Ordinary Obsessions

by Tom Corbett

  Karen looked at Chris, then Amar, and then back at Chris. “Okay, one more time. Why is Kat so hot to get you back there? I mean, I have heard some of the stuff about your father but, frankly, that just sounds like an eccentric old fool playing politics. You have more than your share of political nut jobs in America, it must be something in the water. What makes him different?”

  Ricky had been holding back. “Perhaps it is time for me to chime in. Kat sent me in to nail down this deal, and to give me an opportunity to check on my pet interests at ISO.” He was about to continue when something in the distance caught his eye. “Ah, I see that the prodigal daughter has arrived.”

  Azita made her way to their table dripping wet. “Forgot my umbrella again. Some English woman I am, cannot remember a bloody umbrella.”

  “How is my love?” Karen asked.

  “Good now. She is sleeping. Was getting another headache but they are not nearly as severe anymore. And as you might see for yourself, her cognitive abilities are much better now. I can tell because she is giving me much grief. You can still see some short-term cognitive lapses, but they also are getting rare. All good.” She lapsed into silence as if her mind was elsewhere.

  “Well Azita,” Karen said with enthusiasm. “you have been an angel, a healing angel.”

  “Nothing special. She is my sister.” Again, a lapse into silence. People looked at her, a bit perplexed but lacked any specific reason to ask what might have been wrong.

  Ricky broke the ensuing vacuum. “Okay, I was about to give the spiel on why we need this miracle worker back home for a while. By home I mean America.”

  “Go for it,” Karen urged him on. “I am not at all convinced.”

  “My wife, his good sister, and I have been hammering away on Chris about this for weeks now but here is a very abridged and selective version. You have all heard of boy wonder here,” Ricky nodded in the direction of his old friend, “and his discourse at great length about the long decline of the American state. Hell, I recorded one of his monologues and still use it as a very effective sleeping aid…”

  “Doing one helluva job of sealing the deal here,” Chris said and smiled.

  “My turn fella,” Ricky responded, and plowed on. “We all should have listened carefully since, though I am loath to admit this, he has been right all along. In fact, his seemingly bottomless cynicism may not be deep enough. The election of Obama was, for a black man like me, a miracle. Growing up in a tough Chicago ghetto, I never in a million years thought an African-American would hold the highest public position in the world. And I knew him, from his days as a community organizer. Well, not as a friend but I met him on occasion when I was a mere lad. But here is the thing, millions of other Americans were as equally taken with his election, and not in a good way. This gentle and wise man stoked the worst possible fears and paranoia throughout the land but especially in the deep red states.”

  “This is common knowledge,” Kay inserted. “What is the point?”

  “Has anyone else noted that the Crawfords are an impatient lot? Freud says that is due to early, and unsuccessful, potty training. But I continue undeterred. Obama stirred up the seething rabble that have always been there. But it was also a signal that the time was right to strike the final blow for the slow but inexorable right-wing coup that has been decades in the making. And I hope neither of the idiot Crawford twins asks what a coup is? I will get there.”

  “Before my nap time, I hope.” Chris made a snoring sound.

  Ricky threw yet another pretzel at him and continued. “Several things raised the hopes of the far right. Obama inflamed ancient racial hatreds. Their long-term campaign to marginalize labor and redistribute wealth to the top of the pyramid was proving more successful than they had imagined. By 2007, the one-percent was getting as much of the economic pie as they were getting in 1928, just before the big crash. The financial crisis eroded that a bit but now they are determined to shift everything permanently in their favor. In a generation or two, they had been successful in building a political infrastructure across media, both social and conventional, and all the other institutions that count: education, the courts, mainstream religious groups, think tanks and lobbyists, you name it. They even had managed to replace the necessary ‘ism’ needed to keep the common folk afraid after the communists committed the unpardonable sin of imploding. How convenient that a small segment of the billion-plus Muslims chose to act like our evangelical Christian nutcases. I mean, don’t you sit up at night worrying that sharia law will replace the constitution next week or that Obama will sweep in with the blue U.N. tanks to get everyone’s guns? The conservative base obsesses about such fantasies even as toddlers kill more Americans every year through gun accidents than Islamic terrorists could dream of knocking off. And if the Islamic terrorists are not cooperating by attacking America again, don’t worry. Look at this Trump character, beating the bushes about hordes of immigrants endangering our women and children. He may be a joke, but his fear tactics are not. Bottom line, the forces of the right sense that they are poised to make the final blow to democracy.”

  “Sounds like you have been reading too many political thrillers,” Karen said and smirked. “Who are ‘they’ again?”

