A Short Story from the September 1988 issue of the Socialist Standard
A Prince, a pimp and a priest met one day by chance. They were good friends, these grasping thieves, except that they thoroughly hated each other, healthy competition being what it is. They voted for the same political parties, these men — or different ones putting the identical views; it did not matter much. The priest voted to preserve the order which his invisible master had ordained and which greater sinners than he dared to question. The pimp, whose prostitutes worked in his factories and said "thank you" when raped by the profit system, voted for politicians who knew a principle when they saw one, and knew a bribe even better. The Prince, like unelected members of the House of Lords, was not allowed to vote and. furthermore, did not need to waste his time doing so.
The pimp complained that there was too much laziness In the world. The Prince, sniffing cocaine with the air of a man born to be high in society, agreed that he had too often observed out of his palace windows that the workers producing and distributing all of the wealth were all fast asleep This attitude could not go on. At this point the priest, removing his hand from the gin bottle, turned to the others and said that the solution to the problem of lazy wage slaves was to pray for their souls and prey on their bodies. The Prince, who was used to agreeing anything that sounded evil, nodded with the nod of a man who knew a thing or two, but not much more But the pimp was uncertain that religion had the answers. For him the solution was more complicated. What was needed, he slurred, was strong leadership by men who, by virtue of their viciousness, would earn the respect of those who followed them.
Of course, all of them knew what was really on their minds. It was niggling away at them, damaging the hopes which lay like jelly in their fat bellies. It made them so cross that they sometimes couldn't sleep, even at night. Socialism. To hell with that cursed word. Workers with minds of their own could not be controlled. Explosions would occur, believe you me, said these crooks. Workers would not bow down to pompous, useless Princes, thought the Prince. And would they fall on to their knees, these humble workers who filled the Churches, if they had minds of their own? The priest shuddered to think, an activity which he refrained indulging in too often. The pimp had the biggest problem. What if they do not work for him? What if they say. "Look, we produce everything and give it to you, you parasitical old swine. We shall keep the fruits of our labour for ourselves in future; we shall have socialism, not wage slavery." This would be the end of the pimp. No more pimp — no more thieving, robbing, exploiting, money grabbing, profit accumulating — or enterprise, as they call it in the Fraud Court
Wise men do not sit back when their interests are under threat. At least, they should not. So, the Prince, the pimp and the priest decided on a plan “We will educate these wage slaves, to make them fit for the abuse we have in store for them. We will frighten them with gods who demand submission. We will give them politicians — to hell with what they say they stand for, as long as they ensure that wage slaves stand for what we do. We will kick the workers where it bloody hurts in the mind." And so it was that the Prince, the pimp and the priest comforted themselves with the thought that this socialism thing will not get beyond the planning stage
The plan has worked quite well, but not perfectly. There are still a few disgusting workers knocking about, shouting and haranguing with passion and logic It makes you sick to see them. They even produce their own journal; how dare they compete with the Good News of The Bible and The Sun. Still, we can win, the men agreed, for our papers have tits and lies. Millions starving while food is dumped in the sea. Bombs enough to blow us all to pieces. So what? These socialists persist in repeating the same old stuff “Abolish the wages system! Fellow workers, you have nothing to lose but your chains!" Now, who in their right mind would bother their heads with that old rubbish?
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