Tucholsky today

Hey, a little miracle today> a nyt story about, of all people, Kurt Tucholsky. This  makes me think that I should recycle the translation I made in 2007 of one of his great essays. Here it is.

"Continuing our futile anti-war shrieking and babbling, LI is going to translate a famous article of Tucholsky’s entitled the “Der Leerlauf eines Heroismus” – “A Heroism’s hollow trajectory” – but before we do it, a little background is necessary. Luckily, Time Magazine has recently put online an article, “Handsome Adolf”, it published in 1930  about the treason trial in Leipzig, in which was  ‘uncovered the mental situation of the military for those who didn’t know it,” as Tucholsky puts it.

Here’s the salient first grafs, displaying Time’s truly annoying journalistic style – this is the kind of writing that Robert Coover parodied in The Public Burning:

“Not in Berlin, not even in Prussia, but in Saxony, in Leipzig sits the German Supreme Court: das Reichsgericht. Justice is done beneath a mighty dome topped by a big bronze statue of Truth. Through tall casement windows Saxon sunbeams glint upon carved oak. In such a setting presiding Judge Baumgarten (except when fiddling with one of his ears) is a sight awesome as Olympian Jove. Boldly to face the justice down, to use the Supreme Court dome as a demagog's thumping tub, to hurl from dem Reichsgericht a defy which reverberated throughout Europe, such was the feat last week of Adolf Hitler, No. I Brown Shirt Fascist (TIME, Aug. 25).
Ostensibly the proceedings were a trial for High Treason. Three young German army officers (Lieutenants Richard Scheringer, Hans Ludin, Friedrich Wendt) were charged with inciting their men to join a Fascist putsch should it be proclaimed. Without quite admitting their guilt the young officers waxed hotly truculent. "I would obey an order to shoot down Communists," shouted Lieutenant Scheringer, "but I would disobey a command to fire on men of my own persuasion!"
Exactly what was this "persuasion"? Evading damaging admissions, the Lieutenants said in effect that their views are those of Brown Shirt Hitler, leader of the National Socialist [Fascist] party whose sensational gains in the last election make it second strongest in Germany (TIME, Sept. 22). If such views be treason, argued the defense, then make the most of it!
Smart, the defense determined to do exactly this, subpenaed Herr Hitler as a witness, got ready to offer him the opportunity to use the witness stand as a soapbox.
Housewives & Blue Eyes. "Hitler Kommt!" cried 2,000 excited Saxons massed inside and outside the supreme courthouse. Many were women—for thrifty German housewives particularly dislike paying reparations, have swallowed eagerly the brash Fascist promises to repudiate the Young Plan. As Herr Hitler's motorcar swirled up the women pelted him with flowers. As this medium sized man with a small blond mustache but hard, blue, twinkling eyes stepped out, soprano voices cried "Ach, der schöne Adolf!" (Ah, handsome Adolf!). But so vast, dim, labyrinthine is the supreme courthouse that Witness Hitler, studiously quiet at first, stepped into the chamber and was actually on the stand before the courtroom galleries saw him.

"Heads Shall Roll!" Asked if he were planning revolution, Herr Hitler answered composedly:

"Nein, we are merely preparing an intellectual eruption of the German people by peaceful means."

When this drew from the gallery a roar of "Germany Awake!" (Fascist slogan), Judge Baumgarten glared at the assemblage, rumbled, "Silence, this is not a theatre!" but soon Herr Hitler in smashing demagog style was carrying all before him.”

It is always a jolting thing to see how the devil was painted before he became the devil. Those twinkling blue eyes - here's a man who might just have the answer to the red menace!

Here's the great Kurt:

Heroism running on empty - Kurt Tucholsky

The Leipzig trial for high treason has unveiled the mental situation of the German military for those who did not know it.

We don’t take the trial very seriously. The official court has long disappointed the trust of all observers with its political judgments – what is inscribed in its judgments is resentment and politics, which are served up as a form of justicery.

That communists would never be treated like these three officers doesn’t surprise us. “I have”, said one of the government attornies, “not wanted to offend the accused, and I would regret it if they had been offended (gekraenkt habe). Well, that’s all righty then….

