No Corporation Left Behind

     It was morning break and the Boy had brought in the local newspaper.  Like most rural newspapers it did little justice to world or national news.  This one was so countrified that it still had elderly women correspondents who published weekly filler pieces like News from Johnson’s Crossroads, Goings on in Gossamer Springs, or Tales from Titmouse Prairie, all little communities that once were self-sufficient enough to boast a church, a few businesses and a school.  Consolidation has closed the country schools though, Sprawl-Mart has suffocated the businesses, and church attendance is dwindling as the elderly parishoners who took pride in their ties to their little country church take permanent residences in the cemeteries behind  them.  No one has the heart to tell the blue-hairs that their contributions aren’t needed anymore, so every week one still gets to read about who had coffee with whom, who had out of town company, and whose granddaughter managed to graduate from high school, college, or a cosmetology program.  The people referenced in these columns were always white Anglo-Saxon Protestants.   The elderly correspondents wanted nothing to do with and were somewhat frightened by the immigrants that Canterbury Meats had brought into the community.  The people who still subscribed to the local newspaper did so out of habit, or to access the obituaries or Matter of Record.  After a weekend, the Matter of Record was usually perused with avid eagerness by Canterbury Meat employees, as more than likely it would be discovered that one or more of the hard–working/hard-partying packing house wage slaves had had a Saturday night run in with the law. 

     The Boy, who had brought in the pathetic excuse for a paper, looked up at Vanderbilt and said, “I see that the locals have voted down a tax increase for the schools again.” 

     Vanderbilt snorted dismissively, and said “what the fuck did you expect”

     “I’d expect the locals to support a good education for their kids, at least,” he said.  We had no trouble passing one in Lutefisk Hollow.”

     “This isn’t Lutefisk Hollow.  This is a packing house town.”

     “So what,” the boy countered.  “Packing house employees have kids too.”

     Vanderbilt stood up, waved his arm toward the town, and said "that’s the point.  Take a look over there.  It’s an old town.  A town of retirees.  A town of I never got any, or I got mine, fuck you.  Your village passes tax increases for schools, because they are passing them for their kids or grandkids.  You’re from a farm community, where people have put down roots for generations, and farm profits have been able to purchase good education for those who know they’ll have an opportunity to pursue their promise beyond high school.  You come from a school district that has had to deal with little change demographically.  Do you think Lutefisk Hollow would be as apt to vote for better schools for Nigerian, Chin or Mexican children?  I doubt it."  

    “So,” the boy challenged him.  “You’re saying that you live in a community of racists then, and that’s why they voted the school funding down.”

     “That’s part of it,” Vanderbilt admitted.  You’ve got the same assholes who posted shit like Jesus Christ carrying an overnight bag above a caption that said “Christ is Welcome in the White House Again,” after Obama’s two terms were done.  Those kind of people wouldn’t vote anything for a child of color other than for the right to be born, then suffer.  You know what I mean.  Pro-lifers until the colored kids are born.  Then to hell with them.  Yeah, we have some of those. “

     “I guess where I’m going with this,” Vanderbilt mused, trying to muster his thoughts in a way to send them marching out in a formation that could be readily understood, "is that there’s a lot of people in this community that feel threatened by the influx of foreigners that Canterbury is bringing in to work at the plant.  They believe that these kids are taking jobs away from their kids or grandkids.  They won’t accept the fact that maybe their blood is too lazy to take a job there or maybe they can’t pass the drug test.  Someone owes their kids a living.  Canterbury’s the biggest game in town.  Why shouldn’t it be Canterbury?   And if Canterbury isn’t giving it to them, it must be the damn foreigners fault for coming over here to take their place.”

     “That’s all they see,”  Vanderbilt continued.  “They don’t see Canterbury Corporate sending emissaries all over the world to reach into areas devastated by turmoil and poverty in order to recruit wage slaves to work in the golden streets of the U. S. of A.  They don’t care that they bring in these kids to keep union sentiment at bay and to beat the wages down.  They just see “niggers” or “spics” or “gooks” as they call them, working where their kids ought to be.  They’re angry.  They can’t take on Canterbury, so they’ll get their licks in when they can.  I’ve heard them….."

