My essay in Mungbeing.
Divide and conquer. Offer a new John Deere to my namby-Bambi warrior neighbor and why should he care if a speculum was affixed to the mouths of every child outside his six acres, and benzene poured down their gullible gullets? He got his new tractor. That’s good enough for him. German Hans got to keep his assembly line job at the plant too back in ’44 as long as he didn’t complain about the chain gang of Polish slaves out in the steel yard. Outside his sleepy village a smokestack exhaled overtime a peculiar smell that only rumor could define, but thought better left unsaid. Anyway Christmas was coming, and that kind of horror exposed would dampen the children’s spirits.
In the painting above, a young girl is running through a sprinkler on a hot day in a future Central New York. She is green because vanadium is green. She has leukemia because her father poisoned the well citing the private greed of his own demanding beer belly.
The gas lobbyist knows this game well. Copied right out of the playbook of the coal and oil magnates. Bring the local idiot a six-pack. After the second beer start praising his ignorance. Say something like deer hunting is a man thing to do and only sissies would think about the purity of their drinking water. Get him to laugh about prejudice or bigotry, pretend rage at the “liberals” in Washington who want to regulate progress, tell him how much you admire his countryman thinking and of course global warming can’t be true if it ever snows. Get out the contract. Tell him the money prize. Look how stern and concentrated his thoughts while signing his name with your leader’s golden pen.
Thank him toughly. Get into your rented F350. Drive over to the hotel holding your stack of signed contracts. Dress into your oxford shirt and BMW. Turn on satellite radio, and drive back home to wife and kids whom you love deeply.
Back home to the German village of 1944.