47% Redux

The election is three weeks in the past, and Republican strategists remain defiant in the face of loss.

Stuart Stevens, a Romney campaign advisor, said this week that while Barack Obama may have won a majority of the popular vote Mitt Romney received a majority of votes among those earning $50,000 or more a year.  Stevens claimed this was a victory for Romney, as it demonstrated that the Republican Party retains the support of the middle class.

Romney won the majority of voters making over $50,000, but lost the popular vote, so obviously the majority of Americans make less than $50,000.  What does that tell you?  Among other things, it shows that the American middle class of yore is shrinking in the face of a three-decade effort of conservatives to shift a greater share of the nation’s wealth into the hands of a few. 

Another inference one can make is that a good number of the fifty-grand-and-up club probably aren’t making too much more than that.  Ignoring the crass pronouncements of GOP bigwigs, Republican voters just a layoff away from falling into the bottom 47% or worse continue to quaff the Kool-Aid. 

It’s a matter of time before cognitive dissonance sets in.  On the other hand, perhaps not.  Americans rarely accept realities that do not comport with their worldview.  The conservative myth is seductive, entrancing even those who stand little or no chance of benefitting from its promises.

Until the electorate wakes up and votes in its true interests, we can’t expect anything besides more of the same.   

Them Ol' Midsemester Blues

They’re waiting outside the classroom, petulant at having been locked out.  I’m running late, arriving a couple minutes before the start of class.

“It’s cold out here in the hallway,” whines one of my young charges, anxiously rubbing her arms with exaggerated vigor to emphasize her distress.

“You know, you could have asked one of the custodians to let you in,” I offer.  “You don’t have to wait for me to open up.”

“But you’re supposed to be here, and you weren’t!”

I sigh resignedly and unlock the classroom door.  The students shuffle in listlessly and take their seats.  It’s getting toward late fall, and most are clad in snowpants, fleece tops, and Sherpa caps.  There’s a nice covering of snow outside, at least a foot after last weekend’s storm, and a few people stare longingly out the window.

Not bothering with the usual opening pleasantries, I read off the week’s announcements.

“All right, settle down, please.  The New Age Club will be selling dreamcatchers in the student lobby Thursday from 3:00 to 5:00, to raise money for their summer pilgrimage to the Sivanada Ashram.  Contact Karma Smith-Jones-Abramowitz for more information.

“As many of you know, Charisma Smith-Jones-Abramowitz twisted her ankle snowshoeing the day before yesterday.  Dr. Kimpossible has arranged grief counseling services for those of you affected in any way by this unfortunate incident.”

A disturbed murmur erupts.  “Charisma’s hurt? “  “Omigod!”  “You mean, you hadn’t heard?”  A couple of students abruptly grab their bookbags and hustle for the exit.

“Um, bye?” I venture, puzzled.

“We gotta go see Charisma!” explains the last one out over his shoulder, the door closing behind him.  I wait expectantly, figuring at least a couple more students will capitalize on the Charisma tragedy by leaving.  But for some fidgeting, however, the residuum of the class stays put.

My fears of an empty room allayed, I continue with the announcements.  “I guess I should add that the varsity Transcendental Meditation team will hold a candlelight vigil for Charisma tonight at 8:00 on the quad.” 

I tense momentarily, sensing this might trigger a second exodus.  No one moves.  After a pause, I ask for this week’s homework.  There are twenty-some students in the room.  Three hastily scrawled sheets of notebook paper eventually make their way to the front of the room.  I frown. 

“You were aware that your research paper outlines were due today?”  I am met with silence, broken by a couple of muffled coughs and the sound of bodies shifting in seats.

“Mr. Scholar?”  a thin, nasally voice calls tentatively.

“Yes, Mallory?”  Mallory is a slight young woman of about eighteen, maybe nineteen.  Mallory is articulate, perhaps even intelligent, and she speaks more frequently than anyone else in the class.  She represents a particular type of today’s college student, the kind raised by indulgent parents to treat her elders as equals.  The resulting air of adult self-assurance Mallory projects serves puerile ends, however.  Because for Mallory everything is up for negotiation, including her grades.  Especially her grades.  I’ve come to dread Mallory approaching me after class, knowing she’s seizing yet another opportunity to cadge a couple of extra points on an assignment or argue about her test scores.   

