Rubber Rooms

I love the way the money we would save by abandoning our efforts overseas has already been spent by the progressive Left. No doubt, we need more teachers to teach about the evils of capitalism; the evils of Democracy, and of racism in America; the evils of fossil fuels; the cancers of freedom, liberty and of the anachronism of humanity in general.

There are never enough teachers, whether in the ‘rubber rooms’ or in the classrooms to bone up and teach - not math, history or language – but of the yet unrealized glories of Obama's Marxist vision of vast plantations worked by sweat, brawn and the rotting carcasses of the infirm. Teachers who by rote say only one thing: 'Arbeit macht frei', which equates roughly to the ball and chain metaphor without the actual ball, without the actual chain; Pol Pot’s vision of workers abandoning the cities to the ravages of ruin for the ideal of Schlaraffenland, the bountiful earth, the miracle of the loaves and fish; for the unsullied human imprint that excludes individuality, inspiration, exceptionalism, imagination, talent and failure – and, by extension, of course – success.

What is success anyway, if not the desire to make someone else look bad? Strike it from the face of the earth, and there will be true equality without stress and acrimony.

I went to the MoMA in New York this weekend. I’d never seen so many people there before, prompting my nephew (from Brazil) to remark, “In New York nobody works.” And so it seemed – on a weekday, no less - so many people, milling aimlessly around among the ghosts of past masters, seeking what?

I would soon find out why. The draw was an exhibit of a new art form - outside the box - involving live humans sitting or standing still without blinking, facing each other or looking away; expressionless. Some were alone; some were naked, not even allowed the dubious dignity of porn: photography prohibited. Ironically, these were precisely in a box, constrained by the space of a frame; constrained by directorial decree; the opposite of dance. I was saddened to see it. I don’t remember their faces. I only saw submission to the artist’s triumphant straight jacket (display) that kept them unnaturally motionless. It reminded me of Seaworld where dolphins are made to jump through hoops – or circuses. And yet, these were especially distressing to watch being denied even motion. A forthright display of corpses would have made far greater sense.

Then, this morning, one of the talk shows had Michio Kaku on. This is a man who had at one time inspired me with his folksy explanations of string theory. I heard him say that he had been receiving e-mails asking if God was mad at the world, causing earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, rain and flooding, and such. Kaku is a pleasant, gregarious intellect, much admired by the self-proclaimed intellectual elite for his way with words. He explained in plain language the workings of the earth’s tectonic plates and seemed to dismiss the hand of God entirely. No doubt, the e-mail writers were greatly relieved to hear that the terrible hand of God had nothing to do with recent disasters. No doubt, they felt assured that the demon head of their crushing guilt would remain hidden in the recesses of their exploding hearts - disguised as calm - for yet another day. It is God they fear the most.

Finally, the discussion turned to ‘global warming’, as every conversation by convention must. Kaku supported the concept, explaining it in tortured economic terms (new to me, but just as implausible). I turned the radio off. Such a brilliant mind bound by popular orthodoxy was too much for me to take this early in the day. Kaku reminded me of those living, inert human figures at the museum who could not move, despite nothing obvious restraining them, except the dictate of the artist/Kommandant who pays their bills.