Friday, April 30, 2021

A Tale of 2058


            For today’s post, I've decided to try something new here at Twilight Patriot: writing a fictional story. Now, when someone starts writing fiction, that means he has taken on a different role for himself than a declarer-of-facts or a defender-of-opinions (i.e., what I have been in my previous posts). The fiction-writer is a suggester – nothing he says is literally true, but by saying it, he makes us think about whether it might point to something important that is presently happening, or that could happen, in the real world.

So, without further ado, here is the Twilight Patriot’s suggestion, based on current trends, of what life for a typical American family might be like in 2058.

Sara’s Story – A Tale of 2058

            When someone asks me how many people are in my family, I usually say seven. There would be eight if you count my husband, but he’s hardly ever home. The seven that you can usually find together are myself, my mother, my 22-year-old daughter Charlotte, her 28-year-old boyfriend Ollie, my sister Zoe, and her nine-year-old twins, one boy and one girl.

We live in a little rundown condo in Cedar Falls, Iowa, in what used to be student housing for a university. To the north of us is the university’s auditorium, which nobody uses anymore since the roof fell in eleven years ago. To the east is the landlord’s house, with its garden and rabbit hutch, all behind a high concrete wall topped with razor wire. To the south is an old soccer field that’s usually empty, except when there are migrants coming through. To the west is an abandoned gas station.

Most gas stations are like that, nowadays. Sometimes I talk to the young ones about how when I was a girl, you didn’t have to be rich or work for the government to drive a car, and that’s why there were so many gas stations.

Charlotte says she can’t imagine there ever was such a time. Ollie once said that when he was a child, his parents drove him around nearly every day, because they were “middle class.” Charlotte said that must be because “middle class” means the same thing as “rich.” I tried to explain that back in the day, most people who weren’t rich weren’t poor either, and that’s how we got the word “middle class.” Charlotte just rolled her eyes.

My husband works for a big utility company; he does repair work on high-voltage electrical power lines. It seems they are always needing repaired, because in most neighbourhoods, ours included, the power only comes on for a few hours each day (nobody knows which hours those will be) and we all have to hurry and charge our phones and do our cooking before it goes out again.

My husband is what they call an “essential worker.” Almost ten years ago, there was a big lawsuit, and the judges on the federal district court said that essential workers can’t quit their jobs, even if they want to, and they can’t bargain for higher wages, and they can’t refuse to work extra hours. If an essential worker disobeys, or gets caught trying to leave the district, he’ll be held in contempt of court, and sent off to prison for however long the judge feels like.

Essential workers like my husband still get paid a wage, so it’s not quite the same thing as being a slave, though it’s pretty close.

During the first year or two after the court ruling, my husband still worked five days a week, and came home at night like before. But as time went on, his boss called him up to work more and more evenings and weekends, and started sending him on long trips into the other counties that share our coal-fired power plant. Nowadays, I usually only see him three or four nights a month.

Zoe and I had two brothers, but they both went with our father after our parents divorced, when I was nine and Zoe was three. The elder brother died of cancer fourteen years ago, and I don’t know if the younger one is still alive or not. Our father was killed six years ago when the Ares Gang was first becoming strong in North Carolina, where he lived, and most people hadn’t yet learned to show the gangsters the proper respect. One too many insolent words and gestures, in the misplaced faith that the cops would never tolerate a murder in broad daylight, and he was a corpse just like his firstborn son.

The gang here in Cedar Falls goes by a different name, but it runs things in basically the same way. Like the Ares, these gangsters do their best to be predictable so that the rest of us will see them less as a threat to our lives and safety, and more as just another thing we all have to put up with.

Businesses like the Five Guys where Zoe works have to pay protection money each week, and young men like Ollie have to avoid the gang’s favorite streets after dark, but for the rest of us, it’s enough to refrain from speaking ill of the gang in publicAnd this isn’t much to ask us to put up with, seeing as we already put up with the tax collectors who scoop up our backyard chickens while muttering about “payment in kind,” or the federal marshals who hunt down missing essential workers, or the diversity commissioner who earns a lavish living telling us that, because we are white, we have no reason to complain about any of these things unless we are racists.