The important and implication heavy thing is not the attitudes of the court, but instead, the the pattern of military thought, which is less known.

It is grim.

That voluntary soldiers are voluntary opponents of pacifism ought not to astonish us, and is understandable. That has always been the case. Although it is rarely thought about - as it would be if the fire department, for example, struggled against those who wanted to put out flames… but these soldiers have never felt like firemen, who are called in the moment of danger, but have always seen themselves as their own end.
Although I won’t speak to those majors and lieutenants, who can’t be persuaded because they can’t read, and if they could read, could not understand, and if they could understand what they read, would apply it falsely – I will speak to people who wish to battle un-intelligence with intelligence.

Every man creates in his mind a world, in which he stands in the center, according to his abilities. Few confess this. Let’s begin with ourselves.

Pacifists who are good horsemen are exceptions. In every pacifistic tendency is – next to the best ethical intentions – the rejection of a world in which the preaching pacifist does not play a leading role. It is already much, if he could stand with respect in this warrior’s world. This dainty aunt-y feature is unmistakable in pacifism; where it works itself out sentimentally, is where it is hardest to defend. For that is not the sense and content of pacifism. The military opponent fights with us: with slanders, as for example in this trial; with insults, that are uninteresting, and … without a trace of justice. They struggle mostly, however, against the worst and lowest level of pacifism, against its caricature, against the cry baby in it.
Otherwise such a fight is a question of intellectual force, and really not only of the brachial type, as it is thoroughly impressed upon us today. The peaceloving person, who doesn’t want to squander his best forces on the battle field, builds himself a world, in which he has some value. He is easily inclined to place this world ethically higher than all the others.
It is weakness and lies to close one’s eyes to the fact that these elements have to be cleanly expelled. I hold it for wholly just and natural.
The pacifist is correct, even so, in his fight against war, because he is denying it the power to manage the lives of other people. I have no vegetarian feelings in any way: there may be situations, in which spilling blood is no injustice. But one must hold upright, as a fundamental demand, that nobody has the right, to rule over the life of his fellow men in order to elevate himself. But that’s exactly what soldier’s do."
Cut in here some recent 2007 news - this translation will be collaged, an art at which Tucholsky excelled:

“Yesterday morning, police recruits sank their shovels into a shallow grave alongside a highway and turned up the bodies of 29 unidentified men, bound, blindfolded and recently shot.
Hours later, the bodies of 15 more men, their faces splattered with mud, their necks cut with wire, were found piled in the back of a pickup truck.
On Monday, it was the same. More than 40 bodies were picked up from the streets of Baghdad, many having a single bullet wound in the head.
No one seems to know how, for example, a pickup truck full of dead men could turn up at a busy intersection in Baghdad, where there is a strict curfew at night and ceaseless checkpoints during the day. – NYT, March 15, 2006

"The establishment of expressed opinions in the Leipzig trial was more than miserable. One doesn’t have to cite any documents. Ours indeed smells of where the opinions come from. Their views stem completely out of this feeling. It isn’t that they need to be bad because of this. But they are empty and disgusting. For:

If one taps hard enough on the young lieutenant and the suspiciously older officers, one will always find that they think of Germany, their fellow citizens and the collected world as a place for military exercises, for maneuvers, and look at it all as a future battlefield, on which they can unfold what they call their best talents. There we can say ecce homo – there and only there. It is for significant for this heroism, that by many is doubtless believed to be authentic and masculine, that it never asks after the goal of the soldier’s work. The fight is fought; if it is once begun, it must be gone through – but to what end the whole goes, for what reason, for who, to whose use: this is something they don’t question. In Heinz Pols novel Either-or, there is a marvelous passage: “ He wanted to see just once what he was struggling against.” That’s it. The struggle is primary – only afterward is it rationalized.
This leads easily to wanting to fight in general, and thus: to evoke hostilities and to make enemies, with whom man can be a soldier. The soldier needs an enemy. Otherwise he would be nothing.
Thus, if these officers win influence on the politics of the country – and they have achieved more than is commonly assumed – than we are near the point that they, for the sake of activating their handwork, will provoke fighting even where one could avoid it.
What the young men have said before the tribunal does not deserve any contradiction: where there is sheer nothingness, the polemicist loses his rights. It was the typical resentment of the soldier’s attitude, a casino speech, that anybody who has been through a war could repeat in his sleep. It was and is the rejection of the intellectual world, the world of peace in general, because it is too boring for men of this mold to live in. One can’t ask an actor to approve of a social order in which the theater is banned and expelled. The actor wants to act. The soldier wants to make war.

