India: Great Expectations

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In 1991, under pressure from the IMF, India opened some industrial sectors to private companies and removed several licensing requirements. Private cellphone operators, banks, and airline companies started to appear. Soon, private banks were so customer-friendly that they would send someone to your home to help open an account. If you wanted more than $400 in cash, they delivered it free of cost. If you had a complaint, an employee would come to meet you in person within hours — wearing a tie, even in sweltering heat. Mobile phone companies provided outstanding service and, within years, at an enviable price. They delivered my SIM card to my home. If you wanted a new car, you did not have to worry about going to their showrooms. They came to you. Local airlines served great food and drinks, and were manned by bubbling youths full of passion for success. Foreign companies looking for competitive, English-speaking young people set up their operations in India.

Today, much of this lies in ruins. You have to keep chasing these private banks. Their websites are unfriendly, and they deduct money from your account without first informing you what they are about. An account holder stays away from credit cards, unless he really needs them or must show off; yet he still gets credit cards sent to him with yearly fees charged to his bank account, all without his approval.

The Indian government is a vicious, insensitive, passionless, totally corrupt, utterly stupid, and spineless organization, made up partly of psychopaths and partly of crooks, from top to bottom.

Airlines are marginally fine — with sulky services — as long as your baggage doesn’t go missing or a delay doesn’t make you miss your connecting flight. When my baggage went missing, so did the sleek-looking customer agents, for no one wanted to take responsibility. I recently discovered that the biggest mobile company now has no customer service number where you can talk to a live person. You must visit their office. If you deposit cash after your SIM was slated for disconnection (which of course you would not have been informed about), it will have disappeared into a black hole, from which a refund is virtually impossible unless you waste a horrendous amount of time. If the front-line agent has some figment of humanity (which is quite a rarity), he will tell you not to try getting your money back, for he might see the pain you would suffer trying.

Meanwhile, foreign companies started to realize that the costs of doing business were much higher than they had anticipated. They found that looks were deceptive. The English-speaking employees lacked skills, productivity, work ethic, and curiosity. Call-centers started to move to the Philippines. India stayed at best a back-office hub.

On earlier occasions, when I faced problems with Indian companies, I would report them to consumer forums, or write in to the complaint sections of the media. But I soon realized that despite any compensation I received, I spent so much time fighting the insensitive ears of these private companies that the project was cost-prohibitive. These days, if the money involved isn’t much, I forgive and forget, a sign of greying hair and loss of idealism. If what is involved is substantial, instead of fighting in consumer courts, I look for the most efficient strategy. If the Indian company is a subsidiary of a foreign company, I start by calling their CEO's office. When the Indian arm of a Korean refrigerator company refused to do anything about a problem, by calling their Korean office I got a new refrigerator. When a subsidiary of an American company gave me a faulty air conditioner and did nothing about it, I called their CEO in the US. I told his secretary that I would call twice a day to ensure that I got to speak with the CEO. Then their Indian arm worked so well that even the best anywhere in the world would have been impressed. But I have digressed.

In a mere few years, private companies became more like state-owned companies. In some cases one prefers state-owned companies, where at least a bribe does the job. Why?

In general, the "profitability" of Indian companies, particularly the big ones, is a reflection not so much of wealth-creation but of political backing, of their ability to find loopholes in regulations, and of outright theft, often from the poor section of society.

How things go wrong

The Indian government is a vicious, insensitive, passionless, totally corrupt, utterly stupid, and spineless organization, made up partly of psychopaths and partly of crooks, from top to bottom. Most have very numb or dead brains. They exist in dirty, unhygienic, and terrible environmental conditions, for it is they who do the cleaning. I can recall very few encounters with bureaucrats or politicians in which a bribe was not demanded. Moreover, you must grovel and beg in front of these (figuratively and literally) diseased people. Even then there is no guarantee that they will do the job.

I remember that on many occasions the bribes were not about approving something, but just to release my files so that I could take them myself to the next diseased creature. Only a citizen whose mind has not been destroyed and numbed would not feel humiliated by what he goes through at government offices. Not only is the bureaucrat after money, but he relishes the act of demeaning citizens, in a corrupt attempt to make up for his deep-rooted inferiority complex and self-hatred.

