Aye of Newt

Okay, I’ve been trying to get some sense of how the GOP intends to retake the White House in 2012 and not having a lot of luck.  Now this nonsense with Newt Gingrich.

On Meet The Press he was asked what he thinks about Paul Ryan’s budget plans—plans which include massive eviscerations of social programs like Medicare—and he made one of his rare reasonable statements.  He criticized the budget as, basically, right-wing social engineering and went on to say social engineering from the Right is as bad as social engineering from the Left. Think what you will about the merits of that in terms of national policy, it is nevertheless a self-consistent, reasonable statement.  Ryan’s budget is counter to democratic expressions of support for some of these programs and Ryan and others in this Congress have been struggling to cast their efforts in terms of fiscal responsibility, which clearly has nothing to do with why they won’t axe the military budget or do anything about corporate welfare.

Be that as it may, here is Gingrich being reasonable and setting himself up as an independent thinker.

Then came the backlash.  A big no-no to openly criticize a fellow Republican, especially someone who is seen to embody the Tea Party aesthetic of “gut the government!”  And what does Gingrich do?  Back pedals.  Not only that, he makes a prepared statement to declare that anyone using the footage from that Meet The Press interview to claim that, (a), Gingrich believes the Ryan budget is bad or (b) Gingrich disagrees with the social conservative agenda or (c) that Gingrich himself is flip-flopping and kowtowing to the Party is lying.

So now I’m baffled.  Because Ryan’s proposed cuts in Medicare at least are unpopular, so how does aligning himself with a position Gingrich initially criticized make points with voters?  How does coming out of the gate with confusion aid his campaign or reflect well on the GOP?

And what social engineering?  The idea that a popularly elected government should do nothing to promote justice—and in this instance we’re talking about economic justice—and that people who need help should just either rely on charity or go away?  Well, if you look at the out-front rhetoric of the most vocal segment of the GOP, the Tea Party, they seem to be backing an exhaustively libertarian approach.  But even so, at the heart of it is a desire to reduce government to little more than a few offices on the Atlantic coast that deal with rubberstamping whatever the private sector wants and is capable of doing.

I’m still mulling some of this over, but even though I disagree with Gingrich about the nature of social engineering, I am disappointed that yet again we have someone campaigning to achieve the office and will say or do whatever it takes, front any idea, kiss any ass, subvert any consistency to reach that goal.

This whole social engineering thing, though, is starting to annoy me.  It sounds ominous, but really, every society, if it has a common vision of itself, indulges social engineering, some more benignly than others.  It must be so.  Consensus is necessary to have a functional social mechanism.  The notion that we can be free of social engineering is a utopian fantasy that is poorly thought through.  Do you know what a country looks like that has no social engineering?

Somalia.

Food for thought.

Invisible Women

I’m taking time out (already) from all the rewriting I have to do to complain and restate a principle.

Here’s a lovely little bit of misogyny.

Read the article?  A newspaper took the photograph of the ready room where Obama and his cabinet received the news of Bin Ladin’s death and photoshopped out the women present.  For reasons of “modesty” they claimed.  They then apologized but asserted they have a First Amendment right to have done this.

Inadvertently—and I am sure they didn’t think about this when they did it—they gave Bin Ladin a small cultural victory out of his own death.  The religious view Bin Ladin asserted, supported, and fought for includes the return of women to second class status, to the status of property.  By doctoring that photograph, the editors of Di Tzeitung tacitly approved this idea.

Modesty.  Really?  They erased Hilary Clinton and a staffer in the background.  You look at the photograph in question:

2011-05-02t220238z_01_was100_rtridsp_3_binladen.jpg

Is there any way to look at that and perceive immodesty in the way we usually use the term?  I don’t see any scanty clothing or alluring, over-the-shoulder glances at the camera.  No legs, no cleavage, no hint of sexualization, which is what is normally meant by use of the term, even—especially—within the context of religious censure.  This sort of attitude is intended as a guard against titillation and “impure thoughts”, but I’m having a hard time seeing anything like that here.

In fact, this has made clear what the real problem is and has been all along.  Rules about “modesty” have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with power.  Secretary of State Clinton—the Secretary of State of the United States of America, the most powerful nation on Earth, is a woman!—is a female in a position of power.  She is the boss of many men.  She is instrumental in setting policy, which affects many more men, men she doesn’t know and will never know.  She wields power and that is what is feared by these—I’ll say it because I’m pissed about this—these small-minded bigots.

And in their effort to make sure their daughters never grow up with the idea that they can have power or any kind, not even in the say over what to do with their lives (because they don’t even have any say over how they dress, who they can talk to, where they can go, what they can aspire to), these “proper” gentlemen handed Osama Bin Ladin a final supportive fist bump of solidarity.  “Yeah, brother, we hated the fact that you blew people up, but we really gotta keep these females in their Place.”

Cultural relativism be damned.  I’m one hundred percent with Sam Harris on this.  Subjugating half the population to some idea of propriety and in so doing strip them of everything they have even while hiding them head to toe and keeping them out of the public gaze is categorically evil.  The fact that this is resisted so much by otherwise intelligent people—on both sides of the issue, those who perpetrate it and those who refuse to outright condemn it for fear of being seen as cultural imperialists—is as shameful as the defenders of slavery 150 years ago.

Now, at least, they’ve made it hard to miss.  This wasn’t a photograph of some beauty pageant or a spread in Playboy or the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue; this wasn’t a still from the red carpet runway at the Golden Globes or the lurid front page of a Fleet Street tabloid.  No, this was a photograph of powerful people doing serious work and two of them do not have a penis.  This is the issue—power.  Women the world over have no say in their lives.  They are wives, concubines, prostitutes, slaves.  If they wish to change the way they live, they are forbidden, sometimes killed for their ambition.  In many places still their daughters have their sex organs mutilated so they won’t ever fully experience sexual pleasure and, theoretically, never want to stray from the men who own them.  They are denied the vote, denied a voice, denied even the courtesy of Presence in life.  They are made background, wallpaper, accoutrements for  the men who are set against yielding even a token of consideration toward the idea that “their women” are people.

People who happen to be women.  People.

I am sick of this crap.  I am sick of people who don’t understand the issue.  I am sick of the tepid response among people who should see this as an unmitigated evil who won’t speak up to condemn it outright.  By their reluctance to condemn they allow this sickness to grow in their own backyard.  There are groups in this country who but for a few “inconvenient” laws would—and in some cases do—treat women exactly the same way.  I am sick of the constant onslaught on family planning services and the idea that women should not be in command of their own bodies.  I am sick of the feckless insecurity of outwardly bold and inwardly timid males who are afraid of the women around them, that if these women actually had some choices they would leave.  I am sick of men who can find no better use for their hands than to beat women, no better use for their minds than to boast of their manliness, and no better use for their penises than to keep score.  I am sick of women who are made to appear at fault for their own rapes because of the way they dress or walk or talk or because they thought, just like real people, they had a right to go anywhere they chose, free of fear.  I am sick of seeing the human waste of unrealized potential based on genital arrangement and the granting of undeserved rights and authority based on the same thing.  I am sick of being told by people who obviously haven’t stepped outside of their own navels that this is what god wants because some preacher or imam or shaman told them and they like the idea that there is someone who can’t say no to them no matter how abusive or failed they are as human beings.  I am sick of seeing women pay the cost of men deciding for them what they should be.

For those of you who read this and agree, excuse the rant.  Shove it in the faces of anyone who gives even lip service to the idea that women are somehow other than and less than males and that maybe a little “modesty” would be a good thing.  Modesty in this context is code for invisibility.

Back now to our regularly scheduled Wednesday.

Atavistic Pleasure

Since hearing the news this morning I’ve been trying to find a calm space wherein reason and judgment will allow for a rational response, but for the time being I can’t help it.

Osama Bin Laden is dead.

I can’t help feeling glad about that.  There is an atavistic part of me responds to this kind of thing.

I have a number of other thoughts—for instance, where they finally found him is suggestive of a whole bunch of negative assessments about out “allies” and the uses to which historical fulcrums are put—and there will doubtless be backlash over this, but done is done and I cannot find it in me to feel in the least sorry.  He seemed to have become the ultimate in revolutionary narcissists and chose to believe his “wisdom” trumped the lives of all his victims.  There has been and is much that is wrong in our relationships with the Middle East, but slaughter frees no one, and where clear heads and earnest consideration are needed to solve problems, terror guarantees their absence.

Burying him at sea was a clever move—there will be no grave to be turned into a new shrine.  In the end, he harmed his own people far more than he hurt us, and the last thing this planet needs is another monster elevated to the status of demigod.

What we need to do now is take those sentiments to heart—slaughter frees no one, terror banishes reason—and stop reacting like offended adolescents.  We must be careful that we ourselves don’t fill the void left by Bin Laden’s death with our own self-justified nationalism and continue what we know to be bad policy.

But for now, I’m a little more pleased by this than not.

That’s the way I feel.  I’ll have a more rational response some time down the road.

Why Free Marketeers Are Wrong

Paul Ryan and his supporters are trying to sell their spending cut and lower tax program and they’re getting booed at town hall meetings.  They’re finally cutting into people’s pockets who can’t defend themselves.  They thought they were doing what their constituency wanted and must be baffled at this negative response.

Okay, this might get a bit complicated, but not really.  It just requires a shift in perspective away from the definition of capitalism we’ve been being sold since Reagan to something that is more descriptive of what actually happens.  Theory is all well and good and can be very useful in specific instances, but a one-size-fits-all approach to something as basic as resources is destined to fail.

Oh, I’m sorry, let me back up a sec there: fail if your stated goal is to float all boats, to raise the general standard of living, to provide jobs and resources sufficient to sustain a viable community at a decent level.  If, on the other hand, your goal is to feed a machine that generates larger and larger bank accounts for fewer and fewer people at the expense of communities, then by all means keep doing what we’ve been doing.