  “It is not the America-first nativists nor your garden-variety racists. They are merely the dupes. It is the usual gang of economic plutocrats that have yearned for total control forever. Remember J.P. Morgan and his gang from the gilded age? Well, think of the current crowd as their ideological descendants but with more tools to exercise total control at their disposal. They absolutely hate democracy and are captured by the ancient notion of a group born to dominate and rule, though not so much in the classic Nazi Aryan sense. The new plutocracy is global and defined by wealth and power. They are yellow and brown though none of my tribe as far as we can tell. Some of the names are very public while others, like the Russian oligarchs, Asian tycoons, and European bankers are more invisible but together they have virtually unlimited resources and a common purpose. What is the common trope, a few dozen families have more wealth than half the world? Listen, they may have many differences among themselves, but they have one common vision - to undo the vestiges of the great, global experiment in Western democracy and replace it with an oligarchic control even if the appearance of some participation remains. While some of these men, and a few women, hate a good deal of science since it is based on evidence, they do see things emerging that they potentially love. They would love to harness the power of artificial intelligence to control the masses more effectively, ever hear of Michal Kosinski?

  “Who?” Karen asked.

  “No matter, a tangent. These men see what is called a window of opportunity. Putin and Dmitry Medvedev are in control of the Kremlin, Xi Jinping controls China, the European Union is under strain with Britain wanting out, and America is on the verge of becoming a permanent right-wing plutocracy. They can feel it. Now, the natural question is how can a small minority, tiny really, control electoral outcomes, no matter how much they spend? The answer to that would take the remainder of the afternoon but, believe me, the right is doing everything hey can to short-circuit what remains of American democracy. Think about this - ever wonder about the insides of voting machines, how easy it would be to manipulate them? My point is that they just need to tip the executive and they will have total control of what is still the most powerful nation on earth. Just think about what is at stake for them. Take one obvious example. How can the Koch brothers hold back those wanting to respond to global warming and the need to end our reliance on fossil fuels? The reason is clear: the worth of their financial empire is based largely, though certainly not totally, on the presumed value of oil and gas and other such reserves that have yet been tapped. What if we no longer need them? Hundreds of billions of dollars of assets become worthless since they have no intrinsic value without a demand for them. They are what we business types now call ‘stranded assets.’ These people do not like to lose. People kill ov
er a pair of Nike shoes. These people are worse, they are stone cold sociopaths. I know some of them, at least I have met a few. You would never want to turn your back to them. You would spend the remainder of your day trying to extract the knife stuck between your shoulders.”

  “But what can you do about this, what could Chris do?” It was Amar who spoke, looking pained.

  Ricky lost a bit of his animation, either by her question or her expression. “I am not sure. Neither is Kat. I will say one thing: there is something about the Crawford clan. They have passion. No, let me correct that, they can entertain some serious obsessions. Kat’s interest was first piqued by what she heard through the shenanigans of her father. We all knew the public story, but she was further drawn in by what she heard from some investigative work by my sister, Jules, and tidbits from Beverly, who remained in touch with the patriarch, as we call Charles. Then she hired some whizzes who started plumbing the dark reaches of the internet and various data sources. They are uncovering more all the time, they briefed Chris earlier. By the way, why does Charles trust her?” Ricky looked at both Kay and Chris.

  “Beats me,” Kay offered, “I didn’t think he trusted God.”

  Chris spoke uncertainly, as if his mind were elsewhere. “I can’t be sure. Maybe he wants to hold on to one member of the family, even if she is only connected through marriage. Could be he is making amends for his treatment of Chuck. No, that would imply he has a soul. My best guess, and this makes more sense to me, he is using Beverly to spread misinformation to us, or believes he is. My guess is that he knows what we are up to, or at least what we are likely thinking about.”

  “Shit,” Ricky interjected. “why hadn’t that occurred to me? Could Bev really be working for him?”

  “Oh, no, never,” Chris interrupted. Then he paused for a moment as if collecting a thought. “I have been getting a lot of information about this in recent weeks. But something Ricky said gave me a thought.” Karen opened her mouth but decided against her own witticism. “This potential oligarchy, if you will, is a bit like the old Mafia Commission. They are seemingly cooperative but really are deadly rivals. They will work together to defeat a common enemy, everyone who believes in social justice, opportunity for all, and full participation in society. After all, they are the elect, the realization of Ayn Rand’s superior man, or Nietzsche’s superhero. But, once that victory is theirs, they shall turn on one another. Something Father let slip stayed with me, that we cannot let the Chinese win. This is one titanic battle that he will lose, Father will be on the wrong side. In the end, I suspect the Asians will prevail which will come as a shock to the white supremacists in the cabal.”

  “And the reason?” Karen asked.

  “Not hard to see. Look at the evidence right now. China is working on renewable energy. They are investing in the future, in science, and in infrastructure. They will be way ahead of us in technology and artificial intelligence within a decade. It so reminds me of the Japanese after they opened to the West in the late 1800s. They had been a feudal society, backward in technology. Suddenly, they changed course and flooded westward, absorbed all they could, and went on to modernize in a generation. The world was shocked when they defeated the Russian naval forces, in 1906 I believe it was. I ran across a European golf tournament on television recently, from China. It was being played in a city I had never heard of, but which Ricky had mentioned to me, so I paid attention. The commentator mentioned how this place had been a small fishing village in the late 1970s, just a few thousand people. The central government decided to make it a primary commercial area. They showed shots of the city skyline in the distance. It is a stunningly modern city of well over twelve million souls with gleaming buildings that would put any American counterpart to shame. Hell, America cannot even fix its goddamn bridges and roads and the Chinese built the equivalent of a New York in a generation or two.”