Demeaning others leaves the Indian bureaucrat feeling good about himself, at least for the moment. The irony is that all this makes him seriously sick, physically, mentally, and spiritually. His children go astray and he never understands why. As you discover reading The Lord of the Rings, in a tyranny, there is no single tyrant. Everyone is tyrannized by everyone else; everyone's spirit is subdued by everyone else’s. A bureaucrat must sit with people of his kind, who scheme against one another, forever wallowing in the rotting sewage of envy, hatred, and a strange kind of showmanship. In reality, however, they have nothing to show but impotence, for they never create anything useful or productive. They, their wives and kids, and even name-dropping relatives, show off their status in an exaggerated way, through noise, heavy-handedness, armed goons in costumes, and big cars with sirens.

Not only is the bureaucrat after money, but he relishes the act of demeaning citizens, in a corrupt attempt to make up for his deep-rooted inferiority complex and self-hatred.

A casual observer might believe that all you have to do is get rid of such bureaucrats. All you have to do is to change the party in power and streamline regulations and remove corruption through an empowered constitutional authority that politicians cannot touch.

Why then why did private companies fail to sustain their proper character?

The problem is much deeper than an observer might imagine. It is a problem that cannot be reached by the typical libertarian prescription of reducing the size or composition of government. When the prescription is applied, things don’t not turn out much better; and the improvement certainly does not last.

What most people fail to understand is that the state is little more than the sum total of the collective mind.

In India, even a perfectly created product has a very short half-life. My new gym has grown old within months. The dust piles up; the equipment rusts, rather rapidly. My new car earned a big dent, the day I bought it. Every vehicle gets smeared with dents. I don't know anyone who hasn't had several injuries and close calls with death. Day-to-life faults happen with amazing regularity, a frequency that could never have been imagined or statistically expected. The most resilient equipment burns away if you do not think of using a surge protector, for the electricity company will increase the voltage by misconnecting the wires at the main poles. Normal cars need to be redesigned to ensure that they work because, for example, there is almost universal adulteration of petrol. Refrigerators that are designed to keep working as long as they are plugged in stop cooling when water condenses and freezes in their air-pipes as a result of frequent electricity cuts.

Every time you take anything for repair, even a minor one, you get a patch-up job. You are looked upon with amusement if you ask for a good, clean job. No self-respecting workman would want to have anything to do with you, irrespective of the money you offer. Expediency is the mantra. If ever there is a serious repairman, he needs immense cognition to isolate the problem. The others patch whatever they can get away with patching. When you tinker with a system or an individual piece of equipment, trying to correct the problem, you often create more problems, for your tinkering — however innocent it may be — undoes the other patches. This situation exists not just with equipment but with absolutely everything in life. Most Indians waste a very large part of their day putting out existential fires. My five hours of no electricity today, in what is among the best neighborhoods and those most catered to, are one of my smaller worries, for at least I know what the problem is.

So what is the deeper problem?

Unfortunately, but predictably, the bureaucrat described above is merely a reflection of the larger society. He is the tip of the iceberg. This is always the case, but what most people fail to understand is that the state is little more than the sum total of the collective mind. The visible state — the government — and its tyranny is a symptom of the underlying problem: a society that breeds and sustains the statist poison. Individual Indians will decry corruption, but virtually everyone will pay a bribe to gain an unfair advantage over others or take bribes by rationalizing it away. Even written contracts have no value. It is considered fair game if someone steals your money and gets away with it. Most people will not rent their property, for they fear it will not be returned. Most people, even the guy on the street, have a perfect prescription for how I should live my life and will offer it to me unabashedly. Respect for others as individuals and their properties is a completely alien concept. This, combined with fatalism (a product of a superstitious mind that is immune to the concept of causality), is the reason behind the chaos on the roads and every other area of life. I contend that the Indian road is a visual representation of how the Indian mind works.