Here’s the basic problem.  People think that the free market and capitalism are one and the same thing.  They are not.  THEY ARE CLOSELY RELATED and both thrive in the presence of the other, but they are not the same thing.

But before all that we have to understand one thing—there is no such thing as a Free Market.  None.  Someone always dominates it, controls it, and usually to the detriment of someone else.

How is it a free market when one of the most salient features of it is the ability of a small group to determine who will be allowed to participate and at what level?  I’m not talking about the government here, I’m talking about big business, which as standard practice does all it can to eliminate competitors through any means it can get away with and that includes market manipulations that can devalue smaller companies and make them ripe for take-over or force them into bankruptcy.

There is, in fact, no such thing as a “free market”—you buy your way in, you spend pelf to stay in, and you play the game to keep anyone out that might threaten your ability to grow your market share.  The larger the market share you own, the more you can dictate the conditions of the market, which includes prices on goods and services as well as income levels of employees, even whether or not specific communities will be served and how.  We have become used to seeing how a company like WalMart can virtually destroy a small community all in the interest of consolidating a given market.  Their actions can cause townships to dissolve by forcing employment into a centralized hub and then shutting down any and all competing local businesses, leaving fewer options for the locals.  An employer of size can dictate tax levels to towns, even cities, get preferential treatment because of the number of employees and the implicit threat of penury should they leave.

A better descriptor of what we mean when we say free market would be Open Access Market.  But for that, someone has to be responsible for keeping all the gates open.

This is not a free market.

Free market is a euphemism these days for No Controls.

The more we roll back regulation and the tax base the more the tax base is eroded, because the companies demanding such rollbacks with the implied promise of reinvestment do not follow through—they use the rollbacks and the politicians they have sponsored to acquire greater freedom of action to shift the latent wealth of communities out of those communities and into their hands.

I’ve mentioned this before and this is the basis on which I recommend a shift in perspective.

Latent wealth.  What am I talking about?

It’s very simple and any businessman in the business of taking over and dismantling other companies knows exactly how this works.  So let’s use the example of such a takeover to illustrate the point.

Company A makes, say, chainsaws.  They have worked for more than half a century improving their product, according to a more traditional view of how a business should run, which is to set up shop to manufacturing a product and improve it and make it desirable through both quality and, as the business grows, reduction in price.  After 50 or 60 years they have reached a level of reputation that is enviable.  They make one of the best chainsaws in the world.  It’s a bit more expensive than other brands, but for good reason it’s a better chainsaw.

Operating this way, the company has learned over the years that their costs are at a certain level.  They require a certain skill level among employees, materials have to be of a certain quality, they must do regular maintenance on their physical plant, they have to invest a certain amount in research to continually be on top of potential improvements, and their management has to understand the methods by which they make their product.  Along with other expenses, the company has to spend a certain amount to maintain themselves.

For any of a number of reasons, they become vulnerable to a take-over.  Maybe it’s something as simple as the current owners don’t want it anymore.  It could be that they went public and the dividends they pay are not high enough to please a significant block of shareholders, so they sell their shares to buyers looking for what is about to happen.

Company B comes along and makes them an offer.  Company A sells.

Now, it’s possible that what Company B will do is take Company A into its fold, nurture it, and because of Company B’s presumably larger customer base or their better business plan they will preserve and save Company A.  This happens.  There are such Company Bs.  But the other scenario is what I’m interested in.

What the shareholders of Company B want is a quick turnaround of high dollar value.  Company B goes in and immediately reduces overhead in order to increase the profit margin per unit.  They may even lower the price in order to bring it more in line with its cheaper competitors.  Relying on the reputation of the Company A chainsaw, this works: people who would not buy one before because it was too expense will buy it now, so sales increase.

But the profit margin is still higher because Company B has reduced the quality control staff to a bare minimum.  They have started buying materials from a less reliable but cheaper vendor.  They increase the speed of production so more units are going out the door.  If this becomes difficult, a program of firing the higher-paid skilled workers begins and replacing them with less skilled, cheaper, more compliant workers.  Plant maintenance is cut to the bone.  All the money spent on maintenance and probably research is reduced drastically.  With substantially less overhead, the profit margin per unit shoots up.  The dividends are higher.  A small bubble results.  The stocks get more actively traded.  For a short while Company A looks worth much more than it did before.

All this cutting, though, has a longterm deleterious effect.  At some point the ability to produce a reliable product is impaired.  They lose their quality edge.  Eventually, Company A is manufacturing chainsaws that are no better—and possibly worse—than their cheaper competitors.

While all this is going on, if Company A runs a union shop, union busting is going on in order to force the union into concessions whose aim is basically to force them into compliance with what by now is an obvious program.  Workers leave.  The employees are occasionally offered early retirement packages.  The old workforce is whittled away and replaced.  Maybe the union itself is successfully busted.  (If this happens in a right to work state, this part is already dealt with because there is no union.)

Finally the plant suffers from the debilitating lack of maintenance and things break down.  Consumers lose confidence.  Sales begin an inexorable plummet.  At this point, Company B either looks for another buyer and shuts it down themselves and sells off the remaining physical assets either as scrap or piecemeal to competitors.

A few people have subsequently made a great deal of money in just a few short years.

What has happened is, Company B has removed all the latent wealth from Company A, converting it directly into short term profits, at the expense of the entity that was Company A.  When the dust settles, a certain number of people who once had decent livings working for Company A are looking for other jobs and a source of community stability is gone.

Here is where the tax-cutting Tea Baggers fundamentally misunderstand capitalism.

Capitalism—like any other economic system—is simply a way to organize the latent wealth in a community.  The building of a business is an organizing enterprise, a way to bring  otherwise disparate elements of a community together and concentrate what till then is only potential in such a way that order is created and the wealth generated is converted into readily distributable and usable forms.  That’s all.  Capitalism has to date simply been the most efficient and productive way to do this because of the nature of its built-in incentives, namely personal profit.

I don’t wish to undervalue this.  It is very important and very useful.  Potential wealth is just that—potential.  A group of people can wander around as a loose community on a mountain full of diamonds and still be unable to better their lives because the wealth latent in their presence at that mountain is completely untapped.  It is the peculiar genius of capitalism that all this unfocused energy and ability can be identified, organized, and turned into a productive means of utilizing those diamonds.  The carrot, of course, is Improvement of individual circumstance.

Like any organizing system, communities require something like this in order to sustain themselves.  Looked at this way, you can go all the way back to the days of the Pharoahs and see that all communities had some form of organizing activity that allowed the latent wealth to be converted into a means of improvement.  Capitalism basically came along and removed pedigree and privilege from the equation and offered a method whereby anyone could do this and do it in such a way that the greatest efficiency and growth resulted.

What gets lost, however, is the raw materials.  We are talking about the latent wealth of a community.  Everything that gets converted into—for the purposes of this discussion—money comes from that community in the first place.

In other words, the capitalist comes into a community (or comes out of it) and makes use of what is already latent within that community to build a structure that allows for the efficient use of innate resources—labor, the intellectual skills available, the environment, the social interconnectedness, the material resources available—and in return the capitalist expects a profit.  As order emerges out of chaos, there is an ability to improve conditions and generate a certain amount of excess around the growing volume of organization.  We call this excess profit and the thing that has made capitalism such a dynamo is the recognition that this excess is for the individual or group of individuals who are most responsible for the work that has been done in organizing, coordinating, and utilizing latent wealth.  This incentivizes people to do this work.

I need not go into the endless variety of uses for profit.  The more efficient this system is, the greater the apparent amount of this excess.

But it’s not really excess. What it is is the unutilized product of the organized work.  It is not needed for the work at hand, the allocations of expenses have already been met, and there is this left-over energy, if you will, but it is still a product of the work done and as such comes out of the community along with everything else.

Capitalism operates on the assumption that this excess may become the personal property of the individual.

In a way, all the salaries paid to the laborer (at whatever level, even if we designate them management) are part of this.

At this point, a key element of the nature of capitalism must be kept in mind, which is that capitalism, as a goal, seeks to monetize everything.

Now here’s where it has all gone very wrong.

What has been forgotten is the source of the actual material process—which is the community.  A captain of industry can’t do much more than imagine the factories and the products and the profits unless the community at large both allows the work and then cooperates with it fully.  No matter how you want to dress it up, the Owner is not ever solely responsible for such a creation.

But communities self-identify.  Subsequently, we see a situation where community bonds are split artificially in this instance—labor and management, workers and owners.

What we have been witnessing since Reagan began deregulating everything is the actions of a predatory capitalism leeching the latent wealth out of communities businessmen do not regard themselves part of.  In exactly the way Company B runs Company A into the dirt and sells off the husk after every dollar of converted wealth is taken out of it.   Except this is being done to everyone—towns, cities, states, the country.  Regulation must be in place to keep this relationship in balance, otherwise the wreckage left behind after the pillage will support very little.

The power relationship has been unbalanced and reversed.  Communities do not exist to serve wealth, wealth is organized and distributed to serve communities.

No one need suggest that capitalism be abandoned.  It remains one of the most efficient mechanisms for this process ever developed.  But the idea that those who use it best are the sole beneficiaries by moral right of its product is fundamentally in error.  This fact needs to be recognized and understood and acted upon before those we have sold our Company A to run us all into penury.

The Tea Party keeps insisting that taxes be eliminated or at least drastically reduced.  They assert this out of the belief that taxes restrain business from creating wealth and therefore jobs, at least in its simplest formulation.  This is obviously not true as we’ve been going through repeated cycles of tax reduction since JFK was in office and by the end of the Seventies one thing was clear for anyone to see if they look—as taxes and regulations are reduced, the community at large has lost wealth.  Real wages have stagnated, unemployment has gone up, the government has been called upon again and again to fill in where one presumes private enterprise should be providing support.  Add to this the clear intention of business to eliminate as much overhead as possible through union busting and outsourcing of jobs and the fact that above a certain level profits have grown exponentially and it ought to be obvious that this strategy contains a serious flaw in logic.

