Tales of Turf-N-Serf: The Low-Down on Trickle-Down

(Notes from the cephalopod:  This post is revised and updated from an earlier article to reflect current
macroeconomic data.  I intend to repost this article before election day and every election cycle thereafter.

As always, your comments, feedback and suggestions for improvement are always welcome.)

Supply-side macroeconomics, also known as trickle-down economics, has dominated our national debate for the better part of 35 years.  In theory, proponents argue, high taxes and burdensome regulations raise the cost of  business and drag down the economy.  Once relieved of these burdens,  more products and services at lower prices will attract consumers and unleash the engines of economic growth; hence the term ‘supply-side.’

No empirical evidence supports this view. In practice, consumers do not spend money unless they have discretionary cash in their pockets, and suppliers have no incentive to raise output when consumers have no money to spend. Furthermore, lower prices do not always reach consumers when businesses choose profit-taking over investment. In the real world, wealth does not trickle down from the top. Rather, the middle classes create wealth from within when they are prosperous and upwardly mobile.

In the pseudo-mathematics of supply-side theory -- where subtraction equals addition -- the privileges of a few justify the impoverishment of the many. The dark side of supply-side is confirmed in these trends of the past 30 years:

Median incomes are 12 percent lower than a generation ago.  The marginal propensity to save has vanished as middle-class families struggle with rising costs.  Debt has nearly doubled; bankruptcies are up twofold.  The economy has become an inverted pyramid where billionaires are taxed at lower marginal rates than teachers, and a privileged business class has won a disproportionate share of new wealth.

The result is an inequality bubble unseen since the Gilded Age. By all accounts, supply-side is the modern analogue of a medieval master-serf relationship; yet, it gives political cover to legislators and paid lackeys who argue the case on behalf of their wealthy benefactors.  Not a word on the evening news, but we see it everyday in our communities.

Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day

Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way

Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be

Oh, Monday, Monday, how could you leave and not take me?

For some reason, everyone in my neighborhood prefers to take off weekends and mow their lawns on Monday.  Why every Monday but not Tuesday, you ask?  Bizarre, I admit. Perhaps it just turns out that way.

Good lawnmowers make good neighbors.  We keep up appearances and keep peace in the neighborhood.  Witness this daily exchange every time neighbors meet at the mailbox:

“Good morning, Mr. Briggs. How are you today?”

“Mighty fine, Mr. Stratton. And yourself?”

We mow our lawns on Monday but not always in the same way.  Some of us cut grass in straight parallel lines, while others tend to meander or zigzag around our yards. Folks of different strokes are good as long as the grass is cut, and everyone knows:  Good lawnmowers make good neighbors.  We keep up appearances and keep peace in the neighborhood … until something strange happened one day.

Exactly how it happened or when it happened, no one knows for sure … but assuredly it happened.  Lampposts, Manhole Covers, and Utility Poles won the right to be treated as legal persons. Then they secured easements that granted them special rights and privileges.

You would think homeowners in the neighborhood would find common ground and unite in common cause.  Oh no!  The Lampposts -- in league with Manhole Covers and Utility Poles -- started a PR campaign that forewarned the homeowners on Magnolia Street to beware the residents of Hawthorn and Dogwood, who sneer at the folks on Elm and jeer the good citizens on Elder.

The Lampposts convinced the homeowners on Magnolia to love the neighborhood more than the neighbors who dwell on Hawthorn, Dogwood, Elm, or Elder – all of whom no longer look like, act like, or talk like real neighbors, they claim.

In short order, the Manhole Covers demanded a tax cut.  As Job Creators, they claimed, tax cuts for Manhole Covers means more jobs in the neighborhood (although no job that has ever fallen into an open manhole has ever been seen again).

Unfortunately, tax cuts for Manhole Covers has meant less revenue for our town. To close the budget gap, Utility Poles voted to cut services, lay off workers, and raise the consumption tax on lawnmowers. Cutting grass, they insist, no longer levels the playing field, and lawnmowers have no right to complain. Irate lawnmowers are waging class warfare on Lampposts and Manhole Covers, they explain.

Meanwhile, the Lampposts and Utility Poles say: “If senior citizens living on Elder lose their healthcare or pension benefits, they should consider themselves empowered.” To further humiliate the jobless, Manhole Covers claim unemployment benefits kill the incentive to work.

Legal but non-living persons now rule the neighborhood.  They never created a single job but reserve the right to trample on our bushes and shine flashlights into our bedroom windows at night.

Years ago, when a Lamppost burned out, a service truck came to the neighborhood and replaced a bulb. This year, the Lampposts say: “Buy your own bulb and replace it yourself.” Then they demand a bonus, a pay raise, and another tax cut. Last year, the Lampposts traded in their service truck for a Jaguar. This year, their Jaguar morphed into a Rolls Royce.

The situation has set homeowner against homeowner, and these non-living entities are ruining our community.  Today, you can hardly tell the difference between a Lamppost versus a real person anymore.

Meanwhile, the neighborhood mood has turned ugly.  Everywhere you see: Weeds taller than Utility Poles, crabgrass, hardship, and resentful neighbors no longer talking to neighbors. If there are lessons to be learned, forget the Lampposts, Manhole Covers, and Utility Poles.  Forget the polemics and dog whistles. How I yearn for the smell of fresh cut grass, E Pluribus Unum, and friendly neighbors exchanging friendly greetings at the mailbox again.

Monday morning couldn't guarantee

That Monday evening you’d still be here with me.

Reminder:  Tomorrow is Tuesday, the day we bring our trash to the curb.