Let Them Eat Cake!

In these recessional times, we find it often uncomfortable to watch TV or read the newspapers; especially when we recognize that our fellow citizens are too often influenced by the propaganda that daily issues forth from them. Given their almost unanimous support of all things liberal, our media have furnished the socialists in Washington the ability to hide their agenda in plain sight; a heretofore unheard of development in the U.S. of A.

From inanities like our president predicting a "catastrophe" if his stimulus bill fails, to insanities like Nancy Pelosi calling abortion and birth control good for the economy, the feeling that we are no longer living in the America we knew grows day by day.

So where then are we? Many have opined that we are sliding into the realm of socialist Europe, but my sense of alienation is more specific: I feel as if in the middle of the French Revolution, or at least the Dicksonian rendition of it. We have now reached critical mass on the battlefield of class warfare; we have become a nation of Madame Defarges, with Nancy Pelosi wielding the big knitting needles, weaving together the names of the enemies of the State.

Not a day goes by without some corporate schmuck being held up in derision for his salary, his bonus or even his office décor. Derision is his lot; he is to be despised by the masses, as we are often reminded by our betters in the entertainment field, whose possessions and net worth are, of course, never questioned by a fawning press.

Yet, the notion of class warfare should be a laughable premise in a society whose governing system was and is designed so that there would be no permanent class distinctions. The proof of this is all around us, not the least of which is the life story and election of Barack Obama.

But the specter of the modern-day guillotine is all around us, ready to fall on the neck of those who dare speak the praises of Capitalism or worse; that a man is entitled to make whatever the market will bear. Such radical ideas, once the bedrock of our economy, are now the stuff which causes millions to cheer when the next CEO takes the media perp walk.

Now, none of this is new. Resentment of the rich dates back to Biblical days, and although used as a weapon here from time to time, it has always been tempered by the sure knowledge that with a lot of hard work and maybe a touch of Divine Providence, the sons and daughters of immigrants might be raised to great wealth in a generation or two.

The way we got in this mess was a well-intentioned, if misguided attempt to circumvent that long, hard road to the American dream. The idea that home ownership is a right; that everyone with a foot on American soil must be given access to funding that they had very little hope of repaying, is what put our banking system under the hobnail boot of the socialists who seek to gain the power they so urge the rest of us to disdain.

But just as in the case of repentant aristocrats during the Reign of Terror, some American rich folks have managed to escape the tender embrace of Madame Guillotine. One need look no further than the case of Tom Daschle, who's made a killing in the private sector since being sacked by the people of South Dakota, hauling in over $5 million as a lobbyist-like "consultant."

Yes, woe be unto the greedy corporate biggie whose life of luxury comes at the expense of his shareholders. But, when an ex-public servant uses the influence granted him by his constituents to amass wealth and then avoids paying taxes on his hired cars and drivers, the message is unmistakable: Let them eat cake!

It is a regrettable paradox that in today's America, its citizens are being urged to bite the hand that feeds them. After all, as bloodthirsty as were Mme. Defarge's acts of vengeance, she at least had a legitimate beef with those she sent to an early grave. But today's blade is sharpened for the only ones who can supply the jobs that will rescue our nation from the shadow of a domestic reign of terror. It's time to reconsider who and what really deserve the ax.