Through some random series of events on Wikipedia (isn’t that always the way?), I read a short article
on ‘Drop City,’ a 60’s-70’s commune of artists and drug users, which was located on a 7-acre tract of land in Colorado dotted with geodesic domes. Apparently one participant has recently published memoirs from his experiences there. I found online an excerpt of the first chapter of the book, which describes his state of mind shortly before meeting the city’s founders, talking with them about utopia, and leaving for Colorado. I enjoyed his interaction with them — a dialogue that takes place after several rounds of pot:
***
When our stomachs were warmed by the feast and our minds by the marijuana, Curly let out a loud belch.
“Don’t be gross,” Jo said.
He acted shocked. “Oh, excuse me, I forgot I was back in America. In really civilized places a good belch lets your hostess know you appreciated dinner.”
Frinki bared her teeth. “Thank you.”
“That just demonstrates my point.”
“Which point?” Kugo asked.
“This society likes to pretend it’s the apex of civilization, right? They’re so civilized they get grossed out if you belch. And at the same time, everybody acts like a mad dog.”
“Not everybody,” Jo put in.
“Okay, not everybody, at least not all the time. But on the whole this society is based on the principle of the dog fight.”
“We’ve all got the dog in us,” I said. “It’s human nature.”
“Right. You can’t change human nature. But we’re not just dogs. That’s only the lowest side of our nature. We’ve got better stuff in us too. The question is: how much is this society bringing out the dog in people? Is this a plague that has got everybody diseased? Can it be cured? Is it just that the people on top act like mad dogs, so everybody else has to as well? Does that gear this whole society to bringing out the dog in people, so if you don’t act like one, you get pushed to the bottom of the heap, which brings out the dog in you anyway, and you start biting and clawing your way up?”
“Dogs don’t have claws.” Jo corrected.
Curly ignored her. “Or is the dog so ingrained in us that people will always turn the world into a dog fight?”
“I don’t know. What’s your answer?” I said.
He shrugged. “I don’t know either. At least not yet.”
Kugo growled and lit another joint. “All I want is a full belly and some good reefer.”
“Because you’re a highly advanced soul. Not everybody is at your level yet. And won’t be if the people who run this society have their way. They see people like you as a threat.”
“To what?”
“This is the richest country in the world, there’d be plenty for everybody, if only they’d share it. But this society falsifies scarcity to get people like us to clean the toilets of the world for a few dimes. In order to perpetuate the dog fight. It glorifies the dog fight into a universal truth. It claims the best of all things come out of the dog fight. The dog fight is its pride and joy.”
“So what’s the alternative? Nobody’s going to go for socialism in America.” Kugo cut him short.
“I’m not talking about the government running everything. I’m talking about Drop City. That’s the great experiment of Drop City: Is there an alternative? Given decent circumstances, will people act decently? On their own, not if they’re forced to. That’s what we’re trying to do at Drop City. Start all over again from scratch. Everything fair and everybody equal. No rules or expectations. The only thing we have to agree about is that nobody has the right to exploit anybody else. Work when you want to; relax when you want to; find your own balance. Then we let Drop City grow, give it room to take its own shape, like a big extended family, like a living organism.”
Kugo laughed. “And you’re king, right?”
“In a place where everybody can take a good belch, everybody’s king.”
***
The “a belch shows respect in some countries” argument is old-school; I can appreciate that. My mother never seemed to buy it, though.
Drop City’s founders had an intriguing idea in letting their lifestyle spread organically. Test any idea politically, and there’s no way to calculate or register how well it holds up to reality; let an idea run its course with humans free to think and act, and one can tell just how valuable it was in the first place. In the end, of course, ‘Drop City’ suffered from filth, disease outbreaks, and high tensions between occupants. The women ended up doing most of the (thankless) work to keep the community running while it did. When land was eventually sold to a local rancher, the hippies moved on to other things.
