Next In Line

The setting sun reflects off of the altostratus clouds undulating overhead, clouds like dust behind herds of plains mammals, antelope, bison, bighorn sheep, and elk racing across the prairie and toward the sun, where they burst into flames, fueling it for another sixteen weeks. Sixteen weeks. At one time there were tens of millions of these in North America, vast communities stretching to the horizon. September 18th, 1804 at the confluence of Crow Creek and the Missouri River: "Herds of antelope and buffalo; the last of which were in such multitudes that we cannot exaggerate in saying that at a single glance we saw 3000 of them before us." That was one hour's worth of light. But pressure from the east pushed them to the west, into the setting sun, where they ignited like pine cones tossed in a campfire. They say, without them we would have been in darkness all these years.
We rub our hands over the dwindling fire. Beyond the light, a branch cracks and we squint. We think we see a dark shape moving in the woods, coming our way. Then we laugh; it's our own shadow, a black giant towering in the trees, blocking the light, shifting fitfully in the fluttering fire. What were we thinking?

There are only so many animals to burn. The sun flickers and darkness comes anyhow. Now the neighbors pull their curtains back and for the first time in years I can see their faces, looking out of their windows for a reason. Reason doesn't make sense this time. Someone is to blame for the dark, and they peer into it, squinting to catch the form of a witch, someone who has sold his soul, who changes form, into a bat, a talking wolf, a raven.
The museums are full of wolves, bats, and ravens, the fortunate ones not driven off of far western cliffs to tumble into some abyss, maybe the ocean, stained red with blood and the light of an angry sun. But who is counting mistakes? We count promises.
Someone stands up on the corner with a torch and starts promising. "Some among us say the moon has passed between the earth and the sun." He waves the torch. "Heresy! The sun goes behind the moon? This is an omen, I tell you. They have brought the darkness themselves, to terrify us and to take our homes and land." The crowd roars, a mob forms and marches down the streets and alleys, breaking into houses and pulling people out of bed and dragging them into the town square. "Animals!" A bonfire is lit. Angry men and women warm their hands over the fire. Within a decade the forest is stripped bare in an effort to keep the bonfire burning.
Today, the town is empty, except for a few bats, wolves, and ravens.

In some other town on some other day someone stands up again and makes promises. "Studies in market economics have revealed that environmental crises are a ruse set by weaker populations to exploit healthy populations. These crises are not random events." It's Xious Lamming, Economics Chair at Lunking University in Hong Kong. "These are discreet ploys by populaces in substandard living conditions designed to strip advantaged communities of their wealth and health. It's like the deep sea anglerfish that distracts passing fish with the bright flamboyant filament protruding from his massive head. A curious fish bites the filament and is instantly engulfed by the cavernous expandable jaws of the anglerfish. Some are able to swallow fish twice their size. This is nature, and the development of this strategy has found a convergent development in the impression of an ecological crisis."

Economists like Lamming, from the Acne School of Economics, insist that the disadvantaged present an illusion of disadvantage, which masks their real condition. "Just in terms of biomass, they exceed that of the wealthy by a factor of one thousand - and the disparity grows by the hour. Yet few seem to notice how large they are. The illusion is that you only see a tiny fraction of the unit at any given time."
Lamming is speaking at a black-tie affair. Citing reports about shortfalls in production, declining resources and increasing demand, he explains, "Spending what does not yet exist is required to create capital in order to have enough to spend which is required in order for capital to exist." He points to a graph with lines heading upward. "See, there is no crisis." Then turning to the recent meltdown of four government printing presses that had overwhelmed their cooling systems, he remarks, "What we need are four steam turbines and we can turn that money-making into clean renewable energy to light our homes and factories!" The crowd cheers.
Lamming continues. "They say that consumption is outstripping production, that production is outstripping resources and that resources are dwindling." He waves his hand at the audience. "Show me the evidence. This is a lie! The opposite is true. Don't buy it. Market forces, allowed to run free and unhindered, maintain a steady state between production and consumption and drive innovation and introduce alternatives. Prosperity is maintained indefinitely. Given enough time, it disperses throughout the economy. This is a natural law." He points to the crowd. "And do you want freedom or tyranny?"
The audience shouts, "Freedom!"
"The freedom to compete, to carve out a niche, to secure your livelihood, and to prosper. Is there anything wrong with that?"
The audience cheers again.
"All we ask is for the freedom to compete and to live our dreams, to have everything we desire."
The audience is chanting, "Freedom, Freedom!"
"Then what do we do with those who want to take away our precious economic freedoms, fought for with blood, sweat and tears? What do we do with those who would undermine consumer confidence, who would hoard our resources, impair initiative and innovation, who infiltrate our society and spread rumors, lies, innuendos and fear, whose only aim is to swallow us whole and strip us of our wealth and health, our homes and land?"
The audience roars.
"This is war! Let's hunt the animals down!"