     “Why should my taxes be increased to educate packing house family kids?’  

     "That’s a polite wording of it.  It’s usually filled with a smattering of racial slurs as well.  They’d vote for education for their own kids, but they won’t for the immigrants.  And admittedly, it’s not all motivated by hate.  There are a lot of elderly long-time residents of this town, who dislike the changes it’s brought to the community, who feel threatened by diversity, change, or people whose ways are different than theirs.  These are good people who can change, but fear to, and have a tendency to vote against it.  I’ve heard some of them saying, for instance, "if the packing houses bring all their workers' kids here, can’t they help pay toward educating them?”  What they don't realize, is that the kids who come here from overseas to work are good kids; the best of the lot.  They're willing to vote with their feet to move to a strange new country in order to improve their lot.  They're the ambitious ones.  The ones they leave behind are like the kids here who choose to remain in Johnson's Crossroad or Gossamer Springs because they fear to leave their families and home, then whine because there's no opportunities for them."

     Vanderbilt took a breath, then reached for a bottle of water.  The Boy took the opportunity to wrest the conversation from him.  

     “Have the company contribute toward funding the schools.   That’s actually a pretty good idea.  If they bring these people in, they should be helping the schools out financially”

     “Yeah.  Like that’s going to happen.  This corporation is just like 99% of their cohorts.  It’s just take, take, take.  Look at what the city spends on infrastructure to keep this place running.  Look at the burdens on social services.  Look at the burdens placed on the schools.  You’ve got kids being dropped on them that don’t speak a word of English.  You need translators for Chin, Spanish, Swahili, French and who knows what else.  In the cash-strapped school systems we have now, the money for that kind of help only can come from cutting other programs.  When little Susie’s art classes or Johnnie’s music programs are being cut to buy special help for the foreign kids who arrive unprepared, their parents get the blame.  Not the corporation that brings them in.  And corporate loves it.”

     “How can you say that,” the Boy wondered. 

     “Simple,”  Vanderbilt said with a sigh, as though discouraged at the prospect of having to explain his reasoning.  “if the community is scapegoating the immigrants, nobody’s subjecting them to any sort of scrutiny.  It’s the immigrants who are ruining the community.  Not the corporation that’s sticking it to it.  Canterbury had record profits last year.  Certainly they could afford to help out the community some.  Instead, they ask for tax abatements, tax free loans, improvements in the infrastructure, anything they can get.  And they don’t give a damn thing back.  God forbid their CEO doesn’t make his millions a year, the higher-ups cut back on their bonuses a bit, or their stockholders give up a little for the good of the community.  Like the Second Coming…it’s just not gonna happen.  Hell, these people probably wouldn’t pay health care for their employees if they weren’t under federal obligation to.

    “Rely on you to work your atheism in,” the Boy laughed.  “So, alright.  What’s the solution?  You’re so full of talk.  What do you suggest we do about it?”

     “I’d love to see corporations that import labor assume some of the expense that the community now incurs.  And of course I’d like to see the employees unionize, to be able to take on corporate in a battle for fair wages, benefits and treatment without fear of reprisal.  I’d like to see a work environment where the races aren’t being played against each other.  No more of the “you Mexicans aren’t worth a shit.  The Chin are working circles around you.”  Stuff like that.  They must learn that in Foreman 101, along with classic lines such as “we might be running a couple trucks short today.  If you work hard, you might get done early.”  But none of this will ever happen, of course.  Corporations own the legislators that write the labor laws,  that write the bargaining agreements and that regulate the industries.  Our elected officials don’t care about the public schools.  They send their kids to private ones.  They’re paid handsomely by lobbyists to make certain that no corporation is left behind.”

    “Then, what you’re saying, is that the schools are fucked then,” the Boy sighed.

     ”Yeah, probably.  At least here.  In a packing house town.

     And we’re fucked too.”

    “Yeah, probably.  At least here.   In a packing house town.