Down on the Farm

In 1945, George Orwell wrote Animal Farm, an allegorical tale of a dystopian farmyard society. Only the most callow among us, plus the President of the United States, would believe that Orwell intended to lay out a blueprint for good governance, rather than a warning about the evils of socialism.

But perhaps I'm being too critical of the President: he may never have actually read Animal Farm, and he certainly never read the Cliffs Notes, which are quite clear regarding the theme of the book. In any case, no one can say, because the President will not release his school records. We don't know what was included on his summer reading list. Doubtless he is sparing us the indignity of having our noses rubbed in the objective proof of his unparalleled intellectual prowess.


What is obvious, however, is that at some point the Stablemaster in Chief and his Progressive farmhands in congress stopped thinking of We the People as citizens imbued with an inherent right of self-determination, and from whose consent is derived the only legitimate source of government authority, and started treating us like farm animals in need of proper management and veterinary care.


It is a lot simpler to manage livestock than it is to manage people. Animal resources can be harvested when it is time to go to market. The weak, the sick, and the incorrigible can be culled from the herd without much ado. People don't like to be told what to do, don't think that they need scientific management, and will protest on the Capitol lawn if they smell manure wafting out of the halls of Congress.


The President says, "this is what change looks like". I disagree. It is life on the farm as it always was. When the farmer decides he needs more milk, the cows are milked. When the farmer wants more wool, the sheep are shorn. When the farmer says the field needs plowing, the oxen are yoked. In between, the animals wait patiently at the trough. The President hasn't come up with anything new, it's just that the rest of us wandered out of the pen for awhile, and now he needs to padlock the gate.


Michael Gabor

Slingerlands, NY 12159

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