And what did the new progressivism of the 1880s do?    It put my people on
reservations, killed them by the thousands, and destroyed our nations,
governments and schools.   It banned our religions until 1978 and it started
programs that sterilized our people without their consent upward of 40% in
1978 when it was stopped.   It also separated out the Arts and consigned the
middle and lower classes to vaudeville when in reality they were more
sophisticated as a group than America’s upper class.    The Robber Barons
organized time and organized society through professional councils that
controlled everything from colors in fashions to the ingénues in Hollywood
who would succeed and who would be sent to the trash heap.  

 

The poor of the 1880s knew the arts of the day and if cheated they would
threaten people with vegetables and violence.     Today we have trinkets and
trash entertainment instead of great aesthetic elevation.      A thoroughly
automated theater in the movies with no real live theatrical tradition where
political questions foment, are answered and raise activism.    Instead we
get junk TV and cold Indie movies with the docu-dramas separated out so
people cannot confront real issues through quality fiction and drama.    We
have   Reality TV and Reality movies that aren’t real but cheap to make and
mind numbing. 

 

REH

 

From: [email protected]
[mailto:[email protected]] On Behalf Of D and N
Sent: Thursday, November 03, 2011 4:01 PM
To: RE-DESIGNING WORK, INCOME DISTRIBUTION, EDUCATION
Subject: [Futurework] Reign of the one percenters

 

Written before the Occupy Wall Street movement began, Ketcham has since
retracted his statement about current youth being unable to shake a fist at
the brokers. Yet this article does an admirable job of describing the
inequities and cultural demise that led up to the OWS movement, while using
New York City's cultural state as clear example of the nation's own sad
priorities.

More than a deserving nod to Henry George, and also to Stephane Hessel for
his little book, Cry Out, and with, I think, few suppositions with which to
take issue, most should find this an interesting read.

An accurate account of impoverishment of the arts in N.Y. City would be
difficult to describe by anyone. Though perhaps a bit harsh and nostalgic
for more dynamic times, Ketcham seems to come close as he accuses
commodities marketing as art's primary expression through graphics'
varicose vein of creativity. He observes live art as having mostly moved
elsewhere, citing little time to be creative while holding down three jobs
to pay the rent.

(The tally of homeless in New York sounds way high, though I'm not sure how
he arrived at that figure, and I disagree with Ketcham that eggs should be
hurled at the bankers/brokers--I think that citizens arrests should be made
of the better-known psychopaths)

Natalia

Below you'll find only part of the entire piece from:

http://www.orionmagazine.org/index.php/articles/article/6470




The Reign of the One Percenters


Income inequality and the death of culture in New York City


by Christopher Ketcham


Published in the November/December 2011
<http://www.orionmagazine.org/index.php/mag/issue/6469/>  issue of Orion
magazine


(snip)

On a smaller scale, I want Léa to understand what New York, my birthplace
and home, once beloved to me, is really about. Because I’m convinced that
the beating heart of the city today is not its art galleries, its boutiques,
its restaurants or bars, its theaters, its museums, nor its miserable
remnants in manufacturing, nor its creative types—its writers, dancers,
artists, sculptors, thinkers, musicians, or, god forbid, its journalists. 

“Here,” I tell her, standing in the canyons of world finance, “is what New
York is about. Sociopaths getting really rich while everyone else just sits
on their asses and lets it happen.”

(snip)

According to the FPI, the wealth of the One Percenters derives almost
entirely from the operations of the sector known as “financial services,”
whose preoccupation is something they call “financial innovation.” The One
Percenters draw the top salaries at commercial and investment banks, hedge
funds, credit card companies, insurance companies, stock brokerages. They
are the suit people at Goldman Sachs and J. P. Morgan and AIG and Deutsche
Bank. To get a sense for how their fortunes have blossomed, consider the
fact that the largest twenty financial institutions in the U.S., almost all
of them headquartered in New York, now control upward of 70 percent of the
country’s financial assets, roughly double what they controlled in the
1990s. 

And what do the suit people do to earn such heaping returns? At one time,
the financial sector could be relied upon to allocate capital for the
building of things that society needed—projects that also invariably created
jobs. But productivity is no longer its purview. Lord Adair Turner, a
financial watchdog and former banker in the city of London—the other world
capital of finance—recently denounced his class as practitioners and
beneficiaries of a “socially useless activity.” Paul Woolley, who runs a
think tank in London called the Centre for the Study of Capital Market
Dysfunctionality, observed that the “presumption that financial innovation
is socially valuable” was a kind of metaphysics. “It wasn’t backed by any
empirical evidence,” Woolley told John Cassidy, a staff writer for The New
Yorker. Structured investment vehicles, credit default swaps, futures
exchanges, hedge funds, complex securitization and derivative pools, the
tranching of mortgages—these were shown to have “little or no long-term
value,” according to Cassidy. The purpose was to “merely shift money around”
without designing, building, or selling “a single tangible thing.” The One
Percenter seeks only exchange value, as opposed to real value. Thus foreign
exchange currency gambling has skyrocketed to seventy-three times the actual
goods and services of the planet, up from eleven times in 1980. Thus the
“value” of oil futures has risen from 20 percent of actual physical
production in 1980 to 1,000 percent today. Thus interest rate derivatives
have gone from nil in 1980 to $390 trillion in 2009. The trading schemes
float disembodied above the real economy, related to it only because without
the real economy there would be nothing to exploit. 

