Skip to comments.Robert Reich has Nothing Against White Male Construction Workers
Posted on 01/24/2009 8:52:02 PM PST by 2ndDivisionVet
Robert Reich, former Clinton administration Labor Secretary, who, as indicated in the Wikipedia post bearing his name "has dedicated his career to making worthless people more worthless", has done the country a tremendous favor. He has given us a most eye-opening glimpse into the true meaning of "economic stimulus" in Obamessiah speak. In so doing, he has hopefully provided the noose with which the current administration will be hanged in 2010 and 2012.
I am speaking, of course, of his recent "testimony" - presumably in his capacity as Obama economic advisor - before some banana-republic congressional conference chaired by congressman Charlie("let's reinstitute the draft so we can get more white kids killed")Rangel. This spectacle first came to my attention via Rush, and also was a hot topic on Tom Sullivan's show yesterday. Now, it can be found on youtube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=opxuUj6vFa4
The lowlights are as follows. In opining on the objectives of the forthcoming "stimulus" legislation, Mr. (not, to my knowledge "Doctor", as suggested by the illiterate Rangel) Reich said that the money should be allocated with the greatest speed possible (good!), for "high social return" (?). Amplifying on this point, he infamously proclaimed that "the money should not go to highly-skilled professionals, or to white male construction workers." Instead, (presumably the preponderance of) stimulus money should be allocated to "the long-term unemployed... people who are not necessarily white construction workers or high-skilled professionals." For those still struggling to discern the direction in which the Obamalama wishes to take the country - whether his nods in the direction of moderation are mere head-fakes - the Reich Manifesto ought to provide a clue.
If I sound like I take offense at the notion of hundreds of billions of debt-financed federal expenditures being allocated on the basis of criteria other than the twin, and mutually-reinforcing, goals of economic recovery and taxpayer value, then I have succeeded in communicated my displeasure. And, with apologies to Seinfeld, I wish to make it crystal clear that I am not offended as a (mostly) white male; I am offended as an American and a taxpayer! Though offensive on many levels, the Reich Manifesto is offensive mostly because it reveals, with utmost and brazen clarity, that this claque of super-annuated student council candidates, that the below-the-median crowd has put into power, cares not a whit about economic recovery or getting the unemployment rate back to pre-recession levels. If they did, they would take the greatest pains to ensure that deficit-financed stimulus be allocated in ways that maximize (taxpayer) return. Like it or not, that goal would require putting the money in the hands of people who have the skills to create value. And, like it or not, in many cases, this would mean "white male construction workers".
For those of us who fancy themselves New Deal historians, the Reich video is no surprise. As is becoming increasingly clear via recent scholarship, the New Deal was an abject failure as an economic enterprise. It was, however, a masterful exercise in big-government propaganda. I'm reminded again of the famous encounter FDR had with his Treasury Secretary, Henry Morgenthau, in the latter's office. Morgenthau had a sign on his desk, intended to guide his subordinates, which read "does it contribute to the recovery?" When he saw this, FDR sniffed "this isn't about recovery; this is politics" - at a cost in human misery measurable on the cataclysmic scale. And so it is with the new administration. A President with no executive experience, who's goals in life appear to have been to (a) spend other people's money, and (b)"remake America", has been handed the opportunity of a lifetime. As his Chief of Staff, Rahm Emmanuel, put it: "a crisis is a terrible thing to waste".
The public expects Washington to spend money, and Washington will be happy to oblige. The public thinks it's buying infrastructure, but it's only half right. It's going to buy the infrastructure of a political machine, whether it wants to or not, and at a very dear price. Further, as Congressman Rangel candidly explained in the video, the administration needn't worry about what the middle class might think of this mad (social) scientist experimentation - they'll be way too preoccupied with taking care of themselves to raise a fuss. Where does this leave us? A massive exercise in social engineering, doomed to fail as a massive subsidy to bad behavior, bad culture, bad thinking, and bad ideas, resulting finally in, as Holman Jenkins described it in the title of his recent WSJ piece, "A Lost Decade". Ten years from now, they'll still be saying it's Bush's fault, but I'm telling you now: by then, it won't be.
roger hedgecock played this clip a dozen times.
This is but a small ripple in the coming tidal wave of anti-white racism that is expected by the obamamamiacs. We ain’t seen nothin yet!
“claque of super-annuated student council candidates”
That about says it all.
Obama and Reich (appropriate name) to whitey, esp. the bible and gun clinging crowd: Just STFU, STFD, pay the bill, and don’t raise a fuss when you get marched off to the camps...
This short scene from near the end of my almost finished 3rd novel captures one vision of life in a politically correct Marxist hell.
