Who says nothing good has come
from the Enron follies -- other than the last spadeful of dirt thudding
on the coffin of the everyone-gets-to-be-a-millionaire, Ponzi party of
the late 90's? At least now we'll no longer suffer gasbags on TV and in
print extolling CEOs as paragons of virtue and exemplars of morality. Prime
peddlers of that palaver included Dinesh D'Souza and
Robert Bork,
who declared racism long vanished from executive suites, ostensibly because
it didn't "make sense" to the Rational Men from Economics 101 who run the
private sector (then why did it make sense before? Why?). The propagandistic
drumbeat hit its stride during Peckergate, following revelation of First
Mistress Monica's bit of slurpin' -'n- burpin' with the Horndog
from Hope, and during the ensuing impeachment. Bill Bennett,
the virtues/values gadfly and former Drug Lord (oops, I mean Drug Czar)
was oft heard droning on about how any male CEO who'd been caught carrying
on like that with a young female staffer would be fired, bounced out of
his job like Dagwood at the boot of Mr. Dithers. CEOs, we
were told, would lead us out of the dank moral netherland of the Clinton
era. Their gravitas and accomplishment, their boardroom rectitude and tireless
entrepreneurial spirit, would be a welcome, bracing antidote to the me-first
excesses of the incubus President and his valueless, morally relativist,
baby boomer ilk. The steel-jawed, gray-templed go-getters with the seven-
and eight- figure salaries could be counted on to roll up their sleeves,
hitch up their pants, and trickle down enough liquid assets to float all
our boats.
Of course, the moralistic claims were utter bilge: journalists checked
records and found that CEOs had long gotten free passes, no or minimal
punishment for pawing their female underlings. To the extent managers have entered a place of heightened sensitivity
about Keeping Your Hands to Yourself, they've been dragged kicking and
screaming. It was allegations of a bank vice president's worktime schtupping
and rape prompted the Supreme Court's "hostile environment" decision in
Meritor
Savings Bank. Mitsubishi had to cough up $44 million because its executives
condoned and committed sexual harassment against hundreds of women at its
plant in Normal, Illinois. At the Dial soap factory in suburban Chicago,
sexual harassment was pervasive in executive suites as well as on the factory
floor. ("Dial Facing Sexual Harassment Suit
- Women Ready to Testify in Key EEOC Action Against Company," Washington
Post, January 25, 2002). By CEO standards, the 42nd President's
shagging shenanigans were par for the course.
And as for Bennett, he still doesn't get
it. As late as last fall he was slamming a two-year-old movie, American
Beauty, for portraying "a businessman" in a sour light, presumably
Kevin
Spacey's Lester Burnham, whose lust for a teen cheerleader precipitates
a mid-life crisis that sees him blackmail his boss, smoke pot, and scheme
to bed the young sylph. But don't worry, Bill, that made-up fictional character
wasn't a CEO or even a businessman -- he worked for a magazine.
So Enron comes as no surprise. This is
the same crowd that brought us the Triangle Shirt-Waist fire in 1911, and
once again, by the time the hoi polloi on the cutting-room floor found
the fire exits chained shut, the guys with the titles had been whisked
to safety via the roof. Turns out, greed doesn't work, greed isn't good,
or whatever it was that Michael Douglas parroted Ivan Boesky
in that fatuously overrated and now mostly forgotten movie. Warhol was
wrong: art isn't whatever you can get away with, business is. At a growing
rate, the benefits of your labors inure disproportionately to the guys
who hire the guys who sign your paychecks. Proof? The steady growth in
the productivity of American workers during the end of the last century
was outpaced by the growth of the gap between rich and poor, between rich
and middle class. In 1980 the CEOs of the biggest U.S. companies got about
40 times as much as their hourly wage employees; now, it's closer to 500
times as much. The harder you work, the better off are the better-off.
American employees boast shorter vacations and longer hours than their
European counterparts. It's part of a grand plan to keep our noses to the
grindstone so we won't see their fingers in the till. As Celine observed
in translated French,"when it comes to extracting the maximum amount of
labor out of a two-legged beast, the ancient Pharoahs and Tartar tyrants
were preposterous incompetents. Did they ever think of calling their slave
'monsieur,' or giving him his newspaper, or letting him vote now and then?"
They've put job titles at the top of obituaries, made us pay for things
we used to get for free (like TV; radio is next), and invented the Stressocracy
- the legions of office drones who need nearly-intolerable levels of job-related stress to assuage fears of not pulling their weight. They even hoodwinked feminists
into believing that personnel fulfillment demands a career (in addition
to the already no-piece-of-cake task of raising the sort of kids who won't
grow up to cosh WIT MEMO on the head some night outside a Metro
station).
The latest ploy was an absurd scientific
report to the effect that a decent amount of sleep can actually send you
to an early grave. ("Study Links 8 Hours' Sleep to Shorter Life Span,"
Washington Post, February 15, 2002. The message is clear: relax, and you
die.
You don't have to be a Stephen Jay Hawking
to figure out that this claim is pure swampwater, right up there with laetrile
and pyschic surgery, an incidental artifact of the well-known phenomenon
that the elderly need less sleep. Divide a study population into two groups,
those who lived to ripe old ages and those who checked out early, and of
course the old farts who need less sleep will be disproportionately represented
in the former. Do not ever let pass the chance to grab a full eight hour's
shut eye.
The Witzelsucht Memorandum