You cannot have a small government in a society in which everyone wants to control everyone else's life, where no one can be trusted to do a job properly, where the concept of how to make money is not wealth-creation but manipulation and theft. You cannot avoid building a large and corrupt police force in a society where the individual cannot be trusted. You cannot stop a complicated structure of regulations and government in a society in which individuals cannot think straight, clearly, or rationally.

If someone wants a real, sustainable change he should work in the arena of critical thinking and individualism, not on imposing superficial Western ways.

A tyrannical government is a product of a tyrannical, corrupt, and statist society. Even before the society changes, it is the individual who must change. A free society is unsustainable without free-minded individuals. Those who want real change must work on the root: the individual.

The general totalitarianism, indolence, dishonesty, lack of work ethic, confused thinking, irrationality, superstition, and lack of respect for other people have too much momentum on their side to let private companies stay good. The initial euphoria, mostly of a drunken kind, a catharsis, lasted for no more than a few years. What you culturally see in India is not different from what the West was like perhaps 500 years back. India's problems cannot be dealt with unless the society has gone through the reformation, enlightenment, and scientific revolution that happened in the West.

What differentiates the West from "the Rest"

For vices to be replaced by virtues — the way in which a rational individual perceives them — the concept of reason must take precedence. For those who do not think by means of reason, for those whose culture is not based on it, the vantage point from which vice and virtue are considered is very different. For such people, touching a low-caste person to help him might be a sin, and forcefully occupying the property of a poor person to build a temple might be a virtue.

Lacking appreciation of all this, the US government — assuming it was well-intentioned — spent many years lavishing its resources in attempts to bring democracy, the rule of law, etc., to societies where such constructs have mutated back to what they originally were. Those truly interested in bringing a change must understand that outside the West, the mainstream's way of thinking and conceptualizing the world, its way of imagining and perceiving the world, and its resultant aspirations and motivations are driven by undercurrents that are essentially pre-rational. It is the undercurrents that must be changed. They must, indeed, be replaced by reason and individualism.

The problems of India are extreme, but they aren’t just India's problems.

In my travels around the world, I am reminded of this again and again: there is the Western civilization, which values the individual and the concept of reason; and there is the rest, the area of the world in which most people haven't a clue about what individualism means or, if they have a clue, abhor it, even after hundreds of years of interactions with the West and even after the advent of the internet, easy information, and cheap traveling.

Reason and individualism are a rare fruit, a very expensive one. Without it, democracy, the rule of law, and regulations against excessive state power have limited and mostly unfavorable effects. That is the problem of India today.

And not just India. Most places outside the West are in a mess, living a contradiction, having some material development but lacking the necessary basis in reason and individualism, and hence of ethics. Even the West has increasingly lost these concepts. This might be making the world an extremely unstable place. But, again, I digress.

If someone wants a real, sustainable change he should work in the arena of critical thinking and individualism, not on imposing superficial Western ways, trying merely to reduce regulations or reduce the size of the public sector.

The future of India

With China slowing down, Russia failing to impress, Brazil in stalemate, and the economies of the West in stagnation or decline, the focus of those looking for economic growth has moved to India.

Despite producing some of the largest numbers of so-called scientists, engineers, and so forth in the world, India is an extremely wretched country. Relatively speaking, a huge amount of economic growth has taken place since 1991, when it is believed that India started to open up — from GDP per capita of a few hundred dollars then to $1,625 today. In my view, the date when India started to change economically was a decade earlier. India had started opening telecommunications to impress visitors during the hosting of the Asian Games in 1982. This in turn opened channels for an easy import of information and technology through the telecommunications cable. Things developed from there. But now that the low-hanging fruits of imported technology have been extracted from the tree, India is stagnating again.

The mainstream media disagree, strongly. During the past year, the euphoria of the old days has returned to India. The stock market has recently been the highest ever. Foreign institutional investors are flocking again. They see India as the next China, ignoring the fact that India is one of the rare countries that hasn't had an event to shake off entrenched interests, social habits, and patterns of thinking during the past many centuries.

How Modi can change a country of 1.25 billion is something that no one really wants to think about, for these are times of euphoria.

