What do foreign governments want in return for loaning our government money?

“The Money That Is Sold Abroad Is You!”

George Orwell wrote that, “The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap between one’s real and one’s declared aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish spurting out ink.”


You have probably heard confusing phrases like the trade deficit, the falling dollar, the national debt, unfunded liabilities and so on, which all sound vague and actuarial and vaguely – well, “not me.”


The reality behind these accounting phrases is perfectly monstrous.


When someone – a foreigner, say – loans money to the American government, what are they getting in return?


Well, they are getting promises of interest payments, and eventual repayment of the principal.


Where does your government get this money?


The government is not a business; it does not generate profits in the free market, so where does it get the money to repay its creditors?


Do you see where this is going?


Are you beginning to understand that it is not dollars that are being sold, or bonds, or agency debt, or treasuries, or anything like that.


Where is your government going to get the money to pay off its creditors?


It is not pieces of paper or contracts or computer bits that are being sold.


There is only one thing that the government has to sell.


Governments have only one asset that they can use as collateral.


Your leaders are selling you.


When China lends $800 billion to your government, what they get in return is a guarantee that $10,000 dollars – plus interest – will be taken from your family at gunpoint and shipped overseas.


When a farmer gets a loan from a bank, he uses his livestock as collateral. It is the milk and meat his cows will produce in the future that he will use to pay off his loan.


The bank is buying a share in his cows.


You are the livestock your leaders use as collateral.


The people that you cheer for and throw parades for and drop balloons behind and donate money to are selling you to Chinese rulers, to the Japanese, to the Nigerians, to South American drug lords with accounts in the Caribbean banking centers, to Russia, to Korea, to Egypt, to Colombia, to Chile, to the Philippines, to Malaysia — and anyone else who is willing to give them a few dollars in return for the blood, sweat and toil of your future.


The flag that you praise and the anthems that you sing and the rulers that you weep and kneel before have as much loyalty to you as a plantation owner had to his slaves.


And sadly, plantation slaves had more pride than we do.


Plantation slaves did not generally praise their masters for selling them off, for auctioning off the lives, hopes, dreams and futures of their own little children.


We can understand that cattle may lick the hand of the farmer who lowers an axe to its neck, because cattle are dumb beast that cannot comprehend their real relationship with the farmer, and his imminent plans for them.


What is our excuse?


When we chant “USA” “USA” “USA,” when we cheer and bow and beg and scrape and sing and weep with joy that some new farmer now presides over the wholesale dismantling and sale of our family’s future, when we love with obsessive emptiness the leaders who laugh while they auction us off to every tin pot dictator and stockbroker the world over, what is our excuse?


Has our pride been so broken that we lunge with pathetic joy at every new silver tongued demagogue who pretends to care for us, even a tiny little bit?


In the future, our children will ask why we knelt and cheered as they were sold on the auctioneer’s block.

This video – and my life’s work – is my answer to my child.

Time is money…

Written by Marc Stevens Wednesday, 01 October 2008

I have work to do. But I’m waiting. It’s been overcast and rainy, and my solar panels have not kept up with my time on the computer, so now I need to give them the time they need to catch up with me. I sit. I’m reading a beautiful book, a memorial to John Lennon. (Imagine!) I glance out the window and admire the stark beauty of the thunderheads building against the rich blue background of high desert sky. Time is money, I think. And then some other part of my brain pipes up and says, “WHAT???” I sit up a bit straighter and try and figure out what just happened.

I have work to do. But I’m waiting. It’s been overcast and rainy, and my solar panels have not kept up with my time on the computer, so now I need to give them the time they need to catch up with me. I sit. I’m reading a beautiful book, a memorial to John Lennon. (Imagine!) I glance out the window and admire the stark beauty of the thunderheads building against the rich blue background of high desert sky. Time is money, I think. And then some other part of my brain pipes up and says, “WHAT???” I sit up a bit straighter and try and figure out what just happened.

I have at my hands a bit of reality. The sky is beautiful; it’s quiet. There was a small herd of elk grazing outside my window last night that blew me away. Three mothers and two children, the mothers grazed while the children settled themselves down to rest in the tall grass. After a bit, they moved on. Time is Money. “What?” What is time, to the elk?

Last week I happened across the statement, “There will never be a time when it is not now.” Hugh Prather wrote that. I have no idea who Hugh Prather is, but he has changed my world in some way. Time. Clouds. Elk. Waiting for my solar power. It just is. It is what it is. Time is Money. What? What can that mean? Time going by is an expense? But all I have is time. There is nothing else. When my time stops there can be no debt, for there will be no more time. Can debt exist in nothingness? No, of course not. I glance outside as I notice the sky darkening. There goes my solar power, I recognize. Has time changed?

Time is money. The clouds pass and I get more solar. Has time sped up? Maybe I need to consult with Einstein on this one. Does elk time speed up when the sun is shining and slow down when clouds intervene? I look outside. Yep, there it is, the world around me, just being. Everything is just as it should be. I hear a rifle crack. It’s elk season. In St. Paul, at the Republican convention, the riot police were herding people into cages. It’s … “people” season? They’ve decided. They’ve decided who will be allowed to express his or her opinion, and who will be herded into cages. It’s the democratic way.

Time is Money. What IS money? It’s time. (t=m m=t) The only way that I can figure time is money is if money is the measure of my life. The clouds pass overhead and I must stop and allow my batteries to rest, I can’t get done what I need to do to “make the money” I need to pay the taxes which are coming due. Time is Money. Taxes are due. Taxes are due regardless of the clouds. Taxes are due until the rifle crack ends time for this elk.

Time is Money. Time is Life. So… Money is Life. Life is Money. … Ah, there we have it. Money is life. I’m a commodity! Cool! I get it now. Okay, so what we have here is that my life has a certain tax value. I must spew out taxes at a given rate, minimum. Otherwise I’m of no value. I’m a cash cow. Without my taxes the democratic machine will starve. We can’t have that. Democracy minus Money equals …? What, freedom? Democracy minus Money equals no one to put people in cages for desiring to speak their opinions. But I’m not spewing money, I’m sitting here while the sun and the clouds tease my solar panels. While I contemplate the elk and John Lennon (Imagine!) and revere the essence of simply being.

I am not a cash cow. I’m an elk. I am. That is all. I don’t need any reason, I just am. My time is not money, my time is love. My time is life, the will to create each day and make it worth the gift of just being. I don’t owe you. You can’t take me. If you take me you have a shell, you don’t have my life. Life is a gift, and by definition, a gift can’t be taken, it can only be given. Life is. Love is. There are no taxes due. Treasure yourself as the very special gift you are. Be not the gruel in another’s bowl, be the sun that warms his skin and charges his solar panels. I am. That is all. That is plenty. No taxes due. I bid you peace and love and the warmth of the sun.