The Employment "Problem"

(Sorry for posting so rarely lately. I've been distracted by some other projects, so post here only when I can't restrain myself.)

Just suppose that there has been a huge breakthrough in the art of robotics and suddenly robots are capable of just about any task. And let's suppose also that methods of producing robots very cheaply have been devised. So suddenly robots are cleaning houses, repairing automobiles, fixing the plumbing, designing bridges, designing buildings, building bridges, building buildings, etc., etc. Also let's suppose that education has also been automated, so classrooms are no longer necessary, classes are taught online via pre-packaged software, exams are graded automatically, etc.

Sounds great, right? But wait a minute! As this technology catches on there are gradually fewer and fewer jobs for housekeepers, mechanics, plumbers, engineers, architects, construction workers, even teachers (including professors). Ultimately, with so few working, there is no money to purchase any of these robots or online classes, no one in a position to buy a house or even rent an apartment, etc. The 99% are homeless and on the verge of starvation.

Thanks to modern technology, humanity has taken a great leap forward. But instead of this being a boon to humanity it turns out to be a disaster. Why?

The moral of the story is that we are already very close to being in more less this same position at the present time. And the answer to this dilemma lies in a well worn phrase that we very rarely hear anymore: "means of production." Capitalism is based on the notion that the means of production are controlled by a few "entrepreneurs," "innovators," "investors," etc. -- an arrangement that is supposed to benefit everyone. But when we take this arrangement to its absurd extreme, as in the situation I've just described, we see very clearly that it is not only unworkable, but self-defeating.

Why are enhancements in "productivity" taking away so many jobs? Because productivity is defined by the owners of the means of production (the 1%) as something that ultimately enhances their profits and, consequently, their power -- at the expense of workers.  As now seems clear, however, enhancements in productivity are socially desirable only when they benefit everyone, not just the very few at the top of the social pyramid. And capitalism can work only when government intervenes to make sure that the benefits of technology are shared by all.

Thus, instead of taking jobs from workers, the technology should exist to make their lives better. In the form of: shorter working hours, higher pay, more pleasant and challenging types of work, more leisure time to be with family, pursue the arts, hobbies, do research, express oneself, etc. Is this a Utopian dream? Is it (God forbid!) socialism? At one time it might have seemed that way. But at this particular time in history it looks more and more like our only hope.

OWS: Do They Know Their Own Strength?

Occupy Wall Street. What a great slogan! And now it's spreading throughout the world -- finally the long overdue uprising of the 99% over the tyranny of the 1% is beginning. And -- finally -- thanks to the drama of these potentially revolutionary events, the mainstream media has awakened, after a long slumber, to engage in meaningful discussion and debate over the pressing issue of inequality and its implications for the future of democracy. I haven't written about this striking development until now not because I don't think it important, but because I felt I had little of substance to add to what is already being written in so many venues everywhere one turns. At long last!

The reason I'm writing now is because an odd and troubling thought has occurred to me and I'm not sure what to make of it. The world is now wondering what the next step is going to be. Will the demonstrators finally be able to agree on a set of "demands"? Will they form a third party? Will they become a political pressure group along the lines of the Tea Party? Or will the whole thing simply evaporate once cold weather sets in?

And it's occurred to me that these demonstrators are right now in a unique position of strength that they may not recognize. They are, very surprisingly, in a position to do something truly revolutionary that would have an impact far beyond anything we've seen in Tunisia, Egypt or Libya. All over the world hordes of angry demonstrators are, literally, occupying important financial centers, hubs of power and influence that control the destiny of literally every person on Earth. Their presence in these particular locations has up to now been seen as largely symbolic. But it is also strategic. Because, thanks to the large numbers of participants, Occupy Wall Street could easily morph into SHUT DOWN Wall Street.

I hesitate to bring this up, because I have no idea what the consequences would be. But at the same time I feel it necessary to wake the protesters up to the real nature of their power, should they decide to wield it. If they choose to, these demonstrators could block entry to the doors of, for example, Chase Manhattan Bank, Bank of America, Citigroup, Goldman Sachs, even the stock exchange itself. Not to mention financial centers in every major city on Earth. And in so doing they have the potential to actually bring the financial system of the entire world to a grinding halt.

