The Unbearable Lightness Of Being Broke (with apologies to Milan Kundera)
Poetic prose describing America's growing dilemma by Ben Samuel
(liberal)
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Today we hear tales, parallels to yesteryear, the time of the Great Depression. Perhaps it gives cause for hope that we came out of that, we will come out of this as well. Certainly, there is no power like that of positive thinking. All about us, family and friends, neighbors and former co-workers, have gone broke, lost their jobs, or homes, and some have simply disappeared, fallen off the edge of a flat Earth.
Yes Depressions have happened before, as have civil wars, conquering hordes, plagues and natural disasters. They all happen and occur again, and because they have and do, we believe we can see the end before we see the beginning. For all the distance we have traveled, we have gone nowhere at all.
For what, is it we pray our government do to sort out our current plight? Nothing more than salvage a recognizable form of the civilization we have become familiar with over the course of a generation. So again we will add copper and nickel to the silver coin, or clip the edges of a Drachma, or as we more familiarly do, print row upon row of paper note. The few left among us, the last remnant of the generation before, have already learned you cannot go home again, and familiarity breeds contempt.
Alas, there is the great debate, whether to allow nature to take its course, or to intervene to preserve as much of that we consider familiar. No matter how we venture, the future will unveil something other than that we have known. We must first decide whether that which we consider familiar is recoverable or even deserving of recovery. Is attempting to restore free spending ways a worthwhile goal, or will such efforts further compound our problem? Will our Treasury Secretary and Federal Reserve Chairman find themselves as Brutus and Cassius confronting a more ruthless Anthony and Octavian? Will our new president find himself as Prince Hal among a throng of Falstaffs populating a financial kingdom? Our prince is sure to grow, his manner to become less temperate.
The tent cities have begun to grow. The wear and tear on the human spirit appears as growing desperation. When desperation has run its course, will unchecked anger replace it? Will the tent cities inevitably disappear, a fitting tribute to a remade America? Or will they simply expand as so many refugee camps that pockmark an impoverished and war torn world? Are there any among the growing ranks of poor who are truly noble, or is such anticipation an illusion gleaned from a Steinbeck novel of forgotten lore? More than we fear God, we fear Murphy's Law.
We are but a leaf floating on an autumn breeze. Whereupon we land is soon encumbered by winter's freeze.
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