Honestly, this was inevitable. We could see it coming from a long way off. Sunset, if you will, has finally fallen on Reagan’s ‘Morning in America’.

For details on we how got here I refer you to the writing of journalist David Sirota, author of The Uprising, who has recently provided us with a summary bibliography of key texts, and in only one sentence. From the Huffington Post, he says:

“As I note, this week we will see Thomas Frank’s wrecking crew using Naomi Klein’s shock doctrine to justify a bigger free lunch than David Cay Johnston ever imagined.”

For the life of me, I simply cannot understand how anyone could continue to espouse, or even attempt to justify, the philosophies of ‘free-market’ neoliberalism. The great, green capitalist machine has not righted itself, and now we’re expected to burn 700 billion US dollars (OMFG!!!) to cushion the fall of those who passionately claimed the market would save us. Ultimately, this massive and unprecedented bailout of the financial sector amounts to a soft landing for the least deserving and most hypocritical among us.

Politically, both the republicans and the democrats have apparently converged to reform the fascist party, an orgy of wealth, exclusivity, and corruption. With rare exception (thank you Mr. Kucinich), there is no dissent, no opposition in Washington. There’s the money, and then there’s us. The US is officially a capitalist wasteland where gains are privatized and losses socialized, and the working poor always, always foot the bill.

If ever the phrase ‘the emperor has no clothes’ was relevant to our national discourse, it would be now. And like many of my countrymen and women, I’m just sick of it. Disgust prods me awake at night, like a wiry, old finger jabbing me in the ribcage. I can’t get that ethereal Dorthea Lange photograph out of my head: a furrowed brow and three kids, the world in black-n-white, to have and to have not.

In all probability it won’t be as bad as my night frights suggest. And I hate that fear can grip me so. But then again, what do I know? I’m not a money-man… I’m just one of the millions who have to pay for it when the money-men fuck up!

Argh!!!

Given the close proximity of the center to our house, Yan and I figured it wouldn’t be such a burden to throw a few hours their way.  I’ve been encouraging Yan (and myself) to think of our current unemployment as an opportunity.  My professor at the VCA has said on a number of occasions, “You’re time rich, if not money rich.”  Admitedly, this kind of thinking only goes so far in capitalistic societies like Australia (you gotta pay the rent), but I appreciate the sentiment none the less.

It turns out, I really like hearing people’s stories.  Asking questions, soliciting survey participants, etc., it was all very exciting and invigorating.  My Spanish and Mandarin leave much to be desired, of course, and my Aussie-English is weak, but generally speaking people responded kindly to me and my American sensibilities.  Every now and then we’d come across a guy with a terrible tooth ache or something, get rebuffed, and then have to slink back to our corner of the lobby.  But that was definitely a rarity.  Most folks, regardless of their background, like having their voices heard, if even through a three-page questionnaire.

Also, the NRCHC serves an especially diverse group of people.  The clinic is situated in a series of high-rise projects (what the Aussies antiseptically call ‘public housing’), and its inhabitants naturally reflect a wide variety of ages, languages, cultures, and nationalities.  Most come from East-Asia (China, Vietnam, etc.), but I also ran across some Italians, Greeks, Timorese, Indonesians, Sudanese, all kinds of Aussie natives, and one single-mother from Syria–a vibrant young woman who, upon hearing my accent, promptly disparaged president Bush and then implored me to visit Syria whenever possible.  ”We’re good!  We’re good people,” she said while nursing her young son.  

Yes, ma’am.  You are good people.