International Business II

          Suffering, Toys, & Bullshit

He disputed the first

of the Buddha’s Four Noble Truths,

claiming that his existence involved no suffering

because he refused to choose to suffer,

and suffering is always

a matter of choice.

Noting his electronic equipment,

I ventured to ask about the suffering

that his demand for such toys

caused among Chinese factory-slaves,

who seem to have little choice in their lives, indeed.

He brushed this off

with an assurance

that their lot is improving,

a direct contradiction

of eye-witness accounts

and analysis of Chinese

labour law enforcement

that I’d recently read.

When I mentioned these to him

he airily explained with scorn

that he trusted his intuition

over any peer-reviewed academic writing.

People like him

are an integral part

of what’s wrong with human society

and one reason why

the horrendous suffering

that global capitalism causes

is highly likely to become worse

rather than improve.

    Sons of Ozymandias

The lords of our species

behave as if they’re

clearly confident that –

amongst other things –

they can maintain their top-dog positions

and all of their privileges

forever.

They can’t.

            Age, Money, & Work

Being old and poor

is decidedly different

to how it was

during those times of poverty

when I was younger.

I see less of a chance

and less scope

for luck to bail me out –

and don’t give me that shit

about hard work.

I’ve always worked hard.

I work exhaustingly hard right now,

often for long hours,

doing demanding work

that requires an advanced degree,

talent, and plenty of skill,

and is frequently vital for other people’s well-being,

and I’m still about as poor

as I’ve ever been.

Money comes from luck, shrewdness,

aggression, unscrupulousness,

or some combination of these factors,

and anybody who tells you differently

is somebody you’d better watch

closely indeed.

                Noblesse Oblige?

The idea that the possession of great privilege

brings with it an obligation to behave nobly,

honourably, benevolently, and generously,

especially toward

– for want of a better term –

one’s lessers

has largely become a thing of the past.

With a few exceptions, those who now possess

enormous wealth and power

apparently feel no obligation

to behave with other than

rapacious, single-mindedly self-obsessed savagery

in the pursuit of inflating their already-inflated egos

and don’t give a shit

about anybody or anything else.

Corporate barons are not the new nobility;

nobility is not in their character.

                 A Right-Wing Perspective

All poetry is inconsequential bullshit.

Burn hydrocarbons and exploit Chinese slaves instead.

                             Bosses

You’re already aware of the huge number of people

who are petty tyrants in their homes and workplaces,

people who learnt early in life that tantrums work,

people who find enormous joy

in the suffering of other people and creatures,

whether they or somebody else causes it,

people whose greatest thrill is grabbing and abusing power,

which they may or may not cloak

in the detailed murk of arcane ideological self-justification.

Whatever their chant, their true objectives

involve fluffing up their egos

by establishing their own unquestionable superiority

and to force random ruin over and onto their targets,

maybe using one-upmanship, maybe humiliation,

maybe threats or samples of violence,

but at any rate, y’know, bullying in general.

You’ve had a boss who was one of these dickheads, right?

At one time or another.

You’re not alone.

Assholery and dickheadedness dominate

the individual styles of the world’s bosses,

the ones who consider their subordinates to be their lessers,

at best as units of production, as objects, as things.

Firm or not, their hand doesn’t belong clasping your shoulder.

I was a boss once.

      Empathy Has Limits

I saw or read a news story

about how cyber-criminals

have stolen about a billion dollars

from about a hundred banks worldwide.

So what?

                            The Thing About P

It’s cultural, of course.

If the Authorities

were capable of understanding

why the P problem exists,

they’d block that understanding out.

They don’t even seem to wonder

why the P problem wasn’t so major

20 years ago,

or why the home-bake problem, so serious then,

seems to have evaporated.

An MP once told me that

she thought that the effects

of amphetamines and opiates are the same.

Imagine that!

So the authorities concentrate on supply

and ignore demand,

in order to avoid

having to ask    

that question about P, which is, after all, speed.

That would involve questioning the sanctity

of economic dynamism and growth – and global competition 

and individual self-reliance –

relying upon others being, of course, bludging,

which is amphetamines’ driving force.

How fast is your device?

If you don’t do everything fast you’re not up with the play, mate.

Yuh gotta compete! Get out there and hustle!

Speed and aggression – that’s what makes winners!

And if you’re not competitive or self-confident or aggressive,

well, amphetamines give users false self-confidence,

and plenty of competitive aggressiveness.

Just look at who uses the stuff.

                    Unavoidably Guilty

The system turns us all into criminals.

After a quarter of a century or so

my corduroy jacket, or overshirt,

faded over the years into

a patchwork of brownish hues,

lost one of its buttons.

I took inordinate pride in sewing it back on.

By myself.

Then the buttonhole I’d sewed up years ago

unravelled again, another was starting to unravel,

and another button fell off.

It was time to tangi my beloved,

if threadbare, barrier to chill winds.

Martin counselled checking out the op-shops,

but I knew I’d never find one there that’d fit,

so I went rooting around in the downtown mall,

where I found a reasonable selection

of jackets that weren’t what I wanted

and cost too much,

until – there: a plain black, lined, button-up jacket

for only forty dollars.

Well, thirty-nine, really,

but I don’t play that head game.

I realised, of course, that it was obviously the product

of sweatshop, if not slave, labour,

but so were the jackets that cost a hundred and ten –

they just loaded more dosh onto the exploiters.

Of course, buying it made me an exploiter, too,

but my choice was either that or freeze when outdoors.

The system turns us all into criminals.