History of the Poor, Part I

As this great Nation prepares to change, it's time for us all to look at the lessons of the past for inspiration and guidance in changing. A particularly important part of history is the economic part.

Usually, when someone proposes to talk about economic history, they mean the history of making and spending money. But to waste space today, I would like to talk about the opposite, namely the history of not making and spending money. I want to talk about the history of poverty.

The poor have always been with us. According to Amos, a minor prophet, the going price for a poor person in Israel ca 750 BC was a cheap pair of sandals. So you know they had poor people in fairly large supply. In fact they had so many poor people that they made it a practice to talk of THE poor, as opposed to this poor guy or that poor guy.

[Above: A pair of sandals and change.]

In those days, the poor were mainly used to determine who was a good person or not. If you treated the poor justly you were good. But if you showed favoritism, by, say, not lashing them when they stole bread, that showed you were in need of correction. The idea that you might favor poor people may sound strange today, but in those times it was the equivalent of Populism.

The poor were so numerous in Biblical times that they became the cool people. Jesus hung with them, and there were poor-wannabes. To satisfy the people who wanted to be poor but couldn't quite go the extra mile it took, a new category called "the poor in spirit" was invented. Just like today's categories of "middle class" or "black" or "zen", anybody in those times could say they were poor in spirit. No one could disprove it. Especially since they had no surveillance cameras.

[Above Right: Jesus with poor homies and wannabes.]

It was the practical Romans who said "let's get real" about this and first defined poverty. They called it paupertas and had ways to measure it. You had to empty your pockets and they'd count your cash and tell you if you qualified. In some cases they would just take your word for it. That has come down to us as the rule of "in forma pauperis" by which you can get some relief by swearing a "pauper's oath." The point was, they had a definition, so they could always check if you were lying.

In the Middle Ages there was a period beginning around the 13th Century when there was some confusion of beggars with the poor. Monks would take vows of poverty and go around begging (the word "beggar" comes from the name of such an order) and people would get annoyed (especially at fakers among them) and take their annoyance out on all the poor. Things got so far out of hand that by the 16th Century the Council of Trent had to get behind the virtues of owning property, to stem the tide of mendicants.

[Left: Typical faking fake beggar, ruining it for real beggars everywhere.]

For many centuries the idea of poverty was mainly of concern to churches and courts. It wasn't until the late 1800s that sociologists came up with the term "underprivileged." To understand this term you have to know that the word "privilege" really means "private law." In other words to have privilege is to have laws on your own personal side. So the underprivileged are people who have less of that. In other words, it means, "poor in laws." Recognizing that there could be such a thing was a great leap forward which required the invention of many new college departments and degrees.

When I was growing up in the 1950s the poor divided neatly into three categories. There was 1) the Salt Of The Earth poor. That was your basic Appalachian poor, your coal miners, your sand farmers, and such. There were 2) the vagabonds and the hobos. And there were 3) minorities.

Then, Ronald Reagan was elected president, and invented homelessness. And here we are.

From Pigs To Pi

Sometimes I think the very ancients were way smarter than we are. Sure, they had their faults, what with the infanticide and the lead plumbing and not knowing their times-four tables, but they would make up for it with bursts of sheer genius.

I'm thinking of the fact that the really, really, ancient Romans dispensed with months during winter. The months of the year began with their first month, March, and ended with their tenth month, December. Then there was winter, which was monthless.

It wasn't until the late date of 713 BC that the Romans fell stupid and invented januaries and februaries. At least they still had the sense, for another half millennium and some, to continue to start each new year on March 1st. March was the best month to start a year. In those days March 1 was the first day of Spring. Also it came after leap days, so calendar makers only had to design seven versions of calendars instead of our 14. Also, March was named for the god of war, and Romans liked to start everything (tea parties, dog shows, gardening, sunbathing, everything) with a war first.

I pine for those old days of Rome, and every year, as March approaches, I wish it were the start of my year and that January and February hadn't ever happened. Let's try to think of it that way and look ahead to the new month as an adventurous new beginning!

Our first adventure: Now that March 1st is no longer the first day of Spring, it has turned into National Pig Day. This Saturday, kiss a pig. If you have a pig to spare, put a pig in the pile. If you need a pig, take a pig from the pile.

Coincidentally, March 1st is also King County's Piggy Metro Stick-It-To-The-Disabled Day. On this March 1 all non-peak Metro fares go up a quarter. So regular fares increase 20%, but discounted fares of the disabled and seniors (who are mostly on fixed incomes) increase 100%.