Deaths of hundreds of thousands every year in avoidable calamities of course haven't triggered any shakeup, and hence cannot be called revolutionary. Also, it pays to remind ourselves that the so-called independence movement in India was a political event. As a rule of thumb, a political event is an active avoidance of introspection. India's certainly wasn't a cultural movement or even a shakeup. In a way, it was the antithesis of a shake up. Before that, entrenched interests had participated in the revolt against what came to be known as the Bengal Renaissance, which the English supported. Democracy allowed the basest of elements to rise to the top, making entrenchment worse and a possibility of a shake up more remote and entangled.

India's newly elected prime minister, Narendra Modi, is behind today's grand hopes. Everyone is looking at him. Alas, Indians are so badly trained (and unable to think straight and clearly from the perspective of reason) that supervising a mere few of them often feels impossible. How Modi can change a country of 1.25 billion is something that no one really wants to think about, for these are times of euphoria. Hence, the cycle starts again.

There are far too many hopes about this deity. Modi's deification is perhaps the most visual symptom of India's problems: the society looking up to someone or something external to bring salvation. Today's youth have far too many material expectations, taught them by the TV, but not enough productivity. This might be a very dangerous cocktail in the making. Even if it isn’t, I see no way for India to experience meaningful change unless it gives up its irrationality and superstition. I see nothing on the horizon that is capable of teaching critical thinking to the youth.

For those who care to imagine, India may be, culturally and intellectually, where China and Russia were in the late 19th century. Then, India was indeed going through its own renaissance — the Bengal Renaissance — until it was nipped in the bud by half-baked, uneducable people (Gandhi, Nehru, etc.) who went to study in England and learned nothing more than what their irrational minds could accept: intellectual rationalizations for socialism. They neither got nor were capable of getting even get an inkling that what had made England great was reason and individualism. A bottom-up renaissance was corrupted into a top-down design to change India, the so-called independence movement.

At some point, India has to pick up the threads where it left them, with the premature end of its renaissance. Would that require it to suffer what China and Russia suffered in the early 20th century? It shouldn't, and I would hate to see that happening, but is there any other possibility that human history shows?




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Listen Up, Groupmates

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The Giver is a new film based on the popular young adult novel by Lois Lowry (1993) about a community in which choice and individuality have been eliminated in an attempt to eradicate unhappiness. The community is characterized by sameness; houses are all the same, husbands and wives are assigned to each other, and one boy child and one girl child are assigned to each family unit. Occupations are assigned for life by the community elders when children turn 12, thus eliminating the “agony” of deciding for oneself what career or avocation to pursue. Lowry has written over 30 books for young adults and has reaped numerous awards for them. She has a gift for evocative language and for creating characters and settings that draw the reader into her worlds. The Giver addresses important issues about choice and accountability, joy and despair, family and friendship, community and individuality.

To demonstrate the Otherness of herseemingly familiar, yet imaginary community, Lowry creates Orwellian terms such as “newchildren” for babies and “groupmates” for friends. Children are grouped by their birth years as Fours or Eights or Tens. When Elevens become Twelves, they are assigned their occupations at a community celebration also characterized by the “Release to Elsewhere” of the older members of the community. This hint of a glorious retirement is actually a euphemism for euthanasia. As the film opens, Jonas (Brenton Thwaites) is explaining in a voiceover narration what his community is like. “Differences aren’t allowed,” he tells the audience. “No popularity, no fame, no losers.”

The story is reminiscent of Ayn Rand’s novella, Anthem(1938), in which the first-person singular pronoun has been outlawed, names have become numbers, children grow up in dormitories, and occupations are assigned for life. But The Giver immediately contradicts itself, because Jonas is riding bikes and joking happily with his two best friends, Fiona (Odeya Rush) and Asher (Cameron Monaghan) while other children can also be seen chatting happily in groups of twos or threes. Popularity might be frowned upon in this community, but unlike in Anthem, there doesn’t seem to be any tyrannical enforcement of the rules or atmosphere of oppression.

No history is taught in the community, and those in town know only the events they have experienced for themselves in their own generation.