Now, the military man didn’t fall from heaven. He is nothing more than a kind of person found throughout the human race, who is, because of history and tradition, simply overbred in Germany, because a certain type of German is wired to go beserk.

In the soldier is – observing this with complete value neutrality – force; youth, a spirit that wants to be applied; a surplus energy, that wants to spill out; a desire for riot; joy in obedience and joy in being obeyed; joy in working in the fresh air; joy in colors and in equipment – all of this and more. All of which is scrambled up, in modern soldiers, with the type of office-capable organisor, men who want to command and let others work. And with technicians, who just enjoy modern machinery, which he commands with his type of orders… for these people, it is unimportant if, in striking England, Germany is right, that doesn’t move them at all. What moves them is commanding a division and using a tank. Sports.

In this activity there is a lot of what is good and legitimate. But instead of exploiting such forces, they are regressing the modern social order. In the capitalistic office-industry, young men who are so constituted cannot begin to make anything of themselves and their particular strengths, and now they are making themselves what they need.

For the military with all its trimmings is not only a need of society in general, but a need, most fundamentally, of a particular part of society.
Thus, like the half-intellectual, who “not knowing, what he should do”, enters in the administrative world or in industry and builds a “niche for himself’ that didn’t exist before, one, which needs the man who holds it in order to exist at all: similarly , the soldier creates in every country: a, the necessary spiritual preconditions for his existence in the form of enemies, dangers, and a nationalism intensified to an insane level, and b., a mechanism, in which he reigns supreme, and works, and unfolds his special powers – in which he can, in other words, simply be. These institutions congealed out of powerful men inclined towards violence are the armies; these instruments are used, misused and needed by whatever reigning order is current: for the suppression of the class enemy, thus the worker, for the diversion of the society to external threats and so on. The soldier doesn’t see this for the most part. He just is.

This heroism runs on empty. It is heroism in and for itself – and so it isn’t heroism at all. The vague concept of the ‘homeland'’ is a mythical formula; there is nothing that these men defend against as much as a conceptual analysis of their pseudo-religious formulas, and they know well why. It would be the end. The blank nullity of it would be revealed to the light of day.
It is not that the fundamental forces in play here are reducible to: joy in destruction; the joy of little men parading before little women; that is not the fact to be negated. Negation is aimed fully at the way these powers, running forever on their own emptiness, are put in place and misused.
We must fundamentally distinguish this military pattern of thought from that that the young nationalists preach. They are busily lending to a previous basic feeling a new and spiritual form – but not out of respect for the spirit, of which they mostly have not a breath, but in order to erect their main man on this ground. How much uncertainty is therein! What Ernst Junger did, while becoming in the meantime a clever war reporter, assiduously, obsessively and hop hop, is spiritually thin, undernourished and much more from yesterday than it is from tomorrow, as it pretends to be. Always it is significantly more lyrical than the cold fundamental perspective of the eternal officer class, who are nothing but that. Jünger aims for a mysticism whose clouds can be dispelled by a wave of the hand; behind them grins the blank nothingness, the stubborn view that fighting is something affirmable in itself. Young people in today’s so called “Bunde” associations are not much different. One must be suspicious – against the right and the left – every time someone greets an attack on a given view with the cry, ‘blasphemy’! Because it means something is rotten within.
On both levels, in the military as in the nationalist associations, rules the same running on empty heroism. They are distinct from one another and even divided; possibly, one day they will join together – but by this junction they will mutually keep an eye on each other and never let a moment pass in which one can betray the other … the young nationalists being, for the military, much too literary, for as is known to all the world, he who reads a book is a bookworm…

But in these circumstances the eternal military man will create what he needs. An ‘air defense’, a ‘water defense’, a ‘train defense’, and whatever a man needs when he doesn’t know how to do anything intelligent. These and their like are aids to the unfolding of his nature.

