Sanders

A friend on Facebook asked why anyone would oppose Sanders, who is running for President:

The wage stagnation statistics are misleading, I think.  The workforce has grown something like 50% since Reagan’s election, most of that due to immigration (which is a good thing).   US wages since 1981 or thereabouts do appear flat for the lower two quintiles.  But if you look at real US worker wages now, versus the wages of a worker’s parent’s or grandparents, regardless of what country they were working in 30 years ago, wages are up significantly.  

But leave the income questions alone for a moment, and look at overall quality of life metrics.  A median worker, (US or worldwide) has seen an increase in longevity, much lower infant mortality for their family, better access to information, better ability to travel, and significantly more leisure time.

On a global basis, income inequality between nations has fallen drastically. And the off-shoring of manufacturing that Sanders criticizes has contributed to a tremendous reduction in extreme poverty worldwide.

What worries me, is that when you strip down Sanders economic arguments, he’s essentially a protectionist and a bit of a nativist.  That approach has a pretty bad track record.

I ‘m also not a fan of scapegoat politics, and Sander’s leans heavy in that direction.  The 1% make great villains (e.g. the douche bag who just raised the price on Daraprim), but I hold the quaint view that if you make money in this society, even a lot of money, it is more likely you’re doing something right rather than something wrong.  I am also reminded that to be in the 1%, you need only make $32k a year – on a global basis that is.

But it’s really more that the fuzzy numbers or policy choices, my disagreement with Sanders is deeper.  

Philosophically, I don’t believe that individual resources should be appropriated according to the will of a majority.  At its heart, I think that is what the senator is suggesting.  Regardless of how the inequity is framed, or how much wealth the Koch brothers have, theirs is not my money to take. At the least, I do not have moral claim to it.  We do, collectively, need funds to run national programs, but taxation is at best a necessary evil.  I get nervous when state seizure is recommended as a lever of justice. 

But that is a matter of opinion and seems out of step with most of my facebookiverse. In truth, if the day to storm the Bastille ever arrives, I’ll likely join in, because 1) that’s where my friends will be, and 2) the afterparty will be insane.

But until that day, while I am still sober, I would remind myself that fairness is always subjective.  And regardless of creed, leaders who promise it always (always) wind up with a thumb on the scale.

Puerto Rico, 1985

My High school, Sommerset, had classes arranged in three week courses.  One of those classes was held in Puerto Rico.  Eight of us went along, lived in the student housing of a seminary, and our lone supervisor (who was 24) turned a blind eye to the abundance of DonQ rum in our possession – at least until Nancy was nearly hospitalized for alcohol poisoning.

We did some touristy stuff mixed in with Lectures on PR history, or speeches by peninsulares types about statehood, or speeches by leftists about the need for independence. 

We went to the beach -- either Isla Verde or Luquillo --nearly everyday, and raided the food trucks for pina colladas, fried plantains and land crab empenadas.

We were required to keep a journal as part of the class, and I maintained the usual “today we went to El Moro castle and found the ruins very interesting,” sort of drivel up until the night that Nancy drank too much.  That night, our chaperone told us the rest of the trip was cancelled and we would all fail.

So after that, failure and expulsion looming, I decided there was no risk in journaling more brazenly.  So I wrote as I thought, and I said Fuck a lot more.

But rather than additional punishment, my instructor asked me to continue writing in this manner.  He liked it, he said, and compared my writing to Hunter Thompson – high praise to a 17 year old.  I had to clean up the syntax and the grammar, but if I could continue in adequate volume I could pass the class.

It was that trip, after Nancy’s bender, that I decided I was a writer.