Dennis: “Oh but if I went ’round sayin’ I was Emperor, just because some moistened bint lobbed a scimitar at me, they’d put me away!” — Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Definition of FAIRY TALE
by J. Hamilton
a : a story (as for children) involving fantastic forces and beings (as fairies, wizards, and goblins) — called also fairy story
b : a story in which improbable events lead to a happy ending
Children like fairy tales because they fulfill wishes. A fulfilled wish satisfies the emotions. And like all illicit satisfactions, fulfilled wishes bear the double burdens of satisfaction and guilt. I live in a fairy tale:
I began paying into Social Security in 1963, and now I draw out money that I paid in — money that I earned.
Definitely a fairy tale.
Or I should call it a disaster. If the Mayans said the world will end in 2012, but they missed it — the accountants say the clock strikes midnight in 2017 — in that year the fairy godmother loses all ability to deliver Social Security benefits without placing those who are now children into bondage. What a pleasant dream we will all wake from — into nightmarish reality.
When I was in the airborne, we asked the training sergeant what we should do if we descended toward power lines. The sergeant looked at us with the wisdom of the ages in his eyes, and then with the compelling voice of Saruman said we should push out our front risers as far as we could and rock gently back and forth. We sat before him in uncomprehending silence. A wag later told me the purpose of the maneuver was to occupy our minds and make us relax just before we fried.
If we look to the leaders in this country, we can’t even find a Saruman to soothe our worries. The Lords of Chaos see this impending disaster as a tool to use against their opponents — they say someone will take away our Social Security!
But no one says how any combination of reform will pay for Social Security without impoverishing us all. I suppose it will be the same people who are going to pay the bill for government workers’ pensions and medical care. I know, we can tax the rich, and those who finally do pay the bill will find clothing their nakedness with a barrel or loincloth quite fashionable.
A young country could make it work. Many workers paying into the scheme could easily support the much smaller number of retirees benefiting. But all changes. We are a much older country now, and furthermore we elders refuse to die — extending our life spans not years but decades. And having grown used to abundance, we intend to enjoy abundance to our last breath.
In George Orwell’s 1984, O’Brien tells Winston Smith that power is the goal. That may be it. The Lords of Chaos pit the young against the old and gain power by impoverishing us all.
If only a leader would let yea be yea and nay be nay — regardless of consequences — tell us that we have lived in a fairy tale and all the coaches have become pumpkins and the beautiful gown a rag and there is no lamp to rub, no cave of gold to find. But that is not how it works. It’s more like musical chairs on the Wreck of the Old 97. Whichever leader has his hand on the throttle when the smashup comes will do the explaining; everyone else will collect their retirements in peace — they drove us to the crash, but will not pay for it.
What began as a government scam that benefited millions will end like a terminal disease that crushes millions — it will be like the difference between your first cigarette and your last.
Header image by mudeth used under this Creative Commons license