But it is a little much to ask all society to pay for the excitation of the internal secretions of a small group of men. Certainly, on all sides the payer is being bombarded with demands for: maneuvers, war reports of all types, uniforms, music, photo ops with cannons … somewhat overbilled, it seems to me.

But it is all empty, completely empty. And it steps up with the complete aplomb of the muscleman, who is, on first impression, always at an advantage over the brainy man. His opponent doesn’t have much time. And as for your average householder… great god. They are touched by the like of General von Seeckt because he has the cleverness not to open his mouth – there are not only inscrutable geniuses, there are other kinds, too. And a book of some reputation seeking general is a curiosity: if the man were not a staff officer, nobody would care about his views and his empty essays.

Mars is blind and has no head. He just has a helmet.

And you are reflected in this helmet. How, after all, did it happen that 1914 went so far? How was that possible? It was made possible by refined and pointed preliminary labor: through a day by day drum fussilade of war preparation, through the market cries of running on empty heroism."
My post was interspersed with war photos of mangled bodies that Tucholsky and his friends, like Heartsfield, tried to rub in the face of Germany. But that ploy didn't work. In the U.S. - where the same idiocy, raised to the American exponential, dominates the airwaves - the ploy would probably not work either. But it doesn't matter - the media will dutifully censor it, and continue to roll out clangorous odes to our military "heros". 

one percent America

Ferdinand Lundberg, in 1939, wrote a book about the sixty wealthiest families in America. He made the audacious claim that these families collectively owned and directed most of America’s wealth – her industrial capacity, her speculative/financial sector, her raw materials. He names the families and engages in the tedious geneological work of showing how marriage and strategic alliances maintain and expand fortunes that have their roots, many of them, in the 19^th century. He goes there from the first sentence in the book, which proclaims: “The United States is owned and dominated today by a hierarchy of its sixty richest families, buttressed by no more than ninety families of lesser wealth.” He claims that behind the de jure democratic form of government is a de facto government, “absolutist and plutocratic.”

Now, it is a difficult business, tracking family fortunes. For one thing, “family” is a misleading category. Lundberg’s prey are really more like the famous modern Russian clans, blat. Numbers of families and associates are held together in a web of mutual interests, which one can generally call after the family name of those who founded it. Thus, to use Lundberg’s first family, the Rockefellers, we can see that a Carnegie marrying a Rockefeller (a scion of one of the branches), which occurred when J. Stillman Rockefeller married Nancy C. S. Carnegie, grandniece of Andrew. Lundberg, incidentally, is a deadeye for those middle names. Where does “Stillman” come from? It comes from James Stillman, whose daughter married a Rockefeller. Stillman was the founder of National City Bank, now known as Citibank.

If Lundberg is right, then American historians have truly missed the boat. It would be like historians of 15^th century France ignoring the nobility and misunderstood the form of French government. In other words, historians have treated the United States as though it were permanently the country Tocqueville described, but it is really, since Tocqueville’s time, the country of magnates and their sons and daughters that Henry James wrote about.

Since the notion that America is an oligarchy has recently been revived – a paper with this thesis cowritten by Martin Gilens and Benjamin Page has recently been reported on in the media – and because we are all rivetted by Piketty’s thesis concerning the inequality endemic to capitalism, perhaps it is time to turn to the muckrakers who have always considered oligarchy the operational mode by which America is run.

Consider, then, a figure like Thomas W. Lamont. Lamont is in the Morgan blat. He negotiated enormous loans to keep England and France fighting in WWI; he also negotiated loans to Mussolini after the war. He was, Lundberg claims, a “mentor” to Wilson – and certainly he was one of Herbert Hoover’s unofficial advisors, famous for misjudging Black Friday in 1929. For Lundberg, Lamont is everywhere. Calvin Coolidge (who Lundberg is scornful of in a fine, Menckenish way – he adduces the series Coolidge wrote when he was vice president for a woman’s magazine, Enemies of the Republic: are the reds stalking our college Women? As a typical product of Calvin’s low wattage mind – didn’t make a major decision without calling him; Lamont is also, Lundberg claims, the “single most influential person in contemporary American journalism.” Lamont was the grey eminence behind the pronouncements of the uber-pundits of the day, like his friend, Walter Lippman. He was influential with Luce, Forbes and Sulzberger. His dinners were attended by the celebrity literati like H.G. Wells.

