Landsgemeinde for Loudoun

By Charles Houston

(Disclaimer: Characters mentioned here are fictional and do not reference any real person.)

Appenzell is Switzerland’s most rural and traditional canton. Its best tradition is the annual parade of dairy cows up to Alpine pastures in the spring and back down in the fall. Its second-most appealing tradition is pure democracy, which they call Landsgemeinde:

On the last Sunday in April, Apenzellers cram into the square of the eponymously-named town and vote on issues. The Regierungsratsprasident (the cantonal executive) presents government matters such as the budget and the citizenry can accept any proposal, reject it or modify it.

Citizens can also make proposals of their own, which also may be accepted, rejected or modified.

Dreaming

On the last Sunday of April, just weeks ago, I dreamt that Loudoun followed Landsgemeinde and its citizens decided the paths they wished the county to follow. In this form of self-government all power resided with the people. A novel and glorious thought!

The Setting

All the buildings between Market and Loudoun Streets had vanished, leaving a cobblestoned stadtplatz (town square) which was filled with Loudouners, shoulder-to-shoulder. Eight councilors and Herr Andl, the Regierungsratsprasident, stood behind a dais. I was at a lectern to the side.

A Task for Me

The Regierungsratsprasident was a tall man with a shock of gray hair, berobed in a black cloak. In this populist society honorifics were ignored, and he was simply called “Herr Andl.” He turned to me and said, “Herr Houston, please conduct this meeting as zeremonienmeister?” I thus became the master of ceremonies. 

A bell tolled and I commenced matters by calling on Herr Andl.

The Regierungsratsprasident

“Good day, citizens,” he began. “I hope you read the annual budget. We mailed it to every address and posted it on our website. Briefly, we propose a budget of 4.2 billion CHF. (Swiss francs, about $4.6 billion US.) About a quarter of this is for the school system.”

“Nein! Nein!” the citizens protested.

“Whatever,” Andl said awkwardly. He recovered and turned back to his script. “A mandated amount is for interest on cantonal debt, about 700 million CHF. That leaves a general fund and school system budget of 3.5 billion CHF.”

Appenzellers hissed loudly, “Nein! Nein!”

Andl seemed preternaturally calm. He turned to me and nodded.

The First Vote

“I call the vote on the proposed budget,” I said with a stentorian voice. “Do you approve it?”

The crowd roared, “Nein!” 

There were a few Ja’s but the verdict was clear. I looked back at Herr Andl, who shrugged.

I shifted back to my normal way of speaking and told the crowd, “You citizens now must decide on the amount of the total budget. May I hear suggestions?”

The People’s Turn

Some hotheads shouted. Most volks merely watched. Then some sagacious people offered more reasonable positions. Details were debated back and forth for almost three hours, but finally we had an accord: Cut the school’s budget by 25 percent and the general fund amount by 20 percent.

“May I speak to the assembly?” Andl asked.

“Ja,” I replied.

“That budget is your prerogative. It will mean major cuts in cantonal services but we will reduce spending by that amount for the fiscal year. In our next Landsgemeinde in 2024, we will see what will have happened.”

Bagged

Andl continued, “Last year your sentiment was that there be no new taxes, and we complied. Now, though, there is one small fee we would like to propose: .05 CHF (about a nickel.) per plastic bag that you use. That will help reduce the amount of plastic in the oce …”

Andl couldn’t finish that word before shouts of “Nein! Nein! Nein” sealed the fate of that idea. He looked surprised.

“Herr Andl,” I said. “That tax would be regressive – hurting the poor the most.”

“Oh.”

Others Address the Assembly

I called on others who called themselves “Stakeholders.” Perhaps that was the name of their cabal. 

First was the King of Conservation. He opined that his conservation easements were more important than protecting good agricultural soils. The people were having none of it, driving him from the stage with cries of “Schwein, schwein!”  

Next was the Queen of Tourists. Her plea for funds to promote more tourism rang hollow. She, too, was shouted from the stage. 

A data center doyen fared a bit better. Her presentation – more data centers, more “flexibility,” was simply ignored.

The developer’s mouthpiece was next, speaking with the speed of a machinegun. Sensing the mood of the crowd, she proposed a one-year hiatus in implementing the Landsgemeinde’s decisions. That met with angry shouts and some profanity.

A brewery baron was next. He tried humor: “We Swiss like our bier. (beer) We like our breweries, don’t we?” The people were silent, sullen. “Uh, what do you want?” After a burst of jeers, someone said, “Have new breweries require special exceptions from the Council because of the traffic they cause. They should not be allowed on a by-right basis.” The assemblage applauded.

The Chamber charlatan was last. “Without more businesses Loudoun will wither.”

The people were having none of it. They were tired of self-serving supplicants and started to leave. The Landsgemeinde was ending.

Our Alps

I looked westward over the stadtplatz and saw the Blue Ridge, snow-capped and somehow grown to 8,000 feet or higher. Then I blinked and woke. The Blue Ridge were once again our soft, low, forested hills. That was just fine.

Charles Houston developed six million square feet of office buildings. He lives in Paeonian Springs. A bit of Swiss blood courses through his veins.