The day started too early. Ana emerged from her small apartment to greet the streets of her new home, where she’d recently started college – a country that was technically a democracy. She questioned that reality more and more every week. The country’s erratic leader seemed to issue new absurdities daily. The message was clear: politics here was not business as usual.
As she stepped off her bike to get breakfast from her favorite bakery, she walked into the shop and saw the news. Another heat wave had hit the west, and elderly people were dying in record numbers. Human-induced climate change or not, Ana knew one thing: trees made clouds, and clouds cooled the earth. Reckless deforestation across neighboring countries made no sense to her. If the sausage in her breakfast muffin was implicated in that destruction, how would she know?
She considered her meal for a moment. Policies controlling deforestation-related imports and exports – good or bad – were made by voters in other “democracies,” overseas. How could she possibly do anything about it?
As the thought crossed her mind, Ana froze. She pulled out her wallet and looked at her two credit cards. One old, one new.
She began to remember the story. This new credit card was somehow a solution. By applying for it, she had become a “global citizen” of sorts. Each time she made a purchase, the issuing bank donated a small part of the transaction fee to a global fund that worked to protect forests and other shared resources of the “global commons.” But there was something else: she was given a vote, whatever that meant.
As Ana finished her breakfast, locked up her bike, and descended into the metro, she pulled out her phone and visited the website again. There it was: another global referendum was coming up, this time about weapons in space. She could cast a vote herself or delegate it to others.
Ana paused. “Who am I to make decisions about outer space?” she thought. Another topic: should the new models of Artificial Intelligence be allowed to propagate autonomously, or should they face additional safety standards? She actually cared about AI, and had studied it after she and others were deceived by the deepfake video that had sparked riots in her aunt’s village. Fortunately, only one person had died.
Climate change. Outer space. AI governance. All those issues had dominated the headlines of her Current Affairs class just last year.
She thought the geopolitical shift of the past few years seemed slow, but unmistakable. As nation-states competed to dominate the economy, OpenAI had launched the first virtual constitutional convention. It caught on. Ana’s dad and brother had even taken part. Hundreds of millions of people gathered online, interacting with the latest Global Consensus-branded AI chatbot. Where nation-states had stalled on issues like AI governance, grassroots citizens and international NGOs banded together with big tech companies to debate solutions to global issues ranging from AI safety and ocean pollution to stopping corruption, pandemic prevention and refugee resettlement. At points, people were able to vote in the system.
Ana’s father was initially alarmed by the effort, terrified by the idea of global government. His fears disappeared, however, when his son explained that the whole thing was only focused on international issues. “Dad, it’s not about global government! It’s about how to manage the global commons, responsibly, instead of every man for himself. It is only about the shared global stuff. Local things get decided by locals.”
The process ultimately produced a Global Commons Charter – a new set of global principles and procedures that some companies quickly adopted and actively promoted, to the surprise of many. Ana’s art teacher had even created a painting of children circling the Earth, with their words flowing upward toward the North Pole. It was meant to symbolize the spirit of the Global Commons Charter. Children understood it intuitively, but adults were learning too.
Apple and Mastercard were among the first big companies to sign on. After legal battles across multiple countries, with divergent outcomes, they cited the Global Commons Charter as a legitimate reference for their global-level jurisprudence and privacy policy development. Both companies simultaneously rolled out flashy new programs: cash-back deals tied to “global commons” credit cards and Apple Pay memberships that funded the global commons through tiny shares of transaction fees.
The news went viral. Taylor Swift, MrBeast, and other influencers promoted it. Millions signed up on the first day.
As Ana clicked through the website, her phone buzzed with a new text. Her old bank was trying to win her back – this time offering its own “global commons” card, with messaging about baby seals and biodiversity protection. Somehow, protecting nature had become consumer-friendly again.
Just a few years ago, Ana’s friends had organized campus walkouts to protest climate inaction. Now, those same students were becoming champions of the global commons and the Global Commons Charter. Her sister’s friend Barbara had even secured a cushy job at the New York Times to cover the negotiations between governments and the growing global commons movement.
The balance of power had started to shift. Once the central player in international trade among nations, the World Trade Organization now negotiated not just with countries, but also with transnational groups of citizens who could sway entire markets. A unipolar world, dominated by the economic interests of a few nations, had transitioned painlessly to one that prioritized the needs of all, including the global commons.
Ana arrived at her stop and climbed the stairs to the street. A taxi blared its horn as a procession of indigenous leaders passed, heading toward the capitol for a ceremony honoring the new parliamentary session. The Global Commons Charter had emphasized the legitimacy of indigenous people in global decision-making, given their legacies as stewards of nature and sustainability throughout history.
Ana smiled. The fears she had carried in her youth – fears of a world sliding toward extinction – were gone. Thoughts of the future no longer filled her with dread. In fact, they now inspired her.
A new political system was opening to her and her generation – a system they could help shape. Maybe, they could finally govern their way out of the crises of the 21st century.
After all, even MrBeast and Taylor Swift thought they could.