A quick phone call would be all right, thought Doug. Tennessee to Maryland wasnt so far, and it was after six PM. It was a stroke of luck that he had found the cell phone in a kitchen junk drawer, and that it was actually getting a signal. Finally, he was catching a break, and managing to turn lemons into lemonade.
They had arrived at the new safehouse in the late afternoon. It was in an isolated hollow surrounded by thick woods. Doug was happy just to squirm out of the cramped hiding place under the salvage truck. The secret compartments bottom and sides were ice cold metal, and had left him shivering with hypothermia. The new place wasnt much more than a cabin, but it had a cast-iron stove and plenty of firewood, so they had all been able to get warm, wash up, and enjoy a meal. After being locked with Phil into the frigid metal box under the truck for several hours, unable even to turn over, the cozy cabin was paradise. Hed eaten four steaming hot baked potatoes, slathered with fresh farm butter, and couldnt remember ever eating anything tastier or more filling in his life.
Their driver and host Dewey was a mysterious sort of person. Doug only knew his name from what was written on the doors of his junk truck. In age he fit somewhere between Boone and Carson, but like both of those men, he seemed a lot tougher than his years would indicate. Doug guessed that Dewey Lieberman was not his real name, but hed had few opportunities to talk with the man. Deweys conversations with Boone and Carson stopped short or shifted to some innocuous topic when he was around. Dewey left the cabin in his big truck, and returned after dark with an ordinary compact car. Again, he conferred quietly with Boone and Carson, but always out of Dougs earshot. Ive been traveling and operating with Boone for months, he thought, and two days after Carson shows up, Im cut out of his conversations. Then Boone announced, not discussed, but announced that they had somewhere to go tonight. They, but not him. Not Doug Dolan. No, good old faithful Doug would remain behind to what? Guard the isolated cabin? Hold down the fort? Boone and Carson left with Dewey after nightfall.
So who could blame him for his curiosity, after they had ditched out on him and left him behind? His natural inquisitiveness about the new safehouse had led him to discover the forgotten cell phone. It was inside of an old-fashioned metal pill container, buried beneath pliers, screwdrivers and scissors. He was actually shocked when he pushed the power button and it lit up, and he stared at its glowing screen in wonder for a long time. It was the first working cell phone that he had touched since before the earthquakes, one very long year ago. It was a prepaid phone, showing 137 minutes remaining.
A few minutes on the phone were all he needed, and nobody would ever know. Who counted a few airtime minutes, on an old cell phone left in a drawer? Nobody, Doug was sure. Not even these days. Boone had left him behind at the cabin safehouse, and that had been a blow to his pride. Was it because they didnt trust him, or because they just didnt need him? Well, Doug rationalized, at least the unexpected privacy will give me a chance to make the one phone call that Ive been anxious to make for so many months. He punched in the long-memorized Baltimore number, and miraculously, after clicks, buzzing and dead air pauses, he heard the phone ringing at the other end. After six or seven rings, the phone was picked up. The call had gone through, and his heart soared in anticipation!
Mom! Mom, its me!
But instead of his mothers voice, Doug heard music, and a man finally answered, but Doug couldnt understand what he was saying. A man? What was a strange man doing at his mothers house, answering the phone?
Hello, whos this? asked Doug. Where is Mrs. Dolan?
The phone was dropped with a bang. Long seconds later, somebody else picked it up, a female voice. Holá, hallo! Who ees?
This is DougDoug Dolan! Listen, wheres my mother? Where is Mrs. Dolan?
Meesees Do-lane? You ees Meesees Do-lane?
No! Im Doug Dolan, Mrs. Dolans son! Please, is Mrs. Dolan there?
Meesees Do-lane? Un minuto, please. I getting Meesees Do-lane, okay?
Doug waited, perplexed and more than a bit worried. Who were the people who had answered the phone at his mothers house? He could make out the music now; it was some kind of fast Latin salsa or Mexican ranchera music.
After a minute, he finally heard his mothers voice. Hello, who is this? she asked.
Mom, its me, Doug!
Douglas? Douglasyoure alive! Oh my goodness, oh thank God, youre alive! They told me that you were missing and presumed dead in Tennessee, after the earthquakes! But youre alive! Oh, thank God, thank God! Douglas, can you come home? When can you come home? Oh, I need you here Douglas, I need you! Where are you? When can you come home?
I dont know Mom; things are a little crazy right now. Just as soon as I can, I will. I promise. Mom, who answered the phone? I heard a man, and then a woman came on the line. Who are they?
Oh Doug, I have so much to tell you! So much has happened since you left!
Mom, who are those people who just answered the phone?