My husband and I would have liked to have had more children than just Charlotte, but after she was born, I got my IUD reinserted, and when I wanted it back out three years later, the price of the procedure was way up, even though my husband’s wages had stayed the same. We never did manage to get enough money scrounged together to cover the cost.

The same thing happened to my sister Zoe: she’s never had a chance to get her birth control turned off again since the twins were born. But with her, nobody regrets what happened. Zoe always starts sleeping with a different guy every month or two, and if one of them managed to get her pregnant, he’d either abandon her like the twins’ father had, or stick around and make us all wish he’d abandoned her.

Ollie and Charlotte can’t have children, because when Ollie was thirteen, he had started identifying as a girl – lots of boys his age were doing that back then – and his school’s guidance counsellor had convinced his parents to take him to a surgeon and get his penis and scrotum removed. A year later, Ollie was back to calling himself a boy, and his parents got him a two-year course of testosterone injections so he  could develop a man's voice and build. But there was no undoing the surgery.

My mother sometimes gripes about Charlotte’s choice of a mate, but I’ve never been bothered by it. There’s no need for Charlotte to have babies of her own when Zoe’s nine-year-olds will be doing the job five or six years from now – after all, taking care of children isn’t as easy as it used to be, and there’s only so much space in our condo, and so much food in our cupboards.

I still don’t know how they do it, but Ollie and Charlotte manage to get intimate enough for their own satisfaction. And since Ollie himself is a friendly and hardworking young man, who’s filled many a bare dinner table and livened up many a dour evening, I think that, all things considered, he’s well worth keeping around.

For us, money is always tight. Ever since the Fed decided to go cashless, the only people in my family who have been able to use it are Zoe and my husband. My husband pays the monthly rent, but he isn’t home often enough to do much else. Zoe makes a good wage at Five Guys, but spends three quarters of it on booze and cigarettes and heroin, so we have to really stretch what’s left in order to get by.

My mother, myself, and Charlotte can’t use money because of some sort of bug with the software – whenever we open up the Fed’s new app, we get a screen that says “Account parameters are missing.” Nobody we’ve ever asked about it knows how to fix it, and we can’t start new accounts from scratch, because the law only allows one account per citizen.

Ollie’s problem is that he got banned from all public service apps as a teenager, when a moderator on DuckSpeak accused him of “hate speech” for talking too frankly about his ill feelings toward the people who promoted the sort of surgery that he had when he was thirteen.

Those of us without a working version of the money app have to use barter when we work outside the home. Whenever Charlotte and I cook or clean or do laundry for a wealthy family, they pay us with leftover food, or clothes too tattered for their own use. When Ollie repairs or salvages electrical devices or does carpentry, he’ll usually take payment in scrap metal, junked hardware, a live chicken for the night’s dinner, or a wad of marijuana.

Usually he finds a way to swap the marijuana for something more useful, but sometimes, late at night, he rolls it up into a joint and sits on the front porch taking long draughts of the smoke and looking dead to the world, and you can tell that this is a day when he’s feeling more despondent than usual about what’s missing below his belly button.

You might wonder why I’m writing all this down. After all, nothing that has happened to the seven of us (or the eight of us, if you count my husband) was ever newsworthy; no reporters ever came to talk to us about it; in fact, we might even be too ordinary to provide much material for gossip when Zoe and her coworkers are sitting behind the Five Guys at the end of the shift, smoking and throwing pebbles at the cinderblock wall to ward off the ever-gnawing boredom.

But there’s one more side to my life that I haven’t mentioned yet: I read books. I have a whole collection in my bedroom, 56 in all, stored snugly in what used to be the family refrigerator until the freon ran out. And most of them are old books, too, about things like the American Revolution, the pioneers heading west, the invention of the railroad and the light bulb and the radio and the airplane, the Civil War and World War I and World War II, and a time that a man stood up in Washington DC and said “I have a dream” and asked us all to live as if it didn’t matter which people were black and which people were white.

And because of those books, I can see that a lot of what my family is dealing with isn’t normal. The books, for the most part, tell of a time when little boys were never told by grown-ups that they might really be girls, or vice versa, when lawmen hunted down robbers instead of hiding from them, when the government respected freedom of speech, and when judges didn’t rule the country all by themselves, and had to share power with people like mayors and congressmen who could be voted out of office if their constituents felt like they weren’t being listened to.

