Capitalism will not survive trump

 

Mancur Olson showed that kleptocracy at the top stunts the growth of...countries. Having a thief for president doesn't necessarily spell doom; the president might prefer to boost the economy and then take a slice of a bigger pie. But in general, looting will be widespread either because the dictator is not confidant of his tenure, or because he needs to allow others to steal in order to keep their support.

Then further down the pyramid of wealth, development is thwarted because the rules and laws of the society do not encourage projects or businesses, which would be to the common good. Entrepreneurs don't establish official businesses (too difficult) and so don't pay taxes; officials demand ridiculous projects for their prestige or personal enrichment; schoolchildren don't bother to acquire irrelevant qualifications...

The rot starts with government but it afflicts the entire society There's no point in investing in a business because the government will not protect you against thieves. (So, you might as well become a thief.) There's no point in paying your phone bill because nobody can successfully take you to court (so there's no point being a phone company). There's no point getting an education because jobs are not handed out on merit (and in any case, you can't borrow money for school fees because the bank cannot collect on the loan, and the government doesn't provide good schools.) There's no point setting up an import business because the customs officials will be the ones to benefit (and so there is little trade, and so the customs office is underfunded and looks even harder for bribes.)...

[China's 'Great Leap Forward'] seemed to make sense, but it was the greatest economic failure the world has ever seen. Mao conducted economic policy based on the hidden premise that if people tried hard, the impossible would happen. Zeal alone was sufficient. Villagers were ordered to build steel furnaces in their backyards but had no iron ore to put into them. Some villagers melted down good iron and steel--tools, even doorknobs--in order to meet the quotas demanded by the state...

If industrial policy was a farce, agricultural policy was a tragedy...Mao ordered the people to kill grain-eating birds, and the population of insect pests exploded as a result. Mao personally redesigned China's agricultural techniques, specifying closer planting and deeper sowing to increase yields. Rice planted so closely together could not grow, but party officials, anxious to please Mao, staged shows of agricultural and industrial success. When Mao traveled by train to admire the fruits of his policy, local officials built furnaces along the railroad and brought rice from miles away to replant, at the officially specified density, in adjacent fields. Even this charade could not be maintained without the use of electric fans, which were used to circulate air and prevent the rice from rotting.

--From The Undercover Economist by Tim Harford, 2007 edition 

We Don't Go Golfing

 By now it's probable you have heard about the loss of over a hundred lives in the July 4th flooding of Texas' Guadalupe River. I'm not interested here in who's responsible for the lack of information or timely warnings. Those people will be identified and I hope they will face consequences.

What I am interested in here is the misinformation you may have heard or seen thanking Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum for having immediately dispatching rescue teams from her country to Texas to help in efforts there. This, in spite of the meanness, cruelty, and racism displayed by the trump administration's ICE efforts. But that is not true. The truth, I think, is better. 

On July 6th at 5 AM the Dirección de Protección Civil y Bomberos de Acuña, Coahuila (I could not hope to accurately write that out so it is also a link to their Facebook page), along with members of Fundacion 911, left for Kerrville to assist. This was in response to a request from Texas Equusearch, a search and rescue based in Houston. 

Direccion de Proteccion is located in Cuidad Acuna, near the Texas border and Kerrville and the Guadalupe River are 275 kilometers northeast.  Their response was not based on permission or arrangements. Both organizations are volunteer. While President Sheinbaum acknowledged them for their swift response, she did not claim to have contacted or facilitated them. 

The volunteers of Ciudad Acuna responded on their own. They did this because a call went out to a neighbor for help. As President Sheinbaum later said, "That is the people of Mexico. That is our culture." It is what we do in the Beloved Community. We don't go golfing. We put on our big boy and big girl pants and we respond. 

