What is our view?

The headlines of the bourgeois press thunder "Panic! Fear! Uncertainty!"; and from the boardrooms of Wall Street the cry rings forth "Save us! Help us! Give us Succor!" But these nattering windbags know not what they are about, and so the question echoes from every tongue, "What do the people think? What is their opinion of the 'Unemployment Problem?'" At every lecture which I deliver, whether it be from atop the steps of the Trade Winds Motel, or from the very corner of Yacht Club Blvd. and N.E. 26th Street, the question eternally recurs: "What is your view on the 'Unemployment Issue?'"

I will answer this question in just one word: Yes, I am unemployed, but so are a lot of other people, and it's really not my fault.

And what, in this era of bourgeois parliamentarianism, do our rulers mean to convey with the word "unemployment?" They mean just this, that, while I certainly am employed at various tasks, I am not employed at at task from which I will receive the remuneration of starvation wages. I am employed, and I starve. They wish me to be "employed," and starving.

But it would take the cold genius of a Malthus--the cruel ingenuity of a Ricardo--to conclude from what I have just said that I have not sought "employment." Because I totally have sought employment.

Can you imagine the scene? I walked into the "human resources" office of a large retailer. I will not divulge which one, but this particular corporation's name begins with an "S" and ends with an "ears." I applied for the position of salesman. Jim, the labour aristocrat who performed to perfection the obnoxious duties assigned to him by the Bosses, wondered if I had qualifications. I replied that I held a doctorate from the University of Heidelberg, and that my dissertation had been on none other than Democritus. It quickly transpired that Jim was unable to conceive of the advantages which my background would bring to the "bottom line." Adopting the pseudo-avuncularism which modern wage relationships enforce upon even the most unpretentious of men, I informed Jim that without Democritus, his customers might very well be uncertain as to whether the items which they contemplated purchasing might not be hazy phantasms. Jim appeared to be staring past my left ear.

"Also," I added, "I am an excellent salesman."

He smiled and handed me a plastic pen. "Are you? Sell me my pen." My stern features rigidly concealed the fact that I was experiencing a brief moment of near-psychotic rage. My mind screamed: "Sell you your 'own' pen, eh? And someday soon you will learn that it is not your own pen--that it doesn't 'belong' to you at all! Yes--and sooner than you think!" I said: "This pen has many excellent features, as well as a few major drawbacks. Which would you like to hear about first?"

Jim took back "his" pen, and informed me that they would keep my application on file. I knew this to be the "lingo" of the corporate bosses, and that this labour aristocrat stooge was going to throw my application in the rubbish bin. "I must tell you something, my friend," I said as I was ushered to the door. "I will say it in just one word: You may not care about Democritus, but, I assure you, Democritus cares about you." I need not dwell on the mortifying denouement of this music-hall farce. Suffice it to say that Jim, after inquiring whether Democritus was "slim" and "normal," agreed to pass his cell number along to that gentleman.

You have demanded to know our view of the unemployment problem, and we have answered boldly. Can the people find employment while those who would hire them are the most reactionary and lumpen of the entire reactionary and lumpen labour aristocracy? The people answer in just one word: "Possibly, but you really need to be qualified for the job you are applying for, and you can't really fake the interview like you could in the 90s."