Frank and Marx

Aug 30, 2012 08:36

Frank was a hypocrite.  As he sat in his king size bed, that was the thought that popped into his head.  "I am a hypocrite," he said outloud.  The clock next to the bed said 6:30 am.  He was tired.  He'd been up all night reading the Communist Manifesto.  Marx had it right, he thought.

Frank knew it was hypocritcal to think so.  His father, the CEO of a bottled water company -- another great lie selling water in bottles that was really no better or safer than regular tap water -- was the definition of bourgious.  He provided for his family in the way only a great capitalist could.  Frank and his sister never wanted for anything.  For his 16th birthday his father bought him a BMW, which he was frankly embarrassed about driving when he looked at the teacher's beat-up Honda Civics.  His sisters had all the best designer clothes, which made it easy for them to fit in with the popular crowd at school.

This wasn't the first time Frank had read the Communist Manifesto.  The first time was a few years ago after a lesson in history class. Frank was curious and checked out the Communist Manifesto from the library.  That first reading had changed his views on many things, yet there he was laying in his bed seemingly unchanged.  He still drove his BMW.  He still felt guilty, but it is one thing to believe that you have too much more than those less unfortunate and another to act on it. He was part of the cult of capitalism, whether he liked it or not.

When he first started to read Marx, he volunteered at a soup kitchen.  He saw there firsthand how people were struggling in modern society and not much had changed in the past few years.  If anything it had gotten worse in the recession.  Still, he could never imagine straying too far from the American structure of beliefs - democracy must be the way forward.  So in time he came to be a supporter of reformism.  He couldn't see a revolution accomplishing much; change must come from within the system.  Still, with the 2012 election approaching and the Republicans and Democrats differing on social issues, but little else, Frank felt disheartened.  He was old enough to vote, but he didn't know who to vote for.  The Independant Party was far too right for his socially liberal beliefs, and while the Green Party was in favor of many things he believed were vital to addressing climate change he just felt the party was too far to the left.  Neither of those parties had a chance of winning anyway.  It was times like this that he almost wished he didn't have any political agency and could let someone else make the decision for him, but he was 18 and felt it was his responsibility to vote.

"The cult of capitalism," he mused.

There was a knock on the door.  "Come in," he yells.  It was the maid.
"Breakfast is ready downstairs, Frank."
"Thanks, Carlotta, I'll be down in a minute."

I'm such a hypocrite, Frank thinks as he heads downstairs for breakfast.

***
Disclaimer: The views and characters in this piece are fictional.  I thought this line was the perfect opportunity to explore the idea of a rich kid becoming enamoured of Marxist ideas.  If I have time I'd like to do another take on the line celebrating the "cult of capitalism" and see where that ends up.  For this piece I had to do some research on Marxism and socialism because I'm not very familiar with them.  If you notice any glaring inaccuracies please let me know.

cult of capitalism

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