Taxes, when judiciously administered, are the best way to make sure the latent wealth of a community, once organized by capitalist improvement, is not packaged up and removed from that community to the detriment of that community.  This is the cost business owes to that community for allowing itself to be used.  When this is done in a reasonable fashion, profit remains a motivating factor and the community itself retains the resources to provide for its own health.

Because we are all part of a community.  This makes sense on a basic level.  What we are allowing to happen now is self-immolation, all for the sake of a broken idea of what we think is ideal.

Now.  I would like to ask everyone to stop voting against the general welfare.   It should be obvious after thirty years of this that Big Business has no interest in being responsible to anyone other than itself and that has clearly not been working to the benefit of the rest of us.

My Obligatory Piece About Ayn Rand

From time to time, here and there, someone brings Ayn Rand up as some kind of role model.  Lately it’s even in the national news, thanks to the Tea Party and an apparently not very good film of Rand’s seminal masterwork, Atlas Shrugged.  The uber conservatives now crowding reason out of the halls of congress with their bizarro legislation and their lectures from the floor and on committees about how their toilets don’t flush right so why should regulations on light bulbs be passed are the children of the Dragon’s Teeth cast randomly by Ms. Rand and her philosophical cult followers.  It amazes how people who profess to believe in a philosophy of independent thought can sublimate themselves so thoroughly to the dogmas of that philosophy and claim with a straight face that they are free thinkers on any level.  The phrase “more Catholic than the pope” comes to mind sometimes when crossing verbal swords with these folks, who seem perfectly blind to the contradictions inherent in their own efforts.  Rand laid out a My Way or the Highway ethic that demanded of her followers that they be true to themselves—as long as they did as she directed.

Ayn Rand’s novels, of which there were three (plus a novella/parable I don’t intend to discuss here), moved by giant leaps from promising to fanciful to pathetic.  There are some paragraphs in any one of them that are just fine.  Occasionally a secondary character is nicely drawn (Eddie Willers is possibly her most sympathetic and true-to-life creation) and from time to time there is even a moment of genuine drama.  But such bits are embedded in tar pits of philosophically over-determined panegyric that drowns any art there might be.

But then, her devoted fans never read them for the art.

steel-flag-2.jpg

What Rand delivers in both The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged is a balm to the misunderstood and underappreciated Great Man buried in the shambling, inarticulate assemblage that is disaffected high I.Q. youth.

The give-aways in both novels involve laughter.  The opening scene in The Fountainhead characterizes Howard Roark for the entire novel, prefiguring the final scene in the novel, which translated to film perfectly in the weird 1947 Gary Cooper thing.

Howard Roark laughed.

He stood naked at the edge of a cliff….He laughed at the thing which had happened to him that morning and at the things which now lay ahead.

Of course, the thing that had happened to him that morning was his expulsion from university for not completing his assignments.  You can pretty it up with philosophical dross, but basically he didn’t do what he was required to do, instead opting for self-expression in the face of everything else.  Hence the misunderstood genius aspect, the wholly-formed sense of mission, the conviction of personal rightness, and the adolescent disdain for authority no matter what.

But his reaction?  To laugh.

Any other kid in the same situation generally goes skulking off, bitter and resentful, harboring ill thoughts and maybe an “I’ll show you” attitude that may or may not lead to anything useful.

But not a Rand character.  They laugh.  It’s Byronic in its isolated disdain for rules or logic or anything casually human.  It’s a statement of separation.

It’s also just a bit psychotic.

The other scene is from Atlas Shrugged in which Dagny Taggart falls into bed with Henry Reardon.  Both are depicted as mental giants, geniuses, and industrial rebels.  They are self-contained polymaths who make their own rules.  And one of the rules they now make for themselves is that adultery is the only sensible choice for two such kindred beings.

And as they’re tumbling into an embrace?

When he threw her down on the bed, their bodies met like the two sounds that broke against each other in the air of the room: the sound of his tortured moan and of her laughter.

Of course, this most poignant moment is preceded by a long paragraph of Dagny explaining to Hank Reardon that she was going to sleep with him because it would be her proudest moment, because she had earned it.  It’s really rather ridiculous.  It’s the kind of thing that, if done at all, would most likely occur at the end of an affair, when both parties are trying to justify what they’d done, which is basically commit adultery because, you know, they wanted to.

But it’s the laughter that characterizes these two people in these moments.  Crossroads for them both, turning points, and what do they do?  They laugh.  You can’t help but read contempt into it, no matter how much explanation Rand attempts to depict them as somehow above it all.  For her it’s the laughter of victory, but in neither case is there any kind of victory, but a surrender.

Later in Atlas Shrugged Reardon gives her a bracelet made of his miracle metal and upon snapping it closed on her wrist, she kisses his hand, and it is nothing short of a moment from Gor.  Dagny gets traded around through the novel until she ends up with John Galt, and no matter how much Rand tries to explain it, the scenarios she sets up for each transition turn Dagny into a groupie.  She becomes by the end of the novel the prize each of them men gets when they’ve done a particularly impressive trick.

Rand attempts to portray their interactions (if you can call them that—really, they’re more contract negotiations, which means Rand owes an implicit debt to Rousseau) as strenuously righteous achievements.  No one just has a conversation if they’re a Rand hero, they declaim, they negotiate, the issue position statements.  They are continually setting ground rules for the experience at hand, and while maybe there’s something to this (we all indulge this sort of thing, from earliest childhood on, but if we tried to do it with the kind of self-conscious clarity of these people nothing would ever happen), it serves to isolate them further.  They are the antithesis of John Donne’s assertion and by personal fiat.

Only it isn’t really like that.

The problem with being a nerd is that certain social interactions appear alien and impenetrable and the nerd feels inexplicably on the outside of every desirable interpersonal contact.  People like Rand attempt to portray the group to which the nerd feels isolated from as deliberately antagonistic to the nerd because they sense the nerd’s innate superiority.  This is overcomplicating what’s really going on and doing so in an artificially philosophical way which Rand pretends is an outgrowth of a natural condition.  The messiness of living is something she seeks to tame by virtue of imposing a kind of corporate paradigm in which all the worthwhile people are CEOs.

As I said, it’s attractive to certain disaffected adolescent mindset.

But it ain’t real life.

I have intentionally neglected the third novel, which was her first one—We The Living.  I find this book interesting on a number of levels, one of the most fascinating being that among the hardcore Randites it is almost never mentioned, and often not read.  The reasons for this are many, but I suspect the chief one being that it doesn’t fit easily with the two iconic tomes.  Mainly because it’s a tragedy.

We The Living is about Kira Argounova, a teenager from a family of minor nobility who comes back to Moscow after the Revolution with the intention of going to the new “classless” university and becoming an engineer.  She wants to build things and she knows that now is her chance.  Prior to the revolution, she would never have been allowed by her family or social convention—her destiny was to have been married off.  That’s gone now.  We never really learn what has become of the rest of her family, but we can guess.  And Kira is intent on pursuing her dream.

But she can’t.  Because she is from minor nobility, she soon runs afoul of the self-appointed guardians of the Revolution, who oust her from the university just because.

She ends up a prostitute, then a black market dealer.  She becomes the lover of an NKVD agent and uses him.  She is already the lover of a wannabe counter-revolutionary who can’t get his game on and ends up in self-immolation.  The NKVD agent self-destructs because of the contradictions she forces him to see in the new state and Kira goes from bad to worse and finally makes an attempt to escape Russia itself and ends up shot by a hapless border guard at the Finnish border.  She dies just inside Finland.

It is a strikingly different kind of novel and it offers a glimpse of where Rand might have gone had she stuck to this path.  Sure, you can see some of the seeds of her later pedantry and polemic, but the bulk of the novel is heartfelt, an honest portrayal of the tragedy of dreams caught in systemic ambivalence.

One can understand the source of Rand’s fanatic love of the United States—she grew up under the early Soviets, and there’s no denying that this was a dreadful system for a bright, talented, intellectually-bent young woman—or anyone else, for that matter—to endure.  The freedom of the United States must have been narcotic to her.

But she fundamentally misunderstood the American landscape and identified with the glitzy, large-scale, and rather despotic “captains of industry” aspect rather than the common citizens, the groundseed of cooperation and generosity and familial observance and openness that her chosen idols took advantage of rather than provided for.  She drew the wrong lessons and over time, ensconced within her own air-born castles, she became obsessively convinced that the world was her enemy and The People were irredeemable.

Sad, really.  Sadder still that so many people bought into her lopsided philosophy.

She made the mistake so many people seem to make in not understanding that capitalism is not a natural system but an artifice, a tool.  It is not a state of being but a set of applications for a purpose.  It should serve, not dictate.  She set out a playbook which gave capitalism the kind of quasi-legitimate gloss of a religion and we are suffering the consequences of its acolytes.

However, it would seem the only antidote to it is to let people grow out of it.  There’s a point in life where this is attractive—I read all these novels when I was 15 and 16 and I was convinced of my own misunderstood specialness.  But like the adolescent conviction that rock’n’roll is the only music worth listening to and that the right clothes are more important than the content of your mind, we grow out of it.

Some don’t, though.  And occasionally they achieve their goals.  Alan Greenspan, for instance.

And even he has now admitted that he was wrong.  Too bad he didn’t realize that when he was 21.

A Short Bit About School

There’s a scene from that marvelous film, The Dead Poets Society, in which Robin Williams playing teacher John Keating has a brief conversation with Mr. Nolan, the headmaster of the school played by Norman Lloyd, about the purpose of his job.