I guess lately a lot of old people have been abusing the discounted fares to ride buses to and from hospitals, taking away from needed ambulance revenues, and cluttering the buses up with their ugly oldness. So it makes good sense to double the fares on them, to teach them a lesson. But I don't know why you'd double the fares on disabled people, unless you thought that would discourage disabled-ness, which is just plain silly.

March 2 is Texas Independence Day, the day we celebrate the right of immigrants to come in to a country and take it over, so long as they're our immigrants, and it's someone else's country. [Insert pig remark.]

On a brighter note, on March 6, The Stranger is presenting eight up-and-coming bands at two venues, Neumo's and Sole Repair, as a benefit for Real Change. Billed as a "cheap night of music," I doubt that more than one or two pigs will be admitted on a first-come first-served basis, so you should not rely on that, but get your pig a sitter in advance.

After a week, when we've had plenty of time to sober and find our homes, there will be a camp-out at City Hall on the night of March 13 to protest the city's policy of demolishing homeless encampments. I will be there. We want to see at least a couple of hundred of you there. Again, sadly, there will be a limit on the number of pigs allowed. Let's face it, they don't know how to use Porta-Potties. They eat all the truffles and don't leave any for us. They can do tricks, but who wants to see a pig roll over, climb a ladder, or leap through a ring of fire?

The morning after the camp-out begins Albert Einstein's Birthday (he would have been 129), National Pi Day, and the Ides of March Eve. Celebrate genius, circumference, and political change, as you again reunite with your pig.

Let's Make The Best Of It!

Well, it's been a slow week here in Lake Weerooldewurld. All that happened was our Vice President said this weekend that another sovereign country would NOT get a bomb such as ones we've waved about for 62 years. We wonder how he could be so sure, given that our army is stretched to the breaking point, Iran has an ally next door (north of it) whose army isn't currently stretched, and who has bigger bunker busters than we do and easier targets (a stretched army conveniently nearby).

The important thing is, if Dick Cheney says Iran won't get nukes, then Iran won't get nukes, because Dick Cheney is the new Caesar. He's bigger than Caesar. Just like every successor to Caesar had to be a Caesar, every successor to Dick Cheney will have to be a Dick. Whether it's Hillary Dick, Barack Dick, Mitt Dick, or Rudy Dick, the one sure thing is it'll be a Dick. Just like the ancient Romans knew they'd always be Caesared in the end, we can be sure that we'll always be Dicked.

But I won't dwell on parallels between our current empire and that of the ancient Romans. That's ancient history. Instead, I'll dwell on the Fifties.

Recently I was reminiscing and remembered a cute thing that happened right here in 1955, when I was 6. I was at 3rd and Pine on the corner that now has the city's most interesting McDonald's (in the sense that bloody highway wrecks are interesting) waiting to cross to the Bon. A man in a blue and green flannel shirt stepped off the curb onto the street while the light was still red. Immediately a voice boomed out, "You! In the blue and green flannel shirt! Yes, you! Please get back on the curb so I don't have to send my two friends over there!" Or, words to that effect.

It was a plainclothes Seattle Police Officer (also wearing a flannel shirt by the way!) watching pedestrians in that intersection from a perch above the Bon Marché's awning. He had a bullhorn and two "friends" -- beat cops on the ground.

You may be thinking, "Wow, and I thought cops today made too much of jaywalking! They were REALLY medieval back in the Fifties! I'm glad I'm not old enough to remember that! Poor Dr. Wes! He's so old!"

If that's what you're thinking, we are not on the same "wavelength." Here's the important thing to note about the incident I just related: The man in the flannel shirt did NOT get a ticket.

Whereas, today, there wouldn't be a cop with a bullhorn warning him to get back on the curb. A motorcycle cop in full storm-trooper gear would sweep down on him, then push him back on the sidewalk, then pin him to the wall, then write him a ticket.

I'm putting all this together. Apparently, as a nation, we are entering into a long period of decline. If we are lucky enough to survive so long, we will be ruled by Dicks for as long as Rome was ruled by Caesars. Like the Caesars, our Dicks will maintain themselves in power by delivering spoils of endless wars to the powerful rich who will in turn be increasingly allowed to bypass our republican institutions, consolidating their own power as well.

It's not for nothing that the symbol of Mussolini's party was taken to be fasces. A bundle of sticks IS stronger than one. It's a great metaphor for the collaboration between corporate interests and the administration: the government is the ax, the corporations the sticks bound together. When the corporations own the government, our turn to fascism will be complete.

But it doesn't have to be all bad. The cop over the awning in 1955 shows you can have fun-loving repression! The guy DIDN'T get a ticket, only a cheerful warning.

Let's make sure our next Dick can say Iran won't get nukes with a real smile on his face, instead of that nasty smirk!