Miscellaneous Mental Musings of an Emerging Artist
Over the past two days the Supreme Court’s conservative balance has hobbled the capacity of workers to seek redress when their employers circumvent labor laws and the Republican House has sent a bill to the president’s desk that relaxes the safeguards put in place after the 2008 economic collapse, which one assumes the president will sign.
This follows the extended attacks on the social safety net and on attempts to reform the healthcare system, as well as a swindle of a taxation overhaul that predictably redistributed more of the nation’s wealth upwards in the form of stock buybacks and other instruments only available to those who were already exceedingly wealthy.
America’s working class have been called out to the courtyard and lined up against the wall. The row of riflemen standing 30-odd feet away are yawning and baggy-eyed, having spent the night before arguing over who would get the dummy cartridge before finally agreeing that none of them wanted it after all. The rifles are raised and aimed and fired; the bullets fly forth in slow motion, propelled by both gunpowder and history. The condemned are oddly relaxed, even smiling. The scarves have been tied tightly around their eyes but they have been assured repeatedly that the echoing firecracker sound they just heard was a peal of freedom and prosperity.
The next group of people called to the wall were allowed to see what happened to the previous group. Whatever anxiety they feel is quelled by a sharply dressed captain, who informs them that the execution is only fatal to those who deserve to be harmed, to the indolent and unproductive. He reminds them that compliance will keep them safe from a host of other threats, from foreign thieves and murderers, from norm-defying predators in the bathrooms, from roving packs of abortionists hungry to tear apart every unborn child they can find. While every group must endure the procedure, the captain says, he feels confident that nobody in this group will be harmed.
The second volley happens more swiftly. The third is almost an afterthought. By the fifth round, the captain has graciously allowed the victims to start calling out the order to fire, while he retires to his office for a well-earned cocktail, sipping thoughtfully as report after report sounds through the morning air.
He reviews the inventory and makes a note to himself to order more bullets.