“Don’t you remember Dean Kimpossible’s new policy?  You know, the one that says we don’t have to turn in our work if we’re stressed?” 

Mallory hands me a preprinted card she’s filled out.  I groan inwardly…it’s a “stress card,” part of Kimpossible’s initiative to raise Snowflake College’s retention and graduation rates by creating a more nurturing environment.   If a student hands you a stress card you have to excuse him or her from an assignment, no questions asked.  And with no grade penalty, of course.   

“Any others?” I ask, knowing full well what’s coming next.  Thirty seconds later, I’m holding a stack of stress cards.

Undaunted, I move on to the day’s lecture.  True to form, they’re not having it.  My efforts to start a discussion are met with complete, cricket chirping apathy.

“…And so we find in the literature that…that…Oh, hell, I’m even boring myself!”  I pull down the projection screen over the whiteboard.  “Let’s watch a movie.”    

Now, that cheers them up.  For a moment or two, anyway.  The film is a documentary, not exactly something that would pique their interest.  But at least I can relax a while, knowing I won’t have to entertain the precious darlings for the rest of the period. 

The film ends, I turn up the lights.  Everyone rubs their eyes as they adjust.  “Okay, last order of business…I’ve got your midterms graded. 

“As a class, you did well.”  There’s an ironic inflection in my voice, which naturally goes unnoticed.  In the general spirit of safeguarding their fragile self-esteem, I’d allowed them to work on their exams in small groups.  This accounts for the high grades.  For the first time, their countenances lift.  They actually believe they all earned their “A”s.  And who am I to dissuade them?

I hand back the exams, and the class slowly disperses.  One last student hangs back.  It’s Ian, next to Mallory the most shameless grade-grubber in the group.  Ian hands me his test paper, a bubble-in form. 

“Hey, Mr. Scholar.  I got #23 wrong.  I answered “D.”  But, I meant to answer “B.”  I did—see, I erased “B” before I bubbled in “D.”  Can I get credit for answering right?”

Give ‘em an inch and they’ll want a mile, I remind myself.  I try not to show my annoyance as I reply. 

“I don’t think so.  I mean, you got to take your test with a group.  What more do you want?  Next time, make sure you’ve checked your work before handing it in.”

This is not the answer Ian expected to hear.  He turns on his heel, stalking away muttering, “Epic fail!”  I suspect he is referring to me.  Too bad the stress card rule wasn’t in place last week when I gave the exam.  I suppose it will make the final interesting.

Looking up at the clock, I see that I let the class go five minutes early.  Time was, not so long ago, I would go back to my office and catch up on my work.  But not today.  I congratulate myself on having gained a few minutes of free time and lock the classroom door as I leave.

© 2012 The Unassuming Scholar

Status Quo

The voters have decided and chosen the lesser evil.

The Obama victory last night, as with that of any major party presidential candidate, means very little in the long run for the American people and the world at large.  It is good news for us who care about preserving the remaining shreds of civil liberties we still possess or who wish to extend civil rights protections for women, same sex couples, and immigrants. 

But in every other social arena, particularly in the workplace, a second Obama administration will have the same impact as a Romney administration would have had.  The demands of the global capitalist economy, untethered to any bedrock of morality, presided over by sociopathic profit seekers, will continue to dictate U.S. policy as it has for the past generation.  Expect more of the same—more industry-funded union-busting efforts, more state right-to-work legislation, and the steady erosion of personal economic security as the American working class is sacrificed in the race to the bottom.    

If you find you’re worse off four years hence, don’t blame it on your vote.  The only option you ever had was the status quo. 

Vox Populi

Here is an interesting tidbit culled from YouTube.  It’s footage from a Romney campaign rally in Ohio this week.

There’s a saying that the voice of the people is the voice of God.  If that is the case, then God help God.