Behold, then, the One Percenter in his Wall Street tower. He creates “value”
by tapping on keyboards and punching in algorithms. He makes money playing
with money, manipulating abstractions. He manufactures and chases after
financial bubbles and then pricks them. He speculates on mortgages, car
loans, credit card debt, the price of gas that keeps the real economy
moving, the price of food that keeps the labor pool alive, always hedging
his bets so that he comes out ahead whether society wins or loses. A study
from the New Economics Foundation in England found that for every pound made
in financial services in the city of London, roughly seven pounds of social
wealth is lost—meaning the wealth of those in society who do productive
work. 

Finance as practiced on Wall Street, says Paul Woolley, is “like a cancer.”
There is only maximization of short-term profit in these “financial
services”—they are services only in the sense of the vampire at a vein.
There is no vision for allocating capital for the building of infrastructure
that will serve society in the future; no vision, say, for a post-carbon
civilization; no vision for surviving the shocks of coming resource
scarcity. The finance nihilist doesn’t look to a viable future; he is
interested only in the immediate return. 

 

Rotten Vegetables
The optimist will say that the wealth disparities in New York have been far
worse in the past, and the optimist would be correct. When in 1869, for
example, a young journalist named Henry George arrived in New York, already
the most opulent city in America, he found that “amid the greatest
accumulations of wealth, men die of starvation, and puny infants suckle dry
breasts.” The inequalities got worse. There came the Panics of 1873 and
1884, which resulted from the speculation and stock fraud of the city’s
financial and business elite. Epicentered in lower Manhattan, the
panics—we’d call them crashes today—produced nationwide shock waves of mass
unemployment, homelessness, hunger, years of depression and dislocation,
and, at times, the specter of all-out chaos. President Grover Cleveland,
aghast at the scope of the division between the few very rich and the many
poor, concluded that the “wealth and luxury of our cities,” primarily
enjoyed by the industrial monopolists and the financier and Wall Street
class, was “largely built upon undue exactions from the masses of our
people.” The exactions in New York, as with every city where unregulated
industrial capital ran amok, were most felt in the profitable horrors of
wage slavery: the fourteen-hour workdays, the miserable pay, the children
forced into labor, the dangerous conditions on factory floors, the rents
extracted by landlords for the opportunity to live in windowless,
rat-infested, soul-destroying tenements. 

In answer, across New York City throughout the 1880s there were strikes,
marches, boycotts, gigantic torch-lit demonstrations. New York’s Central
Labor Union (CLU), a branch of the Knights of Labor, whose national
membership approached 700,000, welcomed all the “producing classes,” skilled
and unskilled: the bricklayers, the jewelers, the printers, the
industrialized brewers and machinists, the salesclerks, bakers, cloak
makers, cigar makers, piano makers, musicians, tailors, waiters, Morse
operators, Protestants, Catholics, Jews, whites and blacks, men and women.
The only people they refused to welcome in their ranks, wrote historians
Edwin G. Burrows and Mike Wallace, were “bankers, brokers, speculators,
gamblers, and liquor dealers”—what the Knights and other radicals of the
time called the “fleecing classes,” the “parasites,” the “leeches.” 

The CLU and the Knights organized the first Labor Day parade in the United
States, on September 5, 1882, marching twenty thousand strong from City Hall
to Union Square, unfurling banners that said: LABOR BUILT THIS REPUBLIC AND
LABOR SHALL RULE IT. And: NO MONEY MONOPOLY. And: PAY NO RENT. The
seamstresses along the route waved handkerchiefs from windows and blew
kisses at the marchers. When the ladies at their sills saw cops and thugs
hired by the fleecing classes, they rained down rocks, eggs, rotten
vegetables. 

By 1886, the labor coalition was looking for a radical candidate for mayor,
and they found one in Henry George, who by then had become a famous writer,
known on four continents. Seven years earlier, he had published a book of
economics called Progress and Poverty that during the last decades of the
nineteenth century would outsell every book but the Bible. His chief
contribution was to acquaint the lay American with the problem of “economic
rent” in society. This was defined as revenue with no corresponding labor or
productivity; economic rent was unearned income. 