In the next scene, Jonas and Fiona are visiting Jonas’s father (Alexander Skarsgard) in the birthing center where he has been assigned as a nurturer. They compete jovially as they weigh two newborns to see which one’s baby is larger.Fiona’s weighs an ounce more than Jonas’s. Father says, “Thank goodness they aren’t identical! That makes this much easier,” as he takes the newchild who is an ounce lighter to be “released to elsewhere.” Oops! Loser. Evidently it pays to be stronger and heavier in this society of sameness. Similarly, in the assignment ceremony that follows, the elders assign Jonas and his groupmates (who are 16 in the film, not 12, as in the novel) to their occupations by reference to thetalents and differences they have exhibited, not by random selection to confirm their sameness. Fiona and Asher are delighted with their assignments as nurturer and drone pilot, respectively. Jonas is honored to discover that he will be a Receiver of Memories, the first Receiver to be discovered in many years. This is very different from the assignment ceremony of Anthem’s Equality 7-2521, who longs to be a Scholar but is assigned instead to be a street cleaner. I understand the point the film is trying to make about lack of choice, but these contradictions so early in the film are jarring and reduce the sense of drama or conflict.

The purpose of a Receiver is to retain all the memories of the past, including the emotions that accompanied them. In a way the Receiver is a Christ figure, taking upon himself the pains, but also the joys, of the world. Jonas is assigned to learn his role from the current Receiver (Jeff Bridges) who will now be the Giver. He transfers his memories to Jonas telepathically, and Jonas experiences the joy, pain, and wonder of activities that happened in a life without sameness. Only the Receiver has this knowledge; no history is taught in the community, and those in town know only the events they have experienced for themselves in their own generation. Citizens are also given daily injections to prevent emotional highs or lows or any kind of passion. (One wonders why the elders would want a Receiver to remember the history that they deem dangerous, and I think it would have made more sense if The Giver had been an outcast hiding in the woods, waiting for someone with “the gift” to help him restore freedom and choice. But that’s where we simply need to suspend our disbelief and go with the story.)

Director Phillip Noyce has strong visual instincts and uses color to good advantage. Much of The Giver is filmed in black and white to indicate the sameness in the community, with splashes of impressionistic color to indicate freedom of thought and full color for the memories the Giver shares with Jonas. A few allusions give the film added gravitas as well; for example, Jonas tells us in the beginning that they are “protected by the border” from what they perceive as the evils of the outside worlda reminiscence of Plato’s Cave. At another point Jonas gives Fiona an apple and tells her that using it in a certain way will allow her to gain knowledge and feel forbidden passion. He places it in her hand with great ceremony, rather like Eve urging Adam to eat the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, in order to experience the new knowledge and passion that she has discovered.

Through techniques such as these, The Giver tries very hard to be a great film. Its themes about the importance of choice and individuality are themselvesprofoundly important. Jeff Bridges was so impressed by the book that he purchased the movie rights shortly after it was published, expecting to film it with his father (Lloyd Bridges) as the Giver. Rumor has it that he and his family (brother Beau is also an actor) filmed a home movie version of the book in their garage several years ago. Bridges waited 20 years to make the commercial production, and parts of it are quite effective and well done. I enjoyed the novel, and wanted very much to love this film. But like so many works that are philosophically important, The Giver doesn’t translate well to film. Some books just need to remain as books.


Editor's Note: Review of "The Giver," directed by Phillip Noyce. As Is Productions, 2014, 97 minutes.



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Did You Build Grand Central Station?

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On Sept. 29, President Obama gave a TV interview in which he said, “The way I think about it is, you know, this is a great, great country that had gotten a little soft and, you know, we didn't have that same competitive edge that we needed over the last couple of decades. We need to get back on track."

Notice that when the president said that “we need to get back on track,” he didn’t mean that “you and I” need to do so. He didn’t mean that he had lost his competitive edge during the past 20 years and needed to reform himself. He meant that you had lost your edge. The I he reserves for such statements as “I’m going to be signing an executive order today,” or “I urge Congress to move forward,” or “I need to win elections so I can become my own father.” (That last statement is something that he’s never actually said but that he has probably, poor man, always felt.)

In 1927, Charles Lindbergh published a book about his solo flight across the Atlantic. The book was called We. The reference was to Lindbergh and his airplane, The Spirit of St. Louis. Those two were “we.”

