John Steinbeck wrote some years ago in his novel "Grapes of Wrath" about the economy shifting from a local economy of a particular people and place to a dehumanizing national economy of industry and profit.
Below is a conversation from Chapter 5...
...
(Referring to a local man hired to drive a tractor to level the property for the bank that bought it) - "Well, what you doing this kind of work for—against your own people?"
"Three dollars a day. I got damn sick of creeping for my dinner—and not getting it. I got a wife and kids. We got to eat. Three dollars a day, and it comes every day."
"That's right," the tenant said. "But for your three dollars a day fifteen or twenty families can't eat at all. Nearly a hundred people have to go out and wander on the roads for your three dollars a day. Is that right?"
And the driver said, "Can’t think of that. Got to think of my own kids. Three dollars a day, and it comes every day. Times are changing, mister, don't you know? Can't make a living on the land unless you've got two, five, ten thousand acres and a tractor. Crop land isn't for little guys like us any more. You don't kick up a howl because you can't make Fords, or because you're not the telephone company. Well, crops are like that now. Nothing to do about it. You try to get three dollars a day someplace. That's the only way."
The tenant pondered. "Funny thing how it is. If a man owns a little property, that property is him, it's part of him, and it's like him. If he owns property only so he can walk on it and handle it and be sad when it isn't doing well, and feel fine when the rain falls on it, that property is him, and some way he's bigger because he owns it. Even if he isn't successful he’s big with his property. That is so.”
And the tenant pondered more. “But let a man get property he doesn’t see, or can’t take time to get his fingers in, or can’t be there to walk on it—why, then the property is the man. He can't do what he wants, he can't think what he wants. The property is the man, stronger than he is. And he is small, not big. Only his possessions are big—and he's the servant of his property. That is so, too."
The driver munched the branded pie and threw the crust away. "Times are changed, don't you know? Thinking about stuff like that don't feed the kids. Get your three dollars a day, feed your kids. You got no call to worry about anybody's kids but your own. You get a reputation for talking like that, and you'll never get three dollars a day. Big shots won't give you three dollars a day if you worry about anything but your three dollars a day."
...
And here (below) we see the powerless nature of trying to protest against an economy we cannot see or touch...from the same conversation...
(Now referring to the tenant's house that is about to be destroyed with the tractor) - "I built it with my hands. Straightened old nails to put the sheathing on. Rafters are wired to the stringers with baling wire. It's mine. I built it. You bump it down—I'll be in the window with a rifle. You even come too close and I'll pot you like a rabbit."
"It's not me. There's nothing I can do. I'II lose my job if I don't do it. And look—suppose you kill me? They'll just hang you, but long before you're hung there'll be another guy on the tractor, and he'll bump the house down. You're not killing the right guy."
"That's so," the tenant said. “Who gave you orders? I'll go after him. He's the one to kill."
“You're wrong. He got his orders from the bank. The bank told him, 'Clear those people out or it's your job.'"
"Well, there's a president of the bank. There's a board of directors. I'll fill up the magazine of the rifle and go into the bank."
The driver said, "Fellow was telling me the bank gets orders from the East. The orders were, 'Make the land show profit or we'll close you up.'"
“But where does it stop? Who can we shoot? I don't aim to starve to death before I kill the man that's starving me."
"I don't know. Maybe there's nobody to shoot. Maybe the thing isn't men at all. Maybe, like you said, the property's doing it. Anyway I told you my orders."
...
...
We know now that if even 5% of the 99% were on the street starving towards death (literally), there would be violence. Instead, those potential violent protesters are addicted to potato chips (MSG), white bread (gluten), candy/pop (partially hydrogenated corn syrup), beer, cigarettes, Jerry Springer, food pantries, and soup kitchens - all of which is mostly funded by government assistance through Jobs and Family Services. Such a terribly awkward paradox. Until we care about quality of life instead of quantity of consumption from the bottom-up, we have no revolution, little spiritual perspective, and even less integrity in relationship to our local, national, and global communities.
For those of us not on the bottom and not quite so dependent on government assistance, if at all - why do we work? For money, investment, security, assets, and stuff - "three dollars a day"? Or to offer something of yourself for your occupation, family, community, and God? Who does your job benefit? Whom might it harm?
...