“I thought my job was to teach them to think,” says Keating.

“Not on your life,” Mr. Nolan snaps back.  “They can learn that in college.”

Or something like that.  You get the point, anyway.

I just finished reading John Taylor Gatto’s thick, data-packed screed on American public schools, The Underground History of American Education.  Gatto taught in New York City for 30 years and the year he achieved teacher-of-the-year status, both citywide and statewide, he resigned, fed up finally with fighting a losing battle against a system he declares page after page in this book to be fundamentally malign.

Not that the people who either set it up or run it are bad people—they did what they did and do what they do because they believe in it.  And, Gatto stresses, like all true believers, their vision supersedes the reality in which they find themselves.

I found a lot in this book with which to disagree.  Gatto’s history is right on the borderlands of conspiracy theory.  He mentions the masons a few times and once at least accompanied the reference with a suggestive “I wonder what that is all about” line.  But he insists this was never done with ill-intent in mind.

Ill intent or not, the result was a system that does not educate, by and large, except by accident.  It is a system that chews up idealistic teachers and students on a daily basis because neither realize what exactly it is they are there to do.  The system knows, has it built into its basic make-up, and after a century and a half of accrued inertia, the system cannot change.  Not easily and not effectively.  Those who charge the windmill get tossed thoughtlessly and sometimes crushed.  He details instances where perfectly fine teachers have been summarily fired or forced to resign because they elected to do what they thought they were supposed to do instead of what was required of them and the further infuriating instances of teachers and administrators who resignedly continue doing things they know won’t work because they want their pension and sinecure.

So what is it that he suggests schools do?

To my surprise, it turns out to be what I’ve been suggesting for decades.

I’ve written about this before, but in this context it’s worth repeating.  I hated school.  Loathed it.  Practically from the first year on.  And it was a weird hatred because I would return every fall determined to like it, to get something out of it.  This is something my parents likely would not believe, since from their point of view I wasted my time in school.  But I showed up every year hoping something good would happen.  It did, occasionally.  One or two of my teachers were actually pretty good.  But in toto the 12 years was a dreary, mind-numbing, frustrating experience…and I didn’t know why!

Learning was never a problem for me.  I picked things up quickly.  Once learned, however, I wanted to move on.  The class, however, stayed stuck making me prove over and over again that I knew what I already did—and then occasionally making me feel like I really didn’t know it.  Homework completely dismayed me.  Some of it, true, I wasn’t very adept at—I didn’t do well in arithmetic (although I can do percentages in my head, as well as multiply and do some rudimentary fractions—a career in photography is impossible without some math skills, at least the way I practiced it)—but other things, once the teacher said I knew it, I was ready for the next thing.  Which didn’t happen.

I was reading ahead of my grade practically from the beginning (I entered kindergarten knowing how to read, albeit my main reading was comic books) and that often was met with the kind of disapproval from my teachers that’s hard to pin down.  I knew by their attitude and sometimes their actions that I was doing something wrong, but I for the life of me couldn’t understand what.

And then of course there was the social aspect.  I was bullied from 1st grade to 8th.  There was, I soon learned, nothing that would be done about it by the teachers.

Looking back on it now, I can characterize it handily—school was a prison.  I had to be there, locked in a room with other prisoners who didn’t like being there, and the sociology of the playground was in its much milder way the sociology of the prison yard.  Students had no power except over other students and it was exercised in cruel but, once the circumstances are clear, perfectly understandable ways.  This also explained why there was such antagonism toward “good students”—they were seen as suck-ups, people who were trying to curry favor with the bosses and make an escape “for good behavior.”

Some schools were worse than others.  There were public schools in my childhood everyone knew were bad places to go.  No learning of any worth took place in them and the main requirement was to be tough.

My experience in school is consistent with Mr. Gatto’s diagnosis—public schools are not intended to educate but to socialize.  They were established to take kids out of the home and turn them into “useful citizens.”  Useful to whom and for what changes from time to time, but when you recognize the immense contributions of men like Henry Ford and John D. Rockefeller and Andrew Carnegie to the establishment of modern public schooling, you start to get a hint.  When I went to Roosevelt High School I was told that it was a traditional “blue collar” school—which meant it was there to turn out factory workers for local St. Louis industries.  Some of the class selections made by the older counselors on behalf of students—who by then didn’t care all that much, school was school, what difference did it make what they had to take—reflected this idea.

Although at the time it made little real sense because the culture at large had changed during the Sixties and most of this was done by rote, because it had always been done, and wasn’t leading the students anywhere useful, even by the questionable standards of the early 20th Century.

One of the most telling statements in Gatto’s book concerns the era of court mandated overhauls and their many failures.  “The problem [I’m paraphrasing] is not that all the money failed to fix the system, but that no one realized that the system wasn’t broken, not by its own metrics.  it did what it did very well and all that money just gave it more to do the same with.”

In those places and schools where someone realized that the way things were being run was fundamentally flawed, real change happened.  But these instances are rare.

You have to ask a basic question:  in the instance of a situation like Garfield High School in East L.A. where a dedicate educator, Jaime Escalante, took dead-end kids and taught them to do calculus, why can’t this happen everywhere?  Escalante proved that it wasn’t a lack of intelligence on the part of the students.  If anything, they were brighter than their better-off counterparts, possibly because just surviving require a raw intelligence honed to a sharper edge.  So what is it?

Kids know instinctively when they’re being handed a bad deal.  After three years in many schools, the light is said to go out in many kids’ eyes.  By then they realize that it was all a game—they aren’t there to learn, they are there to be turned into consumers.  Maybe they can’t describe it that way, but they know they’re being handed a bill of goods.  So the system becomes a nanny system, designed to get them to adulthood pliant and cooperative.

Gatto goes much farther.  I am not so convinced as he is of the precision of the process.  And the fact is, real learning does happen here and there, even within this cockamamie system.

What did I do?  I paid little attention in class unless something was going on that interested me.  I took charge of my own education, and believe me that was not the best idea.  But no one stopped me.  I ended up my senior year cutting two and three days a week.  Most of those days I spent in the local library, a few blocks up the street from school, reading for five or six hours.  It was a wholly unguided regimen, haphazard and chaotic—but I read a lot of good books.  Gradually over time I was fortunate enough to find people who, all unknowingly, helped build a framework inside which all that reading turned into something coherent.

I agree the public school system as it stands in many places today probably ought to go away.  It does not serve the people attending.  But I have a profound antipathy for the current political cries for its demise—they have nothing to recommend to put in its place and because the system is not what we need doesn’t mean we don’t need one.

The Debate: part seven

In an earlier post on this topic I made the claim that the thing which changed everything in this country was the rise of capitalism as the dominant economic model.  It’s time to make good on that claim.

Firstly, we need to understand, once and for all, just what Capitalism is and how it is misunderstood in these sorts of discussions.

Capitalism is an umbrella term used to describe a variety of practices under one general heading, practices like mercantilism, industrialization, and interest-based lending.  But to be precise, all these different practices overlap but are not themselves capitalism.

Capitalism is the strategic use of money to determine the value of money and thereby transfer latent wealth from one sector of an economy to another.

This simple distinction does much to explain the animosity throughout the 19th Century toward any kind of centralized bank, including the Jacksonian war on the United States Bank, and Jeffersonian suspicion of corporate power.  It is nothing less than the ability of a small group to determine the value of local currency and the buying power of a community, all through the manipulation of currency exchange markets (like Wall Street), regardless of intrinsic values of manufactures and production.

But we have so conflated this with all other aspects of our much-vaunted “free” enterprise system that to criticize capitalism is seen as an attack on the American Way of Life.  It is not.  Although many Left attacks on it become hopelessly mired in broad attacks on wealth, it is not so much an attack on wealth per se—that is, wealth based on the prosperity of a community—but wealth derived at the expense of the community.

Which is what we are seeing take place today.  Which has taken place often in our history.

The difficulty is, this has been one of the most successful economic systems ever for creating prosperity, especially for the individual who understands it and works it, and, if properly regulated, has been the foundation of American achievement, at least materially.  So any critique can be made to seem like a critique of America itself.  This fact has been useful to plutocrats defending their practices against attempts to rein in and control abuses.  The coupling of what in extremes are parasitic practices of economic pillage with grass roots patriotism has been the most difficult combination to deal with in our history.  In its contemporary guise, it couches itself in an argument that socially responsible community-based efforts to address economic and resource inequality are Socialist and therefore fundamentally un-American.  This is historically inaccurate and strategically manipulative, but the bounds between the anti-federalist sentiments that began even before the revolution and became quasi-religious among certain groups in the aftermath of the Civil War are many and strange and need teasing apart to understand.

The central myth of our national ethos is this: an American is self-made, independent, capable all on his own of creating his life and success and by virtue of a unique freedom from government interference has made a success not only of his personal life but of the country as a whole, being a nation comprised of millions of separate, vital, omnicompetent, self-motivated, natural-born geniuses.  The fact that the frontiers have generally been initially settled by independent people who faced the challenges with little or not help from a central government, and that many if not most of them succeeded in creating viable homesteads that eventually melded into vital and prosperous communities feeds this myth with the substance of reality, although never a reality consistent with the myth.  Through successive waves of redefintion as each frontier became “back east” how the myth played out in the popular imagination changed while leaving intact the core idea that an American builds his life all on his own and the worst thing that could happen was for a government to interfere with that process.

The reality was always different.  We could examine the process of frontier community building in detail and find variations, but a constant has always been the call for military aid in confronting Indians and the second generation establishment of courts of law enforcement as quickly as possible once something resembling a town emerged.  The “independence” was in force only until such time as a community identity developed that could collectively request all the services these settlers were presumably fleeing in their westward quest.

