3–4 minutes
Rules for a Perfect Island
The first year on Haven’s Reach flew by in a haze of construction and cooperation. Houses multiplied along the beaches. Farmers coaxed green shoots from the dark volcanic soil. Randall Crane’s speeches echoed over bamboo loudspeakers in every settlement. His message was always the same: “We are building something the world will envy.”
At first, people agreed. The council meetings were spirited yet polite, with neighbors sharing ideas and coconuts. But as the population grew, so did friction. Disputes over fishing rights, building permits, and clean water began to flare up. Crane’s solution was to create The Harmonies — a set of “guiding rules” posted on hand-painted boards throughout the island.
The Harmonies looked harmless enough:
- Respect your neighbor.
- Keep your area clean.
- No outside media without approval.
- Dress in community-appropriate attire for public events.
Most residents shrugged off the changes. After all, they had voted for Crane. But a few quietly asked why a paradise needed rules about newspapers or clothing colors. Crane’s answer was reassuring, almost fatherly:
“Order now means freedom later.”
Meanwhile, Crane’s temporary overseers quietly expanded. What began as a handful of volunteers became a uniformed Steward Force, assigned to “help” with compliance and “resolve” disputes. They wore sky-blue jackets and smiled often, but their presence changed the feel of the markets and beaches.
By the time the first festival arrived, everyone had noticed the difference. The music still played. Torches still flickered under the palms. Yet, eyes darted toward the Stewards. People were checking for disapproval. Without realizing it, Haven’s Reach was slowly stepping from a dream into something else.
There was another problem. Almost all those who relocated there had signed a contract. They were committing to ten years of service on the island. If they left for any reason, they would lose all their investments. This included property, banking accounts, and any holdings invested in the government. The contract included that if illness required them to leave the island. Yes, the contract was unforgiving, even for the survivors of the dead.
By the second year, Haven’s Reach felt less like a community project and more like a company town. The Harmonies had been revised into a formal code. It was called The Charter of Unity. It is now distributed in little booklets stamped with Randall Crane’s signature and the island’s crest. Most people tucked them into pockets like good-luck charms. Yet, a few began to notice how many pages dealt with “acceptable behavior.”
Crane’s speeches became less about freedom and more about “protecting our way of life.” The Steward Force expanded again, adding patrols to docks and market squares. At first, they were only “checking in.” Then, they began quietly recording names. They noted those who grumbled too loudly about water rations, building zones, or the newly instituted curfew bells.
A subtle yet unmistakable social pressure began to creep in. Neighbors hesitated before speaking. Vendors checked who was listening before discussing shortages. And at community gatherings, some citizens arrived wearing the “approved” island-blue shirts. Those who didn’t wear them were ushered to the back.
It wasn’t only about rules. The island’s media center, once a hub of news and music from around the world, now played only “local” content. The official explanation was that outside broadcasts were “unverified” and “destabilizing.” At first, few noticed. One morning, a popular journalist was no longer at the market. The rumor was they had “relocated to another settlement.” No one really knew.
Yet, on the surface, Haven’s Reach still looked idyllic. Palm trees swayed. Children played along the beaches. Gardens bloomed under the volcano’s shadow. The illusion held — but for how long?
By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2025
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