I have no talent for admitting I’m wrong. Not because of any surfeit of pride. But rather because it is a skill I have never had occasion to practice.
Recently, I wrote about the coming liberal dictatorship. I foresaw a world in which the instruments of power, sharpened by our current leadership to compel absolute submission, would be wielded by a liberal administration for ends every bit as extreme as intended, but far less palatable to people who live in Texas.
That could still happen. But it’s like a television program preempted by breaking news: it may be in the can, but it’s not what anyone will be watching.
Our constitutional crisis has been supplanted by an economic crisis. We paused momentarily to put our head between our knees and breathe into a paper bag, and when we looked up, we discovered we’re having a socialist revolution–engineered by neo-conservatives!
Holy. Fucking. Shit. I’d like to think this is a simple matter of a spectacularly misguided policy coming to a head like an angry, puss-filled carbuncle. But we’ve been fleeced so many times by the carnies who run this country that we can hardly be faulted for suspecting this catastrophe is just another Republican sleight-of-hand designed to reclaim an initiative that seemed hopelessly lost. Are they once again stealing a march on their political opponents by doing something so unexpected, so out-of-left field, so bat-shit crazy that those who would resist are simply paralyzed with shock?
If so, admiration overwhelms my disgust. I mean… it’s just… diabolical! And it’s so freakin’ BIG that even I never conjured such a thing in my wildest dreams–and I am not in the habit of constraining my imaginings. If you only knew the sick things I am picturing right now…
Just think! In the course of a few days, the people who have for a decade belittled their detractors with the epithet of socialism, who made a sacred mission of kneecapping the mere patina of a welfare state created in the 1930’s, who have attempted to demonize Russia in a barely-disguised ploy to reanimate the politically convenient bete noir of world communism–these same people have swarmed to a one trillion dollar takeover of the entire American financial system like sailors on the decks of the battleship Potemkin!
Look! There’s Henry Paulson driving the kulak financiers of lower Manhattan into the overcrowded bar cars of the MetroNorth railway. Soon they will disappear into the cavernous conservatories of their Greenwich homes, where they will forevermore consume canapes and cognac in miserable obscurity.
And there! There’s Ben Bernake storming the New York stock exchange in a tricolor cockade! It impossible to tell what’s happening amidst the cigar smoke and the roar of the press corps, but rumors fly that Goldman Sachs has declared a commune of lower Trinity Place. And who can calculate the human cost? The dry cleaning bill alone will run to six figures!
And now a hush falls on the nation. For returned from his long march to Crawford Texas is Chairman Bush, the Great Leader! For love of him, children expose their parents for shorting T-bills. With a glance and gesture he makes spareribs tender and biscuits moist.
Viva La Revolución! To the barricades! All power to the soviets! Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité!
Something feels oh so wrong here. Aren’t socialist revolutions supposed to come from below?
That the cries of “Power to the people!” are coming not from the downtrodden peasantry, but from the Tsar and his minions is testimony to the fact that what the people are going to get here is anything but power. It is a whole boatload of grief.
How bad is it? It is all the way bad. The bad, to borrow the idiom of Spinal Tap, will go to 11.
Envision the worthless paper of 10 million home loans that America is buying as the sorriest looking Ford Pinto in the used car lot. It’s a colossal lemon. And the problem with lemons is not a philosophical one to be debated by earnest sophomores in bong-hit fueled bull sessions. The problem with lemons is that they break down right on the entrance ramp to the freeway in rush hour while your wife howls in labor on the passenger side and the air conditioning doesn’t work and it’s 105 degrees and the rest of your little monsters are trying to disembowel each other in the back seat and you feel you have no choice but to do the job for them yourself and that’s going to take some explaining if and when the highway patrol ever arrives.
That’s the problem with lemons.
For our economy, catastrophe is every bit as imminent as it was before our dear President signed us taxpayers up to bail out his rich friends. More so, perhaps, because those Wall St. wizards–major asshats though they be–actually do know a fair amount about navigating difficult financial straits. But they no longer give a damn what happens. They’re off the hook and our fates are now in the hands of a completely different but much less skilled collection of asshats called Congress.
Why do you think there were so many smiling faces on the floor of the stock exchange when the bailout plan was announced and the Dow surged? Because we’ve been rescued? Of course not. The traders were smiling because they’ve been rescued.
We’ll be sure to write frequently to those former Wall Streeters at their spas in Hawaii and let them know how it’s going as the housing market goes from slide to plummet. As credit becomes impossible and business contracts. As pain cascades through the population in the form of sweeping layoffs. As inflation soars because that will make paying back the massive debt we’ve taken on cheaper.