Think of it. The storming of the Bastille. The storming of the Winter Palace.  An event of comparable if not greater magnitude lies within the realm of possibility. Yet, unlike these bloody events, the shutdown of the financial system need not be accompanied by violence. (Not, at least, on the part of the demonstrators. What the police might do is another matter.)

Am I advocating such a move? Not really. Though often I write as though I know-it-all, actually I don't know all that much. The results of such an action would be unpredictable and could be disastrous. On the other hand, it could lead to a revolution of exactly the sort the world desperately needs. And anything less than this might ultimately lead nowhere, with all the energy and all the righteous indignation fizzling out in the face of the enormous economic and political power of the elites, who will fight to the last soldier, policeman and politician to hang on to their money and power.

I really don't know where I stand on this matter. But I do think it important that the new and very hopeful Occupy Wall Street movement understand that it's in a stronger position than it might think, and holds a very powerful bargaining chip against those who might think they can easily intimidate and disperse it.

Plenty a gold so I been told

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago -- never mind how long precisely -- having little or no money in my purse and nothing particular to interest me at home, I thought I would sail about a little in the realm of substitute teaching. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation.

One day two boys from a middle school social studies class come up to my desk wanting to know whether all I ever do is substitute teach. I tell them, no, I’m also a musician and an artist. And I write plays and books. “What kind of books?” they want to know. “Well I wrote a book about the wind and the grass.” “The wind and the grass?” “A battle between the wind and the grass.” “A battle between the wind and the grass?” I’ve got their attention. “Yes.” “What’s that?”

“You have to understand the grass I’m talking about is very long, not the sort of grass you see on your lawn. And one day, this boy, this ‘lazy farmer boy,’ utters a very deep, heartfelt sigh in the middle of his long, grassy field. And, due to the almost inexplicable, but very real, scientifically demonstrable, laws of chaos theory, this sigh manages to multiply its effects until pretty soon it becomes a fierce, howling wind. And the wind just whirls around and whirls around gaining strength and then, for no reason anyone’s ever been able to determine, takes off across the farmer’s field, bullying the delicate long grasses backwards practically till they can see their own roots.”

“Do they fight back?”

“Yes they do. Because the grasses are brave and also long and sharp and there are many rose bushes among them and other thorny plants, so as the wind rushes across the field, the grasses, bushes and thorny plants try hard to stand their ground and they tear at the wind and the wind begins to bleed. And the wind bleeds rain and so it rains and pretty soon it’s thundering and there is a terrible storm, with lightening too, and so the field catches fire.”

By this time the boys’ eyes are bugging out of their heads and they both take a step forward with looks that say: “We gotta talk some more.” And believe me I’d love to do just that. But these kids have an assignment and it’s my job to see they do it, so I have to tell them to back off for now and finish their work and then look for me at lunch time and maybe we can continue then. Only when lunch time comes they are nowhere to be seen, probably because this is first lunch and their lunch is second lunch. Or this is third lunch and their lunch is first lunch. Or maybe they just got distracted, because, after all, they were pretty young.

So I’m writing this in the hope these boys will some day read here the answer to the overwhelming question I could tell was on their minds, and that they desperately wanted to ask me, which was: what is poetry?

Well, one thing poetry is not it is not the poetry written by poets. I mean, yes, certain poets have it in them, no question. But usually not. For example when Shelley writes “O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,/ Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead/ Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,” no he doesn’t have it, that’s not poetry. Clever yes. And what’s with these “leaves dead”? Who talks like that? Now on the other hand, his pal Keats writes (and we need to wind down a bit before reading this -- take some deep breaths and then maybe five seconds of silence to slow the metabolism): “My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,/ Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains/ One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:” Oh yes, he has it, this is poetry. Four lines and we’re trembling in the grip of pallid death.

Because poetry is a lot like a joke. Except instead of laughing something else happens to you, something grabs you deep inside and tears you to pieces, like what the long grasses did to the wind. In my book, remember?