 I know that the people in those earlier times weren’t free of problems of their own – after all, they did manage to have a Civil War and two World Wars! But I also know that earlier generations got a lot of things right that we’re getting wrong.

And I know that the crazy times we’re living in won’t last forever – after all, none of the other crazy times ever did.

Eventually, our way of life will end. But I don’t want it to be forgotten. I want people to remember the things that are happening to us. I want them to remember us: me and my mother and my husband and Charlotte and Ollie and Zoe and the twins.

I don’t know what the people who live in the future, and who read this, will think about us. Maybe they’ll just feel bad for us, because of all the crazy stuff that has happened to us. Maybe they’ll think we’re cowards, because we didn’t fight back harder, like the Patriots at Lexington and Bunker Hill. Maybe they’ll admire us, because so many of us lived through things that would have made a weaker man or woman give up on living.

Just think of poor Ollie: how nobody would blame him if he cut his own throat, and yet he never does. He just keeps on going, and we can all see the light in his eyes when he’s been staring at a broken motor for a long time and suddenly sees how to fix it, or when he walks in the door after a long day of work and introduces us to whatever furry or feathery critter we’re about to eat for supper.

I don’t know how the coming generations will remember us – they might think the best of us, and they might think the worst. But I am writing this down anyway because I really do want them to think something about us. We deserve to be remembered.

Sunday, April 25, 2021

The Left's True Alignment

As I begin this post, I probably owe my readers a big apology. I left the United States seven weeks ago and haven’t written on this blog since, having had too many other things to do during my travels abroad. But unlike a good, responsible, blogger, I didn’t state my plans up front so that my readers would know I hadn’t simply abandoned the project. Sorry about that.

I will be back to weekly posts sometime this summer. Once I do return, my first serious post will be a book review of a self-published novel sent to me by one of my readers (Thank you Mike McCarthy!). In the meantime, I figured I still at least have the time and means to write what follows.

I don’t know how many of my readers are familiar with the Dungeons and Dragons alignment grid. For a lot of people in my country, who grew up in the 1970s or later, this game was a fixture of our youth, so little explanation is necessary. For anyone else, only a brief one will be needed.

The alignment the grid is a way to categorize characters by their temperament and likely moral decision-making process. Each character’s place on the D&D grid has an ethical dimension – good, neutral, or evil – and a socio-legal dimension – lawful, neutral, or chaotic. Together they make a nine-part square, with True Neutral in the middle.

So, for example, your Lawful Good Paladin might be willing to take a dangerous detour from his quest in order to save an elven-maid from a party of marauding gnolls, but he would balk at the idea of lying to other people to get them to join his mission, and get very squeamish at the prospect of torturing a captured gnoll to find the route back to the gnoll party’s mountain fastness.

But if you replace Lawful Good with Neutral Good, the character still leaps at the chance to save the elf-maiden, while having an easier time justifying the lying and torture. Meanwhile, a Chaotic Evil character might lie and torture for amusement or personal gain, while a Lawful Neutral character, who doesn’t stick his neck out for anybody, will still be pretty good about respecting authority and upholding group norms regarding honesty and the like. Repeat this reasoning process for the other five alignments, and you’ll have a good enough idea of how the system works.

The real-life cogency of such a system is debatable, especially when it comes to Chaotic Good. For example, within the worldview of biblical Christianity (and most other traditional religions) submission to civil and parental authority is a virtue. It’s a virtue with limits, and you may need to disobey human authority figures when compelled by a “higher law” – i.e. it is better to be Oscar Schindler than Adolf Eichmann. But the point is, you can’t be an orthodox Christian and prefer lawlessness.

On the other hand, most young Americans these days love to play as Chaotic Good, and it’s probably the most popular D&D alignment by quite a bit. This is especially so among left-leaning youth. (I grew up in right-wing circles, where our characters were more likely to be Lawful Good or Neutral Good, or Chaotic Evil when we wanted to play as villains).

Speaking more broadly, people on the modern Left are enamored of the figure of the idealistic rebel. There is probably no other culture in the history of the world that has loaded the word “rebel” (traditionally a very negative one) with such bright and cheery connotations.

