After designing and crafting democracies for more than 4,000 years, Ekklesion, the world’s preeminent manufacturer of citizen rule, is set to retire next month, pointing to a surge of cheaply produced authoritarian-style governance models flooding the global market and a noticeable decline in public interest for quality governance as reasons for closing his business.
Ekklesion started his workshop over forty centuries ago in a small village outside Athens. “I always liked working with my hands,” he explained from his cluttered studio. Glancing around, he nodded at the many citizens’ rights he had hand-forged from locally mined steel ore. “Those were a first back then—the right to freedom of speech, seeking justice in court. People were captivated by democratic devices. Voting mechanisms were handcrafted innovations, not just something you could do from your phone for a dance contest like today.”
Ekklesion’s eyes roamed over a shelf crammed full of half-carved bicameral legislatures, unfinished constitutional isometric drawings, and design schematics for FOIA requests, all now collecting dust.
“When I was young, I would build miniature assemblies out of clay and let the other kids argue over imaginary policies. Eventually, I realized I could design real systems for people to govern themselves—beautiful, functional, built to last.”
His first full-scale democracy, a modest Athenian model in the 5th century BCE, was hand-carved from principles of direct participation and balanced representation. “It was a simpler time,” he recalls. “People valued craftsmanship and attention to detail. I had customers who truly cared about collective decision-making back then.”
Iceland, the world’s oldest continuously functioning democracy, remains one of his proudest commissions. “The Norse ordered it in, oh, about 930 CE, I think, and it’s still going strong more than a thousand years later. Proof that good craftsmanship endures—one of my flagship models, really. I’ll probably never get asked to build another one like that again,” he said, wiping away tears at how few contemporaneous societies seemed to share his passion for functional democracy.
But after Athens fell and the classical age waned, so did interest in his meticulously designed systems, as the chaotic power struggles and feudal hierarchies of the time left little room for refined governance models.
The Dark Ages
“The Dark Ages were not easy to get through,” Ekklesion recalled, shaking his head. “I had to take whatever work I could get—mostly mass-producing absolute monarchies for desperate clients across Europe. I still can’t believe I let them convince me to include the whole ‘divine right’ feature. Regret that one.”
Still, even during those difficult centuries, he found ways to introduce incremental improvements where he could. The Magna Carta, he explained, was an early attempt to slip basic rule-of-law principles into the market. “It wasn’t perfect,” he admitted, “but you have to work within the demands of the customer. Governance was still an emerging craft back then—most rulers weren’t interested in testing limits or sharing authority. They preferred systems that reinforced their own power rather than improving for everyone.”
By the late 17th century, Ekklesion faced a more complex commission. England’s Parliament, wary of the flashy, centralized models gaining traction in France, wanted a sturdier governance upgrade with better long-term stability. This time, Ekklesion refused to deliver without substantial structural improvements.
“I told them plainly: If you want my services, you’re getting an English Bill of Rights,” he said, tapping a worn parchment blueprint on his workbench. Negotiations grew heated, with Parliament split between skeptics clinging to royal privilege and reformers demanding stronger safeguards.
“Half of them thought limiting royal power was dangerous—buncha bastards. The other half thought I wasn’t going far enough, which, frankly, had some merit. What was the king’s name then? Jimmy, maybe? Anyway, whatever he thought didn’t matter—he’d already packed his bags and fled for the hills.”
Despite the challenges, Ekklesion completed the Bill of Rights, laying the foundation for modern constitutional monarchy. “It wasn’t my most elegant design, but it held up better than most of the monarchies I was turning out back then. At least they got good enough to start drafting their own blueprints.”
Ekklesion’s craftsmanship also reached the New World, where George Washington and his peers commissioned a special, custom-built model emphasizing checks and balances, complete with a hand-engraved Bill of Rights. “They wanted something solid,” he said. “And they weren’t afraid to pay for quality.”
The Golden Age of Democracy
By the mid-20th century, Ekklesion experienced what he now calls the golden age of his craft, a rare period when global demand for quality democracies surged.
“After World War II, people finally seemed to understand what I was offering,” he said, reminiscing as he ran his hands along a neatly rolled blueprint labeled West Germany, 1949. “The world had seen what happens when you cut corners. That lad Adolf nearly put me out of business. Nothing like a global catastrophe to remind people why craftsmanship matters.”
With the devastation of fascism still fresh, there was renewed demand for durable, well-balanced governance systems. “Suddenly, nations wanted premium builds—accountability clauses, checks on executive power, even universal suffrage. Germany, Japan, India—all custom commissions with extra human rights features built right in.”