Because the fact was, what these people overwhelmingly were doing was going in search of independent wealth—not here defined as a capacity to own their own leisure but rather the ability to provide a dependable source of provender and security.  They came for the land.  They came to be free of eastern industrial wage-penury.  They came to own something outright.  But most recognized they could not be secure in that ownership without the body of law and the structure of government to defend it, maintain it, and make it viable over many generations.  While it may be true that some groups fled the east to get away from certain government practices, the fact remained that as soon as they could they erected a government, taking those elements they thought workable and, hopefully, leaving out what they disliked.  Eventually, it emerged that they needed much more of what they left behind than perhaps they originally thought—but the whole purpose of petitioning for statehood, which was a popular movement, was to secure the benefit of federal laws that sometimes restricted the abuses of territorial governments but brought the benefits of a national law system that was seen as superior to local, often improvised, systems.

Perhaps the epitome of the independent American in popular myth is the Mountain Man.  But even here, a close examination shows that the most prominent and successful of these apparent hermits were anything but social self-exiles.  Many were educated businessmen.  They hazarded extreme hardship and risk to bring to market products they expected would bring high prices.  They depended absolutely on the communities popular fiction suggests they had no use for.

This is not to say there were no such men of lore, but they were singular examples and not an example of the norm.  To suggest that our national economy and politics should be constructed to accommodate their example is absurd, but it seems that is often what the Right is suggesting.

However, despite the trend, there were and are pockets of entrenched resentment to any and all government.  I have identified sources of these strains—political, religious, and economic.  They feed into a river of anti-federal thinking that is often simply contrarian, but not to be lightly dismissed. Many of these can be loosely described as Libertarian, but even that can be deceptive.

The threads are these:

Because of British law that forbade westward settlement and then imposed taxes on unrepresented colonists, a strain of resentment toward government that seemed to favor external concerns over citizen’s concerns fed into the break with England.

Because of Alexander Hamilton’s experiment in internal taxes and community engineering to establish a national industrial base at the expense of subsistence enterprise, there developed a suspicion of all central government and taxes.

Because of the Millennarian nature of many of the religious movements in America, parallel ethics developed—one that tied Christian probity and salvation to hard work and disinterested success, the other that elevated moral prerogatives above secular law and rejected interference from the larger community in matters of law, behavior, and individual rights.

Because of the perceived imposition of modes of living and commerce by the North on the South after the Civil War, a pool of entrenched resentment toward federal governments was created that worked continually against the hegemony of Washington D.C.

These threads, combined with the myth of the American, created a large, often disparate, and usually unorganized base of people poised to resist anything that smacked of a national paradigm emerging from the federal government.  Along with this you can add intransigent tax rebels, racists, and a vein of self-educated conspiracy theorists, all of which adds up to an ill-defined but persistent Right at the grass roots level.

The recent element is organization.  From the mid Seventies on we have seen a growing coalition of all these disparate groups into a unified block that has consistently voted Republican.  Since the mid Sixties and Johnson’s revolutionary civil rights activism drove the Southern Democrats to join and become a large part of a diminished Republican Party, the core of of the Right have sought a base from which to attack liberalism in general, social reconstruction in particular, and a little more than a decade after the passage of the Civil Rights Act they found their core constituency in the Moral Majority, which combined most of the religious components of a revitalized conservatism.  Under Reagan, who successfully rallied the anti-federal sentiments—government is the problem—these religious reactionaries joined the fiscal conservatives and the anti-federalists to become the foundation of our contemporary, ever-more reactionary Right.

What has happened since Reagan, however, is even more troubling.  What began in many instances as a grass roots reaction to government and social change has been manipulated by the moneyed interests to target government regulation and tax structures that barred corporate pillage.  By feeding an angry voter block with the idea that their causes are one with the top two percent, they have successfully distorted the national dialogue to their advantage to undo decades of financial regulation and now are mounting a growing and evermore successful attack on all manner of collective activism that traditionally protects and promotes the interests of working class and middle class people.

The historical roots beneath all these different conservative groups extend back to the beginnings of our history, but never before have they all been so successfully merged into a solid block of voters.  But any legitimacy these ideas may have had has been corrupted by the usurpation of corporate manipulation.

The question needs to be asked—if, as it is believed by these groups, big government is a fundamental problem, how is it any different in the case of big corporations?  It would seem obvious that the operative word is Big.  Some corporations, multinationals all, have achieved such a size as to function as de facto nation-states.  Except for the fact that they have no national boundaries, they meet all other criteria.  Yet no one seems to be addressing this reality.

Another question—if it is the desire of the Right that government be stripped of its ability to address equity issues, who then will do that work?  Because the government stepped in initially because no one else could.  Arguments over the ethics of states’ rights fall when it is remembered that states did not address civil liberties issues.  It required federal intervention to assert what should have been recognized as not only the law of the land but common decency in matters of race, gender, and economic disparity.

A final question for this present essay—why is it that people who are losing ground economically, socially, and institutionally seem so willing to vote against their own interests in support of a false representation of what America is?  That is a more difficult question to answer and I will not here attempt to do so.  In this and the last six posts I have laid out the historical threads of the Right’s current manifestation.  Conclusions may be drawn from there.

I will address one thing here.  I said corporate pillage.  We have been witnessing since the Eighties large and growing transfers of wealth from the community to private hands.  We have been told that these transfers have been necessary to keep our private institutions from collapsing and causing even more havoc.  In a case by case analysis, there may be some truth in certain instances, but overall this has been a con.  I say this because the transfers came largely with no conditions on the recipients and practices which produced and exacerbated the calamities of 2008.  To pay for these transfers, the Republicans have waged a persistent and successful battle to defund and end programs which they claim we cannot afford.  Here, however, is a chart that shows the dollar-for-dollar transfers.  However one may feel about the nature of the programs affected, it is obvious that this is in no way to the general taxpayer benefit.  This is all special interest, corporate plunder, and in return programs that enable the possibility of social equity and potential upward mobility among struggling Americans are put in jeopardy.  When the Right bleats about class warfare, here is where it is actually being waged.

The issue of tax fairness is a constant in this country.  In the last few decades, the rhetoric has been added about who is benefiting and why certain people have the right to benefit from “my” taxes.  It sounds like an equity issue.  But the way it plays out is an excuse to extract wealth from the community.

Let me explain.  It has to do with a concept called latent value.

Latent value can best be understood as the wealth held in reserve, stored, if you will, after periods of labor to build.  “Unmarketed” value, so to speak.  We tap into this each time we take out a home equity loan.  The assumed value of your property is used as collateral to guarantee the fungible manifestation of the loan.  We have paid into the property over years.  More than that, we have maintained it, added on, upgraded, taken care of it to maintain or improve that value.

The same is true for entire communities and a business taps into that latent value when it opens its doors.  It hires people from the community, relies on the roads, the electricity, water, sewer services.  It utilizes local government offices for licensing, inspection, zoning.  It depends on the laws of that community to protect it from arbitrary attack, it uses the banks to underwrite its operations, and on and on.  The community as a whole is a resource and it “lends” part of its latent value to the business.

In return, that business owes it to that community to add to its latent value.  This is done in a variety of ways, including taxes that can be used to maintain or add services and infrastructure for public use.  If all works as it should, the business gets to generate a profit from what it does and the community gets value added from the new activity.  Both benefit.

That has in many instances changed.  At a certain level, there has been a de facto repudiation of this relationship on the part of business.  Some of this has always been the case, but it has not reached such criminal levels since before the Great Depression.

What is happening now is that business is extracting wealth from the community.  It is leaching the latent value out of the community.  This is sometimes known as “WalMart Syndrome.”

Let me describe it as it happens in business.  Say Company A comes in and buys Company B.  Company B has existed for decades, it has a successful product, employs a few hundred people, but has recently been struggling (or, what is ever more common, it has gone public and the shareholders are not happy with their returns).  Company A is in a position to acquire it.  This could be a good thing—with the greater resources of Company A, Company B could once more become healthy, and continue on.  That is, if Company A is at all interested in continuing Company B for the profits is generates as a going concern.  (Please note—there are many Company A’s who do just that, take a struggling smaller firm, fix it, and make it profitable again.  I stress this point because I want it clear that this system can work.  What more often happens is not necessary!)

However, the aim of Company A is to extract the latent value out of Company B as quickly as possible.  The operations are reorganized.  Maintenance is cut back to the bare minimum and in some instances eliminated completely.  Staff is laid off.  Production is increased.  The cost of manufacturing is drastically lowered per unit.  As things break, they are not replaced.  The good name of Company B continues to sell the product on the open market until it becomes clear that all the cuts have resulted in an inferior product.  When gross sales dip below a certain level, the company is shut down, everyone laid off, and the remaining stock sold as salvage.  Company B is destroyed, but before it is gone the wealth is has built up, latent in its very substance, has been extracted in short order by Company A and added to its bottom line.

All this is driven by shareholder and corporate greed.  No investment is made in Company B at all and in the process a great many workers lose employment, and, depending on the size of the community in which Company B exists, the local town may be terribly crippled.

The continual assault on taxes with the concomitant bribery by communities to attract businesses that then fail repeatedly to invest in that community even while they use the resources—the latent value—of that community is exactly the same process and it is tearing this country down.

It is not Socialism that we expect investment that seeks to raise the standards and expectations of the people in general, and the payment of taxes, horribly distorted because of the special deals made to a small number of extremely rich entities, is not punishment but a way to raise the value of the whole.  We are no longer a frontier country.  That mythology is being used to convince people to vote in such a way that the latent wealth embedded in our national fabric can be more easily converted into transferable funds and extracted by those with no sense of responsibility to anyone but themselves and their own class.  (And not even each other—at this level, they will pillage and ruin one of their own just as readily as an essentially defenseless middle class or poor community.)

