There is no such thing as social injustice. Physical force — nothing else — can violate rights. Physical force — nothing else — enables one man to take the life, liberty, property of another man; to enslave him, to rob him, to stymie him; to compel him to act against his better judgment.
Social injustice is a meaningless term invented by social justice warriors to create a moral sanction to seize the production and wealth of the competent and productive for the effortless and unproductive enjoyment of the incompetent.
Social injustice is vile opportunism masquerading as piety. It is not social injustice that must be eradicated, but its very notion that must be exterminated, if we are to repair the wholesale ghettoization of America that’s been underway for the last fifty years, and accelerated over the last eight.
Thank you for understanding what the free market does not: that I am living; that I like wages; and that I am therefore entitled to a Living Wage. But in the end, if not the beginning, we are all pretty much the same, and like the next guy, well, I want to go big baby! I am, therefore, entitled to a Living Large Wage. And who better than you to decide which of my neighbors must pay me my Living Large Wage? After all, your four years of eloquent nothingness sets the new standard against which those of us committed to the cause of achieving the unearned measure our success at failure: the more we hear, the less we strive. To liberate fairness, equality and social justice from the tyranny of those able and productive men upon whom we rely, the Fat Cats must not only pay their share, but share their pay. Speaking of me getting mine: please deliver my wiring instructions to the Top 1%. For my part, in the spirit of shared sacrifice and shared prosperity, I’ll accept their apology and a lump sum payment in settlement of my claims for all prior years that they denied my right to get paid large for living large.
Your biggest fan, greatest dependent, and most useful idiot.
Oh, and Obama? You’re the best.
P.S. F America!
Welcome to the Monkey House: Scholarly types describe Vonnegut’s short stories as dystopian parodies. They are neither. When Vonnegut wrote Harrison Bergeron in 1960 he was imagining American life in 2050. Reality, it seems, has split the difference. His nightmare is our waking hour. Vonnegut’s little book is his verdict pronounced upon a civilization cannibalized from within by envy eaten smallness, guilt by contrivance, and self loathing contempt for confidence and ability. All of it wrapped in the self-satisfied vocabulary of equality and fairness. When philosophical bankruptcy compels useful idiots to surrender from reason to faith and emotion the morality of free men and markets, it’s no big stretch to bags of buckshot and metal handicaps slung on the strong and gifted by the weak and retarded. This so that no man–by his life or love of it—shall be allowed the efficacy of his own mind so long as a single one among him is born without one. Whether by submission to the Handicapper General’s remedial toolbox or the apologist that lurks within, our personal enslavement is a voluntary act sum totaling cultural suicide.