And yet, who among us has heard of this perfect blatman, Thomas W.Lamont? if Lundberg is even close to right, we should be viewing the twenties not only as the time of Harding, Coolidge and Hoover, but as the era of Lamont as well. He is represented by a chapter in Behind the throne, with the perhaps misleading subtitle: servants of power to imperial presidents, 1898-1968, because his loans had a major effect on Mexico’s post-revolutionary history.

In any case, if we take Lundberg’s families as clans, we have, perhaps, a clearer view of how fortunes are made and power is exercized in the United States. Lundberg quotes an interesting statistic from a  man named Robert Doane, who studied incomes for a Roosevelt era government office. According to Doane, although incomes  above $50,000 accounted for 30 percent of American savings in 1929, only 38,899 persons had such incomes, accounting for .05 of 1 percent of the American population.

The American one percenters – there is a long history there, campers.   

  

the smirk

Postcards of travel.

I’m in a hotel in Bayside San Diego. The Midway looms out the window to the left, massive, and kept in great shape, externally, so that tourists get a chance to see what those old floating fortresses from the big one were all about. Earlier, I’d taken Adam down to see it and was surprised and overjoyed to see some instances of true Republican Party art – an art that evokes warm patriotic feelings through the kind of unabashed kitsch which is so vulnerable to mockery that it doesn’t deserve even to be mocked. One was an enormous painted statue that took the famous iconic moment of the sailor kissing a woman in Times Square on V-E day – when Americans were under the delusion that they were celebrating the end of the war in Europe – and monumentalized it,  the woman bent in the man’s arms, dressed in a short white skirt and with white stockings, the sailor in blue, his sailor hat on his curly head, his mouth about the size of my arm from the hand to the elbow on her mouth, ditto the size and with thicker lips, for the delectation of tourists. Myself, I didn’t have a camera, or I would surely have asked someone to photograph me under this monstrosity. Why not? Sometimes, the plunge into the moronic inferno is a tonic to the soul. The other is the Bob Hope Memorial, where a statue of the comic stands in front of an appreciative and ethnically diverse group of Gis, posed in attitudes of rapture and applause. Because overdetermination is the heart and soul of kitsch, there is a soundtrack of Hope’s routines perpetually running in the background…

To give you an idea, then, of the place. This is where we are.  I’m in the hotel seven stories up, and I’m in the hall with Adam, who is fascinated with the view outside the big window. Up the hall comes your standard issue, clean limbed American whitetype, circa thirty years old: he has a friendly face, and he says, pointing at Adam, wants to be spiderman, right? Nice guy, so I reply, I think that or a politician – he likes to get above the people and give speeches. This brought about the unexpected reply that this man was in politics, but thought this “cycle” would be his last. I’m going into private equity, the man says. I mumble something. They are scumbags, but they are honest scumbags, he says. Then, pointing at Adam, he says, Never see his social security.

I reply, getting to my feet, that on the contrary, he’s french, and he certainly will. The guy begins to back to the elevator, which has arrived. You know, I say, Adam his mother and me spent five days at the hospital before he was born and it costs less than a thousand dollars. The man is now in the elevator, and he smirks. Paid for by the taxpayers, he says. Before I could reply, the smirk vanished.

In that instance, I had several arguments and responses I would like to have launched. Most pertinently, that those taxpayers had all been born, and thus were beneficiaries themselves of the French system. Or that doing single entry accounting is not a good way of getting into private equity – you have to count not only what you pay for but what you receive.

However, what struck me was that just by making arguments, I lost. The man had the victor’s smirk. It is even a cognitive smirk – a smirk that your thought, going around a corner, runs smack into and is smothered forever. At one time, the left had that smirk in the twentieth century. But for a long time now, it has been the exclusive possession of a certain rightwing type – the kind of upper twenty percent looking guy who repeats cliches (such as that about the honest scumbag) shamelessly, more as a way of showing an insignia, of asserting a place in the lockerroom, than of actually meaning anything.

