A fuzzy image pops up on the screen, showing Neil Cooperson scratching the thin auburn hair on his head and muttering about his dromedary.
"Uh, so if I'm reading this right, the aims of the populist reform party are, among other things, promoting mercantilism and xenophobia, not to mention intense militarization and nationalization of a neutral system? I'm sure that the denizens of Pennsylvania who don't want you around will enjoy that. You intend to limit opportunities for Liberty businesses to exploit foreign interests? Didn't the ancient United States of America, which your proud House is allegedly based on, learn quite painfully what happens when you resort to a system which shuts out foreign interests?"
He shakes his head woefully. This kind of agenda does not bode well for any forward-thinking nation.
"If I may point out, taking actions to reject foreigners while simultaneously expanding your actual territory seems like a good way to lose the respect of your neighbors. That is, of course, forgetting that in your attempt to become self-sufficient, you'll bankrupt yourselves when you find that your own people have lost the business that immigrants and foreign miners brought. This coupled with a 200 percent increase in naval forces, when I have no doubt that you're treading water to begin with, and the nationalization of LPI, seems like a good way to cause either tax hikes or destitution. You know what will happen then?"
Neil grins at the irony, then clears his throat to continue.
"What happens then, when Liberty is destitute because of some vain attempt to become self-sufficient, when foreign businesses decide that they are not wanted, and Liberty becomes a withered husk, who will you turn to? You will borrow from the foreign devils whom you, in your arrogance, decry. You will become so dependent on foreign aid in your quest to be self-sufficient that you will see fractures, perhaps even becoming a nation akin to the Maltese and Cretans."
Neil shuffles through some papers on his desk, poking around for something off-screen. He finds a credit card, and waves it on screen.
"Your goals are admirable. However, your methods are borne of xenophobia and are doomed to failure. I know that your heart is in the right place, and you want only the best for your house, but it is my firm belief as a human being, of all Houses and of none, that you're going about it wrong. If you can find a way to provide incentive for MORE commerce both foreign and domestic, all of which can be taxed, for MORE free flow of information -which is the only safeguard against tyranny- and for better conditions on all planets in Liberty, then I will donate five million credits to your cause in the hope that my fellow humans may live better."
"Now, I know that five million isn't much to you all, perhaps, but it is a hefty sum for a freighter pilot like me. I do hope that you will make efforts to give people a carrot, to make them want to trade, as opposed to beating them with a stick. Good luck, Neil Cooperson out."
The screen winks out with a little jingle, and Neil leans back in his chair.
"Things will not calm down, Daniel Jackson. They will, in fact, calm up."