  Amar spoke again, softly. “But what can Chris do?”

  “None of us are sure,” Ricky offered. “I think our feeling is that, if we don’t do something, we risk enormous guilting in the future. You know, if not us then who? Our kids and grandkids will look at us and ask, what did you do when there was still a chance to resist? Besides, it won’t be just Chris, or Kat and me. There are other wealthy individuals who have not gone over to the dark side. We are talking among ourselves. Damn, I hate to say this in public, but we need someone like Chris.”

  “Why, for heaven’s sake?” Karen’s face was screwed up with incredulity.

  “Why did you even ask? Isn’t it obvious? He has charisma, and he is known among the liberal elite. They actually trust him.”

  “Bollocks!” Karen shouted a bit too loudly. “I thought the liberal elite would have some sense.”

  “I am afraid Ricky is right, Karen. There has never been any accounting for taste,” Kay added. “One last question - which of the unsavory crowd of Republican candidates are the purveyors of evil embracing?”

  Ricky smiled for the first time, but grimly. “They apparently are divided. Some want a known nutcase like Cruz. A few yet believe they need someone mainstream like Jeb, but that approach is not gaining much traction. In fact, I think the centrists, what remains of sanity among Republicans, are totally dead. Until that is finally determined, though, they are holding their fire other than the steady drumbeat of anti-Hillary BS. It is freaking amazing how gullible most Americans are. And backward - there is still a lot of misogyny around.”

  “It is amazing,” added Chris. “We had Gandhi, Indira that is, in India, Bhutto in Pakistan, that one in Sri Lanka whose name I can never remember, not to mention Meir in Israel. Now we have Merkel in Germany and May right here. But America still asks whether a woman can lead. No wonder I left. That crowd is so provincial and backward.”

  “The real problem is that a quarter-century of vile attacks have the common folk believing she is evil incarnate. That success buoys the right that the big lie still works. It worked for Goebbels, no need to think the Americans are any smarter, they surely are not.” Ricky shook his head as he finished.

  “And Trump?” Kay asked.

  “No one thinks anyone that damaged and obnoxious has a chance but…”

  “Then again,” Chris mused, “the political pros cannot completely control their own party. Once the passions of the base are inflamed, it could get away from them. Even the hard-right players behind the scenes are not in total control yet. If he does pull off this miracle by getting nominated, we will see. They probably assume they can control him. After all, he is dumber than dirt, the whole business community knows that. But that makes him dangerous. He is in the pocket of the Russians, he owes them large. And he is a malignant narcissist. I can see him being swept up by the rabid dogs of his base, pushing him ever further into bat-shit crazy land as he strives to sustain their adulation. And I certainly can see him believing his own delusions of grandeur. Even I don’t believe I am as great as others say I am.”

  “Who in God’s name has ever said you were great?” Kay tried to lighten things. “Those voices in your head?”

  Chris ignored her. “Trump hungers for adoration and approval, he could never admit doubt or failure. He is the sort of megalomaniac that will never listen to wise counsel. He easily could go rogue if it keeps getting him attention. I can see it now. The more aggressive and bizarre he gets, the more rabidly devoted his base becomes. It will be a death spiral for what remains as reasoned governance back in the States.”

  At this point, silence reigned. Then, Amar spoke. “Azita, you have been very silent. Hope you are not obsessing about a forgotten umbrella.”

  “No,” her daughter responded slowly, “I am suffering from an endorphin imbalance.” Amar betrayed an understanding while the others looked at her with a hint of confusion. “It is true, I am thinking about something else. I ran into…a friend on the way over. But you are discussing important things, my thoughts are nothing.”

  “No,” Karen half-shouted. “Save us from thi
s political babble.”

  When everyone continued to look at her, Azita decided to go on. “He reminded me of something very important, this friend. Our families, his parents and my biological folks that is, both were much alike. Each had some very difficult decisions to make, decisions that involved great risk. But through it all they remained together, they loved one another unconditionally. I love my family, this family. I also know what it means to be committed to ideals. You cannot live in an authoritarian regime and not come out of that experience without scars. In the end, people do count, and people should have the right to find their own destinies. I would never want any child of mine to ask what I did when all was on the line and have nothing to say in response.”

  Amar let out a tiny sound. All looked at her, but she said nothing. She merely reached out to take her daughter’s hand. They looked at one another and arrived at an unspoken agreement between them. Amar softly broke what seemed like a long silence. “I suspect my daughter and I will be going to America next year.”

  “Well then, I am not the brightest bulb in this room, but I know when I have lost,” Karen exclaimed with a kind of finality. “I had thought of all kinds of arguments I was going to throw out on the table. Hell, I was even going to say nice things about Chris, how indispensable he is to ISO and to me. You must know how much admitting that would kill me, or at least require a dash to the loo to barf. But I cannot argue with this young lady. So, let us order another round of drinks. This relocation won’t happen for some time yet, but it is never too early to start planning how we are going to handle things from the two sides of the pond.”