PoliSci 331:
Social Collapse, Political Upheaval, and Failed States
A Short Story
By William van der Veen
April 17, 2024
Professor Maddie Everton gazed up at the dwindling number of seats in the room, her suspicions confirmed. Today’s topic was a top draw. Hell, even the nosebleeds were filling up.
She wandered out in front of her desk, directing the final few students towards the remaining chairs. “If you haven't, please find an open seat. There’s a few over here, about halfway up. More towards the back, as well.”
She tried channeling the glow of the October sun streaming in through the tiered bank of windows. She didn’t really believe in omens, but she did worry what a stormy day outside would portend in her classroom.
Covert deep breaths and a mantra. For the umpteenth time today, she reminded herself that today’s lesson –– more than any lesson –– was important. Critical. Critical, if these students were to one day become leaders in their respective countries, an assumption she felt safe making given the intense admission process each student navigated in order to attend.
She’d planned thoroughly for today, thinking through potential pitfalls and hang ups. She’d even gone so far as to step outside her professor-chic sweater-and-skirt uniform, deciding the occasion was right to break out the charcoal-slate suit which gave her an air of authority. Standing above the desk at a slim five foot two, Maddie wasn’t sure it had the desired effect.
Checking her watch, she made a mental annotation to give it two minutes and went back to review her notes for the lesson. She could feel her heart’s pace, rapid with nerves. At the top of her lesson plan, underlined twice, it read: Caveats and ground rules. She’d taught this lesson twice before and never, ever, ever wanted a repeat of the first time. Hence the caveats, hence the ground rules.
Looking up, she took in the room. Two hundred seats and not one empty. A few students even had to sit on the cheaply-carpeted steps that ran up on either side of the auditorium, their jackets and backpacks sloppily strewn around them. The smell of coffee hung heavily in the air.
She gave her attendants a quick scan, wondering who might cause trouble while simultaneously scolding herself for judging strictly on appearances. A group of young men halfway up the left, a pair of whom were sporting well-used fatigues with insignia from the Texas Republic, caught her eye. A few rows behind them, closer to the center of the aisle, a handful of women wore their hair in the close-cropped, off-center mohawk style of New York’s Upstate Reavers. She’d need to keep those groups from barking at each other. The Reavers especially. Their commitment to the Omaha Armistice was an open question and, like everyone else, she’d heard the rumors. Stockpiling weapons, rebuilding their arsenal. Frankly, she was surprised any Reavers had been admitted at all.
But she wasn’t here today to second guess the school’s admissions policies. She was here to teach and it was time to get to it.
She motioned for the student closest to the door to close it and leaned back against the white board. After a few moments, conversations dulled to intermittent whispers and, eventually, silence.
All eyes on her.
“You know, I had thought that a lot of people had signed up for this course,” she opened. The students responded with laughter, each presumably aware of their own spotty attendance record.
“Yes, yes, yes, today’s the day,” she continued, calmly, slowly. “Today we’ll discuss the events and causes that led to the Second American Civil War.” From the crowd, some whoops went up, a few claps, as well. Mostly, though, rapt attention.
“Before we get going, though, let’s lay down some ground rules. First, keep it civil. I cannot stress this enough, but this topic is still raw. There are people from the Republic of Texas in here. Some of your classmates came from the Appalachians, parts of which are still waging a low-intensity insurgency against the rump American Republic.” She stated her next words slowly, imbuing them with all the hurt she felt and the compassion she could muster. “We’ve all lost friends, family. Be mindful that not just you, but the people you’re arguing with, they probably have too.”
“Which leads me to my next ground rule: be respectful. No schadenfreude, no finger-pointing. No racist or deliberatively harmful remarks. None of these will be tolerated and will lead you to getting kicked out of this class swiftly. Which leads to my third ground rule. Keep this word front of your mind: compassion. Have it for everyone in here, because the war years weren’t easy for anyone.”
