Fool's Gold | Charles Gillis
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| Image by Sefedin |
Tom Gresham had no intention of changing the course of the global economy. All he wanted was a vanilla latte. You could technically put the blame on his friend Allison Bland. She was the one who encouraged him to say something at the protest.
The 99% Movement had been camped out in the park near their apartment for weeks. At first the crowds didn’t bother him. He was patient with the theater of civil disobedience at the end of the block. More people meant more traffic, more trash, more noise and a longer line at the coffee shop. He took it all in stride at first but as time passed her grew annoyed. He was annoyed with the media covering the event, annoyed with the protestors and their seeming inability to moor their movement to a single point, and annoyed with just about everyone else who either lionized the protestors for the simple fact of being contrarian as well as those who criticized them with no more knowledge of the issues than the half-truths reported on the news.
It wasn’t his movement and he didn’t want to get involved. The day that he cracked was the day some protestors blocked the entrance to shops on the street. Tom couldn’t get a coffee, and he needed that coffee. Allison challenged him to do something. She mocked him with his own favorite saying: Either you make choices in life, or life makes choices for you. He walked into the crowd looking for the nucleus, seeking a leader; someone who might have some authority. Finding none, he found a crate. He stood on the crate and screamed. People turned and walked towards him. He let loose a stream of pent up frustration.
“You’re blocking my coffee shop. Business is not the enemy here. The real enemies are those people at the very top of our society. I’m not talking about the average rich people you are harassing now. You’re all missing the point. This isn’t about the hard working rich people who made a lot of money by busting their asses. Not the brilliant inventor who deserves to be rewarded for his creation. Not the sports star or musician who made it to the top, regardless of actual or perceived talent. The rich people you’re focusing on aren’t the top of the pyramid. All those people are chumps compared to the really rich – the tip top, the elite. You can’t see the really rich people. They don’t exist where you can see them. What you see is your own community and anything you do to hurt a business in this neighborhood knocks our neighbors out of work. Shut down this coffee shop and they’ll simply open another a half mile away. But in the meantime all these baristas will be out of work.”
“You want a real target? Look at gold. Gold is $1,800 an ounce and the really rich people own most of it and use it to make even more money. They speculate, they hoard, they make money when they buy, they make money when they sell. You’re going to spend three month’s salary on a wedding ring? You’re the sucker. My wife, god rest her soul, and I bought these rings right here, plain silver bands. We paid twenty bucks each.”
“If you think about it, gold only has value because someone told you it has value and you believed it. It’s metal. The value is only there because you believe it is. If you want to hurt these people, kill that perception. The emperor is only clothed if you continue to perpetuate his lies. You want to hurt the really, really rich? Get the 99% to abandon gold. Don’t buy it anymore. Laugh when people try to sell it. Make it as unattractive as baby seal fur coats, or transfat, or whatever it is that has fallen out of fashion. None of you own any gold. None of those baristas own any gold. Start messing with gold and you’ll hurt the really rich and powerful. Their supply is worthless without our demand. They exist only because we allow them to exist.”
By the time he finished, the crowd had grown tenfold. He stepped off the crate to roars of support. Other speakers continued this topic, but he didn’t stay to listen. The coffee shop was opened at last so he resumed his original mission. He was quite surprised to get his vanilla latte on the house.
He was more surprised with the power of the anti-gold movement that grew in all directions from that humble park. He never thought for an instant that the plummeting price of gold would have such a dramatic impact on the commodities markets and then the global economy itself. As gold prices sank to record lows shocked speculators quickly moved to protect their assets. Many in the 99% Movement believed that the flight of capital would speed the recovery of the economy. Rather than put money into useless metals, wealth would now go in to businesses. That was the plan anyway.
Tom hated to leave the neighborhood but in the end the attempts on his life had become so frequent that he finally agreed to leave for the safety of those in his building. Everything had changed. He was put into hiding. There were many stories on who was behind the attacks—the banks, the brokers, foreign governments, our own government and so on. Over the months he moved from location to location. Within a couple of years his name had become a hazy memory, overshadowed by the wider issues of the times. He faded back into obscurity and that’s when they caught up to him.
In spite of what they did to him Tom’s funeral was open casket. Allison thought it was important that everyone see the reality of what had happened. The funeral home did an excellent job reconstructing his jaw and without the blood he actually looked peaceful. The golden handles, hinges and inlays of his coffin caught the morning sun as it peaked under the cover of the small tent erected for the comfort of the grievers. As people passed for a final moment with him, many commented on the ironic symbolism of the casket’s golden gilding and assumed this was Tom’s final parting shot. Allison had thought of that, but she also had a limited budget. The amount of gold was chosen more for economic reasons since gold was now so much cheaper than the polished steel and hardwoods used in the caskets of the past.
Allison was the last to stand before him. She ran her hand along Tom’s arm one final time. She paused and interlaced her fingers with his. When she released her grip the pastor noticed that she had removed his wedding band. He watched as she walked away and discreetly tucked the ring into her pocket. He couldn’t blame her. These were hard times and silver was trading at $2,700 an ounce.nth
Labels: 99%, gold, silver, the 99%, the ninety-nine percent
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5:57 AM
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