That smirk is, of course, on the neck of the vast majority of Americans, but it is respected, revered and imitated by those it trounces on because, well, it is the smirk of victory. Why put yourself on the losing side? Especially when, because it is the losing side, you know that the losers, if they have a chance and actually gained power, will only fuck things up.

San diego, man.

a little dream of nixon

We are traveling in the Boulder Denver area this weekend. Denver has wonderful houses and a lotta rain, and I got sick yesterday. I took some pills, we put Adam to bed, then I lay down to sleep and had this dream.
I was at a comic book festival. I was with three people. The only one in focus was a tall, geeky looking guy – who I began to see was Stephen Merchant, Ricky Gervais’s partner on the Extras. He gave me a computer to write things on, but whatever I wrote appeared on the screen as something different, in Greek or Cyrilac script. I got mad and, like Adam, threw the computer down. Later Stephen told me this was a test, and then he revealed that I was being inducted into the CIA. He introduced me to the man with him – Richard Nixon. Nixon was much shorter than I expected. He had a sour look on his face. He was wearing a sweater that I somehow recognized. It was cream colored with brown braiding, very thick, with a sort of ruff, or turtleneck. It was, in short, the kind of sweater one bought in the seventies. 
I was given a dossier and told my job. I was very happy, because I was sure that the pay was good, and the work sounded easy. It had to do with codes and comic books. But at this point I must have begun waking up, because I began to worry about Nixon. I had shaken his hand! I had called him Mr. Nixon! Wasn’t I opposed to Nixon? At this point I did wake up.
I conclude from this dream that my subconscious has become reactionary, which is potentially embarrassing. On the other hand, it did dress Nixon in the most ridiculous costume and made him short. So the subconscious of my subconscious must know what’s what.

how goethe became a loser, too

"Eckermann – the best prose work of our literature, the highest point reached by the German humanities” – Nietzsche

Eckermann’s Conversations with Goethe in the Last Years of his Life was an instant nineteenth century classic, mined for quotes not only in Germany, but in England and America. Margaret Fuller, with Emerson’s encouragement, published an English translation, and Emerson incorporated a number of Goethe’s remarks in the book into his essays.

Strangely, I have the impression that, at least in the Anglosphere, it is now rarely read. Boswell’s Life of Johnson is still read, but for us, Boswell is even more in focus than he was in the 18^th century, since we have his papers and letters. In the Life of Johnson, Boswell seems plausible – he teases Johnson, he opposes him, he loves him, but he is very separate from him. Eckermann is a more… ectoplasmic creature. He seems to have been entirely absorbed by his sage. In Avita Ronell’s essay about Eckermann, she makes him out to be another mad German romantic – and indeed, he seems to have spent the last years of his life in a room filled with songbirds, taking dictation from Goethe’s spirit – as the physical husk of the man had died years before. Goethe was very conscious of what Eckermann was doing – as indeed, he had to be, since in the end, Goethe drew up a contract with Eckermann, making him the editor of his collected works. Unlike Boswell, Eckermann was not independently wealthy – which has also made him a more painful subject to remember. The Conversations start with Eckermann’s autobiographical sketches, giving us an impression of him as a sort of sport, an unusual bolt from a peasant marriage. Indeed, the lack of sophistication of the family gives Eckermann a sort of joke to introduce himself with: one day when he was around 12, he discovered he had a talent for drawing. Ther drawings he made eventually came to the attention of the only wealthy man in his small town, who invited the boy to see him and told him that he was willing to finance his training as a painter. His parents were not overjoyed by this news. To them, a painter slapped paint on the façade of a house, like the large houses they were erecting in Hamburg. It was a nasty and dangerous job, and they councilled against it, so Eckermann refused.

Such low hijincks to put beside one of the peaks of European literature! Yet Goethe was not averse to low hijincks himself. Olympian he may have been, but he married an unlettered factory girl, Christiane Vulpius. Eckermann was not unlettered, but he was not credentialled – he was basically self-taught, although he did finally go to art school. He always remained, however, the peasant who had struggled against the enormous inertia of a society that literally didn’t recognize the artist, and he was forever poor.  