You Know It's Time to Act

 I like post-apocalyptic fiction as much as the next guy, but I've often wondered why there's such an emphasis on dystopia rather than on cooperation as the method for going on. In reality, guns and motorcycles and theft are only going to feed you or keep you safe for so long, and it won't help your contributions to the future, i.e., children. The term I often think describing these kinds of novels or movies or TV shows shouldn't be dystopia but nihilist. 

Recently I read The Ministry for the Future by Kim Stanley Robinson and I'd call it an excellent example of what I think is the proper way we need to think about anything like a post-apocalypse. Published in 2020, it presents a world facing the certainty of climate change with nothing having been done to slow it down or even address it. After a devastating heat wave kills millions of Indians over a course of weeks, the UN recognizes something must be done and empanels a ministry designed to focus on both the future and the development of ways to be certain there is one. Various countries, starting with India, decide to ignore the richer nations and their do-nothing procedures and jury-rig a program meant to help themselves first of all and benefitting all other nations secondarily. 

Not to spoil a 500+ page book, but this jump-starts a series of escalating programs and laws that manage to keep the earth turning for the near future. The reason I applaud this "science fiction nonfiction" (as Jonathon Lethem dubs it) and I suppose a reason it was named one of Barack Obama's favorite books of the year is because the solution doesn't lie in guns and marauding bands and white American individuals making heroic sacrifices but in the subtle use of economics, policy, and science to come to terms with our reckless disregard for responsible use. The world finally discovers it needs a Plan B.

What was it? Big parts of it have been there all along; it's called socialism. Or, for those who freak out at that word, like Americans or international capitalist success stories reacting allergically to that word, call it public utility districts...Public ownership of the necessities, so that these are provided as human rights and as public goods, in a not-for-profit way. The necessities are food, water, shelter, clothing, electricity, health care, and education. All these are human rights, all are public goods, all are never to be subjected to appropriation, exploitation, and profit. It's as simple as that.

Democracy is also good, but again, for those who think this word is just a cover for oligarchy and Western imperialism, let's call it real political representation. Do you feel you have real political representation? Probably not, but even if you feel you have some, it's probably feeling pretty compromised at best. So: public ownership of the necessities, and real political representation...

[There] still has to be money, or at least some exchange or allocation system that people trust, which means the already existing central banks have to be a part of it, which means the current nation-state system has to be part of it. Sorry but it's true, and maybe obvious...It is what we've got now, and in the crux, when things fall apart, something from the old system has to be used to hang the new system on, hopefully something big and solid. Without that it's castles in air time, and all will collapse into chaos...It's like being hypnotized; you have to agree for it to work. So we are all hypnotized in a giant dream we hallucinate together, and that's social reality...

 [The] current order is so unequal, so unfair. Old story, of course. Biblical; detailed in Genesis; it's the oldest story, inequality, and never much changed from the start of civilization. So how can we change that? What do we do now?

Now, everyone knows everything. No one on the planet is ignorant of the real condition of our shared social existence. That's one real thing those stupid smartphones have done; you can be illiterate, many are, and still have an excellent idea of how the world works. You know the world is spinning toward catastrophe! You know it's time to act. Everyone knows everything. The invisible hand never picks up the check. The money is already here, it just isn't evenly distributed. Which is to say properly distributed. So now things have broken. We broke them; we broke them on purpose! Riot, occupation, non-compliance, general strike: breakdown. Now it's time for Plan B. Time to act...

Hope and the Courage to Act on It

 

I'm conflicted, I admit. Not a day has gone by since the ignobility of the November vote that there hasn't been an idea floated, an action taken, a decree made, an insult delivered, and thousands upon thousands of lies told, and I have felt the need to talk about it. I've been concerned that, in the wake of the complicity of most media in the pretense all this is normal, there won't be a note for future generations, if there are any, that there were people watching and writing it down and recognizing the wrongness of it all.

So I've felt it's fallen to me. But that's self-aggrandizing, almost worthy of trump himself, that anyone reads these missives, let alone they'll remember that there was someone commenting on it in a way that's worth holding onto. 

