Showdown in the Economy of Good and Evil

by Jarl Jensen

  Showdown

  in the Economy

  of Good and Evil

  By Jarl Jensen

  Text Copyright © 2019 Jarl Jensen

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN:

  Dedication

  This book was written with the best of intentions for my wife Susan and the future for my kids, Grace, Hugh & Finn and the future for all of us. The world is in crisis, but there is a solution that nobody is talking about. Debt is running amok on global, national, corporate, and personal levels. Governing has become impossible, as spending has to be rationalized for even the most human purposes. Corporations have to lay off staff to compete in a global economy. People have to cut back their spending to pay for school debt, mortgages, and credit card bills. Trade used to build peace, but now we talk about trade wars. The United States has been in an unending war against terror with no end in sight. Mass shootings, suicides, overdoses and terror attacks are devastating the whole world. Something is fundamentally wrong with the system, and this book exposes the reader to both the problem and the solution.

  Table of Contents

  The Island: A Parable

  Chapter 1 The Van

  Chapter 2 The World’s Most Remarkable Wristwatch

  Chapter 3 The Showers

  Dylan Elan Powers The Cancer

  Chapter 4 The Kitchen

  Chapter 5 Jesus Saves

  Chapter 6 The Keys to the Universe

  Chapter 7 Money for Nothing

  Chapter 8 Jekyll Island

  Chapter 9 Tilting at Windmills

  Dylan Elan Powers The Change

  Chapter 10 That Stupid Fuckin’ Clock

  Dylan Elan Powers The Choice

  Chapter 11 Bankruptcy and Other Tragedies

  Chapter 12 Your People, My People

  Chapter 13 The Very Last Person on Earth That Nora Pastor Wanted to See

  Chapter 14 Movie Night

  Dylan Elan Powers The Trigger

  Chapter 15 Bread and Gold

  Chapter 16 Conflict Food

  Dylan Elan Powers The Diagnosis

  Chapter 17 Crying Foul

  Chapter 18 The Matrix

  Chapter 19 Messaging

  Dylan Elan Powers The Case

  Chapter 20 When Unrest Becomes Stampy

  Chapter 21 Insurgent Markets

  Chapter 22 Aftermath

  Dylan Elan Powers The Declaration of Independence

  Chapter 23 Entering the Matrix

  Dylan Elan Powers The Bread of Life

  Chapter 24 Mass

  Chapter 25 Western Omelet

  Chapter 26 The Big Solution

  The Planet: A Parable

  The Island: A Parable

  There once was an island in the middle of the Pacific, an idyllic place inhabited by a small population of several thousand extremely happy people. On this island, everyone slept late, worked a little, played with their children, took siestas with their loved ones, and then spent every evening strolling around the village, sipping wine, and listening to music with their friends.

  The islanders had an unusual way of working with each other. They did not use money. Instead, they exchanged notes that each represented one hour of work. They had decided long ago that two working hours was enough, and so everyone on the island earned two notes from every workday. The islanders would then trade the notes based on the value of one hour of work.

  Everyone accepted that the structure of this system of exchange was simple and predictable. They would use these notes to buy food, and the people who sold the food would use the extra notes they received to have that food cooked, hire someone to clean their houses, and pay for improvements to their lives. In this way, everyone exchanged the notes fairly and worked together to ensure that their happy, generally carefree existence could continue.

  One day, an American explorer arrived on his big yacht. He was immediately taken with the island’s natural beauty, but he scoffed at the meager existence of the people who lived there. “I’m a Harvard MBA,” he said, “and I can help the people of this island.”

  When the islanders pointed out that they didn’t think they needed help, he scoffed a second time.

  “You people will never have a big yacht like me,” he said. “I borrowed $100 million to pay for this luxurious paradise on the water. What you people need is a banking system that lets you borrow money so that you can buy bigger and better things.”

  When the islanders expressed confusion, he explained that the process was simple.

  “You could establish a bank, and that bank will print out more of your work notes for the promise that the borrower will pay the debt back.”

  Satisfied that he would soon change everyone’s lives for the better, the wealthy man sipped the islanders’ wine, sat back, and enjoyed the music for a moment. But then he found himself distracted by a buzzing from his satellite phone. When the American was finished with his very important call, one of the islanders approached him.

  “If a banker printed more notes,” the islander said, “then we would all have to work longer and harder because there would be a greater number of notes in circulation. Why would we want to work longer and harder?”

  The American’s laugh was big and loud—ha-ha-HAAA! “Work, my friends, will bring you joy. The more you work, the more your society can progress. For instance, all your lives would be greatly improved with a coal power plant. Of course, you can’t build a coal power plant without borrowing some money—big construction projects require debt financing—but the good news is that they don’t cost much to construct these days. Your new bank would have no trouble loaning you the notes you would need. And once the power plant is up and running, you can have electric lights and buy electronics like this cool satellite phone I have here.”

  Another islander looked sheepishly at the American. “How long would it take before we could have a coal power plant and cool satellite phones?” he asked.

  “Fifteen to twenty years,” the American replied.

  The islanders pondered this thought for a time.

  “How many people would we need to build this plant?” one of them asked.

