Chapter IX: Day/Page 103 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . . Nothing! That’s how market forces should work, the right loudly and proudly proclaimed. It was natural. It was right. This was the immutable natural law of business, they claimed.
Although the rabid right abhorred the blasphemous notion of evolutionary processes based on “natural-selection” occurring in the biological world, because it conflicted with their fanciful myths about god, as far as the business world was concerned, they believed in natural-selection one-hundred percent. They believed in primal, laissez-faire capitalism, dog-eat-dog rules, winner-take-all policies, where the strong feed on the weak and only the fittest survive. Of course, the notion of fittest now had more to do with political influence and economic power, rather than intelligence or physical prowess, but the principle worked the same.
Therefore, only one last thing remained. One last obstacle stood in the way of the unshackled economic Shangri-la envisaged by the right-hand side, and that was all the pesky, subversive government regulations that had been enacted earlier by those from the irksome left, whose only purpose was to hamper the legitimate rights of companies to do what they do best, namely to make profits.
Government should keep its nettlesome nose out of business affairs, said those on the right, and stick it instead right between a woman’s legs, where it naturally belongs.
And so the right-handers repealed the economically-repressive laws having to do with minimum wage, equal pay, unemployment benefits, health benefits, pension plans, worker’s rights, child labor, labor safety, fair-housing, sexual harassment, disability insurance, environmental protection, equal-opportunity employment, collective bargaining, union organizing, food labels, food safety, drug warnings, drug testing, bank regulations, toxic-waste disposal, and more, which only suffocated the free flow of capital onto the pyramidal peak.
Here, in New Favela City, that meant the end of mining companies having to build costly holding ponds for storing toxic tailings left over after mining gold—worthless things like cyanide, mercury, and lead. Why should mining companies be forced to pay for storing this toxic waste, which clearly has no economic value and serves only to sap corporate profits? And worse, why should faraway consumers of trinkets of gold have to pay for storing these poisons when the mining companies are sure to pass the burdensome costs on to them?
It didn’t make sense.
People up north in The Federacy, or down in South Republica, were not the ones who needed clean water to drink—their water already was clean. If people living near poisoned mines like New Favela City needed clean water, then they, not gold consumers elsewhere, should be the ones to pay for it.
Here was one more shining example, the right-handers said, of slackers not wanting to pull their own fair weight and acting as if they were entitled to everything—like clean water to drink—which is why they are, always have been, and always will be, a bunch of worthless slackers! We should at least lock them up so they can count towards the GDP. . . . .
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW IN CHAPTER X
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Gregory James All rights reserved
After 20 years working and living overseas, I returned to the US and was disgusted by how partisan and polarized the country had become. Civility and compromise are now quaint things of the past, replaced by intolerance and the rule of extremes. So I gave up a lucrative career for staring at blank pages and searching for words.
Stupid. . . . I know! But after 9 months of labor I birthed forth a book, entitled ONE PERCENT SOLUTION.
Reminiscent of Vonnegut, with a dash of Saramago and Fforde, this humorous, satirical, often irreverent romp mocks the absurd we accept to be normal, ridicules the low bar we set, and challenges all of us to demand more of ourselves by making light of what is sacred that shackles us.