Perhaps the history buffs among my readers recall how, whenever a peasant rebellion broke out in Medieval Europe, the rebels always claimed that they still respected their king or duke or whoever and were just trying to rescue him from “evil counselors?” But even then, after the rebellion was quelled and its leaders’ heads were rotting on stakes, not a single contemporary historian portrayed their acts positively?

Yet nowadays, when setting the scene for some new epic of space opera or high fantasy, all the author has to do is say that his story is about a bunch of rebels fighting to bring down an empire, and everyone knows that they’ll be rooting for the former and against the latter.

This is because Leftists, who totally dominate pop culture, love to think of themselves as plucky, altruistic rebels courageously defying forces much stronger than themselves. In reality, almost nothing could be further from the truth, but the leftist myth-makers keep at it, always projecting the archetype of a cackling pulp fantasy villain onto whatever right-wing political figure they hate the most.

And no, I’m not just talking about Donald Trump. Did you know that, when George Lucas was making Return of the Jedi, he honest-to-goodness thought he had modeled the character of the Emperor on Richard Nixon? There really is nothing new under the sun.

In short, leftists regard themselves as Chaotic Good. The Right, by and large, accepts this view, with only the ethics reversed, and sees the left as Chaotic Evil.

And when you have an enemy that’s Chaotic Evil, but looks like Chaotic Good to sympathetic eyes, the way to fight it is to become Lawful Neutral. Which is what the Right has done: Right-wingers talk quite a bit about how being good members of a society means accepting that we don’t always get our way, and respecting established laws and institutions anyway because they’re the only thing standing between civilization and barbarism.

But the problem is that the Left isn’t actually Chaotic Evil. Or Chaotic Anything, for that matter.

For well over forty years by now, being a leftist has meant being on the good side of almost all of America’s most powerful people, with the exception of some holders of the (mainly ceremonial) Presidency. Everyone else – the Supreme Court Justices who together wield the imperial sceptre, the trend-setters in Hollywood and academia, the ultra-rich like Bill Gates and George Soros, and so forth – have lent the bulk of their support to leftist causes.

Also, people who commit crimes that are popular among the left, from draft dodging to illegal immigration to statue toppling, have an uncanny tendency to end up enjoying de facto or de jure amnesty.

In the final reckoning, whether or not your alignment is Lawful doesn’t really depend on how much you respect the contents of the statute book. It depends on whether your actions risk getting you punished by society’s power-wielders. Doing 48 mph when the sign says 45 does not make you a rebel. Neither does taking part in a race riot in a Democrat-run state.

There was a day when the Left had real rebels: people like Abbie Hoffman and Bill Ayers, who did things that were likely to get them sent to jail for a long time. That day is gone. From the early 1970s onward, the Left has been Lawful Evil through and through.

The Right, which still views the Left as Chaotic Evil, thinks that by playing as Lawful Neutral, it is fighting against the Left.

But therein lays a problem: while Lawful Neutral is an enemy of Chaotic Evil, it is a pawn of Lawful Evil.

For a long, long, time, a lot of well-intentioned American right-wingers have attempted, in all earnestness, to fight back against their country’s decay by trying to rebuild trust in their country’s institutions (which are controlled by leftists) and by telling the citizens that, because of the wisdom of our Founding Fathers, they now live (note the present tense) under the best system of representative government in the world.

And yet, none of this has worked, because (1) people who believe in the unconditional bestness of their own country have no motivation to go out and fight for their liberties, and (2) you cannot defeat Lawful Evil if you think that your problems stem from insufficient respect for authority.

Despite superficial differences, Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, and Donald Trump all had essentially the same act: Ride to the White House on a wave of populist rage, by convincing the Republican base that America’s new ruling class could be defeated through voting for the right candidates, and otherwise working within the existing constitutional order.

Too few people were willing to ask: “What constitutional order? Do you mean the one where voters and their elected representatives have no say in whether the country legalizes abortion and same-sex marriage, whether or not all high schools are required by law to host a club promoting homosexuality, whether illegal aliens are to enjoy de facto amnesty, and whether their country will go to war with Libya, Syria, and Yemen?”

