Censure, Not Cynicism

Off the road at a bar in downtown Newark, Delaware the lights were low but spirits were high. Fairbanks Julian and Nester Keats sat down at the bar. Both dangled degrees like candy before children; Julian held a doctorate in finance and Keats a doctorate in economics. They were bitter friends. They tackled each other verbally and then bought the other a beer. Julian’s turn to buy beer was now.

“No, no. No you don’t. You’re not going to sit here and tell me that child poverty was the result of government programs. When private enterprise opened up and regulations were rescinded and more parents went to work, that’s how we got less child poverty.” A twinkle remained in his eye as he winked, grinned, and sipped some potent potable.

“You’ve got bassackwards again, my friend. Because of government programs like food stamps we saw an increase in the amount of children rising out of the doldrums of despair. Their parents going to work had a negligible effect on their kids being more successful.”

“Bull. Shit. Look at the data. Stevie Wonder can see the job market relatively opening up over the past thirty years. We can see wages going up in the private sector, not the government’s, federal, state, or local joke of a minimum wage. People went to work.”

Someone dropped a quarter in the nearby jukebox. The machine blared out the song, “As” by Stevie Wonder.

“Go figure,” Keats said.

“Purely serendipitous,” Julian said.

“Now what is the reason why you say? Private industry? Those parasites have been mooching off the backs of workers and consumers all these decades. It’s their fault that poverty levels haven’t dropped more sharply and in less time.” He sipped his beer.

“Any other speeches you want to make in favor of Stalin and Mao? Jesus, Nest.’ Why can’t you comprehend with your fancy out of state degrees that the producer, the capitalist is the well from all wealth flows?

Why don’t you understand that for any nation, especially the US the poverty rate declines when free market ideas are put into practice?”

“I’ll tell you why. That white mother in West Virginia who has to feed her four hungry babies at night. She’s reliant on those food stamps for the moment. Then she will know that she can take care of them and then become a worker and further make money through government subsidies and programs.”

“I say that a black father right here in the First State can take care of his kids by getting his GED. Then, he can work at the local burger joint. He’ll have enough money to hire a babysitter and take night classes. He can go to First State Community College and take night classes. He’ll then be able to rise up in his job from sweeping the floors to cashier to supervisor to manager. In that time, he’ll have enough money to pay for school and keep the youngins mouths fed. He will have the opportunity to use his studies to advance to New Sweden or become a franchise owner in a matter of months or years. Now you tell me…what the hell did the government do in that scenario besides what it ought to do, protect that man’s rights?”

Keats gulped down the rest of his beer.

“What you just said is fantasy! There’s no way a single father, he’s black too? No way is he doing all this. He’s in the penitentiary or dead. Those babies are going to go into the care of the government where they belong. What job is the government’s, ‘protect that man’s rights’? Absurd, sir. The government is here to provide welfare for its people.”

“Remember this…America is not a socialist state…yet. And this is not a democracy. We live in a constitutional republic. We are protected by fighter jets, judge gavels, and the nightstick on the beat. That’s it. So if you want to live in your fantasyland go right ahead. But you’re not going to force me to agree with the nonsense you spew.”

Keats was taken aback. He then chuckled. “I’ll buy this round,” he said.

“Thanks for that,” Julian smiled.