A Temple of Thieves

“Put yourself for a moment in the shoes of those early Americans who started four major social justice movements in the nineteenth century -- the abolitionist, women’s suffrage, trade union and farmer -- populist progressive revolts. It started with the perception of suffering, humiliation, and deprivation. Then it moved to a realization that such abuses and exclusions were not ordained.” Ralph Nader

I suppose that throughout American history men, and it has predominantly been men, have entered politics with one eye on public service and the other on the advantages public office can bestow on them personally. For most of my lifetime, politicians cloaked their personal greed under the guise of serving their constituents back home, or by invoking that useful and empty catch-all, “the American people.”

Today it seems a seat in congress or the senate is viewed as a golden ticket to the spigot where the money comes out. The corruption in Washington D.C. is now so endemic that pandering to the folks back home isn’t really necessary, and there’s almost no reason for an elected official to hide the fact that he is voting on legislation that will benefit him personally. All that pablum about propriety and the sanctity of public service, serving the sacred Constitution, is a quaint remnant of the past. Legal plunder by men wearing suits, silk ties, cufflinks, and an American flag lapel pin is now accepted as the way business is done. Utterly immoral, yes, but what is mere morality when compared to money and influence?

Secure that money seat in the house or senate and you can set yourself up for years to come. Sure, pandering to donors is a pain in the ass, and asking people for campaign contributions becomes tedious after a while, but you get used to it and it gets easier, and once you’ve delivered the goods for the poultry industry or Wall Street or Big Pharma, they seek you out, shove checks across your desk or send you on all expense paid jaunts to Bermuda or Thailand. You become accustomed to these perks, begin to expect them, and cling to your office with bulldog tenacity. Soon enough you realize how little the folks back home matter -- it’s the campaign donors who matter, them you must satisfy, their calls you must take and their wants you must tend to; they call the tune, pay the band, you do the dance with a vapid smile on your face, waiting for the day when you can slide step from public office to corporate boardroom, think tank, or lobbying outfit. Then the real dough rolls in, a daily jackpot.

Sometimes I marvel at the small size of the minority who own and rule America. Several hundred people call the shots for tens of millions. The minority control the structures of power, enhance the impediments to real democracy, and feed the public a steady diet of superficial “news” devoid of context. It’s as if we have returned to 18th century Europe, when aristocrats gorged themselves while peasants starved or froze to death.

Remember what John F. Kennedy said many years ago, on that bitterly cold day when he was inaugurated, ask not what your country can do for you...Trump and his mafia have turned this noble idea on its head; fuck the citizens and raid the treasury, government is good to the extent it enriches the people in power.

The temple is jammed with thieves, and Jesus is nowhere to be found.