If the answer is, “No, I mean the constitutional order that George Washington and James Madison created,” then you have a conundrum, because the constitution of Washington and Madison can only be restored by the same force that created it – a willingness to resist governments that don’t acknowledge traditional limits on their power.

Which the Right, being Lawful Neutral, cannot do – all it can do is keep submitting.

And the price of submission is that the longer you do it, the more things the other side will think of for you to submit to. In the past, it was queer sex ed classes and race-based university admissions. Now, it’s court-ordered child castrations and endless race riots.

Yes, even the George Floyd Riots are a manifestation of Lawful Evil, because the rioters are only doing the things that the most powerful people in our society – influential leftists in Congress, the judiciary, the media, big business, and so forth – approve of them doing. (To be clear, the approval is more often expressed through lenient treatment of criminals than through explicit egging-on, though the latter is far from absent).

The moment that the rioters threaten a wealthy neighborhood, the police arrive and clear them away. This is because the rioters are a tool of the plutocratic oligarchy, and cannot act without their masters’ consent. They will go away when the oligarchy no longer needs them, but for now, they earn their keep by:

(1) Performing acts of vicariously satisfying violence at the expense of the people that the oligarchs hate the most (the white working class) and

(2) Keeping most Americans so wound up over symbolic racial grievances that they don’t notice the immense role that class privilege and class prejudice play in modern American life.

Conservatives like to think of themselves as the defenders of the present constitutional order, which is essentially good, from the attacks of the lawless Left. The idea that the Left already remade the constitutional order to its own liking several decades ago, and that to keep defending it, at this point, is to be the Left’s tool – that idea is alien to the conservative mindset.

And yet, if right-wingers want to deal with the uncomfortable realities of the present situation, they are going to have to stop seeing themselves as stalwart citizens defending an ancient social order against the forces of barbarism and chaos, and start seeing themselves as peons living under a hostile and non-representative government.

Then, they will need to give up their Lawful Neutral alignment, and switch to something like Neutral Good or even True Neutral – a hard-nosed, pragmatic alignment well-adapted to living under dissolute authorities in an age of decline.

By all means, resist the state if that’s what it takes to keep yourself or your family safe. If, for example, the government decides to change your child’s gender, then flee the country and seek asylum in Russia or some likeminded place – don’t just stay home and submit like everyone else that this has happened to so far.

But don’t fantasize about taking back the country in a 1776 style revolution or a red-on-blue civil war. There are good reasons – which I have explained here – why this is not going to happen in the foreseeable future. And don’t expect that a sudden, apocalyptic crisis will arrive in time to render the whole struggle moot. Prepare for a long and drawn-out decline, because that is what we are most likely to get.

Russia underwent state collapse in the 1980s and 1990s, and it wasn’t the end of the world for the Russian people – just a time of scarcity, crime, political dysfunction, and general misery, in which practical skills like the ability to grow one’s own food, plus close relationships with one’s family, neighbors, and friends, were the best aids to survival. America, I think, has a lot to learn from Russia’s experience.

People love to call me a pessimist for saying all this. I do not think that the label is justified. Decline and fall is the common lot for empires. Nations that have spent a long time wallowing in decadence don’t suddenly grow a spine when catastrophe is looming.

Perhaps it is my religious outlook on life that lets me admit the facts of decline so calmly. Bringing forth a victory from an impossible situation is, in my view, a function of the Gods; us mortals, on the other hand, need to be more humble about the limits of our abilities, and the fallibility of the institutions that we create and sustain.  If you hang your sense of transcendental hope on the divine Powers, where it belongs, then you won’t be tempted to hang it on the frail reed of a doomed political cause – like trying to restore America’s zombie republic.

If I really wanted to, I could pretend that the old republic was restorable. I could pretend that if only the forces of law and order managed to turn things around and defeat the forces of Chaotic Evil, our national decline could be reversed.

But I know deep down that it just ain’t so.

And that is why I will continue to leave my sense of abiding hope with divine Providence, where it belongs, and approach worldly matters in a spirit of pragmatism, in the full knowledge that there are hard limits to what can be done when a nation as lacking in courage as our own is confronted with Lawful Evil.