Or take John Clare, a farm boy really, not a poet: “The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside/ The battered road; and spreading far and wide/ Above the russet clods, the corn is seen/ Sprouting its spiry points of tender green,/ Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake,/ Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break.” Wow. That’s it. That’s really it. The rest of the poem is also very fine, but that opening verse cuts really deep, don’t ask me why. (The question was “what,” not “why.”). You don’t even need to know what a “rolls and harrows” is. It’s a kind of old fashioned wagonny farm implement used to tear up soil. “The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside/ The battered road;” Yes. “and spreading far and wide/ Above the russet clods, the corn is seen/” Oh yes. Even just “The corn is seen.” Poetry. Even just that much, that one simple phrase.

T. S. Eliot once said the most beautiful word in the English language is “cellar door.” He actually said that, so I’ve heard, yes. Of course really it’s two words, not one. But think about it: “cellar door.”
In Neil Simon's play, The Sunshine Boys, one of the characters gives a lecture on what’s funny:

Fifty-seven years in this business, you learn a few things. You know what words are funny and which words are not funny. Alka Seltzer is funny. You say "Alka Seltzer" you get a laugh . . . Words with "k" in them are funny. Casey Stengel, that's a funny name. Robert Taylor is not funny. Cupcake is funny. 'L's are not funny. 'M's are not funny. Tomato is not funny. Lettuce is not funny. Cookie is funny. Cucumber is funny. Car keys. Cleveland . . . Cleveland is funny. Maryland is not funny. Then, there's chicken. Chicken is funny. Pickle is funny. Cockroach is funny -- not if you get 'em, only if you say 'em.

Poetry is not the same as humor. But not that different either.

Now Shakespeare, even he doesn’t always have it: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds/ admit impediments.”? Wah????? Sounds like a minister or a speech therapist. Or “To be or not to be, that is the question.”? What kind of a question is that? But the followup is terrific: “Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer/ the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,/ Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.” Yes. Almost as good as Brecht.

No, despite certain notable exceptions, which are, admittedly, quite good, real poetry cannot be found in the work of poets. And it’s definitely never “poetic.” Which reminds me of a story about one of my favorite poets, Charles Olson, returning to Wesleyan University, his alma mater, to recite in the “Honours College,” where sherry was always served either before or after, I forget which, and Piranesi prints lined the expensive walls. He starts off (I was there) with this poem about these bikers on a beach somewhere and how they took over the beach, looking almost like certain ancient gods, and it’s getting very interesting, because he really knows how to write poetry, and also how to read aloud -- but then he stops dead, sits down right there on the floor, and puts his head in his hands. “I can’t go on,” he says, “I can’t do this.” Moment of stunned silence. “Oy, this is such a poetic atmosphea.” He’s not even Jewish but he says “Oy” and yes the word “atsmosphere” comes out with a New Yawk accent and then he just sits there and will not be consoled.

“Oh they call me hangman Johnny/ Come away my Bonnie/ But I never hanged no body./ Oh hang boys hang.” Lots of these sea shanties are poetry. Or have poetry in them. Often they’re made up of disconnected or almost disconnected couplets or stanzas, framed by tiny refrains. Some of these stanzas, well, they’re not too great. But many are. “Oh hang boys hang.” Now that’s very special because it’s a punch line too and the whole stanza is basically a joke. Only to get the humor you need to know something about how the song was used. It’s a song for hanging sail. Get it? But it’s also a very efficient little machine, with a wind up spring that gets wound up very tight in those first three lines and you don’t really have to know what the song is used for to find yourself caught in the trap.

