I think I have found the magic number. Every fifth article from Mark Morford is so brilliant, insightful, and articulate that I need to post most, if not all, of it here for my readers. Today is the day for another.
In one fell swoop, Mark has managed to hit on a whole bunch of my favourite subjects: the environment, structure driving behaviour, adaptation, complex system effects, social policy, cultural behaviour, global policy....he has hit it all.
The archive of his writings can be found
here. The current article is below:
No wait, not six. To hell with
that. Make it 10. Ten bucks a gallon, no matter what the going rate for
a barrel of light sweet crude. That would so completely, violently,
brilliantly do it. Revolutionize the country. Firebomb our pungent
stasis. Change everything. Don't you agree?
Here's what we could do: Give gas discounts to cab drivers (at
least initially) and metro transit systems and low-income folks, those
who have to drive their busted-up '78 Honda Civics to their jobs
scrubbing restaurant toilets and flipping burgers and vacuuming the
residual cocaine from the seat cushions of numb SUV owners. Everyone
else, 10 bucks a gallon, across the board. Eleven for premium.
It would take some finessing. Maybe also give a price break to
some truckers and trucking companies (so vital to the overall economy),
but not so much to global delivery companies (FedEx, DSL et al.),
because not doing so would force them to raise shipping rates and force
you (and me) to reconsider buying everything online and hence will
encourage you to shop locally once again, thus reviving a stagnant
local economy.
Voilá -- gas crisis, oil crisis, warmongering agenda,
pollution issues, road rage, traffic congestion, urban decay, oil
profiteering -- all completely almost totally somewhat solved. Or at
the very least, dramatically, gloriously shifted toward ... I don't
know what. Something better. Something more humane, less greedy, more
sustainable. Could it work? How outraged and indignant would you be to
have to pay that much for gas? How long would that feeling last?
Take it one logical step further. Set up a national system
whereby if you want to buy a vehicle that gets less than 20 mpg in the
city, you pay a $1,000 Global Warming Surcharge and that money goes
straight to a local organic farm, or school, or environmental think
tank. And if it gets under 12 mpg, make it three grand, plus a slap to
your face from a small, angry child. Got yourself a shiny new Hummer?
You pay five grand extra, you can only buy gas once a month and all the
truly beautiful women of the world will shun you like Charlie Sheen (oh wait, that already happens). See? Revolution is easy.
What, too far fetched? Too implausible? Not at all. Sure, 10
bucks a gallon would be extremely painful for a while. Citizens would
wail. Commuters would scream and stomp and die. But then we would do
what we always do. We would evolve. Adapt. Systems would quickly
transform, habits would instantly shift. It would be easier to
implement than the goddamn mess that is Medicare reform, far easier
than Lots of Children Left Behind, more viable and livable than the
toxic existence of Homeland Security and the disgusting Patriot Act.
But of course such an idea is also, right now, absolutely
impossible. It will never happen -- not 10 bucks, not six, not even a
buck more per gallon -- and not just because no politician anywhere on
either side of the aisle has the nerve to come out and suggest that
Americans might actually need to drive less and conserve and make a
change in their gluttonous habits. This is, of course, absolute death
for a politician. Tell Americans what to do? Dare to suggest that
they're doing something wrong, or that their behaviors are dangerous
and destructive and irresponsible? Are you insane? This is America!
We're flawless!
No, the primary reason such reform won't happen is because,
simply put, we are the most entitled nation in the world, perhaps in
the entire galaxy. Americans are trained from birth to believe we
deserve as much as we desire of every exploitable resource on the
planet, be it water or natural gas or oil, coal or salmon or steaks,
Big Macs or diapers or iPods or bizarre varieties of blue ketchup. It is, in a word, perilous. It is also, in another, slightly more devastating word, our downfall.
Look, I adore cars. I adore driving and I cherish open roads and
smooth horsepower and a musical exhaust note and I fully believe most
German automotive engineers should be sent gifts of candy and Peet's
coffee and porn. I would, like most everyone else, be absolutely loathe
to give much of it up.
But you know what? Big freaking deal. I could learn to live
without so much. I like to think I would be able to step back and see
the bigger picture, realize what is and isn't absolutely essential,
what does and does not absolutely define my identity and my life,
modify accordingly and laugh/shrug/sigh it off in the process. In other
words, I could make it work. And so could you.
Ever been in a citywide blackout? One that lasted for more
than a few hours and stretched on into the night? Ever see people
suddenly shift gears and become astoundingly helpful and polite and
sharing? Happens in a matter of moments. Disasters do it. Katrina did
it, on a scale we haven't seen in years. Sept. 11 did it, emotionally
speaking, before BushCo whored that tragedy and turned it into the most
vile political poker chip in American history. Shocking change brings
people together. Brings out the best in humans. Or at least, makes you
rethink what's truly important in your life.
Another example: You know what would happen if guns -- all
guns, everywhere -- were banned outright tomorrow? Well, right off,
nothing much. Criminals would still commit crimes. Lawsuits would
skyrocket. The NRA would shoot itself in the face in screaming protest.
Crime rates would dance all over the map. It would be a little ugly.
But then something remarkable would happen. Over a short blip
of time -- say about 10 or 20 years, as gun manufacturing ceased and
the culture of gun violence died down and our favorite death object was
less visible in the news and in video games and on TV and in every
aspect of modern life, well, guess what? Guns would begin to disappear.
From the culture, from the drug dealers, from the streets, from public
consciousness. They would turn into a sad relic, like eight-track
tapes, like the bubonic plague, like the Miami Sound Machine. Think 20
years is too long? BS. It is but an eyeblink, a twitch, a faint toe
spasm in the great long orgasm of time.
This is the unappreciated, under-reported magic of the human
animal. We are infinitely adaptable. We can accommodate far more than
politicians and pundits and the morally knotted Christian right would
ever have you believe.
Ten bucks a gallon. Imagine the mad scramble by carmakers to
invent new ultra-gas-sipping, enviro-friendly technologies. Imagine
communities coming together for ride-sharing and mass transit. Bike
sales would skyrocket. Walking shoes would be the new bling item. We
would mourn the loss of cool car culture even as we celebrated the
birth of, say, moped culture. Telecommuting would explode. Sure, the
superrich would still tool around in their bloated Escalades, oblivious
to the world around them, thinkin' the world is their dumb bitch.
So what? The rest of us can simply roll our eyes and laugh,
evolve and sharpen and sigh, and wonder what great change we can embark
upon next.