Now here’s the reason I bring this up. I consider myself a loser and have a second sense for the tribe of losers in literature. The last shall be first – such is the secret credo and barren hope of this crowd. Mostly, no. The first are first and trample on our faces over and over again. But the losers remember Melville, Pessoa, Kafka – they are pillars of the losers faith, that there is a view of modernity, a terrible view, in which one sees the reverse of things – and that is as close as we can come to the truth.

The uncanny thing about Goethe is that he is not only an Olympian, but – among the multitudes he contains – he is also a loser. Or he understands the loser’s vision on some deep level. That seems rather unfair. This is the guy who was unkind to Lenz in his madness and tried to bar the door to Kleist. This is Mr. Cold Marble. And yet at the end of his life, he is a loser – at least by proxy – through Eckermann. 

Tool news: NYT sponsors an op ed by Yulia Tymoshenko.

Best article about contemporary Ukraine I've read. It makes a mockery of the coverage in the Western press, which is not only propaganda, but ignorant propaganda - the propagandists really have no idea what is going on. 

assassinating the forbes 400 myth, larry summers edition

Everybody is under suspicion
But you don't wanna hear about that...

It is to two economists with the American EnterpriseInstitute, Steven Kaplan and Joshua Rauh, that we owe the meme that the Forbes 400 represents the fruits of social mobility, the rewards of an essentially meritocratic society..

Kaplan and Rauh have divided the individual who find places in the Forbes 400 from 1982 to 2012 into three categories: that that come from wealthy families, those that come from upper middle class families, and those that come from working or middle class families. The claim to discern a distinct change from 1982 to 2012 – the number of individuals coming from wealthy families declines, while those from upper class families increases. Thus, there is churn at the top, due to the meritocratic structure of American capitalism.

Lets go into the ways Kaplan and Rauh are full of hooey.

A.     Granting, for the moment, that the categorization, although a bit fuzzy, does actually represent three different kinds of individuals, we have to trust Kaplan and Rauh on their judgments as to which class individuals fall. They don’t include the list of all individuals on the list – in Peter Bernstein’s book about the list, All the Money in the World, there were 1302 people on the list from 1982 to 2006, which makes it likely that there might have been fifty to one hundred more in the six years after 2006 – but instead give us representative names – which is how we know that they included Bill Gates in the upper middle class group, because his father was a well known lawyer. This tells us a lot about the laziness and bias of the authors. Even a cursory glance at the numerous profiles of Bill Gates over the years would tell you that he was endowed with a million dollar trust fund by his maternal grandfather, who owned a Seattle bank. A million dollars back in the sixties was a figure to reckon with. If one can’t trust the authors about Gates, one of the five names they mention, how are we to trust them about the rest?

B.     Of course, family money is a tricky subject. Carl Icahn definitely came from a middle class family. On the other hand, when Icahn was 32 and wanted to buy a seat on the NYSE, it was certainly convenient that he had an uncle, Elliot Schnall, who was a Palm Beach millionaire and who could loan him the money without questions.

C.     But even granting that there are meritocrats in the purest sense on the 400, like Jeff Bezos, does this prove Kaplan and Rauh’s point? By no means. Because we want to know that wealth is churning in response to meritocratic pressure from below. One of the symptoms of a vigorous churn would be the fact that few 400 figures remain on the list for long. If they do, we have evidence of wealth stratifying in a hierarchical way – wealth is just going to wealth. Go back to Jeff Bezos. He has been on the list since 1999 – giving him a stretch of 15 years. This is not unusual – as is obvious from Bernstein’s appendix in 2006. This fact should lead us to a deeper contextualization about the 400. As almost all economic histories show, between 1932 and 1979, America experienced a great leveling. It wasn’t that the wealthy went away; however, the labor and white collar wage class enjoyed incredible gains in income and opportunity. When you look at the 1982 list, you are looking at dynasts who made it through the leveling period plus that subgroup that benefited ‘meritocratically’ from oil, building, manufacturing, and real estate. In the years since, the list reflects the baby boomer years – year in which, among other things, higher education was relatively cheap and available for the ambitious. We have now reached the period when that group is going into its sixties, and the wealth is definitely settling into place. Along with the perrenial dynasts, there are the long timers  – people who have been on the list 15 years or more – who need to be broken out.