“We’re sailing down the river from Liverpool,/ Heave away, Santy Anno!/ Around Cape Horn to Frisco Bay,/ All on the plains of Mexico./ There’s plenty a gold so I been told,/ Heave away, Santy Anno!/ There’s plenty a gold so I been told,/ ‘Way out in Cal-i-for-ni-o./ So heave ‘er up and away we go,/ Heave away, Santy Anno!/ Heave ‘er up and away we go,/ We’re bound for Cal-i-for-ni-o.” You’ll find many versions of this shanty, but this is one of the best. Word has it “Santy Anno” is Santa Anna, the old Mexican general. But I prefer to think of it as another name for the wind, namely the “Santa Anna” winds, which rage along the coast of California. So that refrain then shouts defiance over and over in the teeth of some half forgotten storm. (Remember my story?) But what’s really important here is not what we interpret the words to mean, but the tremendous weight of each and every syllable, with no room for any half measure anywhere. Just listen, say it and listen and feel it on your tongue: “Around Cape Horn to Frisco Bay.” Say it, feel how it resonates through your soul, makes you more courageous, more foolhardy, more of a pirate.

It won't be over till the fat man sings

As I write, it is 10:07 AM and the world is eagerly anticipating Ben Bernanke's latest aria. As one might expect, the markets are tanking (with the Dow currently down by over 200 points). That's what is known as a "signal." Or better, yet a "cue." The markets are the chorus in this bizarre opera, singing "Help us help us help us, or we will all slide into perdition." That's Big Ben's cue to sing, "No, I'll never never never allow that to happen. Let QE3 begin." At which time the markets will reverse course abruptly and the day will be saved.

Unfortunately for this melodrama, the villain, aka Governor of Texas and likely Republican candidate Rick Perry has threatened our hero with dire consequences if he dare mess with our economy again, and since everyone is now running scared of anyone with ultra conservative creds -- it's gonna be an interesting morning.

The question on my mind is what will happen to the markets if Bernanke's aria falls flat. Will they follow his lead and flatten out with him? After all what's the point of continuing to signal if the signal has been ignored. Or will it continue to tank, caught up in its own reckless momentum.

We'll see very shortly. Fun fun fun. And it won't be over till the fat man sings . . .

Another Country Part 2

Tito's Yugoslavia developed under conditions far worse than anything that could possibly emerge today due to a financial collapse. We tend now to see it simply as a part of history, but World War II was the greatest calamity by far that ever befell the human race. It was truly an unimaginable disaster that no book or movie could ever begin to convey. Yugoslavia was unique in being the only country that liberated itself and as a result, Tito was able to remain independent from either the Western powers or the USSR. I won't claim he was an angel, but he was certainly an extremely capable leader and politician, who understood how to manage a country that began in total abjection and poverty, not to mention all the many political strains due to the fallout from the war -- which had pitted certain parts of the country against others.

He united the country to the point that, when I visited, it was truly a multicultural society. The family I lived with in Mostar were "Muslims," i.e., of Turkish background, though no longer practicing as Muslims, but they had close friends of Serbian and Croatian background and no one thought anything of it. Not then, anyhow. Yugoslavia was theoretically a "communist" country, but Tito's brand of communism was very different from that of Stalin. He initiated communal farms, but when that didn't work out, he backed off and allowed the small farmers to keep control of their land. I remember hearing church bells ringing out on Sundays, and once visited a small village during an all day Catholic festival (that was actually partly pagan, which is why I was there, because that interested me). Stalin persecuted Muslims and Christians alike, but not Tito, he tolerated them.

One day I took a hike through some mountainous terrain, feeling very proud of my strength and endurance -- until I encountered a family coming from the other direction, including a woman and her small children, a family of Gypsies migrating in their usual fashion, from one mountain to another. While Gypsies were either persecuted or forced to settle down in most other countries, they were allowed to live their traditional lifestyle in Tito's Yugoslavia.

Economically things were very interesting, because it really did seem to me that poverty had been eliminated. So had wealth. Everyone had a house to live in. Everyone had enough to eat. Everyone, so far as I could tell, had a job. No slums. No beggars. Nothing much extra, either. A typical birthday present was, for example, a pair of socks. Individual families were allowed considerable leeway when it came to doing a certain amount of business. The family I stayed with were able to regularly take in boarders and make a profit from that bit of "free enterprise." I saw no real signs of government interference in any aspect of daily life and as I said, no one seemed afraid to speak openly on any topic, including politics.