Besides, and maybe more importantly, I don't want to be that guy. I don't want what little attention I get to be for a list of lies and laments. That's all such notes would be because frankly just noticing this sort of stuff daily is exhausting. 

I want to be known, if at all, for keeping up a good word, for being the port in the storm, the one who keeps his head when all around them is chaos and dread. I do dread the chaos, of course, because not to do so is to give in to the lie that it's a kind of order, trump uber alles. 

I would be remembered like John Murray to whom is attributed this: 

You may possess only a small light, but uncover it, let it shine, use it in order to bring more light and understanding to hearts of men and women. Give them, not hell, but hope and courage. Do not push them deeper into their theological despair, but preach the kindness and everlasting love of God.

Quite some thought to be remembered by, isn't it? Of course, John Murray never said nor wrote this. It was attributed to a Time-Spirit counseling Murray in a 1951 pamphlet by Alfred Cole, and somehow made it into a Universalist Sunday text in 1962 and from there into The Larger Faith, the history of the Unitarian Universalists written by Charles Howe. 

But the point here is that, even if Murray didn't write it but Cole created it for his pamphlet, it is still a good distillation of what is important, that we leave people with hope and the courage to act on it. As Ken Davis writes in Don't Know Much About the Bible about the sayings of Jesus, "What's important is that someone said these things or wrote them down." Just as Jesus' words, whosever they may really be, remain a touchstone about how to behave with one another, so Cole's words are a prod to those who comment on the darkness and despair now. As Wayne Arneson reminds us, "The way is often hard, the path is never clear, and the stakes are very high." But "Take courage [because] you are not alone."

Let someone else keep the lists. I will uplift hope. 

Turtle mitzvah

It's a small thing, but isn't that what life is composed of? For my birthday I took a short road trip, just a day out and a day back, spending most of both days driving because I miss driving distances. I drove what William Least Heat Moon called Blue Highways, the state and local roads where you have to slow down when you're near a town or church or school. I wasn't in a hurry to get where I was going.

Where I went is Alabama, where I noticed 3 things: even middle aged men in nice cars don't mind losing a hub cap as one I followed for a length of time did so on a corner, and it bounced off a tree and flew back between us, missing my car by a couple feet; there were many houses, both in and out of towns, surrounded by fences, some houses nice but also many that were obviously abandoned, and often those were fenced in by stronger materials, leaving me wondering if the place was a former or current meth house; and near the Georgia border there was a stretch of about 10 miles with fire hydrants spaced every half mile where there were no houses in sight, and even between abandoned and tumbled down buildings.

I love that sort of driving, listening to the radio and watching the trees and trailers and folks in their yards go by slowly enough I could see them in detail. There was a thunderstorm I drove through for hours that closed 3 roads and a bridge I'd intended to take. I'm glad too because on one of those swtched-to roads I was on I crested a hill and made out a turtle crossing ahead of me. Or starting to cross, as he or she was just off the shoulder and aimed at the opposite side. I couldn't see any water on either side but that wasn't any of my business.

I stopped on the shoulder beside the turtle, who turned about and scurried under my car. I found it behind a wheel and picked them up with both hands and carried them across the road and a few feet past the shoulder where they splayed out all 4 feet and head and contentedly continued on their way. 

I'm not a believer in being directed by God or Fate or the Universe into doing something that makes a difference, but as I got back into my car I felt I'd done something that mattered, that left me feeling blessed. Jews say this is what we feel when we have done a mitzvah. It is a good feeling.

Upstanders

 In "A Problem from Hell": America in the Age of Genocide, Samantha Power introduces the concept of being an "upstander" rather than a bystander. "An upstander is a person who goes against the tide and will protect a victim from injustice. The word is contrasted with bystander, which describes a person who does nothing to help when someone is being mistreated."  In her memoir, The Education of an Idealist, Power reflects on and explains the term:

Somewhere along the way, I began describing the book's protagonists--those who tried to prevent or otherwise "stand up" against genocide--as "upstanders," contrasting them with bystanders. I noted that very few of us were likely to find ourselves the victims or perpetrators of genocide. But every day, almost all of us find ourselves weighing whether we can or should do something to help others. We decide, on issues large and small, whether we will be bystanders or upstanders. 