Doug, thats the Sanchorios family; theyre originally from El Salvador.
El Salvador? What are they doing in our house?
They live here now Douglas, they live here!
The government split our house up into apartments, after I couldnt pay the vacant room tax. Then they had the Sanchorios family move in upstairs. They were living in Nashville, but their apartment building was wrecked in the earthquakes. They were earthquake refugees.
Mom, what do you mean, the vacant room tax?
What? Oh, its new since last year. A new law. The property tax appraiser said that I had too many bedrooms for just one person to be living here. Too many square feet, theres a formula. Since I couldnt pay the vacant room tax, I had to take in boarders, boarders that the state assigned to live here. Thats what they do now.
Doug tried to make sense of it. Vacant room tax? Boarders? From El Salvador? Do they pay you rent?
No, not to me. Thats why I have boarders. Its instead of paying the vacant room tax. They waived the tax, since Ive taken in refugees. The state assigned them to live here. They get to live here for free. Their son joined that new army, the North American Legion, so they have priority on housing. Oh Doug, its just unbearable!
Where are they living? How many are there? Doug was stunned, coming to grips with the unexpected news about their home being subdivided.
They live upstairs. I cant keep track of how many there are; they come and go at all hours. Theres usually at least seven or eight of them, not counting babies. I think theyre subletting the rooms upstairs, but I cant tell whos who. It seems like they change practically every week, except for the Sanchorios family. We all share the kitchen, but Im too afraid to go in there when theyre around. I sleep in the sitting room next to the living room, thats my apartment now. The sitting room and the living room, and the downstairs bathroom, thats where I live. I cook on a hot plate, when the electricity is working. Oh, Douglas, when are you coming home?
I cant now Mom, but I will as soon as I can, I promise.
Douglas, they wont even let me use the upstairs bathroom, so I have to wash in the sink in the first floor bathroom. Oh, and the kitchen is ruined, just ruined! I dont even know what the second floor looks like; they wont let me come upstairs, but water is dripping through the ceiling and the plaster is falling down. They drink beer and yell and play their music so loud all night that I cant sleep. They park their cars on the lawn, and the grass all died. The men even pee outside! When I say anything, they just laugh in my face and call me la brooha blanca, I think that means the white witch. They laugh at me and say, su casa es mi casa. They curse at me and throw things at me, in my own house! Mrs. Dolan began to sob and weep.
Mom, you should go to the police, this isnt right!
But I did go to the authorities Douglas, I did! I had a lawyer file complaints. But Doug, the world is upside-down now! They got a free court-appointed lawyer, and they sued me for harassment and ethnic discrimination! The state was going to charge me with hate crimes, and I almost lost the house completely! Then I had to apologize to them, in court! I was never so humiliated in my entire life! The judge said I was lucky that I had boarders, since I couldnt pay the vacant room tax. Lucky, he said I was! I even had to go to a cultural sensitivity class, to get rehabilitated! Rehabilitated! Oh Doug, what am I going to do? What am I going to do? His mother began sobbing again.
I dont know Mom, I dont know. But Ill come home as soon as I can. Ive got some problems with the Army, so it might not be for a while, but Ill try at least to visit in a couple of weeks. Hang in there Mom! Ill help you the best that I can, as soon as I can get there.
Doug heard a mans loud voice in the background, and then his mother said quietly, Ive got to hang up. Mr. Sanchorios needs to use the phone now, so I have to go. Goodbye Douglas. I love you, and Im so happy to know that youre alive! Goodbye Douglas
> (Atlas is Shrugging. I am Atlas.)
Atlas isn’t shrugging, mate. Atlas has been Shagged.
Here’s a political science theory: Perfessor Reich must of recently walked past a construction site on Berkeley’s chic and expensive 4th Street, and a white construction worker shouted a friendly greeting to him “Hey, shorty!”
All too believable in the near future. Heck, try the near past — ask the people of Houston post Katrina...
Little man, little brain.
Not too near, I hope.
From Reichhhhhhhh, I want an Apology ... An EYE to NAVEL APOLOGY!
C’mon Robert Reich, stand up for the crowd. Oh, sorry, what’s that? You’re already standing?
I’m bettin’ the Reich spent the majority of his high school weekends trying to escape the gym locker he was locked in with his atomic balm soaked tighty whities pulled back up over his head.
“Oh, sorry, whats that? Youre already standing?”
This is where I get to point out that when Reich was Secretary of Labor, his Secret Service codename was “fireplug.”
I kid you not.
Giving high-paying jobs to unqualified people who chose not to get an education and job skills...hmmm, this should work about as well as giving mortgages to the unqualified.