  “A power plant is a big job,” the American said. “It’ll create so much work. Probably half of you would have new jobs working on building the plant.”

  “But then who will do all the fishing and farming and fermenting so we have food and wine to enjoy?”

  “Those who don’t work on the plant will have even more work to produce the food and wine you need.”

  “So for fifteen to twenty years, we will all have to work harder without any reward?”

  The American smiled. “Your reward will come at the end. You’ll have to deal with all the debris and pollution that comes with building a power plant, but it’s all in the name of progress. And it will all be worth it in the end.”

  “And what happens in the end?”

  “That’s the best part,” the American said with a knee-slapping laugh. “The banker in your society, along with a few others who manage to create successful businesses, will be wealthy enough to buy a yacht like mine. Then they will be able to cruise the oceans whenever they want, looking for beautiful places like this one.”

  “The banker and a few others?” one islander asked. “What about everybody else?”

  “And I’ve been wondering,” another islander cut in, “will our island still be one of those beautiful places after we build the coal power plant?”

  The American’s satellite phone rang. It was his banker. The American excused himself. “I have to get back to work,” he said. “A yacht like this doesn’t pay for itself, you know.”

 
; Chapter 1 The Van

  The value of a person is in their wants and needs, not in their wallets.

  —Justin Wolfe

  The windowless passenger van crested the hill and began its descent toward the Farm. It would arrive in less than two minutes, and then it would be all anyone could do to keep order in the place. Evan White enjoyed this part of the job almost as much as he enjoyed random nosebleeds.

  “If you might be willin’ to suffer another reminder, Mr. White,” drawled the voice, “then I’m just gonna come right out and say it. Over in the livin’ quarters, we’re still positively swimmin’ in shit.”

  Evan’s shoulders tightened in a way that made them look like an extension of his face. He had already been struggling with the same pang of anxiety he experienced every time he had to visit the machine shed, but now the tension redoubled because he knew all too well that David’s point was not meant to be figurative.

  “We could use a plumber is what I’m sayin’.”

  “Yeah, well I need a line cook,” said Nora Pastor, budding young entrepreneur, extraordinary chef, and honest-to-goodness farmer’s daughter whose words, no matter how innocuous, always seemed to make Evan blush.

  Evan blushed.

  Next to Nora slouched Laz Hammond, a transplant all the way from Seattle’s various homeless shelters. “I hate to say it,” Laz said nonetheless, “but we need a mechanic more than anything. Damn thresher is acting up again, and now is not the time for an idle machine.” His gaze was wild, for not long ago, Laz had lost his job to a million-dollar robot, an event that had fostered in him an almost religious fear of machines. Why Laz had volunteered to run the decidedly machine-laden harvest, Evan couldn’t quite understand, but against all odds, he was pretty damn good at it.

  “The harvest isn’t for another month yet,” Nora reminded. “And the restaurant won’t survive that long if we can’t improve efficiency to table.”

  “Well if you want to go jabbing your hand into that thresher, you be my guest. But I assure you that I will not be the one to lose an arm to ignorance. How’d you like that, Chef? Think maybe having to slice and dice one-handed would improve your efficiency to table?”

  Nora smiled in that radiant way of hers.

  Evan tried to ignore the déjà vu of having to endure this same old conversation for the sixth time this year. This wasn’t the first van, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Here the little group of friends would arrive every month or so, doing the same things over and over.

  While the others bickered, a soft breeze slid over the fields, feathering the wheat on either side of the gravel road on which the van was kicking up dust. Evan wanted to take comfort in the fact that at least the wheat harvest would be strong. Back home in Illinois, the farmers would’ve referred to this one as a bumper crop. Whatever they called it here in the countryside just west of Savannah, Georgia, maybe it would turn this whole flagging operation around.

  On top of the Farm itself, they already ran a farm-to-table restaurant that was hemorrhaging money, the greenhouse operated at a loss, and lately, there was talk of opening a bakery because of its high profit margins. It didn’t seem to bother anyone that the Farm didn’t have any bakers in residence. Just another go-nowhere idea that smelled a little like desperation. So maybe a healthy wheat crop would finally boost them into the black. Or maybe there would be someone—anyone—in this approaching van who could deliver a moonshot innovation that would take this weird Farm from failing experiment to exciting reality.

  Probably not.

  “You two’ve got it all wrong,” David said. “What good is a crop and the food it produces if we can’t figure out how to quit stockpilin’ the by-product?”

  Everyone, even Evan, paused to glance sidelong at David, who looked pleased with himself, as always.

  No, this was not Illinois. Gone were Evan’s comforts of knowing his place in the world. Less than a year ago, he’d been a grad student at Northwestern’s renowned school of economics. His high marks had made him something of a wunderkind in the discipline. He’d secured dozens of eager job offers that would have made perfect sense to accept. But instead, he’d found himself swayed by an unexpected proposition from Justin Wolfe, America’s youngest and highest-profile billionaire. Now, having transitioned from grad school to this Farm in Georgia, in an upside-down world where the Cubs were the best team in baseball and Donald Trump was somehow the Republican nominee for president, Evan White had gone from econ superstar to king of the nerds.

