I have in my festering and often disheveled mind an old photo. That of a man and his son hard at work toiling away the sun drenched afternoon in the field adjacent to their home. Suffering the heat to bring home the fruits of their various labors...the family business so to speak. From the porch Mother can be obviously viewed. She no doubt awaits the two for supper as the day nears completion.
The house stands in solitude on acres of property undisturbed by what we would come to understand as "progress". They will suffer drought this very summer and the land in its callous manner, will yield no crops. They'll quickly discover the reserve of coin will only stretch as far as September. Half a herd of cattle frozen dead from a too long winter and the mortgage will soon need attention. The bank will send a low level flunky two or three times in the months to come. Inevitably the Sheriff himself will ride out to inform Pa that the time has come to cut his losses. Family farms have a way ,historically speaking, of falling out from under the families who built them, thus leaving the lands sole salvation in the greasy fingers of the soul crushing banker. Sure a missed payment may go unnoticed and equally be forgiven after harvest, but this year is different. This year the "progress" once only softly spoken of as though a dangerous secret, has come to town and taken up residence at our farmers front porch.
"The railroad shows great interest," the savage banker explains. "And we'd be more than happy to forgive your debt and help you relocate with a few extra bills in your fold. But the forfeiture of this land is eminent, so a choice must be made."
After many tearful discussions Ma and Pa decide remorsefully to embrace the banks "generosity". Days later, with son in toe, and very few meager keepsakes at their side, they march off toward an unknown future. A once proud lineage of relentless determination and harmony with the soil has been dashed to pieces. The sun sets over our farm for the last time. Had this been a movie the screen would fade ominously blank and we'd leave with the knowledge that by this time next year the kitchen where mother once proudly provided loving nourishment for her kin will be just another ticket window.
Not what you'd call a feel good flicker show. Though the brutish reality is captured forever as we watch our neighbors painfully deteriorate into similar situations. Years of prompt or even occasionally early payments to a blood sucking beast (whose unquenchable thirst emaciates the modestly stocked cash box on interest alone) mean nothing when your job is outsourced. A second or third job may afford you the luxury of paying off the late penalties while simultaneously attempting to stay current on the monthly note. Of course amenities will be cut to down to bare necessities and family time will be reduced to mere moments each day. Soon the choice of food over gasoline. Then water or electricity. Eventually the farmers choice becomes yours. The only conceivable way of surviving. Never mind the ten plus years of faithful service to the plump parasitic sadists at the helm. That was then this is now. and now we have a fucking railroad to drive through your backyard. or a shopping mall to erect in honor of the gods of capitalism. So pack your shit, see you next Tuesday, be out by dawn. But the screen somehow wont lose its illumination just yet. The credits refuse to roll because the shows not over till your at the end of a rope with a magnum in your teeth. In between we'll follow our characters through a series of social service offices scum bag motels part time jobs and trips to several last chance bars until what little dignity remained after being relieved of your hard earned life has dwindled to just enough courage to beg for a dollar to buy one more attempt at drowning your self in booze before finally putting yourself down rather than wait for the dog catchers to swoop in and castrate the stray.
What manner of civilization is this?
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