way, named after the "Patron Saint of Adddicts", to his family home opposite Brassil's in Tralee's wealthy section Caherslee.

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