  “I don’t know what I’ll do if Darcy calls in sick again,” Nora said.

  “You think you’ve got a layabout problem?” Laz asked. “Try assembling a team to detassel corn.”

  “You can’t blame ’em,” David said. “How’re they supposed to get any sleep with that stench hangin’ in the air?” While the other two kept up their argument, David nudged Evan with his elbow. “What do you say, Mr. White? Whose job you hopin’ we fill today?”

  The van had reached the valley and would arrive in maybe sixty seconds. Evan had done his best to restrain himself, but now it was time to play the role for which he’d been hired.

  “We don’t fill jobs,” he said. “That’s just not what we do.”

  Everyone looked at him quizzically, but it was Nora’s gaze that made him avert his eyes.

  “I’m not some kind of jobs master,” Evan continued. “This Farm isn’t about assigning work. It’s about creating opportunities for formerly homeless people to want to work.”

  “We’ve had precious little of that lately,” Laz said with a snort.

  “The last couple van loads have been a mite on the lazy side,” David agreed.

  Evan pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, an act that gravity quickly rendered useless as he nervously stared at his feet. “Yeah, I’ll grant you that. But if you remember, the van back in May was the same, and look at them now. They’re all working. Wanting a nicer meal or dessert after dinner turns out to be a pretty strong incentive to contribute.”

  “What do you mean nicer meal?” Nora said. “Is there something wrong with my red beans and rice?”

  Evan blushed. “No,” he said too quickly. “No, I, um.”

  “I’m just messing with you,” Nora said with a smile. “I have to sample it every day. I know it’s shit.”

  “Anyway, people like nice things.” Evan said this more to the men so that he could avoid eye contact with Nora. “No matter how unused to working they are when they get here, eventually they come around to wanting to work to improve their lives.”

  “Unused to working,” Laz said with a chuff. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “We still call that lazy where I come from,” David said.

  Nora gave him a playful tap on the shoulder. “You come from here, bonehead.”

  “And here’s where we’re changing the game,” Laz agreed.

  “In the real world,” Evan said.

  “Oh, so we’re not the real world now?”

  “In the real world,” Evan continued, “none of these people had homes, and they almost never had any money. How were they supposed to do anything for each other? Here, where they have a little money, now they’re able to contribute to a greater good for the first time in years—and maybe in their whole lives. They can make food, give shelter, clean up, work the fields, entertain. So, yeah, we don’t assign jobs. We just give them the spark. It’s up to them to bring it to flame.”

  As the van made the last sweeping turn before it would arrive outside the shed, Evan could feel the others staring and blinking at him.

  “You’re pretty passionate for a nerd,” David said.

  Nora’s laugh was musical. “Nothing wrong with nerds. Or passion.”

  Evan blushed. Their gazes lingered on him for longer than made him comfortable, so he forced himself to speak the first thing that came to his mind. “Everyone has wants and needs.”

  “I’ll say,” Laz offered.

  David gave a throat
y laugh.

  “You know what I mean,” Evan said. “Everybody’s motivated to eat better food, have a softer bed, take a shower, get some nicer clothes. Otherwise, you’re basically just comatose. Yeah, a person who’s been forced to live in the streets is less used to working every day, but nobody really wants to sit around forever. It’s why you see so many homeless people gathering things. They push around carts of junk they collect along the way. They’re motivated to gain material goods. It’s a matter of survival. It’s instinctual. Given enough time, everyone starts looking for opportunity to improve what they have.”

  The van pulled up and stopped broadside ten feet away from the little group that had come to greet its occupants. A glint of sunlight off its passenger window forced Evan to squint. Its off-white paint was rusting at almost every seam. Smoke billowed from its tailpipe. And it was still rollicking on its ancient shocks even as the driver finished throwing it into park.

  “Anyway,” Evan said, “you three have been arguing about nothing. I can’t control who’s on that van or what their skills are.” He held up his clipboard. “All I know is their names and a little about where they came from. What matters is that there are six of them, they were homeless yesterday, and today, they start contributing to our little experiment. Could be anyone in there.”

  The van rocked again as the driver got out on the opposite side.

  “Well, we’ve all read the Tribune,” Laz said.

  “I’m a Mornin’ News man myself,” David corrected.

  “Whatever the hell paper,” Laz snapped. “They all say the same thing. This Farm’s bringing in all the riffraff. Whole van could be full of thieves.”

  “Could be a murderer in there.”

  “Or a Mexican rapist,” Nora said.

  Laz laughed.

  “Anyway, you get what you get,” Evan said.

  The driver rounded the back of the van and stubbed out his cigarette. The sight of him was so surprising that it took Evan a moment to believe his eyes. Usually the hospital that performed the psychological evaluations sent their own driver. But there instead stood the founder of this Farm. Evan had spoken to him many times and had seen him on TV many more times than that, but this would be the first he would meet him in the flesh. He was taller than Evan would have guessed, his shoulders broad, and his sport coat wrinkled in the way only expensive clothes can wrinkle. In all of America, there were only fifty or so people wealthier than Justin Wolfe, and none of those wealthier people were younger than his thirty-seven years.