The post-war boom wasn’t just about reconstruction, Ekklesion explained. Former colonies emerging from imperial rule sought “full-featured democratic models” to replace the outdated governance systems left behind. “A lot of clients came in saying, ‘We’re starting fresh—what do you recommend?’ So I’d show them options with reinforced balance-of-power mechanisms, judicial independence—everything you’d need for a long-lasting self-governing state. There was even a waiting list for a while,” he added with a nostalgic sigh.
There was pride in owning a well-made democracy back then. People didn’t just want something functional; they wanted models that reflected their values. Some clients even returned for upgrades as they matured—like South Korea. “Started with a basic model, had a bit of authoritarian wear-and-tear early on, but eventually upgraded to a much sturdier design. That was craftsmanship.”
But even during this peak, the warning signs were there. Some clients, he noted, were still asking for “half-democracies”—aesthetic republics with polished exteriors but shoddy structural integrity.
“You could always tell when a country wasn’t serious about maintenance. If you don’t hold regular elections or let the press do its job, the whole system starts to warp. I used to offer lifetime service plans—press recalibrations, term limit inspections, the occasional leadership reset. But now? They just void the warranty by tampering with the accountability features.”
Tough Markets and Impossible Clients
Despite his reputation as the world’s foremost democracy craftsman, Ekklesion admits there were always regions where business never quite took off.
“Some markets just don’t want the full package,” he said, exhaling deeply. “I’d show up with my best self-governance templates—free press, independent judiciary, all the essentials—and they’d say, ‘Sure, sure, but can you leave out the whole accountability thing? Maybe swap the checks and balances setting for a nice, solid personality cult mod?’”
East and Southeast Asia, he said, have long been some of the hardest markets to crack.
“Thailand? They keep voiding their manufacturer’s warranty. I’ll install a fully functional system, and next thing you know, the military and monarchy override the safeguards and declare themselves the default settings. You can’t expect the thing to run properly when you keep tampering with the core programming. And they’re constantly short-circuiting themselves. Now, I hear they’re experimenting with a hereditary firmware update? Shame, really.”
“Burma? Every time I do a delivery and install, the generals rip it out and drag their old units back up from the basement. Laos and Cambodia? They keep ordering those one-party starter kits from a competitor. And Vietnam? They’re still clinging to the single-party plan they picked up in the ‘70s like it’s a collector’s item.”
And then there’s China.
“Ah, China,” Ekklesion said, rubbing his temples. “They called me in once—ages ago, back when Confucius was still on the advisory team. Seemed promising! But then they decided they could manufacture their own model. Called it ‘People’s Democracy’—completely stripped-down, zero accountability, mass surveillance standard. Worse, they’ve been mass-exporting it ever since. Cheap knockoffs, minimal rights, lots of bells and whistles for show but structurally unstable under stress. Absolute nightmare for my brand.”
Parts of Africa, too, proved challenging, though Ekklesion insisted he tried his best. “I had high hopes for Zimbabwe at one point—gave them a solid foundation, constitutional guarantees, the works. Next thing I know, the whole structure’s being held together with ethnic division and election rigging.”
When asked if he’d ever refused a job outright, Ekklesion nodded gravely.
“I turned down North Korea’s request for a ‘Supreme Leader Edition’ years ago. It was just… too custom, even for me. I don’t know where they got their current build. It’s—I can’t even talk about it.”
He shook his head. “Look, I’m a craftsman, not a miracle worker. You can’t sell a democracy to someone who just wants the facade without the wiring.”
Decline and Retirement
Ekklesion’s handcrafted democracies once set the global standard, inspiring commissions from city-states, republics, and modern nations seeking elegant, durable systems of citizen governance. But the market, he says, has shifted.
“People don’t want quality anymore,” he sighed. “These days, it’s all mass-produced autocracies—cheap, pre-assembled kits stamped out in bulk. Customers see them as plug-and-play. No craftsmanship, no structural testing—just fast, easy installations with minimal oversight.”
The craftsman cited the rise of “one-man rule kits” and pre-assembled “strongman packages” as major factors in his decision to retire. “I tried issuing a recall after the Mussolini fiasco—turns out some customers like the faulty ‘strongman’ build. I keep telling them: If you skip the safety mechanisms, the whole thing crashes sooner or later.”
Even his long-term clients are drifting away from his services. “Poland canceled its maintenance plan. Hungary stopped ordering structural integrity inspections altogether. And don’t get me started on the UK—trying to patch over everything with ceremonial duct tape. It’s embarrassing, really.”
Despite his frustrations, Ekklesion insists he remains proud of his life’s work. “I gave it my all. Every democracy I built was designed for resilience, adaptability, and citizen empowerment. But you can’t force people to appreciate quality craftsmanship.”
At press time, Ekklesion was drifting back to check in on the United States of America for the first time in more than a decade. After seeing what the users had done to one of his most-prized creations, he was last seen loading a revolver with a single bullet.