D.     As well, it is unclear from Kaplan and Rauh’s charts if they double count these perennials. If Bezos is counted, each time, as coming from the wage class in their compilation – rather than once, when he entered the list – they are making an elementary error. I suspect they make it. I suspect they know that they are making it. I suspect that they are working for the American Enterprise institute.

E.      However, the larger criticism concerning how well the 400 represents dynastic wealth. In fact, the very framework seems to occlude it. In 1987, CBS news reported that, curiously, there was not a Dupont on the list, even though the Dupont family was worth an estimated 10 billion dollars. CBS resolved this anomoly by pointing out that if each of the 1500 Dupont relatives got a share of that money it would come to 5 million apiece. However, this is a deeply misleading. The Dupont fortune operates as a unified entity through family trusts. As an entity, it is as unified as the ‘Gates’ entity. In a list of individuals going from 1982, sheer mortality and reproduction would naturally diminish the part of the inheritors, but this would not really give us an idea of how much money is under dynastic control. In 1937, a journalist named Lundberg published a book about America’s wealthy dynasties, and the names in it seem foreign to us, who are used to reading about tech barons and hedgefunders. But those families rarely lose their money. The Pitcairns, for instance, who started PPG, have a private family investment fund in which all the family participates. Individually, they would not be on the list, but as an entity, it is a good bet they would be. The same is true for the Weyhaeusers. There are many many families like this.

Forbes recognizes this in other lists – for instance, they simply amalgamate all the Walton wealth into Walton Family on their world billionaires list. But they are very inconsistent about it in the 400 lists. Sometimes children and spouses appear separately, sometimes they don’t.

For all these reasons, Kaplan and Rauh’s 400 proof is a farce. A farce that, I should say, is easily seen through. One doesn’t have to go through some complicated mathematical proof, one simply has to apply elementary social science reasoning. It is the kind of thing that is dogfood for the dogs, rightwing columnists who can wave the paper about and claim to have refuted the socialists and Stalinists once and for all. Only mooks would fall for it.

This is, of course, why it gets an honored place in LarrySummers’ review of Thomas Piketty’s Capital.  Summers, Obama’s favorite economist, the man who design the Clinton era deregulatory architecture – or should I say, instead,  wrecked regulation of the financial markets and helped midwife the depression?  - inserts the following paragraph in gesturing towards other evidence that American wealth is not becoming so unequal:

“A brief look at the Forbes 400 list also provides only limited support for Piketty’s ideas that fortunes are patiently accumulated through reinvestment. When Forbes compared its list of the wealthiest Americans in 1982 and 2012, it found that less than one tenth of the 1982 list was still on the list in 2012, despite the fact that a significant majority of members of the 1982 list would have qualified for the 2012 list if they had accumulated wealth at a real rate of even 4 percent a year. They did not, given pressures to spend, donate, or misinvest their wealth. In a similar vein, the data also indicate, contra Piketty, that the share of the Forbes 400 who inherited their wealth is in sharp decline.”

A brief look here can be defined as the look one gives the index card on which one has copied some “happy facts” to share with the assembled plutocrats at one of Summers $50,000  talks. It is the index card that has the orange sauce from the duck on the corner.

I am not shocked that Summers would publish something this stupid. It is not that Summers is a stupid man – he is, mainly, an “insider” – someone who knows how to “play” in DC, as he famously told Elisabeth Warren.  In the economics profession, Summers is widely regarded as a genius. This says less about the elevation of his intellect than the shallowness of his field – a molehill is an Everest to a herd of aphids.

Like the overwhelming majority of economists, Summers isn’t very good in thinking in broad terms, or understanding the economy and what it is for. He is perpetually like a man standing with his nose three inches from a pointillist painting – he can see all the dots in detail, but he can’t see or imagine the picture. This is fortunate for him – economics is the handmaiden of the plutocrats, and those who step back and begin to see the picture are soon quietly sidelined.