There was also an excellent health system, as far as I could tell. When I got sick (actually a bad case of constipation and nothing more, though I was sure it was appendicitis), my friends took me to the local health center, a modern, well equipped establishment, where I encountered the first female doctor I'd every seen. (This was back in the 60's remember.) She was young and seemed extremely competent. She examined me and decided I was constipated and prescribed some medication that would have cost a dime in US money -- only my girlfriend insisted on getting me the meds for free with her worker's card. If you had a worker's card, you paid nothing for your health care or medications. (She was a lawyer for a local factory, by the way, the first female lawyer I had ever met.)

The biggest problem, especially for educated people, was boredom -- a feeling of being shut off from all the interesting cultural developments taking place in the "developed" world around them. For this reason it was not a country I would have wanted to settle down in. But the people as a whole were far, far better off than in any capitalist country you could name. Better off not only for not living in poverty but also for not living in wealth either, which as I see it is also a problem. I wouldn't want to be poor but I also wouldn't want to be wealthy and, for example, be expected to have servants and need to worry about being robbed or kidnapped and having security people around me all the time, who I could never be sure whether or not to trust, etc.

Ultimately, after the death of the dictator (which Tito was, after all), the country collapsed into a horrible civil war and when I heard about that and had to read about what was going on during that period it broke my heart. But the war had nothing to do with economics, nothing to do with "communism" or "socialism" or "free" markets. It was due to tensions that had festered for many years, thanks to very deep divisions during WW II when certain regional ethnic groups sided with the Nazis and others had sided with the partisans. Not to mention much older divisions stemming from ethnic rivalries going very far back into European history. Tito was able to hold all these factions together, but he made the huge mistake of not allowing the country to develop into a true democracy, so after the "strong man's" death, all the old problems re-emerged.

The moral of my story is that a free and equable society, based on a reasonable, sane approach to politics and economics, CAN emerge, even out of the most disastrous imaginable conditions. It happened in Tito's Yugoslavia and it can happen here. Oh and by the way, Yugoslavia wasn't really a communist country. But it WAS a socialist country, for sure. Also a dictatorship. You can't have everything, I guess (though you can certainly TRY).

And For Our Next Trick . . .

Yesterday's market antics were so extreme and so fascinating, I feel forced to drop everything else and make some comments. Here's what the Dow and Nasdaq looked like (click on image to enlarge):

 

As you can see, the Dow began with a rapid leap upward, by roughly 100 points, only to suddenly dip downward, by roughly 150 points, followed by a rapid surge upward once again, by over 200 points, all in the first half hour of trading (the market opens at 9:30). I've seen volatility like this before, but never by such huge amounts in such a short time. It then remains relatively steady, though still with large surges back and forth, until about 2:20, when there is a sudden, enormous dip of over 200 points, all in one gulp. Then, inexplicably, it surges upward again, just as rapidly, by about 150 points -- and then takes a huge, absolutely breathtaking plunge of almost 300 points, all in about 15 minutes.

This last activity is apparently a reaction to an announcement by the Federal Reserve indicating that no dramatic actions will be taken by them in the near future, coupled with an assurance that interest rates will be kept to a bare minimum for the next year or so. It looks at first as though the market was expecting some sort of dramatic announcement that never came, and in response threw a hissy fit, plunging off a cliff in a desperate bid for attention.

But then a strange thing happens, which for me is absolutely inexplicable.  The sudden drop is followed by a steady upswing over the next hour or so, of a staggering 600 points!!!!

If you compare the Nasdaq with the Dow, you'll see that, aside from the first few minutes, both are moving practically in tandem, with a Rockettes-like precision, even during the wildest and most unpredictable swings.

It is now 9:19 AM, and the markets are due to open in about 10 minutes. I can't wait to see what these performing seals will come up with today, but given what we saw yesterday, it will no doubt be totally unpredictable, wild and scary. While many economists may be breathing a sigh of relief at the remarkable upswing, as far as I'm concerned, a surge of 600 points upward should be just as alarming as a similar surge downward. Because what yesterday's antics tell me is that the market has either gone completely bonkers, or -- more likely -- is being manipulated. In either case, this is no place for ordinary people to keep their money, because an "investment" in stocks can no longer be regarded as an investment, nor even a gamble (since when we gamble we at least know the odds), but a foolhardy act of total and complete recklessness.