Those who benefited from this income were known as rentiers, and the most
egregious rentier in George’s day was the landlord, who, sitting on land as
it rose in value, got rich on the backs of his tenants “without doing one
stroke of work, without adding one iota to the wealth of the community.”
Political liberty required also economic liberty, said George, and economic
liberty required doing away with the privileges of the rentier. “We are not
called upon to guarantee all men equal conditions…but we are called upon to
give to all men an equal chance,” said George. “If we do not, our
republicanism is a snare and a delusion, our chatter about the rights of man
the veriest buncombe.” George also proclaimed, “It is not enough that men
should vote; it is not enough that they should be theoretically equal before
the law. They must have liberty to avail themselves of the opportunities and
means of life.” 

In declaring his candidacy, George decried the “principle of competition
upon which society is now based.” He announced to an ecstatic public that
his intention was “to raise hell!” He saw only corruption in government as
it was then comprised, and suggested that “a revolutionary uprising might be
necessary to turn out the praetorians who were doing the corporations’
bidding in government office.” But George was defeated in the 1886 campaign,
and new and more advanced rentiers, typified by J. P. Morgan, with his
offices at 23 Wall Street, rose to dominate the American political economy.
By the turn of the twentieth century, Morgan had directed a massive
consolidation of banking and, through the leverage of credit and debt,
industry. This superconsolidation, which came to be known as monopoly
finance capitalism, extended the influence of New York bankers nationwide to
the point that, as Woodrow Wilson observed in 1911, “all our activities are
in the hands of a few men” who “chill and check and destroy genuine economic
freedom.

(snip)

Sterility
And what of the city as engine of culture? The art critic Robert Hughes
pronounced New York a fading star as early as 1990—just ten years into our
new Gilded Age—“when the sheer inequality of New York became overpowering,”
he wrote. “Could a city with such extremes of Sardanapalian wealth and
Calcutta-like misery foster a sane culture?” Hughes declared it could not.
Between 1980 and 1990, the One Percenters in New York roughly doubled their
take of income, from 12 percent to 20 percent, and this conspicuous
concentration of money inflated the art market, which was soon “run almost
entirely by finance manipulators, fashion victims and rich ignoramuses.” The
“impulses of art appreciation and collecting,” lamented Hughes, were now
“nakedly harnessed to gratuitous, philistine social display.” At the same
time, rents skyrocketed, driven by speculative real estate development. By
the 1980s, wrote Hughes, “the supply of affordable workspace for artists in
Manhattan finally ran out.” In a somber observation, Hughes noted, “It was
always the work of living artists, made in the belief that their work could
grow best there and nowhere else, that fueled New York. The critical mass of
talent emits the energies that proclaim the center; its gravitational field
keeps drawing more talent in, as in the combustion of a star, to sustain the
reaction. The process is now dying.”

Thirty years on, with rents at historic highs, this has been a long death
march, swallowing in its pall not only the artist, but the writer, the poet,
the musician, the unaffiliated intellectual. The creative types sense that
they are no longer wanted in New York, that money is what is wanted, and
creative pursuits that fail to produce big money are not to be bothered
with. But it is rent, more than anything else, that seals their fate. High
rent lays low the creator, as there is no longer time to create. Working
three jobs sixty hours a week at steadily declining wages, as a sizable
number of Americans know, is a recipe for spiritual suicide. For the
creative individual the challenge is existential: finding a psychological
space where money—the need for it, the lack of it—won’t be heard howling
hysterically day and night.

Crain’s New York Business, not known as a friend of the arts, reports the
endgame of the trend identified by Hughes, namely that the young painter and
sculptor are now sidestepping New York altogether, heading instead to cities
like Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Cleveland, and overseas to Berlin—wherever
the rents are low and the air doesn’t stink of cash. The Times reports that
freelance musicians in New York are killed off in a marketplace that no
longer has need for them. The once-great Philharmonics, mainstay of a New
York tradition, are crippled from lack of listeners, lack of funding;
Broadway replaces the live musician in the well with the artifice of sounds
sampled out of computers. New York loses its “standing as a creative
center,” reports Crain’s. It becomes “sterile.” It is “an institutionalized
sort of Disney Land” where “art is presented but not made.” Henceforth it
will no longer be “known as a birthplace for new cultural ideas and trends.”


In Brooklyn, I bump into a newspaper editor I once worked with who tells me
he is abandoning the city. He talks of Costa Rica, the dark side of the
moon, even Los Angeles. Anywhere but New York. “It’s just too depressing to
watch what’s happened,” he tells me. “The place is creatively bankrupt.” He
had freelanced at the paltry rates that freelancers are expected to survive
on—the wages dropping always lower, the marketplace for journalism devalued
by “content mills” and “information aggregators” staffed by content serfs
producing blog entries. Then he attempted to start a small newspaper in
Brooklyn. The investors weren’t interested. “They want digital projects that
promise an all-or-nothing billion dollars,” he tells me. “I just don’t get
that buzzy creative vibe from New York anymore. I see mercenarianism.
Cynical ambition. Monied dullness. People trying to get rich and cash out.
It’s always a CEO and CTO and CFO launching a new web property. Not writers
and editors getting together because they have common visions.” 