Because the strains of historical animosity and intransigence that have existed throughout the two plus centuries of our existence, the Right has managed to codify and effective propaganda campaign to destroy essentially progressive, socially responsible government, all to the benefit of a class that may well establish themselves as a new aristocracy, with feudal powers.  The only thing that is enabling all this is superior organization and obsessiveness.

It should be obvious by now that all this Right wing activism has nothing to do with anyone’s rights.  Everything that functionally protects the rights of people who do not own their own wealth—in other word, the ninety-five percent of us who work for a living because we can’t live on the interest from our holdings—is under attack.

But the one thing that needs to be understood in all this is that to push back is not to repudiate the idea of American success.  Making money, succeeding, is not at issue.  What is at issue is a resurgent capitalism that no longer has a country.

The Debate: part six

We need to make one more side trip into the 19th Century.  The Civil War.

No other event so defines us.  I would argue that not even the Revolution is as important to who we are today as the Civil War is.  This event, along with World War II, established the national identity in ways with which we still struggle to accommodate today.

Shelby Foote, in his majestic narrative about the Civil War, pointed out the central change of the aftermath.  “Before the war, we said ‘the United States are.’  After, we said ‘the United States is.'”  A simple enough thing to say, but to comprehend the meaning is to understand that the country underwent a fundamental realignment of perspective.  It was a shock, a stunning blow to what had been an assumed association of separate nations in a voluntary coalition.  The most prominent of the Virginia Founders spoke often of their country, by which they meant Virginia.  When Jefferson Davis asked Robert E. Lee to assume overall command of all the Confederate armies, Lee refused, saying that he was willing only to defend his country—Virginia.

This separateness went without saying until the Civil War.  When South Carolina seceded and fired upon Fort Sumter, they assumed the position of a separate country at war with another one.  All the states that seceded took it as given that they could leave the Union any time they chose.  Lincoln decided that ratification of the Constitution and all that went with the establishment of a federal government that represented all the states as one nation argued against that presumption.

The opinions over the issues of the War continue to be debated.  Was it over slavery?  Was it over the presumed right to be free of federal interference?  Certainly for most of the foot soldiers of the South, slavery was hardly and issue, but the idea that federal troops could march into their states and tell them what to do was.  These men were ill-served by the people who instigated secession, who knew very well what the issue was about, and often cloaked their defense of an economic system in the rhetoric of liberty and revolutionary politics.

We need not rehash the Civil War here except to point out that the issue was slavery, though in most ways it was not about the slaves.  This is perhaps a slippery point to grasp.  The institution of slavery was crippling the ability of congress to function across national lines.  The five-eighths rule gave southern plantation owners an unwarranted electoral advantage even while they denied the rights they were exercising to the people they used.  But it was the increasing rancor over the admission of states to the union, whether they would be free or slave, that drove the South finally to break with the United States.  The way of life of the major propertied citizens of the southern states was directly threatened by northern industrialization and the westward expansion of free state settlers.  Eventually, their ability to maintain a useful majority in congress would be eroded to nothing and domination by free state politics would start undoing them financially and socially.  The sticking point was slavery.  It had to go.  The north was beginning to “carry” the south.  Things had to change.

The moral issues coincided this time.

But what concerns us here is what happened afterward.  Functionally, the United States of America assumed prominence across all state and territorially borders and, at least implicitly, federal law trumped state law.  Reconstruction was intended to rebuild the South, both materially and politically.  The program, however, involved military governorships in charge of vast areas of the South—the so-called Satraps—and much that occurred was arbitrary, experimental, and occasionally capricious, fueling the resentments left over from defeat.  It is within this time frame that we first see the sentiments of “taking our country back” expressed by embittered southerners who hated the federal government and the north for essentially destroying their way of life.

The Ku Klux Klan and other clandestine groups notoriously struck back locally to nullify many of the emancipation measures, but what concerns us here is the political action taken by southern politicians who carried out a propaganda campaign over several years that tied federal programs to corruption.

This was certainly nothing new.  There had always been a degree of mistrust over Washington’s handling of money and public programs.  But the southern Democrats did such a thorough job of connecting the two things in the public mind that “government project” automatically meant “corruption!”  There was, by the time they finished, no way for there to be a federal program that wasn’t corrupt—the idea became an oxymoron in the public mind, especially in the south and subsequently in the west.  It was one of the most successful campaigns of its sort ever and it has lingered with us to this day.  In the wake of that, the issue of State’s Rights became bigger and bigger.

This was almost wiped away during the Great Depression.  FDR became a savior to many people and “government aid” lost much of its former opprobrium during a decade of extreme need and effective federal aid.  World War II cashed in on some of that new-made good will and, along with the other patriotic sentiments of the war years, brought this country together in ways it never was before and has drifted from since.

In the wake of both the Great Depression and World War II, federal activism increased as never before.  The ability of the central government to address problems of national concern achieved an almost unquestioned dominance.  The failure of traditional approaches to economic downturns, periods of recession and depression that had plagued our economy throughout in boom and bust cycles, was finally demonstrated sufficiently and laws passed that it became a given that some control over what had been regarded as “natural” cycles could be exerted to the benefit of the entire country.  With the economic boom and world dominance that came in the wake of World War II, America entered a long period of federal triumphalism which finally broke with the high inflation and interest rates in the aftermath of the Vietnam War and the effective challenges to American global hegemony demonstrated by the OPEC oil embargo.

But the pool of resentment left over from the Civil War never disappeared.  It found purchase in the Cold War and expressed itself as skepticism of government in general, using the example of Soviet-style dictatorship as the gold standard for the inevitable result of excess federal control.  The mania of the McCarthy Era was only one, very prominent example of the push back against the federal government, with its continued accusations of deep infiltration by the politically suspect in the Washington bureaucracy.  With each new wave of federal override of local prerogative—in education, in voting, in civil rights, in race equality, in First Amendment issues over free speech and religion—the assertion that these actions were part and parcel of a worldwide communist conspiracy informed the frantic reaction on the part of people who had inherited the cultural resentment of government in general.

It came to a head under President Johnson when he pushed through the Voting Rights Act and the Civil Rights Act and the southern Democrats as a block deserted him and became the core of a revitalized Republican Party.  From that point on, their strategy has been simple—to seize on any issue that can be made to look like federal usurpation of local or even individual rights.  What this amounted to was a culture war, because the resentments all were directed at social legislation and court decisions that seemed to run counter to common values.  But as the movement continued, it was clear that much more was at stake than simply drawing a line against a changing culture that no longer approved racism, gender discrimination, or arbitrary censorship.  As the Seventies became the Eighties, the Right included in their list of “corrections” any economic measures that could be seen as “leveling” measures—anti-unionism increased, attacks against federal financial rules increased, news organizations that did not appear to support a conservative, business-friendly program were attacked or purchased.  The role of money became dominant.

What had happened clearly was that the financial sector had found a useful foil in the social reactionaries who were attacking the dominant federalism on cultural grounds.  Corporate strategists found they could easily usurp social anger and make it one with a desire to roll back fiscal controls in place since the Great Depression, by aligning the rights of the wealthy with the rage of social conservatives.

All of which goes back to the post-Civil War resentment of disempowered elites who felt they had been stripped of their natural rights to dictate community norms.  It was not until the massive union movements that sprang up during and after the Gilded Age, coupled with Theodore Roosevelts activist trust busting, that the wealthy of the north and east found common cause with this reservoir of anti-federal resentments.  They were derailed by the Great Depression and it took a couple of generations and the mischaracterization and fear brought about by the Cold War before an effective momentum could be achieved to regain traditional patrician privileges and strip the middle class and the poor of any ability to redress social and economic inequities.  The success of the movement can be seen in the numbers of disenfranchised blue collar, middle, and lower middle class people who vote the programs of this group in complete rejection of their own best interests.  Somehow The Enemy has become anyone who advocates higher education for all people, economic controls, and great personal liberties, including a free press not dominated by corporate interests.

I’ll see if I can’t wrap this up next time.

The Debate: part five

The fervor with which assaults on liberalism are launched of late possess a zealotry difficult to understand in any reasonable sense.  There is a religious element to it, a battle of ideologies that seem to leave the precincts of fact, data, and logic very quickly, often on both sides.  The inability of Left to talk to Right is the equivalent of the sectarian babbling between any two apparently irreconcilable religious groups, both of whom insist on their point of view being not only correct but the only one.

After decades of more or less rational political discourse in this country, many people have been caught completely by surprise at the level of bitterness that, upon examination, seem unsupportable by the issues (with the possible exception of abortion—but even that is ramped up far more than it ought to be given the middle ground of contraceptive use).

Where did this come from?

Once more, we look back to the early republic.

When claims are made that this was established as a Christian Nation, such claims are both right and wrong. Wrong in that the structure of law and institutions created in the aftermath of the revolutionary war are the most secular such governmental constructs ever created. The establishment of the United States as a nation is not Christian or any other religion, and this was done very intentionally. More, perhaps, as break with all European traditions in which religion was politicized and churches were arms of the government, conjoining common faith with political hegemony, but nevertheless those who claim that the United States, in the form of the Constitution and the subsequent offices and conduct, was established as a Christian edifice are flat wrong.

However, the fact that this was a country of Christians is undeniable and the fervor of religious embrace was profound.

The old grade school lesson that the first colonists came here to escape religious persecution is mostly true.  It doesn’t go quite far enough, though, and explain that these religious exiles were themselves probably more religious than the states from which they fled, states where religious observance was akin to a loyalty oath.

Which is, of course, how you get debacles like the Salem Witch Trials where you might expect a more rational approach.  The Enlightenment veneer that overlay the revolutionary period and informed the political philosophy that manifested in the Constitution was pretty much just that—a veneer.  City-bound for the most part, once you got out into the hinterland, on the frontiers, religious sentiment was a living, breathing reality that was as if not more important than any political principles in currency at the time.  For many Americans of that generation, Liberty meant the freedom to worship God without a bishop or priest telling you where, when, or how.

