For the Love of the World

Three world citizens were sitting in the sunny Cafe de Flore, the shrine of Left Bank Bohemia, feeling quite sorry for themselves. After the pleasant splash that First World Citizen Garry Davis had made last winter (TIME, Jan. 10), the world seemed to have lost interest in the movement that was designed to unite it in peace.

On to Glory. The three Davis followers were Anders Clarin, 37, a Swede who had spent the better part of his life in the import-export business until one day he got sick of filling out government forms and went to Paris (i.e., the Flore); Cameron Ewan, 19, who left Christ Church College, Oxford at 16 and put in time as a Liberal Party worker before getting into the world citizenship game; and Ruth Allanbrook, 23, the pretty daughter of a Boston business executive, who was studying art in Paris. The trio had hoped to find excitement in world citizenship; instead, they were wasting their young lives addressing envelopes. They agreed that a dramatic gesture was required to break the world's shocking indifference. A wonderful idea was born.

Clarin went to Belgium and took a plane to London. When he got there, Clarin told the British immigration official that he had torn up his passport over the Channel, and that this formally made him a citizen of the world. "I see what you mean," said the Briton, "but it won't do."

Clarin was forced to take the plane back to Brussels. There, according to the plan, the authorities were supposed to send him back to London, and London back again to Brussels, so that he would dramatically shuttle back & forth until the world got the point (whatever the point was). But the Belgians did not stick to the scenario and put Clarin in the red brick prison known in Brussels as the Little Castle. For two weeks, the world citizen stayed in a cell together with two dozen common drunks.

Back to the Envelopes. At length, Fellow Citizens Cameron and Allanbrook rode to the rescue, decided to picket the prison. But in Belgium picketing is illegal in certain out-of-bounds areas, and the Little Castle was out of bounds, all right. The rescuers, however, found that the law said nothing against demonstrations on canals. Next day, in a rubber dinghy, Ewan set out on the Canal de Charleroi, right next to the prison. Through a megaphone of rolled newspapers, he shouted that Clarin should be freed.

Ewan stayed on the canal that night, the next day and the next night. He was. wrapped in blankets and rubber sheeting. His voice turned hoarse.The police grinned but did not interfere. Crowds grew bigger & bigger. Ruth stayed on the dock, guarding a supply of apples and cigarettes, and watching Ewan's fitful slumbers.

On the third morning, the authorities released Clarin with orders to get out of the country forthwith. Said Ewan as he staggered ashore with a wretched cold: "All feeling has left my legs." Hoarsely he told the crowd: "I return to England to await further orders. You will hear more of us. The world government must go on."

Clarin and Ruth took the first train to Paris. The French authorities discovered that the perpetrator of the great gesture had not really torn up his Swedish passport; he had carefully hidden it in the lining of his suitcase. To achieve the passportless life, other ideas would have to be born at the Flore. Meanwhile, a lot of envelopes were waiting.

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