“And lastly, neuroenhancers, cell phones, watches, any and all devices: please please please turn them off. Take a second and do it right now. We’re going to try to do something strange today and use that big old brain capacity that got you lot nominated to attend in the first place. And don’t worry, you’re all connected to the university’s emergency cloud center, so if any high priority message comes through, it’ll show up here with your student ID number,” she said, waving her hand in the direction of the monitor in the corner of the classroom. The administration had one installed in each classroom after the university assumed its new, post-armistice mission. The monitor connected to a secured on-site data facility and mirrored the cybersecurity strictures of the Great Lakes Federated Republic’s armed forces, or so the university’s security director told the faculty.
“Questions,” she asked, her tone giving the impression that she wasn’t really seeking any.
Intro out of the way, Professor Maddie Everton swung around to the board and gestured to the three bullets she’d jotted down the evening before.
“Now, here’s how I’d like to walk us through today’s discussion. We’re going to delve into long-term trends and events that created the conditions which increased the likelihood of civil war. Those of you who’ve read your Cronin, your Scahill, you should have a decent understanding of the forty-odd years prior to the 2024 election and its aftermath.”
“After that, we’ll talk about the decade or so directly prior to the conflict. We’ll focus in particular on the fracturing –– well –– bifurcation of American society and the sources that led to the division, the growing disillusionment with political institutions, and how Donald Trump was able to harness these trends to win the presidency . . . twice.”
She paused, taking in the reaction around the room, watching to see which of her students bristled at this statement.
“First, though, before we talk any of that, let’s talk frameworks. I want everyone in here to think in frameworks. This is a theory class, at least in part, and we’re here to gain a little explanatory power for the world around us, after all.”
She wrote in big block letters Frameworks and, underlining it with an authoritative swoosh of arm, turned around to ask for volunteers. Before she could, though, someone piped up from the back of the class.
“But why talk frameworks! You already alluded to the answer!! It’s entirely Donald Trump’s fault!”, a youthful woman’s voice hollered out, a thick note of indignity attached to it. The assured declaration drew a few boos and more than a few cheers. She had a sneaking suspicion it was one of the Reavers.
Thankfully, a flurry of hands shot up in response as well, giving her the chance to control the moment. Strangely, Maddie recognized most of the raised hands. She knew what their responses would be and the direction it’d take the class, so she took the question herself. She was, after all, there to help not just learn, but to set an example, to show them how to have a civil discussion.
“No, no, hold on, that’s a fair question and one which deserves a response. You, in the back, with the bold assertion. Mind providing the class with your name?”
“Slowknife,” she boasted.
Maddie rolled her eyes and planted her arms akimbo. “Is that how your name read on your application?”
“Elizabeth, professor,” the student called out. Maddie was able to pick her out now. Her demeanor softened. If she were a Reaver, she couldn’t have seen much action. She was awfully young.
“You’ve taken political theory, presumably. I believe it was a prerequisite to get into this class. Did they review the Great Man Theory?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Well, then, let’s situate your answer in the theory. I’ll give it a go.” Slow the class down. Maddie put her arms behind her back, grasping one hand in the other. She sauntered in front of the desk, head down as if in prayer.
After another moment, she started. “So, the Great Man Theory is, at its core, that it is singular people –– and of course, mostly men –– whose decisions drive the course of history. So, to Trump. Without his rapid political ascension, or rather . . . let’s say he has a fatal heart attack in late 2014, before he infamously glides down the Trump Tower escalator and into the history books. His death elicits some notice on TwitterX, there’s some fawning tabloids in New York, but that’s it. His biggest political act is stirring up the belief that the president prior to him – Barack Obama – isn’t American. So, instead of the Republican party coalescing around him in the 2016 election, some august-if-milquetoast candidate like Jeb Bush or Marco Rubio wins the primary. Maybe Hillary wins the general election, maybe she doesn’t. But either way, no singular figure emerges to fan the dark flames of divisiveness like Donald, simply because no one was as capable, had the bottomless pit of money, nor basked in the hatred of elites like he did. And without that special alchemy, there’s no rabid fan base. Maybe a candidate comes along later, in subsequent elections, but, more likely, the ten, fifteen percent of the American populace trading in conspiracy theories stays just ten to fifteen percent and doesn't grow to the thirty, thirty-five percent. And instead of the daily assault on the republic’s norms, there’s a middling president who enacts some good policies and some ho-hum policies and the American Republic, rather than rupturing, continues to muddle along.”
