Everyone in favor, say yargh!
Some of the world's earliest democracies flourished aboard pirate ships
AS A CHILD, Peter Leeson was pirate-obsessed. He cherished the ruby-eyed skull ring he got at Disney World, after riding Pirates of the Caribbean. He took up a collection of coconut pirate heads. He lapped up the pirate themes in "Goonies." And when he grew up to be an economics professor, and started studying pirate society, he found a new excuse for admiration. Pirates, it turns out, were pioneers of democracy.
Presidential candidates, take note: Long before they made their way into the workings of modern government, the democratic tenets we hold so dear were used to great effect on pirate ships. Checks and balances. Social insurance. Freedom of expression. So Leeson, an economics professor at George Mason University, will argue in his upcoming book, "The Invisible Hook: The Hidden Economics of Pirates."
Yes, those stereotypically lawless rum-chuggers turned out to be ardent democrats. And in their strange enlightenment, Leeson sees the answer to a riddle about human nature, worthy of "Lord of the Flies" or an early episode of "Lost." In the absence of government and law enforcement, what becomes of a band of men with a noted criminal streak? Do they descend into violence and chaos?
The pirates who roamed the seas in the late 17th and early 18th centuries developed a floating civilization that, in terms of political philosophy, was well ahead of its time. The notion of checks and balances, in which each branch of government limits the other's power, emerged in England in the Glorious Revolution of 1688. But by the 1670s, and likely before, pirates were developing democratic charters, establishing balance of power on their ships, and developing a nascent form of worker's compensation: A lost limb entitled one to payment from the booty, more or less depending on whether it was a right arm, a left arm, or a leg.
The idea of enlightened piracy is strange swill to swallow for those steeped in a pop culture version of the pirate - chaos on the high seas, drinking and pillaging, damsels forced onto the plank. Sure, there's something about the independence of piracy that still speaks to people today. (Even the founders of International Talk Like a Pirate Day acknowledge that there is, in people who love to say "Aargh," a yearning for a certain kind of freedom.) But it turns out that pirate life was more than just greedy rebellion. It offers insights into the nature of democracy and the reasons it might emerge - as a natural state of being, or a rational response to a much less pleasant way of life.
To Leeson, pirate democracy was an institution born of necessity. In one successful cruise, a pirate could take home what a merchant sailor earned in 50 years. Yet a business enterprise made up of the violent and lawless was clearly problematic: piracy required common action and mutual trust. And pirates couldn't rely on a government to set the rules. Some think that "without government, where would we be?" Leeson says. "But what pirates really show is, no, it's just common sense. You have an incentive to try to create rules to make society get along. And that's just as important to pirates as it is to anybody else."
But Marcus Rediker, the author of the pirate histories "Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" and "Villains of All Nations," sees pirate democracy less as a means for order than as a political statement, a pointed reaction to the working sailor's life. When pirates roamed the seas, Rediker says, it was the law-abiding merchant ships that were run like miniature tyrannies. Captains held absolute power. Floggings were routine and often deadly. When pirates recruited sailors from the ships they pillaged, they opened a window to a different kind of society - far from the one the working-class sailors would otherwise find on land or sea. Rediker argues that pirate democracy "is not about human nature at all. It's about the specific experience of sailors and the way that they wanted to imagine a better world."
Piracy, says Rediker, a history professor at the University of Pittsburgh, was "a fascinating, almost utopian kind of experiment." Indeed, he says, pirate democracy was purer than what was practiced in Athens: The Greeks didn't give slaves the vote, but pirates offered the right to everyone, black or white. (It's probably also safe to say that pirates didn't have superdelegates.) Before each voyage, the crew elected a captain who could be deposed at any time, as well as a quartermaster whose main purpose was to make sure the captain didn't have too much power. A written charter outlined ship rules, which tended to prohibit theft and violence aboard and set strict rules for the presence of women. (Contrary to popular myth, Leeson, says, pirates usually set limits on drinking. "A drunken pirate crew," he points out, "would be less effective than a sober crew.")
Pirates even conducted a version of a fair trial, Rediker says, when determining the fate of captured captains. If any pirate on board knew the man from his merchant ship days, he could testify about his treatment. A captain who turned out to be kind was sometimes spared his life. And in a precursor of our own democratic love of political satire, pirates wrote coarse, hilarious plays that mocked the upper classes' criminal justice system.
Their mockery, and their gallows humor, reflected the risks they faced. The pirates' democratic experiment, like piracy itself, turned out to be short-lived. When the buccaneers of the late 1600s attacked Spanish trade ships, Rediker says, the British navy looked the other way. But when pirates began to attack British and American ships in the early 1700s, the British naval crackdown was swift and fierce. By 1730, the traditional pirate life was essentially done.
And, scholarly treatises aside, some of its specifics have been lost in the popular imagination. The current image of the pirate is colored more by the Robert Newton movies of the 1950s, or the rantings of Captain Hook, or - to a newer generation - the Keith Richards stylings of Johnny Depp.
Even in their own time, the pirates' democratic experiment was quickly forgotten, a culture washed away. It would be another half a century, Leeson says, before James Madison would start to devise a US Constitution. And there's no evidence, he says, that the forefathers of British and American democracy took any of their cues from pirate ships. "The Federalists never refer back to pirates," he says. "I've looked."
Joanna Weiss covers TV and pop culture for the Globe. She can be reached at weiss@globe.com.