While Power used it initially to describe people who take action against genocide, it has been broadened, as in the above quote from a teaching website, to mean anyone who stands between the oppressed and their oppressor. It doesn't have to be literally standing, of course, but can be protesting, witnessing, writing, performing, preaching against oppressive policies. Whatever the opposite of ignoring them may be.

Senator Chris Van Hollen, in bringing public attention to the lack of due process for undocumented (or in the case of Kilmar Abrego Garcia, of having documentation proving his asylum status and withholding of removal) people being shipped, against court decisions, to a prison in El Salvador, is an upstander. The lawyers representing New Jersey State and others in litigation against trump's Executive Order denying Constitutional birth citizenship to children of undocumented are upstanders. The millions of people taking part in thousands of protests around the world decrying trump policies and the rise of fascist politicians through the 50501 and other organizations are upstanders. 

It's important to note that these are all legal actions done by folks who, in many cases, have little at stake themselves in the situations they protest. They take the higher ground of determining that, in the words of Fannie Lou Hamer, "Nobody's free until everybody's free." 

The Thunder of Butterflies

I'm certain I can't be the only one feeling as if he's living the aftereffects of Ray Bradbury's magnificent story, "A Sound of Thunder," can I? 

 Eckels stood smelling of the air, and there was a thing to the air, a chemical taint so subtle, so slight, that only a faint cry of his subliminal senses warned him it was there. The colors, white, gray, blue, orange, in the wall, in the furniture, in the sky beyond the window, were . . . were . . . . And there was a feel. His flesh twitched. His hands twitched. He stood drinking the oddness with the pores of his body. Somewhere, someone must have been screaming one of those whistles that only a dog can hear. His body screamed silence in return. Beyond this room, beyond this wall, beyond this man who was not quite the same man seated at this desk that was not quite the same desk . . . lay an entire world of streets and people. What sort of world it was now, there was no telling. He could feel them moving there, beyond the walls, almost, like so many chess pieces blown in a dry wind .... 

But the immediate thing was the sign painted on the office wall, the same sign he had read earlier today on first entering. Somehow, the sign had changed: TYME SEFARI INC. SEFARIS TU ANY YEER EN THE PAST. YU NAIM THE ANIMALL. WEE TAEK YU THAIR. YU SHOOT ITT. 

Eckels felt himself fall into a chair. He fumbled crazily at the thick slime on his boots. He held up a clod of dirt, trembling, "No, it can't be. Not a little thing like that. No!" 

Embedded in the mud, glistening green and gold and black, was a butterfly, very beautiful and very dead. "Not a little thing like that! Not a butterfly!" cried Eckels. It fell to the floor, an exquisite thing, a small thing that could upset balances and knock down a line of small dominoes and then big dominoes and then gigantic dominoes, all down the years across Time. 

Eckels' mind whirled. It couldn't change things. Killing one butterfly couldn't be that important! Could it? His face was cold. His mouth trembled, asking: "Who ­ who won the presidential election yesterday?" 

The man behind the desk laughed. "You joking? You know very well. Deutscher, of course! Who else? Not that fool weakling Keith. We got an iron man now, a man with guts!" The official stopped. "What's wrong?" 

Eckels moaned. He dropped to his knees. He scrabbled at the golden butterfly with shaking fingers. "Can't we," he pleaded to the world, to himself, to the officials, to the Machine, "can't we take it back, can't we make it alive again? Can't we start over? Can't we­" He did not move. 

Eyes shut, he waited, shivering. He heard Travis breathe loud in the room; he heard Travis shift his rifle, click the safety catch, and raise the weapon. 

There was a sound of thunder.