She stopped there and, turning, wrote Great Man Theory on the board, under Frameworks. “So, you asked a question about how to ground our study in frameworks. I should think that answer helps elucidate the how and the why. It supports your idea and provides explanatory power to the world as it exists. Now, that said, no theory’s perfect and, well, I should say, there are some serious holes in the Great Man Theory. Anyone care to articulate those . . . and I would remind everyone, be respectful.”
She paused, looking around. Half the students were still scribbling notes, either on their tablet or a notepad. The rest tried to avoid her gaze. Only a few raised their hands, her teaching assistant among them.
“Mike,” she deadpanned. “You’ve already taken this course. I should hope you have a cogent answer, but let’s leave it to the newbies,” she said, jokingly scolding him to break the tension. She’d known him years ago as an eager digital warrior for the New England Free States and, after the armistice was signed, had encouraged him to broaden his education, so she’d helped him enroll in the school.
“Any other takers?”
A few rows up, an older student sheepishly raised her hand. Maddie motioned for her to answer.
“Well, what you said is ahistorical and, as a counterfactual, is impossible to prove.”
“Of course, yeah, you’re right, but, again, let’s ground this in theory. Expand that point, talk to me about this particular theory’s weaknesses.”
“Ok…” the student responded, trailing off as she scrunched her eyebrows. When she started back up, it seemed hesitant, like she was still puzzling out the answer “Umm…well, Trump used social media like TwitterX and Facebook to become really popular really quick.” Pausing, the student suddenly sat up straight, simultaneously brushing a blonde lock from her face. “He couldn’t have done that before the internet, so I’d say that the theory doesn’t take context into account?”
“Exactly. Nothing happens in a vacuum. The Great Man Theory vastly discounts the setting and conditions within which the “great man” was operating. Frankly, I don't hold a lot of truck with it. But, but, this is, of course…”
“But, professor,” a young lady’s voice pleaded from among the cluttered middle of the class. “Every militia that rose up after the election –– almost each and every one of them –– proclaimed their allegiance to Trump. I just don’t see how you can say that Trump wasn’t central to the war.”
“Now, hold on,” she replied, more forcefully than she’d have liked. “That’s not what I’m saying.” She forgot that, despite her students being the cream of the crop from their respective countries, there was a large range of students and aptitudes in here. War veterans or not, some second years were still nothing more than bright eyed, cloistered teenagers. Not many, but a few.
“What I’m saying,” Professor Everton continued, “is that socioeconomic, cultural, and political trends within the United States in the decades prior to mid-2010s shaped the body politic to a point where a gargantuan personality spouting nativist nationalism could hijack one of the two dominant political parties.”
“Take the mainstream media, for instance, a moniker I loathe but, well, it conveys the meaning I’m searching for. Prior to the eighties, news was a pretty dull affair. But a loosening of standards for news reporting along with the rise of 24/7 media –– even before the rise of social media,” she said, pointing to the student who’d mentioned the latter, “created incentives that ran contrary to key principles of a functioning democracy, such as compromise and ‘loyal opposition.’ Political success was, to a degree hitherto unseen, disconnected from successful governance. It started paying handsomely to demonize and delegitimize in as vituperative language as possible your political rivals. And while both sides did this, it was the Right that was far savvier.”
She saw more than a few nods across the class, and decided to tack a reasonable exclamation to the end of her point.
“Remember, we’re not seeking to assign blame here, we’re seeking to understand.”
Silence in response, a sufficient marker for a challenging moment passed, she made her way back to the whiteboard, and finding her pen, asked who could name other frameworks. Hands shot up across the class. A straightforward answer, a quick back-and-forth with one of her sharper students, and another theory on the board. This felt like momentum and in the right direction. Maddie let the tension out of her shoulders as an all-too-typical teaching moment came and went. Maybe, finally, she could get this lesson really going.
