Occupying Terra Incognita

The movement that originated as “Occupy Wall Street” has spread to several places around the globe, but thus far has not dared to venture into what is for it, the forbidding terra incognita—that is to say, the land of reality.  There is no question but that the knuckleheaded demonstrators have a legitimate gripe.  One only wishes they had a clue as to the source of their problems.  This essay, therefore,  is meant as a guide for those protestors possessing the extraordinary courage to think for themselves, go where the movement has not dared to tread, and forgo the hope that they can strum their way to a better world.

Just because they are inane, doesn’t necessarily mean the OWS demonstrators are harmless any more than the cherubic appearance of children entitles them to play with matches.  Despite their peaceful demeanor thus far, I find the mob worrisome.  Protestors in Italy have already turned nasty and, it seems to me, the same thing could easily get out of hand here.  At the drop of a hat, an amicable band of marchers can morph into  a nasty destructive mob on the strength of as little as a single bloody nose, a thrown brick, or an overturned car.  Society operates on a thinner margin of safety than is commonly supposed.

Obviously, President Obama doesn’t share my concerns for his comments, if anything, have tended to justify, if not actually, encourage the protests.  Had I a suspicious mind, I would suspect that he is not at all unhappy with anything that shifts public attention from his own doorstep to those of Goldman Sachs et al.  A leader who is reckless enough to stoke the fires of class hatred is, I fear, capable of any action that he believes politically advantageous regardless of the risk of burning the house down.

If one only listened to the media’s taped interviews, one would assume that the OWS demonstrators spoke with one mind.  But the illusion only reflects the single-mindedness of the liberal media.  One thoughtful glance at the crowd’s variety of occupations, ages, and economic status would assure anyone of their diversity.

Consider, for instance, the recent anti-heroics of one Hiram Stolz.  The day began for Hiram in its usual manner.  He crawled out of his sleeping bag, tore open his cereal box (courtesy the Kellog Corporation), poured on milk (courtesy Borden Corporation) sprinkled on a packet of sugar (courtesy C & H corporation), and then dutifully shouldered his “Down with Corporations” placard to join his comrades for the march ahead serenely unaware that his anti-capitalist stance suffered from any internal contradictions whatsoever.  Hiram’s spirits were so invigorated by the presence of so many of his comrades that he scarcely looked where he was going.  Thus he accidentally tripped on a curb, fell head-first onto the pavement and was knocked out cold.  Dragged to the sidewalk, he was propped up against a light post and left to recover on his own while the march rolled on ahead.

As his consciousness gradually returned, Hiram tried to focus on the cityscape before him and, in so doing, allowed his mind to drift lazily among its attractive buildings and public spaces.  In his blurred state of mind, he gradually came to appreciate the systems that had brought him his breakfast and realized, with a start,  that they were but a tiny part of the vast network of supply lines that stretched around the globe to satisfy his needs.  It then struck him how remarkably dependable were these supply lines despite their unbelievable multiplicity of parts.  And, to his considerable surprise, he was forced to conclude that what made the fantastically intricate system work was the universality of moneyed transactions at all its junction points or, more succinctly,  the ubiquity of greed.  Hiram’s political world had turned upside down before he knew it.

Making his way back to Zuccotti Park, Hiram found a park bench on which to ponder the flood of ideas that filled his head once the dam of leftist dogma had been breached.  Yes, it was true that capitalistic systems created inequities, but those inequities were necessary for economic development because they incentivized participants to strive for a higher rung on the ladder.  And it was that competition that gave rise to the greater individual effort, innovation, and risk taking that, taken together, produced prosperity.  In short, the iconic free market  was not just a way to enlarge the proverbial pie, it was the only way.

Now filled with admiration and wonder of the system he had only a few hours before been hell bent to smash, the born-again capitalist scratched his head.  Looking around at the shiny skyscrapers on all sides and the parade of successful people weaving in and out of them, he was struck with yet one more powerful thought.  There was one thing missing from this prosperous panorama, himself.

The abruptness of this last revelation prompted Hiram to stand and pace back and forth.  The blame for his being a spectator to prosperity rather than one of its participants, he decided,  lay with his parents who were ungracious enough to deposit him among the ranks of the underprivileged—i.e., those who society determined were not entitled to the benefits of capitalism.  Hiram reluctantly concluded that the self-same capitalistic system that was so good at increasing the size of the pie, not only did a rotten job of dividing it equitably, it didn’t even make an effort  to do so.  Instead, like the mother bird that kept stuffing worms down the neck of its fattest chick, the system sought out the most raucous, least needy recipients and stuffed cash into them.  Not overtly, of course.  Over time the system developed more subtle, socially acceptable means to accomplish the same thing: better access to higher education, better business connections, better investment opportunities, more favorable governmental policies, and more lucrative savings thanks to the wonders of compound interest.  The point is that no matter how tolerable a diversity of wealth a young, virtuous capitalistic system might start off with,  each subsequent revolution of the economic cycle aggravated its wealth disparity.

Having experienced this bewildering, roller-coaster portrayal of capitalism from one of incarnate evil, to one boasting a cornucopia horn of plenty, to an Elysian Field prominently posted with “Keep Out.  No Trespassing” signs, Hiram retreated back to his park bench to collect his thoughts.  But despite his best efforts, they refused to collect and, instead, flew off in all directions leaving the young man in a dispirited funk that devolved into an uneasy sleep.

“Lunchtime,” said one of Hiram’s fellow demonstrator as he thrust a baloney sandwich into our friend’s hands.  As luck would have it, Hiram found his sandwich wrapped in an essay called “Rich Man, Poor Man” printed from this very same blog.  With no other reading material at hand, he studied the article with increasing interest as he ate his simple lunch.  Thanks to the article, he was able to coax his wayward thoughts together into a legitimate, intelligible cause worth embracing.  Now that he accomplished what he had come for, there was no need to stick around Wall Street.  Hiram packed his few belongings and headed back to the one place he could occupy in comfort, home.