This is old news. Technologic advances in the digital world order now
mandate that the journalist vies in the editorial room with technocrats
advising on the method for tweaking headlines and articles to the rhythm of
Google. The model is from advertising: find what people want to hear, then
echo it in the news so that they will be attracted to hear more of it. “If
you want to know what’s really going on in a society or ideology, follow the
money,” writes author Jaron Lanier. “If money is flowing to advertising
instead of musicians, journalists, and artists, then a society is more
concerned with manipulation than truth or beauty. If content is worthless,
then people will start to become empty-headed and contentless… Culture is to
become precisely nothing but advertising.” No surprise then that the most
lucrative “creative” jobs in New York for the “aggregating” of “content” are
not in journalism but in corporate media, advertising, and marketing—the
machines of manipulation and deceit. 

Affluenza
“Everyone was broke and no one cared,” said a friend of mine recently,
describing Brooklyn in the 1970s. The people he knew back then, before New
York degenerated into a city run by and for the rich, “lived it up. They
were freer and they were happier, because they weren’t so uptight about the
money thing.” I think what my friend was saying was this: it was easier not
to care about appearing to have money, easier on mind and spirit not to have
to worry about the appurtenances of affluence.

His observation happens to be supported by a good deal of scholarship in the
social sciences. Among developed nations, the evidence shows that healthier
and happier societies—societies that are more sane, less uptight, whose
members for the most part are enjoying life—are usually those with more
equal distribution of wealth and income. The opposite correlation holds
true: regardless of total wealth as measured by GDP, unequal societies
appear to be less healthy and less happy—suffering, for instance, lower life
expectancy, lower educational achievement, higher rates of obesity, more
infant mortality and more mental illness and more substance abuse.

Richard Wilkinson, an emeritus professor of social epidemiology at the
University of Nottingham in England, offers a sweeping hypothesis to explain
the causality in the correlations. Economic inequality, he and coauthor Kate
Pickett write in The Spirit Level: Why Greater Equality Makes Societies
Stronger, “seems to heighten people’s social evaluation anxieties by
increasing the importance of social status. . . . If inequalities are
bigger, so that some people seem to count for almost everything and others
for practically nothing, where each one of us is placed becomes more
important.” The result is “increased status competition and increased status
anxiety,” whose effect on well-being is not to be underestimated. Scientists
measuring stress-induced hormones in human beings have found that subjects
were most stressed when faced with a task that included the opportunity for
others to judge their performance—a “social-evaluative threat” to
self-esteem and status, where the fear is that others might judge you
negatively. A stressed person typically has higher cortisol, a steroid
hormone that prepares body and mind to fend off danger and manage in an
emergency. But if cortisol is high much of the time, it can act as a slow
poison: the immune system is weakened, blood pressure rises, learning is
impaired, bone strength is reduced, and, in some instances, the appetite is
grossly stimulated. Wilkinson argues that, in a more unequal society, people
become more stressed and insecure, vying in the hierarchy of status—more
prone to feeling inadequate, defective, incompetent, foolish. And more sick
both in body and mind.

The literature of the psychosocial effects of status competition and
anxiety, to which Wilkinson’s work is only the latest addition, points to a
broad-stroke portrait of the neurotic personality type that appears to be
common in consumer capitalist societies marked by inequality. I see it all
around me in New York, most acutely among young professionals. The type, in
extremis, is that of the narcissist: Stressed, to be sure, because he seeks
approval from others higher up in the hierarchy, though distrustful of
others because he is competing with them for status, and resentful too
because of his dependence on approval. He views society as unfair; he sees
the great wealth paraded before him as an affront, proof of his failure, his
inability, his lack. The spectacle of unfairness teaches him, among other
lessons, the ways of the master-servant relationship, the rituals of
dominance, a kind of feudal remnant: “The captain kicks the cabin boy and
the cabin boy kicks the cat.” Mostly he is envious, and enraged that he is
envious. This envy is endorsed and exploited, made purposeful by what appear
to be the measures of civilization itself, in the mass conditioning methods
of corporatist media: the marketeers and the advertisers chide and tease
him; the messengers of high fashion arbitrate the meaning of his appearance.
He is threatened at every remove in the status scrum. His psychological
compensation, a derangement of sense and spirit, is affluenza: the seeking
of money and possessions as markers of ascent up the competitive ladder; the
worship of celebrities as heroes of affluence; the haunted desire for fame
and recognition; the embrace of materialistic excess that, alas, has no
future except in the assured destruction of Planet Earth and of every means
of a sane survival. 

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