Frameworks zoomed by. Resource collapse, state capture, institution capture, schismogenesis (her favorite), and a handful of others. It dovetailed straight into the review of social and political trends from the 1990s right through the financial collapse of 2008 and its aftermath. And her students were on it. Not that she fully let her guard down, nor was the class devoid of challenging moments. She responded swiftly and harshly when a lone student –– of course, a male, always a male –– sent up the Appalachian war cry in response to the West Virginia militia’s repulsion of federal forces at Berkeley Springs. She was equally as quick to reprimand a student from Seattle calling General Ammon Bundy, President of Greater Idaho, “and his ilk” a warlord. And both times, she slowly, deliberately, walked through the lesson’s ground rules. Keep it civil. Be respectful. Have compassion. Still, though, even with these disruptions, the day was proceeding apace. And the Reavers seemed to be behaving, hell even participating.
Of course, these were always the easy parts, and Maddie knew it.
She was letting an ill-informed discussion on federal lobbying run long while she gathered the energy to dive into the final topic. After a moment of girding herself mentally, she interjected with a raise of her hand and an in the interest of time override. They had to move on, and move on to the most divisive time period: the years leading up to 2024. But who knows, maybe her luck would hold.
She paced towards the windows, letting the class sit in silence for a second. Outside, the manicured grounds of the University of Indiana –– now under the moniker of the University of the Americas as part of the armistice agreement –– tugged at her heart. Dry leaves danced in a strong autumn wind. The sun still shone above the low slung ivy-and-brick chemistry building across the quad, though the shadows were lengthening. She may well have been back in the verdant hills of southwest Vermont, a nimble debate playing out amongst her erudite Middlebury students.
But that was another year, another lifetime, and Maddie knew she shouldn’t let her mind wander in that direction. She’d accepted her government’s nomination to teach here and, like every other professor at this institution, each one nominated by their respective government, there were going to be challenging moments when students from countries only recently at war were placed in the same classroom. Her duty, now, was to see through those challenging moments and, with any luck, help train these kids to be the far-seeing leaders their parents never were.
“The run up to the war,” she started in, “roughly the decade before, was neither paradise nor perdition. More than anything, it was a period of immense change and uncertainty. Economically, despite repeated and persistent calls of declinism, the United States continued to stay at the forefront of the technological frontier, income levels for the most part increased, though that varied by race, of course, and consumer tech continued to provide new means of convenience. Alternatively, though, the nation was experiencing dramatic demographic change, declining life expectancy, and the concentration of both wealth and power among a select few.”
“This cauldron of trends was immensely dislocating, especially as the commanding heights of the economy – traditional and new forms of media, finance, big business – seemed to draw people and resources into a handful, maybe a dozen or so major cities, to the detriment of...”
“To the detriment, blah blah blah.”
Taken aback by the interruption, all she could muster was a shocked “Sorry?” in response.
“To the detriment? Here we go! The country was being forcibly taken from the people by liberals in DC, New York and San Francisco, and all you say is ‘to the detriment?’ American liberals were trying to destroy the country and the people!”
Here it was. She’d been hoping against hope that this wouldn’t happen, but, deep down, she knew it would. She’d expected it would.
Hence why she’d prepared.
Calmly, she thought to herself. Respond calmly. “Well, before we go all the way down that road, young man, let’s please remember the ground rules. Good. Thank you. Now, to your point about ‘forcibly taking’ the country from the people, the rate of political violence in the US was strikingly low compared––”
“Bullshit,” the student cut her off. From around the room, she heard whispers, a few gasps, and, to her shock, a few hoo-rahs!
“Excuse me?” Maddie said, shocked.
“You heard me.”
Maddie knew she needed to respond with poise. They’d made it this far. “So, first, you do not speak like that in this class. You do that again, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Sorry, professor, I meant bullshit like that doesn’t matter. Who cares about the rate of violence when one side is illegally taking over the country, taking all the power.”