Another Country

I visited Yugoslavia way back in 1965. I hadn't taken a vacation since early 1963. I wanted to take some time out to work on a book project and write music. And, after making some inquiries and doing some basic math, I realized that, even factoring in the cost of transportation, I could live much more cheaply in Europe than in New York City -- and I could write music anywhere. My first stop, after an ocean voyage on the Rotterdam (cheaper than flying, believe it or not), was Paris, where a room at the Hotel des Grands Hommes, on the left bank, could be had for the equivalent of about $2.50 a night. (Yes, that's a decimal point between the 2 and the 5 -- the current rate starts at 280 Euros!) But that was still too much for my miserly budget, and anyhow, after a week or so, Paris began to bore me.

A friend had urged me to go to Yugoslavia, showing me a picture of a beautiful bridge in a town called Mostar, which she'd visited and loved.  The exchange rate looked really good: 1,000 dinars to the dollar. Even better, I could make my way to Yugoslavia in style via the legendary Orient Express. To make a long story short I wound up spending about two months in Yugoslavia, staying for the most part in Mostar, with a family that charged me 1,000 dinars (that's one dollar) a night for a room. I also spent some time in Dubrovnik, Sarajevo, and Zagreb.

I didn't notice at first, but after a while it began to dawn on me that Yugoslavia was different from any other country I'd ever lived in. For one thing, there were no beggars! There was an old man who sold little packages of nuts in downtown Mostar. But he was more of a peddler than a beggar. And there was the little boy who approached me for what I thought was a handout. But when I offered him some money, he shook his head and pointed to a group of Gypsies encamped nearby. They had assembled some wood for a campfire. All they needed was a match. He needed a match. Which I didn't have, much to my regret.

Also, there were no homeless people (other than Gypsies, who were allowed to roam freely with no interference) -- and no slums. At least none that I ever noticed, and believe me, I got around. Since Yugoslavia was a "communist" country, I anticipated a certain amount of repression, and reluctance on the part of the people to talk with strangers. But I saw no sign of that. People were open and friendly. I became friends with the family I was staying with in Mostar, especially their beautiful daughter, and would spend a lot of time talking with her and her friends, all of whom were educated and articulate. I asked all sorts of questions about politics, economics, and the policies of President Tito, about whom I was very curious. They answered all my questions openly, with no hesitation and no sign of anxiety. For them Tito was a hero, and it was easy to understand why.

(to be continued . . . )

The Spectres, Part 2

And so: what will happen after the monumentally destructive forces of "free-market" capitalism drive  themselves into the ground, taking the rest of us with them? Truthfully, I don't know. Another great depression? A period of "social unrest"? A period of uncertainty? A period of post-apocalyptic chaos? A revival of Communism? Fascism? Nazism? (Glen Beck would make a marvelously paranoid fuhrer.) Possibly all of the above.

But what I'd like to think would ultimately happen would be a great awakening. A passing through the Gateless Gate. Money will return to being a harmless medium of exchange rather than a commodity in itself. Our leaders will be forced to find ways to fairly and equably produce and distribute resources through judicious planning. Instead of lending money to bankers who then lend money to other bankers who then lend money to other bankers who then lend money to businesses which then create products and jobs, governments will realize that the most efficient method of creating and distributing wealth is to eliminate all those parasitic middlemen and create products and jobs without them. If technology has provided us with the means to increase productivity then, once those middlemen have been eliminated (or more accurately eliminated themselves), technology can be put to use directly for the benefit of all, rather than the few.

This sounds like a Utopian dream and I suppose it is. But it is also possible. We can make it real. How do I know that it's possible and not a daydream? Because I saw it with my own eyes. When I visited a country that no longer exists, which is a terrible shame. A country without slums, without poverty, without beggars, without coercion and without fear. It was called: Yugoslavia.