Please imagine the effect if he had called the book I. Even Ayn Rand changed the name of her second novel from Ego to Anthem. If you want to call a book I, it had better be your autobiography. (And it had better be good.) But Lindbergh’s book was the story of his exploit, not the story of himself. Without the plane, he wouldn’t have had the exploit. His title showed appropriate courtesy to the plane.

Now imagine the effect if he had gone in the other way and called the book We, the American People. That wouldn’t have been discourteous. That would have been preposterous. It wasn’t the People who crossed the Atlantic. It was Lindbergh and his plane.

I’m not talking about metaphysical issues. I’m talking about literary effects. But there are certain large areas of American life in which neither metaphysics nor aesthetics are understood. The chief of these areas is politics. In this field, we is now one of the most common terms, and it is almost always misplaced — misplaced in a way that is shocking both to fact and to intellect.

As usual, President Obama provides the reductio ad absurdum. Here is what he said during his “give me money and I will create jobs” tour, on Sept. 22, in Cincinnati:

Now, we used to have the best infrastructure in the world here in America. We’re the country that built the Intercontinental Railroad, the Interstate Highway System. We built the Hoover Dam. We built the Grand Central Station.

So how can we now sit back and let China build the best railroads? And let Europe build the best highways? And have Singapore build a nicer airport?

Andrew Malcolm, reporting on the president’s speech (Los Angeles Times, Sept. 23), asked a “quick question”: “Has anyone ever heard any American express jealousy over Singapore's sweet airport?” That’s a good question, but it’s not the important one. The important question is, Who is this we, anyhow?

I don’t remember having built any dams or train stations, and I’ll bet you don’t either. Obama’s we is simply a way of inciting people’s emotions by confusing their ideas about how things get done. We the people don’t raise capital, draw up plans, and pour cement. We may pay taxes or buy train tickets, but we can’t take the credit if a train station turns out to be a work of art, or take the blame if an airline terminal looks like a prison, but without the charm.

It should be noted that “we” is not a term of agitation simply on the Left. It is also a weapon of the Corporate Power — you know, that “1% of the country that owns 99% of it.” This putative 1% appears to consist mainly of oil companies, and they are fighting back, in their feckless way, with commercials in which simulacra of ordinary people say obnoxious, accusatory things — things like, “The oil companies are making a lot of money. Where does it go?” — and then are answered by the unsurprising news that the companies invest the money they make, thereby creating jobs. But many of the obnoxious statements refer to the alleged energy shortage. These take the form of hysterical outbursts such as, “We have to do something about this!” or “We gotta get on this now!

But there are certain large areas of American life in which neither metaphysics nor aesthetics are understood. The chief of these areas is politics.

None of the average citizens whom Chevron depicts as looking up from their busy lives to demand that something be done is portrayed as having any professional qualification to do something himself. We the people aren’t up to that. So the greasy oil company spokesman is free to step in and proclaim that certain other we’s, we the energy experts, are indeed doing something with those invested profits, something to better the lives of everyone, etc. It’s a contest between one we and another, which puts it on a very high intellectual level indeed.

I find it painful even to notice nonsense like this, so I’ll be content with one more example. A big, thumping, classic example. A confused person named Julianne Malveaux (who used to be visible pretty frequently on television, when television was an entirely leftwing venue), once posted a favorable review of a popular book about religion and morality, in which she made these comments: “Still, I could not read the book without wondering how [the author] or anyone else would expect morality in a nation of thieves. How could we expect our political leaders to be honest when we stole from the Indians, enslaved the Africans, interred [sic] the Japanese, disenfranchised the Chinese, conscripted labor from the Mexicans and so on and so on and so on.”

Clearly, Dr. Malveaux does not consider herself a part of this nation of thieves, or she wouldn’t trust herself to discuss its morality. Yet somehow she can’t avoid using we and our, thereby confessing herself to be a dastardly American after all. Having seen this nice lady on TV, I can hardly picture her forcing Chinese (presumably Chinese Americans) away from the polls, persecuting Mexicans by “conscripting” their labor (huh? when did that happen?), or enslaving Africans — much less burying the Japanese. By her account, however, she has done all these things, and is also several hundreds of years old.

