When the Idealistic Go Ballistic

[Kyle Desmond]

AMERICA LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT: A FAIRIE TALE, Vitriol by Dr. Donald L. Mabbott

BY ADMIN, ON FEBRUARY 1ST, 2011

Once upon a time, there was an American president that ran on a platform of Transparency, Hope, and Change. His slogan was, “Yes We Can!”

Well wouldn’t ya know it?

He won.

Like all presidents, he knew it would take a lot of back room deals, playing politics, and hard handshakes to make it to The Oval Office. He made some promises, made some allegiances, and made some enemies. What most of the folks who shook his hand, made a deal, and patted him on the back didn’t know, however, is that this president was a magic president. He had magical powers, a magical wife, and a deep, deep secret that he only shared with his closest friends and advisors.

“I’ll give these people just two years to pull their collective head outta their shorts,” he said through a cloud of swirling magic smoke, “Then I’m goin’ in!” By the way, Nancy? Yeah, you might lose your job before that happens, sorry.”

“That’s cool, boss. ‘Greater good’ and all that, but what exactly do you mean by “going in?” the former Speaker replied.

At that, the president’s magical wife entered the room and her eyes seemed to spark the moment she laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder. He took another long pull off his Magic Marlboro Light, and blew a bluish cloud into the air around his wingback chair. From it, a marbled image of Plato appeared. “It is our job to lead, and we will lead them to the light,” he said calmly.

He then outlined the most fantastical of plans. He said that it was now clear that he would be fought at every turn to bring transparency, change, and hope to the people of the land, and drastic measures would now ensue. “We will close the borders on land, sea and air,” he said. “All the factories that have closed down will be reopened to manufacture all the goods that we have been buying from other countries. All the farms forced out of business by the conglomerates will retool, replant and be charged with the task of growing any food that we have been importing. Oh yeah, all subsidies are hereby cancelled as well. All the ports, borders and shipping lanes will be guarded by the military to make sure this happens.”

Biden and Pelosi looked on with wonder, but Obama anticipated their next question.

“All soldiers stationed in other lands will be brought home to a hero’s welcome. We will immediately go to Defcon 4, rearm our nuclear weapons, and threaten to bomb the crap out of anybody that puts up a fuss.”

A purring sound started to come from the back of the first lady’s throat, and Biden’s smile spread to inhuman proportions.

“Next, we round up all the guns. We’ll offer every family a full ride scholarship to the college of their choice for all their children in exchange for all their weapons. The folks that give us the ol’ ‘from my cold, dead hand’ routine will be unceremoniously executed. We will wait for their bodies to cool so we can oblige their last wish, then we’ll offer the family our terms again.”

As if she knew the answer already, Pelosi asked, “What about militias?”

“Good question. I’m not big on militias. How 'bout it Joe?”

“I say we smoke ‘em out and send ‘em to GitMo for reprogramming!” Biden said with a steely tone.

“Good. Get ‘er done.”

“Then what, chief?”

“Then we go after the prisons. Fat cats have been getting rich on the backs of immigrants and people of color long enough.”

“Amen,” Michelle cooed. “Tell ‘em what we’re gonna do mister secretary.

Mysteriously, a man in a suit appeared at the president’s other shoulder.

“Hello Arne,” Pelosi said.

U.S. Secretary of Education Arne Duncan smiled like he had a secret, too.

“Hello Nancy, Mr. President, Joe. Thank you Michelle. We’re going to shift all current prison labor to sectors in their particular region riddled with unemployment. The prisoners are going to earn their keep by building another structure near the prison site, a school. This school will be responsible for retraining prisoners to be active, positive, pluralistic citizens and give them a trade with which they can earn an honest living, perhaps in one of the factories you spoke of Mr. President.”

“Call me Barack! Please!” the president said with equal parts humility and respect. “Go on.”

“Each man or woman who completes the training, Barack, will be fully reinstated with citizen’s rights, and be eligible to vote and attain public service IF they need it.”

“…and when the prisons are empty?” asked Pelosi.

“We’ll convert ‘em all to more factories, schools, libraries, low income housing, tailored to fit whatever the area needs most.”

“Hold on a second…” Biden interrupted, contemplatively. “What was that word you just said, Arne? Turning schools into, plura-something?”

“Pluralistic? Yeah, The way we look at it, The US Department of Education has been at the bottom of the priority heap long enough! We’ve provided this country with a constant flow of soldiers, criminals, and consumers for the past 100 years and what did it get us? A generation of freakin’ zombies.” Duncan pulled a big graph outta nowhere with a jagged blue line starting at the top, heading down, and a red jagged line starting at the bottom, heading up. “Why do we have to be the country constantly pickin’ fights with the world and borrowin’ money from everybody on the block? Other countries are full of people willing to buy mass-produced goods. We figure it’ll take about 50 years to change us from a country of obese, hostile, dumb fucks back into the goddamned light of the free world we were meant to be!”

“Okay, Arne," Biden interrupted. But I think I was lookin' for a breakdown of pluralism, buddy?”

“Oh yeah, sorry. I get a little excited." Duncan cooled. "This is our only shot at this… ‘Ahem,’ Harvard has been playing with the idea of religious pluralism for years, and researcher Dr. Colleen Capper has authored a book on how to bring pluralism back to America’s schools.”

“Back? Pelosi said. “How so?”

“Well, ya know that big copper statue we got out in New York Harbor?”

“Lady Liberty,” said another voice emerging from behind the president’s chair.

“Hillary! Glad you could join us!” said the president without looking up.

Mrs. Clinton grabbed both of Biden’s hands in hers and addressed the group.

“We’ve done a disservice to her message far too long. If we’re gonna open our arms and offer the torch of freedom to the world, we need to stop commodifying human beings within our own borders and across the globe. The soldiers, criminals, and consumers Arne spoke of, are a direct product of the intentional, institutionalized, and system-wide dumbing-down our population has suffered since the turn of the century. Pluralism, simply put, would be a return to listening to every voice in every community, an embrace of—rather than the myth of—the melting pot, a determined effort to honor and celebrate every race, creed and culture that graces our shores.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Madame Secretary,” Duncan said.

“What’s our first step?” Obama asked to no one in particular. He dusted out a smoke into the ashtray, stretched, and waited for a reply.

“I say we start with parents,” Biden said.

“Hmmm…Say more on that, Joe.” Obama said, rubbing the back of his own neck.

“Well, we can’t adopt pluralism in our schools without total buy-in from parents.”

“We can’t change learning without adapting the culture,” added Clinton.

“What about a tax incentive across income brackets for new parents to attend, say, online courses in pluralism? Set a deadline, and give schools across the nation a chance to retool, train and reset learning expectations based on community input and cultural competency!?” Duncan chimed in.

“Excellent!” The president stood, stretched, rubbed his eyes and started shaking hands all around. “Why don’t you folks debrief, take a week to come up with a game plan, and get back to me?”

He threw his jacket over his shoulder; he and Michelle started toward the door arm-in-arm. They turned to face the group and said, “No more Mr. Nice Guy.”

“Fuckin’-A Right!” Biden said.

 

– Dr. Donald L. Mabbott

[Micro.Theater]