“Wait, so you think that the uprising after the 2024 election was justified based on rumors, conjecture, and conspiracy that a small circle of elites was taking over the country?”
“Absolutely! What else could we do?” he replied enthusiastically.
Maddie was stunned. “So, then, you really believe waging war against your fellow countrymen and women was your only option?” she asked.
“Absolutely!”
“All the atrocities that occurred afterwards. The Austin Death Marches, the Colorado Springs Massacre, the concentration camps found in the Imperial Valley. You think those were justified?”
“We did what we had to do,” he shot back, drawing gasps. He’d noticed every set of eyes in the room was on him. “Every side did horrendous things in the war,” he stated, doubling down as relaxed as if he were ordering lunch.
Maddie started to respond in agreement before she was cut off by another student, halfway across the class.
“Not the Pacific Union!”
Hear hear! came roaring back from a handful of other students, followed by some enthusiastic fist bumps.
Rather than argue the point, the second of the two men in Texas Republican fatigues slowly rose to drill a menacing glare in the direction of the Pacific Union contingent.
Maddie could feel the tension rising, the ground shifting beneath her feet, so she tried to redirect.
“Hold on, everyone. You, what was your name? Garrett? Garrett, let me ask you a question. You’re from Texas, right?” she started, preparing to lead the young man down from his perch.
“Texas!” he said proudly, beating his chest twice. Behind him, his compatriot shouted “winners of the American War!”
With that, the room erupted. Boos rained down from everywhere. A cacophony of war cries mixed with fuck you’s and screams of anger. Maddie watched as one of the students in the front row turned to shout “murderers!” One of the professors sitting in –– the genetics professor –– gave her a pleading look, shaking his head in disbelief.
Before it could get any further out of hand, she quickly scrambled around the desk and, reaching into the top drawer, pulled out an air horn, pressed it down long and hard, drowning out the epithets, slurs, and accusations being hurled across the room.
It had the desired effect. All eyes turned back to her.
She’d planned for this moment, even rehearsed how to mend the bridges. But...
Winners? That didn’t sit right. Thankfully, unfortunately, she’d heard this before. And she knew this type. Wealthy parents, either in oil and gas or old money, told him the war was justified so they could justify their own actions. He probably hadn’t lost anyone in the war. Probably the only one here. Privilege of being a kid back then, she thought.
And just as quickly scolded herself. He’s still just a kid.
Didn’t mean she wasn’t going to let him have it right here, though.
Winners? This was a teaching moment and she couldn’t let that slide.
“Winners?” she said, casting her gaze slowly around the room. She wanted to lock eyes with each and everyone in there, hold their gaze ‘til they looked down, ashamed at that ugly scene. “Winners? Let me make this wholly, entirely, clear. There were no winners. None. Exactly zero from that six year atrocity.” She let her words drip out one at a time, deliberately, evenly. She wanted to breathe fire.
“The fuck do you know about war?”
“I know this. The average life expectancy in the Confederacy? It’s 59, and that’s probably generous. And good luck taking care of the millions who lost an arm, a leg or two, their eyesight. They’ll get the same exact type of medical care their ancestors did after the First Civil War. That’s not winning. The Texas Republic? I thought you were fighting for your freedom, so how come every book needs approval from the Department of Media? Maybe that’s because no other country suffered higher casualties fighting itself. 'Empty cities with full graveyards', wasn’t that the late Fernando Flores’ post-independence description?”
Sweeping her gaze across the class, Maddie made sure every student could hear her. “And we in the Free States like to talk like we’re better, but where was New England when New York City was invaded by federal troops? How many New Yorkers were slaughtered in the siege? Half a million? More? And New England troops just stood idle along the Hudson, like they weren’t our countrymen a short five years before that. Irony of ironies, given the Free States largest export is medical products. And whoever that was with the clear conscience amongst our Pacific Union classmates, it appears that you haven’t been following the reporting done by The Oregonian over the past two years, about the measures used to put down militias around the Willamette Valley and surrounding mountains. Seems that Oregon’s governor thinks the word ‘combatant’ applies to the children of militias, as well. Children. Or did you not see that?”
