THE MONOPOLY ROOM

AUGUST 16, 2019 – Wednesday’s edition of The New York Times included a front-page story about financier and influence peddler, Elliott Broidy. If you hadn’t heard of him, now you have: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/13/us/politics/elliott-broidy-donald-trump.html?searchResultPosition=1

I was aboard the bus on my way to work when I read this remarkable piece of investigative journalism. It exposes what goes on behind the scenes; money applied to influence decision-making at high levels of public policy.  After my initial reaction—people of Broidy’s ilk are bad for our democracy—I contemplated the chasm that separates the Elliott Broidys of the world from the rest of us.

It seems to me that the vast majority of us are being played by a slim minority.

I can see veterans of the Occupy movement yawn at that statement, just as I can see and hear Elizabeth Warren harangue about it and Bernie Sanders scowl and harangue about it. Although my statement offers no radically new insight into how the world works, I must say that the Time sarticle did produce a sort of epiphany for me.

I have always seen myself, my friends and colleagues as operating prosperously and fairly independently of bad forces.  We go to work every day or otherwise step out into the world.  We roll up our sleeves and make stuff happen.  Be the stuff big or little, we give it our all, attempting to make our lives and the lives of family and friends a little better than would be the case without our efforts. We are the fortunate ones.  We’re quite fat and quite sassy.

But we’re being played.

To accomplish our goals, each day we enter a vast open area inside a distribution center.  Millions of gerbil cages are crammed into this cavernous space.  Each of us, like a gerbil, enters a cage, hops on the wheel and runs on it as fast as possible.  Some cages are gilded, and the wheel is wheel oiled and friction free. Other cases are old and rusted.  Their wheels creak and grind.  Whatever. Each wheel is a wheel, and together, the revolving wheels power a generator in an adjoining room.

The room next to Gerbil Hall is quite different space. It’s much smaller; the size of an average living room. The fixtures and furnishings are luxurious.  In the center is a table accommodating a dozen well-adorned, cigar-smoking rats.  They’re playing an intense game of Monopoly.

Their implements are solid gold and the money is real.  This is where the real game is being played.  The gerbil-powered generator provides the light and turns the printing press for the Monopoly game. But never shall a gerbil play at this table.

I ponder the lives of Broidy and other monied movers and shakers who want to surround themselves not only with bright, shiny objects but an aura of power and influence. How insecure must these people be?  What else explains their excessive lust for wealth and power—all of which comes from us gerbils running our wheels, day in and day out?

© 2019 Eric Nilsson