My Dad has this little thing he says sometimes. Maybe we’ll be sitting on the deck, taking a break, and he’ll say, “Well I guess I’d better do something, even if it’s wrong.”
That’s much like my feelings toward the impending Second Great Depression and the half-hearted, barely conscious, attempts by Congress to forestall it. Just for crapsakes do something, even if it’s wrong.
It’s hard to fathom the crawling stupidity of the Great Unwashed on this deal. Our banks are failing, and the hoopleheads don’t want to buy off some of the burden, because that would be rewarding bad judgment.
First of all, when the pit bull has you by the balls, it’s better to give up your cheeseburger than to lecture him for being a bad dog.
Secondly, this is not the same pack of dogs that made the bad loans. They’re all gone. The guys who screwed the pooch (sorry for pressing the metaphor) are not there anymore. The only people left to punish are US.
Thirdly, this is an investment. A takeover, a buyout, a seizure, not a gift. Not even a loan. The debts we’re buying – for pennies on the dollar – will almost certainly make us money.
Fourth, the buyout law should not restrict what the banks can pay their new executives. They need to be abe to hire quality professionals to take over.
Lastly, if we don’t buy up the low-end paper, invest it, and get our banking industry solvent again, we are most assuredly fucked. The pit bull of Doom and Depression is already enjoying his toothy grip on our junk, kids. It’s already harder than hell to get a car loan, let alone a mortgage.
If businessess can’t get the money to generate inventory, if agriculture can’t finance crops, etc., etc., there go the jobs. No jobs, no economy, no business, no food. It’s another Great Depression. And don’t kid yourself: everything is bigger now. It will be a thousand times worse.
Back in the first Depression, a man might support his family, after a fashion, by breaking rocks for the road department, or driving a mule team, or tending two acres of tomatoes. The whole family might go to work all day picking apples or pears. That’s how my family survived: they did all those things and more, and worse.
My Dad was born in June 1932. The US population was 124,840,471. There was wiggle room for the Oakies to move west and pick the fruit. Now the population is 303,824,640 and growing. Where are the Oakies going to go to find work now? Mexico? Maybe, and I say it’s time we start walking south. Better do something fast, even if it’s wrong.