She knew this was harsh, over-the-top, but, well, if it got through to them.
“And no one wants to talk about climate change anymore, huh? And you want to talk winners. The American War effectively damned all of you –– all of humanity –– to the ravages of climate change. There's...”
She paused, gathered herself. Inside, she wanted to shriek, bellow, scream. She wanted to unleash Greek fire from her depths.
But she didn’t. This topic was too grave and these kids were too ill informed. They needed to hear this.
The class, silent, watched, waiting. She gave the class a long, stern look, if only to have a moment to compose herself. “In 2018, hell in every year in the century until 2023, the United States exported more food than any other country in the world. Just three years later, in 2026, eight and a half million Americans starved to death. And you want to talk winners.”
She shook her head. She’d seen any number of scenarios happening here, but hadn’t envisioned the one where she ripped into an entire generation. Hadn’t envisioned she’d be the one to ride roughshod over her caveats and ground rules.
“Winners? No, we’re not doing this. What we’re going through today is how your generation dies younger, lives poorer, gets sick more often, and has the worst quality of life of any generation of Americans in the modern era because your elders thought that compromise was a dirty word, because your parents forgot that we were all Americans.”
Somewhere in the world outside the classroom, Professor Maddie Everton thought she heard a pin drop. Good. They’re still with me.
Taking a deep breath, she gathered her energy, readying herself to get the lesson back on track when she heard a sharp gasp. The next instant, a distressed “oh my god” from another part of the room.
Looking up, she saw a handful of students hunched over their phones, another squinting at his watch. Every class. Every. Single. Class. No matter how many times you said it, at least one student always kept their phone on.
She was about to lay into them when the monitor behind her started flashing rapidly. She turned quickly to see a message, in bright yellow, all caps, pulsing on the screen.
ALL STUDENTS ARE BEING ASKED TO PROMPTLY RETURN TO THEIR RESIDENCE AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION
Wheeling back towards the class, she watched as row after row of students hurried through handbags, backpacks, scattered personal effects, searching for their phones. Those who had them in hand were staring, mouths agape, mesmerized by the news popping up on their screens.
Maddie rushed behind her desk, wrenched open the drawer, frantically searching for hers amongst the professorial clutter.
A second later, phone in hand, she switched it on and looked back up –– vivid, raw emotions painted on students’ faces like feral animals –– then looked back down. C’mon c’mon c’mon, Maddie thought to herself, willing her phone to start up faster.
William van der Veen has spent over a decade working in international development and lives in Baltimore, Maryland. Conversations with Will that steer towards sociopolitical trends, governance, or public infrastructure often go longer than anticipated — in other words, buckle up!
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The Hart & The Cur
There. Finally!
They poured in. At first one, then every news outlet, like a deluge. Her breath caught in her throat as she scrolled through one notification after another, struggling to grasp what she was seeing, praying she wasn’t reading what she was reading.
New York Times:
U.S. troops invade southern Ohio, shattering Omaha Armistice
Wall Street Journal:
Washington D.C. declares war on Great Lakes Federated Republic, with wider implications for tentative truce between former American states
Fox News Alert:
Omaha Armistice broken! U.S. troops invade Great Lakes Federation!
Lost in the moment, Professor Maddie Everton let the phone slip from her hand. It fell on the desk with a sharp bang. In front of her, the class was turning quickly towards chaos. Students hastily gathering belongings, a few not even bothering to stuff them in their bags before making for the exit. An argument was breaking out between the Reavers and the Texans, which her teaching assistant was struggling to defuse.
Reaching for her phone, hoping to see further guidance from the university administration, she caught sight of her lesson plan.
Her lesson plan. Obsessively thought through, meticulously crafted, and already outdated.
Picking it up, she started to laugh as she reread the words she’d underlined –– twice –– at the top of the page.
So much for caveats. So much for ground rules.
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