Coming to North America must have been a surreal experience for these people.  They had come from a crowded, dirty place—just about any city in Europe at that time—where they had constantly to worry about the next upheaval that would require a realignment of political (and sometimes religious) affiliations.  Disease, high mortality, sometimes opulent wealth within walking distance of soul-crushing squalor.  But for the most part a world that had become and was becoming more urbanized.  Making landfall in the New World must have been like time travel, taking them back to a primeval land of myth.  No buildings, no roads, nothing to indicate human beings had ever been there, huge, dense forests undisturbed by the axe.

Many brought with them a full suite of superstitions about old forests and just trying to live here must have required unbelievable courage—or unimaginable desperation.  But they made a go of it, cut some trees down, built the first villages, and after a hundred years the east coast was beginning to look a bit like the world they had left.

But in pushing back that frightening forest they had clung to their faiths and relied on it hourly.  Many early colonists believed Satan lived in those forests, and certainly many of the encounters with the near-naked natives who didn’t seem to know the first thing about God or Jesus did nothing to dissuade them of that idea.  Pushing that forest back was not only consistent with their belief in Improvement but necessary to keep the devil a little further away.

By the mid 18th Century, The Great Awakening gripped the colonies, a series of revival movements spurred by open-air preaching based on emotional reactions to arminian accommodations embraced by the seaport cities that were becoming comfortable with material success.  In a way it was a repeat of the movement that caused early pilgrims of Presbyterian and Calvinist theologies to cross the Atlantic in the first place.  The daily struggle against the unknown happening in the rural frontiers was poorly served by churches that preached a moderate, calming theology with a God that seemed less and less concerned with sin in the face of worldly success.  What happened in the hinterland evoked comparisons to the “heretical” movements of the Middle Ages which the Catholic Church worked to subdue and ended up with in the massive splits of the Reformation.

In his examination of the market phenomena that defined much of the early Republic, The Market Revolution,  Charles Sellers writes:

“Our secular mythology renders almost incomprehensible the religious mythology that organized experience for early rural America.  The gnostic cosmology and stoic resignation of peasant forebears, who likewise lived at the mercy of nature and invoked its fertility with daily labor, sacralized the behavioral norms demanded by the subsistence mode of production…for centuries peasant animism had magicalized the patriarchal Christian God who reconciled Europeans to hazards of weather, terrors of plague, and exactions of fathers and rulers.  The Protestant Reformation revitalized this magical patriarchalism to cope with the Old World market’s initial surge.  The awesome Jehovah proclaimed by Geneva’s Protestant theologian John Calvin was brought to the New World by uprooted emigrants and preached from Congregational meetinghouses of New England Puritans, the Presbyterian kirks of the Scotch-Irish, and the Reformed churches of Germans, Dutch, and French Huguenots.  Calvinism’s thrilling promise of divine encounter sacralized deep springs of animistic magic and mystery to arm rural Euro/Americans with invidious power against capricious fate.  The more vividly they felt Jehovah’s omnipotence, the safer they felt in a hazardous world.”

Preachers like George Whitefield and Jonathan Edwards took the Message to the wilderness, creating a surge of revivalist meetings that poured from New England southward, sweeping rural populations into the fold of highly emotional religious experiences, complete with swooning, ecstasies, visions, possibly glossolalia, all of which offended the stabilizing, order-hungry seaboard churches which reacted both from the pulpit and legislatively, fueling the growing political embrace of strict separations of church and state.

By the time of the revolution, although the revivalist movements had fractured and splintered into numerous disputatious denominations, a basic sympathy existed informing all of them with the idea that God was not the property of the government, that in fact God disapproved of governments that interposed law between individuals and what they perceived as the natural right to encounter creation without intermediary or interpretation.  (This latter sentiment came to inform the idea that the government should, in fact, say nothing whatever, pro or con, regarding religion, and ought to remove even the appearance of favoritism toward either specific faiths or religious experience in general.)  A tremendous pool of resentment toward the government on this issue rippled beneath the surface of all other resentments that combined to cause the break with England.  The colonial governments were often seen as collusive with the King’s government in this regard and there was no doubt an expectation that this would be redressed once independence was achieved.  (It took a while—direct state sponsorship of certain churches did not end for some time, although the federal government had removed itself from such connections.)

It was the Second Great Awakening, which began after the establishment of the United States and ratification of the Constitution that created the odd coupling of capitalist zeal and religious fervor.  Competing traditions, old and new, sought to achieve dominance in a rapidly expanding nation that quite obviously embraced worldly success as a natural right, one of the chief goals of the revolution.  In Europe, the established churches, as arms of the state, muffled themes of denouncing the world and its attributes, a trend that could be trace all the way back to the first establishment of Christianity as the dominant religion of Rome.  Governments did not wish to discourage wealth-building because this was a source of political power.  The older churches had long since found accommodation with attention to money and rarely preached against self-improvement, at least among the merchant classes.  This same trend was taking place in America where seaboard financial dynasties were emerging and the class-free society that had been in place in practice if not legally for a long time promoted wealth-building across all social lines.  Interest in salvation appeared to wane with the rise of temporal comfort.

The successors of Edwards, Samuel Hopkins and Timothy Dwight in particular, wrestled with the fact that mercantile growth was inevitable and followed the frontier like a wave, and with it a, to them, diluted religious apprehension known as Deism.  Deism was an Enlightenment accommodation which greatly diffused religious experience, rendering it almost a wholly philosophical matter rather than one of spiritual rebirth.  It was Deism that permitted the Founders to avoid the question of a national religion in drafting the Constitution—a movement hard to argue with given the antipathy of the rural settlers to any state sponsored church—but which the inheritors of Calvin found spiritually troubling.  They feared an abandonment of Christianity as worldly success and comfort grew.  The Second Great Awakening restarted the revivals, took them further west, and south, as a firebreak to a perceived ambivalence to spiritual matters in the east.

The central difficulty of keeping religious ethics in the face of successful nation-building affected both traditions and the older churches, in New York and Boston, adopted some of the rhetoric of what was called the New Light, and took advantage of the new printing technologies to create the first wide-spread Bible and Tract Societies.  For a time, Bibles were the largest selling book throughout America because they were the cheapest, along with the tracts accompanying them.  Mass printing drove the price per copy down drastically and endangered all other forms of popular publishing except newspapers.

The battle was between Enlightenment rationalism—which was concerned with man’s rights in this world, now—and the emotionalism of Millennarian religious experience, which proclaimed that the concern must be on the state of the soul for the next world.  In Europe a similar confrontation was occurring which would result in the rise of Romanticism—a more or less secular embrace of emotionalism over rationality—while here is resulted in an entrenched Evangelicalism, centered not on the primacy of sentiment and emotionalism concerning the self and the world but on the emotionalism found in a rebirth in God.

The accommodation that emerged was one that coupled all the driving ambition of worldly success with a strict self-abnegation—temperance, chastity, and a severe scrupulousness in business—that made the only sanctified outlet of worldly ambition the very success in business that had a generation before been seen as the biggest threat to spiritual matters.

This engendered a reversal of certain themes—for instance, the Millennium, the return of Christ to Earth, now became something that had to happen before Jesus came back, not when—but the success of this led to half a century of expanding church attendance and the growing influence of religion in political movements, i.e. abolition and temperance.

What this meant for our present examination is that a pool of religious sentiment tied to Millennarian anticipation, rejection of rationalism, and an embrace of antinomianism (the belief that one can be so possessed of grace/salvation that manmade laws no longer apply) became a popularly maintained constant.  The antipathy against government is fed by this select exceptionalism to give this group a belief in the rightness of their cause from a source irredressable in secular institutions.

The 19th Century is littered with small groups of religious isolates who chose westward migration rather than life under a growing secular government.  Most failed, but some became notable successes—the Mormons for one—but by and large all these groups have been partially absorbed into mainstream American life.  They bring these traditions with them, of course, just as any other self-identified group does.

What effect this has in practice is a manifestation in the belief in a higher law that overrides the legislative, judicial, and common law and seeks to challenge institutions on the basis of what could be seen as a “natural law” position.  At almost every turn, with a few prominent exceptions, this has been a defense of status quo not politically so much as culturally.  (On both sides of the slavery issue we find strong, entrenched religious sentiment dictating moral positions.  While abolition can be seen as revolutionary, at base it was very much a defense of the doctrine of voluntary salvation and the denigration of “worldliness” by people from a Congregationalist-Puritan-Quaker tradition.  However, the net effect was revolutionary.)

I’ll go over what this means to us today in the next part.

The Debate: part four

We left off with the Whiskey Rebellion, which more or less blew up in Alexander Hamilton’s face.  The tax he pushed through congress on whiskey that triggered the entire affair was shortly thereafter repealed and it was a while before the federal government tried to impose internal taxes.  One of the stated goals of the revolution was to end taxation without representation, but in practical terms this meant an end to taxation, period.

The federal government used tariffs and land sales to pay off the debt incurred by the revolutionary war.  Jefferson’s purchase of Louisiana was still done by a combination of the two plus borrowing.  Generally, tariffs were kept low, to encourage volume of trade.  Some high tariffs were employed in the 1820s and 1830s as protectionist measures to level the field with Britain, which was in the midst of its “workshop of the world” period.  The South hated these tariffs because it raised the price of manufactures and shipping, which impacted on their trade which was almost entirely agricultural.

It was different in the states.  Property taxes early became a source of state revenue.  The definition of “property” for the purposes of such taxes stretched far beyond the bounds we would recognize or accept today and under Jackson came to include just about anything a person owned.  Local reaction to such impositions varied by city and state, but rarely rose to the level of rebellion.

