Here and elsewhere, it's been noted that the Biden administration, proceeding on the clear signals coming from the Democratic majority in Congress and that party's leftward rush generally, is imposing a degree of redistribution, identity-politics militancy and climate alarmism that Obama-era Democrats could only dream of.
It comes with a hefty price tag:
President Biden’s economic advisers are preparing to recommend spending as much as $3 trillion on a sweeping set of efforts aimed at boosting the economy, reducing carbon emissions and narrowing economic inequality, beginning with a giant infrastructure plan that may be financed in part through tax increases on corporations and the rich.
After months of internal debate, Mr. Biden’s advisers are expected to present a proposal to the president this week that recommends carving his economic agenda into separate legislative pieces, rather than trying to push a mammoth package through Congress, according to people familiar with the plans and documents obtained by The New York Times.
The total new spending in the plans would likely be $3 trillion, a person familiar with them said. That figure does not include the cost of extending new temporary tax cuts meant to fight poverty, which could reach hundreds of billions of dollars, according to estimates prepared by administration officials. Officials have not yet determined the exact breakdown in cost between the two packages.
It's ill-advised to make too much of any possible connection b between Frances Fox Piven and any given Democratic major player of the last two decades, but a number of them have taken her model for drastic change to the very nature of this nation into consideration, including Barack Obama.
In any event, this goodie bag that the Democrats are currently intent on imposing on us is going to bust the effing bank.
Their argument for forging ahead is that we cannot afford not to, that the fate of the global climate, and the prospects for people of certain demographics to achieve the kind of sociocultural elbow room that you-know-which demographic has historically enjoyed, is too dim if we don't give them this kind of leg up, is appealing until you start to consider what two areas of inquiry with long pedigrees have taught us - I'm speaking of history and economics - have to tell us about what kinds of societies are able to maintain stability and which ones aren't.
I don't know how many of the people working feverishly to bring this nightmare about have looked into their heart of hearts and seen that their vision is both unworkable and evil. It may be very few. I'm more inclined to think that it's a great percentage of them.
The ones in denial are the most frightening.
They think their momentary amassing of power is going to be the end of the matter. They refuse to see that it is going to work out like this:
Major [the pig] continued:
"I have little more to say. I merely repeat, remember always your duty of enmity towards Man and all his ways. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend. And remember also that in fighting against Man, we must not come to resemble him. Even when you have conquered him, do not adopt his vices. No animal must ever live in a house, or sleep in a bed, or wear clothes, or drink alcohol, or smoke tobacco, or touch money, or engage in trade. All the habits of Man are evil. And, above all, no animal must ever tyrannise over his own kind. Weak or strong, clever or simple, we are all brothers. No animal must ever kill any other animal. All animals are equal.
. . . .
The Commandments were written on the tarred wall in great white letters that could be read thirty yards away. They ran thus:
THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS
1.Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.
2.Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
3.No animal shall wear clothes.
4.No animal shall sleep in a bed.
5.No animal shall drink alcohol.
6.No animal shall kill any other animal.
7.All animals are equal.
It was very neatly written, and except that "friend" was written "freind" and one of the "S's" was the wrong way round, the spelling was correct all the way through. Snowball [the pig] read it aloud for the benefit of the others. All the animals nodded in complete agreement, and the cleverer ones at once began to learn the Commandments by heart.
. . . .
"Comrades," he [Squealer the pig] said, "I trust that every animal here appreciates the sacrifice that Comrade Napoleon [the pig] has made in taking this extra labour upon himself. Do not imagine, comrades, that leadership is a pleasure! On the contrary, it is a deep and heavy responsibility. No one believes more firmly than Comrade Napoleon that all animals are equal. He would be only too happy to let you make your decisions for yourselves. But sometimes you might make the wrong decisions, comrades, and then where should we be?"
. . . .
Benjamin [the horse] felt a nose nuzzling at his shoulder. He looked round. It was Clover [the horse]. Her old eyes looked dimmer than ever. Without saying anything, she tugged gently at his mane and led him round to the end of the big barn, where the Seven Commandments were written. For a minute or two they stood gazing at the tatted wall with its white lettering.
"My sight is failing," she said finally. "Even when I was young I could not have read what was written there. But it appears to me that that wall looks different. Are the Seven Commandments the same as they used to be, Benjamin?"
For once Benjamin consented to break his rule, and he read out to her what was written on the wall. There was nothing there now except a single Commandment. It ran:
ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL
BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS
After that it did not seem strange when next day the pigs who were supervising the work of the farm all carried whips in their trotters. It did not seem strange to learn that the pigs had bought themselves a wireless set, were arranging to install a telephone, and had taken out subscriptions to John Bull, TitBits, and the Daily Mirror. It did not seem strange when Napoleon was seen strolling in the farmhouse garden with a pipe in his mouth—no, not even when the pigs took Mr. Jones's clothes out of the wardrobes and put them on, Napoleon himself appearing in a black coat, ratcatcher breeches, and leather leggings, while his favourite sow appeared in the watered silk dress which Mrs. Jones had been used to wear on Sundays.
. . . .
An uproar of voices was coming from the farmhouse [where pigs and men were meeting]. They rushed back and looked through the window again. Yes, a violent quarrel was in progress. There were shoutings, bangings on the table, sharp suspicious glances, furious denials. The source of the trouble appeared to be that Napoleon and Mr. Pilkington had each played an ace of spades simultaneously.
Twelve voices were shouting in anger, and they were all alike. No question, now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.
This is where we're headed, folks. It may be too late in the day to do anything about it. I pray that it is not.
But stay away from Trumpism. It will do us no good in trying to deal with this.
We will need real conservatism.
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