We’ve chained ourselves to this falling anvil with the same rash ignorance with which we bought that 10,000 sq.ft. McMansion last year. And now we’re living in one of those 1970 conspiracy movies where the hero is killed just before he can save the world, the bad guys get off scot free, and everything is most assuredly not going to be alright.
Looking for a bright spot in all this is like looking for the bright spot in the Triangle Shirtwaist fire. The only brightness comes from the roaring flames, which serve to silhouette the doomed figures in the window frames just before they leap.
But let’s indulge in a brief bit of Panglossian self-delusion anyhoo, yes?
One upside is that the crackers of middle America, stunned by sudden crisis, will probably not come to their senses until just after they’ve elected a colored fella President. Boy, will they be grumpy once they realize.
And this: It’s true that America will be vomiting and watching our hair fall out for years as a result of the radioactive fallout from this disaster. But can you imagine how this would have been packaged if the Fannie Mae / Freddie Mac / Lehman brothers / AIG mushroom cloud had come even one hour after Barack Obama locked down the election in the predawn of November 5th?
Our present storyline sure wouldn’t be about the apocalyptic comeuppance of mindless deregulation. Or the destruction of the myth that the Darwinian churning of free markets is somehow tempered by an inherent goodness. Or about the essential hollowness of a society built on the corrosive notion that wealth is the same thing as virtue.
No sir. If this atomic blast had been delayed, there would be only one storyline trumpeted by the tools of conservatism and a p-whipped (c-whipped?) media: Barack Obama as pilot of the Enola Gay. That’s right. We’d be told that an otherwise vibrant economy had collapsed at the mere thought of the prosperity-hating policies he would inevitably implement.
So we can breathe a big sigh of relief that the world is ending sooner rather than later.
This economic convulsion also alters the landscape of political possibility in intriguing ways. Free marketers talk reverently of creative destruction–the rise of new mercantile opportunity from the decaying matter of endeavors that have failed and fallen. But they never considered what might grow from the steaming corpse of their entire beloved system.
For example, though the words “universal health insurance” were spoken in the campaign, only a fool could have believed the idea more than a political pipe dream. But the shattering mental impact of seeing the establishment dissolve, combined with the soon-to-be-palpable effects of unemployment and the credit crunch on our already tenuous access to the proctologist we desperately need may yet give unexpected substance to that dream.
Not all political pigs will fly. But don’t be surprised if some sprout wings and, like turkeys, make a whole lot of unforeseen commotion.
And finally this: Conservatives are ever fulminating that Obama—contrary to his voting record or his public statements–harbors secret intentions of outfitting America in Mao jackets and handing out Little Red Books. But now they’ve been compelled by the deformed product of their own extremism to lurch leftward in advance of his arrival. Will they therefore restrain their urge to tag his administration as the enemy of all that is American? As the undoer of freedom? Will they exhibit that most minimal degree of decency that shames us from accusing others of our own failures?
Don’t be ridiculous. Of course they won’t. And their misrepresentations will be swallowed hook, line and sinker by a culture whose worldview is shaped and reshaped by no experiences more distant than those of the previous two weeks. By February, Barack Obama will be solely responsible for our metasticizing economy, the plight of Katrina victims, the terrorist attacks of 2001, and the burning of the capital by British regulars in the War of 1812.
Yet some small weight has undeniably been lifted from Obama’s shoulders. Centering economic governance will no longer require a massive heave to the left certain to provoke opposition from formidable conservative constituencies. And in the continuing chaos to come he’ll find more freedom of action than he could have hoped for six months ago. It’s a lot easier to be a builder when the demolition’s already done.
And let’s be fair (even if it isn’t much fun), the real villain here isn’t conservatism, any more than the savior is liberalism. The villain is absolutism. It’s extremism. It’s the absurd idea that if less regulation is good, no regulation is even better. Would any rational person argue that commerce is possible without the regulation of contract law, accounting rules, and the like? And if that’s true, shouldn’t we just scotch all the scorched-earth, anti-regulatory ranting and start a measured discussion on how to do it right?
So here’s to hoping we can get back on track for balance and moderation. That we can enact the kind of regulation that let’s us maximize the benefits of the free market while minimizing the risks. That we can stop chasing the chimera of perfecting our system, and settle in to the hard, never-ending, and unavoidably messy task of optimizing it.
Until then, Viva La Revolución, baby!