Federal internal taxes did not come into play until the Civil War.  The need to raise revenue in huge amounts and quickly necessitated the creation of the first income tax, among others, including a vast array of excise taxes and licensing.   There were special corporate taxes, stamp taxes for legal documents, and inheritance taxes.

Most of these were phased out after the Civil War.  Interestingly, the Republicans—a new party formed just before the Civil War which became the second national party, supplanting the archaic Whigs—kept two elements of the new tax system: high tariffs and taxes on liquor and tobacco.  High tariffs were protectionist measures.  The excises on liquor and tobacco were not greatly challenged because they coincided with the growing Temperance Movement, which was becoming politically significant.

(Also interestingly, calls for reform led to a new income tax in 1894.  However, the Supreme Court, in Pollock vs Farmers Loan and Trust Co. ruled it unconstitutional.  The income tax became a popular movement and led to the passage of the Sixteenth Amendment, legalizing a federal income tax, which was ratified and passed in 1913.)

With World War I, taxes were passed for the first time on corporate income and taxes on wage earners were rejected.  The balance seemed then to be in favor of taxing wealth.

So what changed?

Let’s back up for a bit and look at the aftermath of the Founding Generation.

With the election of Thomas Jefferson as president, Federalism seemed to be in retreat.  The swift program inaugurated under Washington, by Hamilton, and continued under Adams of centralizing national affairs in a strong federal government was denounced and Jeffersonianism embraced.  Federalists were seen as partners with industrialists and corporations, the party of money, in opposition to the small freeholder.  After the debacle of the Whiskey Rebellion, internal taxes on the federal level were seen as tools to corral independent artisans, farmers, and small merchants under a corporate umbrella and establish a tyranny.  New lands opening to the west gave the impression that no one need bow to central authority, not even on the local level, if they had the wherewithal to pick up and move.

During this period, two things were going on that fed directly into the American obsession with wealth.  The first one is easy enough to understand—the relative ease with which it was possible to make a great deal of money here, because of the complete absence of legal class boundaries.  That and the extremely open economic policies of the early republic—laissez-faire capitalism, which suffered no government constraint.  Among the positive effects of this, of course, came down-sides, namely the rise of speculation, initially in land deals through various companies with their roots back before the French and Indian Wars.

Speculation was then and continued to be a scourge, and yet it seems to be ineradicable, mainly because it’s tied inextricably with our ideas of market freedom.  Nor is it always a bad thing.  Speculation can concentrate attention, organize work, and produce a desired effect by calling attention to a project that needs funding and supporters.  But it just as often destroys individual aspirations, damages communities, and artificially creates divisions which can sometimes linger for generations, especially when it comes to land.

Arguments and court fights over claims for tracts of land almost defined the migrations into the Ohio Valley and Kentucky, then later into Georgia and Alabama.  Settlers moved into lllinois in such numbers that almost 75% of it was claimed by squatters, making it a fait accompli that took decades more to undo.  Federalist jurists favored large, single landowners who could then sell small tracts and generate profits that could be used for further expansion along lines that fell into step with Manifest Destiny sentiments.  It was in the interests of the federal government to unload land to large purchasers rather than get into the business of becoming a banker for thousands upon thousands of individual buyers, many of whom might find it difficult to pay in specie.  Questions of currency from state to state and in the territories complicated any such arrangement and in this the federal government became collusive with speculators for perfectly understandable reasons.  The federal government was using the sale of tracts to augment funding sources and for that a reliable payment schedule and solid currency was required.

But the principle of “Improvement” was very much at the fore in everyone’s mind and this is what drove national policy even from the earliest Colonial days.  It was the idea of Improvement that determined the fate of the native peoples.  Improvement was bound up with Christian principles of moral behavior and fed into the second of the two trends I’m examining in this essay.

The idea of Improvement was the conviction that a moral man should take wilderness and turn it into productive land, for the good of the family, the community, possibly the country, but also because this was the charge given by God to Adam.  Wilderness was viewed as a test, as the raw material to build a christian community.  To find yourself in the midst of wilderness and do nothing to “improve” it—cut down the trees, put the land to the plow, build houses, roads, etc—was sinful.  Hence the native Americans were viewed as “fallen” because they didn’t improve the land.

(A good deal of missionary work was done all through the Colonial and into the post-Colonial period to teach Indians how to do this and there was considerable success.  Many tribes, seeing the writing on the wall, quite ably adapted themselves and built towns and turned to intensive agriculture.  That these efforts were mostly ignored and later destroyed—the worst example being what happened to the Cherokee in Georgia and Alabama—is the consequence of whites refusing to admit that simple Improvement was ever the point.  If the money did not flow into white hands, if the power remained vested in the townships, then the work had to be denied and eradicated.  Proof that the Indians could do what they were told was expected of them had to be denied at every turn.  Their inability to adapt was maintained, even in fictional form, as evidence that whites had to have the control.  To be sure, this did not simply fall on the Indians—many small, isolationist white communities ended up similarly destroyed by syndicates and large-scale speculators when these tiny efforts stood in the way of large-scale profiteering.)

The land companies formed before and after the French and Indian War were vested in moving Indians off the land and selling it to settlers.  The federal government became the “owner” of these lands and sold huge parcels to these companies or even to individual speculators.  Local battles staged by individual settlers or groups of settlers who could afford to hire attorneys raged against these essentially absentee landlords and various accommodations were made based on varying degrees of improvements.  One basic complaint was the right of the person living on the land and working it in opposition to the man who simply “owned” it on paper.  This evolved eventually into fights between individuals and cartels, fights we still see playing out today.

But in this way, speculation and the federal government grew into a symbiotic relationship that proved awkward at times but maintained a momentum throughout much of the 19th Century.  Andrew Jackson belatedly tried to disrupt this relationship with his war on the United States Bank, with the result that the one good thing the bank was doing—stabilizing currency—was ended and whole regions of the country slipped into depression due to an inability to maintain stable currency on their own. Jackson was an opponent of the centralized role the government was playing in dispossessing small landholders through support of blanket policies favoring big concerns, banks primarily.

It was during this period that sectional conflicts began to grow into serious threats to the Union.  Morality aside, this went directly to the matter of property.  Slavery had been a subject of intense division from the very beginning, the north largely opposed to it, the south claiming it a necessity.  Southern states had threatened to leave the Union should any move be made to outlaw slavery—which could only be done federally if the states were not willing to do.  Some states did ban it, but mostly such states had not relied much on it for labor in the first place.

Using the rhetoric of individual liberty, southern slaveholders became more and more strident in their denunciations of northern “interference” in the presumed rights of property owners in the south.  The fact that the south was engaged mostly in plantation agriculture complicated matters, because this type of farming—mostly for cotton—was incredibly debilitating to the soil.  As the soil was exhausted, plantations had to move west to new fields.  The question of how new states would enter the union—slave or free—became an issue of life and death for southern plantation owners and fueled the conflict.  As western lands were opened by the federal government to more settlement, small landowners were faced with the prospect of competition from large slave-owning concerns that could potentially outcompete them (in the short run) and buy them out.  (Something similar happened later in the range wars over cattle.)  Also, most new settlers, who were buying land from speculators in the north, carried with them a religious conviction that slaveholding was wrong.  The companies selling them the land were anxious to assure them they would be settling in land that would be free, otherwise land values might plummet.

All this was further exacerbated by the railroads that were getting tremendous quantities of federal land as leeways, which often cut through communities or just as often bypassed them, which lent another layer of life and death to the equation.

In every respect, the federal government drew some fire from just about everyone.  Washington favored the railroads over and above settlers’ rights.  Washington was becoming aligned with the north against the agrarian south because of industrial influences that challenged southern economies and controlled shipping costs.  Washington supported slavery because it refused to do anything legislatively about it.  In just about all viewpoints, Washington was in the center of what was wrong.

What was wrong was simply that the industrial revolution and capitalism were gaining irresistible momentum and eventually the nonindustrial south would find itself isolated, bought out, and dominated by Yankee corporations.  The only tool they possessed to fight it was through Congress and the only advantage they possessed was the five-eights rules which allowed slaveholders to vote their slaves as representing five-eights of a man each (which included the women, coincidentally, making a profound irony in a country that still denied free women the right to vote).  The south fought every national project that came before Congress, seeing such things as blows against them.  They lost as often as they won, but the lines were drawn.  It was becoming increasing difficult, though, to move legislation through Congress and the south’s position threatened infrastructure projects.

The south saw itself as the proper heirs of the revolution, the Jeffersonian version.  But the yeoman freeholder had grown into bloated plantation owners who not only lorded it over their slaves but also made it very difficult for the true individual landowner to make a living.  Even so, southern politicians successfully drew a connection between plantations and small farmers to make the case that all of their lifestyles were in danger from northern aggression, making the impoverished southern farmer a patriotic ally to the master of Tara in confronting Washington federalist domination.

In this were the seeds of modern anti-federal sentiment.  When the Civil War broke out, these sentiments grew into deep philosophical resentments, which Reconstruction cemented in place.  Washington D.C. became evil incarnate, to be fought at every turn, and the fiascoes of Reconstruction congresses fed the divisions with continually filibustered legislatures and the presumed corruption under Ulysses S. Grant.

But if the Civil War was the flower of national unity in action on behalf of the citizens—and to large extent it was—then what happened to eventually turn even the north against the federal government?

Well, it didn’t happen right away.  After the Civil War and with the completion of the transcontinental railroad, private enterprise and federal policy marched in lock-step as never before until the end of the Gilded Age and the days of Teddy Roosevelt’s trust busting.  It was after WWII that the problems began again and to understand that we have to look at the Second Great Awakening and the “christianization” of wealth-building.  Next time.