Silly as it is, this kind of rhetoric is increasing. It is growing even faster than the national debt — although formerly, even the worst orators tried to avoid its worst excesses. But whenever I say things like that, I try to check them against Lyndon Johnson’s inaugural address (1965), which I regard as a standard by which bad writing can be measured. Bad, worse, worst: this speech is one of the worst things ever written. (I’ve discussed a few of its features before, in "The Great Man Speaks," Liberty, April 2009. I haven’t talked about any of its good features, because there aren’t any. ) So how is we handled in Johnson’s speech?

Johnson makes some borderline uses of the first person plural — innocuous generalizations about “we” as “we” are today: “Under this [the exact referent isn’t clear, but it’s meant to be something that happened, or maybe didn’t happen, sometime in American history] covenant of justice, liberty, and union we have become a nation — prosperous, great, and mighty. And we have kept our freedom. But we have no promise from God that our greatness will endure. We have been allowed by Him to seek greatness with the sweat of our hands and the strength of our spirit.” Blah, blah, blah. Yes, we don’t know what God has in store for us. This is perfectly true and fully supported by fact. Most of Johnson’s other we statements, however fallible or flaky, are also observations about current reality, about what we supposedly see now:

For this is what America is all about. It is the uncrossed desert and the unclimbed ridge. It is the star that is not reached and the harvest sleeping in the unplowed ground. Is our world gone? We say “Farewell.” Is a new world coming? We welcome it — and we will bend it to the hopes of man.

To this we can only respond, “When was it that we said farewell to our world?” I, for one, can’t recall any worlds disappearing. And I know I never contemplated bending a new world to the hopes of man. Sorry, can’t picture that. But even baloney like this isn’t as bad as the oil company ads, which insist that we actually start doing something to bend the world, or the Malveaux review, which insists that we (you and I!) once actuallydid something like that, but it didn’t turn out very well.

Nevertheless, there is a disturbing parallel between Johnson’s speech and the more modern remarks I’ve been analyzing. It comes in the following paragraph, where Johnson says:

No longer need capitalist and worker, farmer and clerk, city and countryside, struggle to divide our bounty. By working shoulder to shoulder, together we can increase the bounty of all. We have discovered that every child who learns, every man who finds work, every sick body that is made whole — like a candle added to an altar — brightens the hope of all the faithful.

The Simpsons has the First Church of Springfield. America at large has the First Church of All. One of its dogmas is that all of usare always learning helpful things about all of us. For example, we learned to work shoulder to shoulder (now there’s a fresh expression), because we discovered that competition (the “struggle to divide”) doesn’t “increase the bounty of all.”

This notion goes a long way toward explaining America’s melancholy political history from the 1960s until now. No politician ever opens his mouth to say that we were once taught to believe that we should work shoulder to shoulder, but that now we know we were wrong, because competition increases the bounty of all. But that’s the plain, though unutterable, truth.

Somehow Malveaux can’t avoid using “we” and “our,” thereby confessing herself to be a dastardly American after all.

One thing we plainly did not discover, because it is patently absurd, is that everyone benefits from everything good that happens to everyone else. If this is what every child who learns is learning (and I’m afraid it is), then we are in serious trouble. But in case you haven’t noticed, we are in serious trouble, and it’s because some people actually accept the ridiculous assumptions behind these ridiculous uses of every, all, and we.

I hate to say it, because it seems so fundamentalist, so retro-libertarian, but this also is true: what I’ve been discussing here is collectivism, pure and simple, and collectivism is a very bad thing. Not only is it economically harmful; it’s destructive of thought, and today it is more prominent than ever in America. There is nothing more common than the linguistic collectivism that was planted in President Johnson’s idiotic remarks about “the hope of all the faithful” and now blossoms in President Obama’s amazing idea that we (of course including he) somehow constructed the Hoover Dam and summoned Grand Central Station out of the primordial ooze. Yet on this false conception, this linguistic folly, has been erected the vast framework of modern socialism, the system of thought and action that is now imperiling the future of us all.




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