Enough lucre to make Midas blush

There’s a website out there that you MUST visit immediately: Actually, you’re the 47%.

Allow me to provide a bit of context. Members of the Occupy Wall Street movement have been garnering attention of late by claiming that the bottom 99% of Americans are being financially raped by the top 1%, which is a pretty accurate depiction of the state of our union. So some partisan hack whose name I can’t remember and isn’t worth mentioning anyway, decided that the 21st century incarnation of Nixon’s silent majority needed its own catchy number slogan. He latched onto the number 53, which apparently represents the percentage of Americans who pay income tax, and created a website in celebration of these Fine Americans.

The 53 percenters’ website consists of photographs of said Fine Americans holding copies their own personal, one-page autobiographies/manifestoes, all of which end with the sentence, “I am the 53%.” In terms of tone, the written works run the gamut from “poor me” to “woe is me.” You know, I used to have to walk to school uphill both ways, barefoot in blizzards without a coat, returning home to a dinner of pond water and dog food. That kind of shit. But the moral of the story is that despite it all, nay BECAUSE of it all, I’ve survived and perhaps even prospered. I don’t blame Wall Street or rich people for my problems, and neither should you because this is America goddammit, and we’re the greatest country on earth. If you’re thinking that this isn’t the logical conclusion to draw from a back story that includes dog food dinners, you’re right. It’s safe to say that they’re shooting from the gut, not the brain.

Now, I genuinely am one of the 53% of Americans who pays income tax, by virtue of being childless and earning somewhat more than the average Wal-Mart employee, which I guess makes me a Fine American. The same could not be said of a sizable portion of the posters on the 53 percenters’ website, which includes entries from full-time students, housewives, the unemployed, and a bizarrely high percentage of current and former pizza-delivery people who may or may not be affiliated with Herman Cain. These people, I think it’s safe to say, do not pay income tax as a great many of them have no income. I’m not blaming them for that, but this is the raison d’être of the “Actually, you’re the 47%” website. If you’re driving a car with 265,000 miles on it to deliver pizzas to frat boys, don’t brag about how virtuous you are for paying income tax, because the fact is you don’t.

That doesn’t mean that my status as an income tax payer makes me virtuous, because that would be silly. I was born lucky. At the same time, eating dog food doesn’t make you virtuous. If you had a shitty life, I feel for you, and if you clawed your way out of poverty, I admire you, but that doesn’t automatically make you wise. Being a 53 percenter, however, does automatically make you an idiot. You’re on your high horse, bragging about how you don’t blame anyone else for your problems, but that’s a pretty stupid position to take if your misfortune is in fact someone’s fault. Do you know why black people blame white people for slavery? Because it was white peoples’ fault. Well, you and I are in financial slavery. We’re owned by the mega-rich, and we didn’t get a say in the matter; our elected “representatives” have also been bought. Our circumstances are wholly dependent on the whims of a few men with enough lucre to make Midas blush. On your behalf, I blame Wall Street.

So here’s to the 47% and the 99% and all the OWS folks. Those protestors may smell funny and get in my way each evening when I’m walking from the office to the train, but I still love ‘em, and I don’t care if the message is muddy. It doesn’t matter, because only eggheads worry about shit like that. Finally income inequality and capitalism and unemployment and underemployment are at the forefront of public discourse, which I didn’t even think was possible. This is attention-seeking populism at its finest. Please don’t go home, except maybe for a quick shower.