© Pierre Maré,
2004 - 2007
Offbeat 18
I have a friend who refuses to eat ketchup. She believes that worms aren’t removed before the people at the factory turn the tomatoes into ketchup. I can almost believe her. ‘Removing all the worms from all the tomatoes’ is probably the sort of obsession that belongs in an art movie, not in real life.
I have chosen to ignore her. I have faith in pesticides. Anyway, if there are worms in the bottle, write it down to ‘protein enhancement’ or something like that. It’s a revolting thought, but easier than the alternatives: giving up ketchup entirely or going ‘organic’ and accepting the truth about the worms.
I like distance between the food chain and myself. The idea that meat comes from supermarkets and plastic bags is a comfortable one. Although I am a dilettante vegetarian, a thick steak and a sizzling pan will always be a natural fallback position. And like all ‘real’ men, I know deep down that a chicken is a vegetable as well.
The food chain is an interesting place. Not so long ago, humanity was a part of it. Caveman Zog, Adam, or whoever our common ancestor was, probably had a few stories about the Saber Tooth, or whatever had him pegged for an easy breakfast. In fact, it was only with the invention of the gun, that we developed some form of protection from Mother Nature. And there is still the occasional lunatic tourist who reminds us of our vulnerability by mistaking a wild animal for a warm and fuzzy cartoon.
The first true step in distancing ourselves from the food chain took place in the area between the Euphrates and the Tigris, with the invention of social organization and specialization. Ali the Farmer or someone like him had a harvest that just wouldn’t wait for the battle. Soon Jaffar the Baker and Tariq the Silversmith realized that Ali was onto a good thing, and draft dodging was born. All they had to do was make sure that the warrior classes were comfortable and they could forgo the business of spears and swords.
However, in developing specialization, an alternative food chain, unique to humankind, was born; one that recognized the primacy of the class that holds the weapons. Admittedly, in most civilizations, you would not end up as someone’s lunch if you shirked your specialization or bucked the social order, but you could still end up as dead meat.
That figurative human food chain has remained with us, albeit with the often cosmetic embellishments of legal and political systems. As an old Roman maxim puts it, “When the weapons are out, the laws are silent.” Our abilities and skills are consumed in a hierarchy that inevitably takes on the shape of a pyramid. The few at the top of this hierarchy not only tend to control distribution of resources, but also the weaponry.
The human food chain has survived mainly because the alternative, taking responsibility for yourself as an individual, is far, far worse by any standards, except possibly those of farmers. Imagine taking the kids to school and getting to work in the morning without someone to build a road to get you there. In the absence of a sane argument for ‘going it on your own’, the resource that you represent, your skills and abilities will be developed, channeled and consumed.
The prospects for escape are somewhat more slender than a day away from Alcatraz. There are two popular routes out: up or down. Reaching the top of the pyramid brings with it a long slog followed by heavy responsibilities. At the bottom, you have poverty. However, there is a somewhat more interesting route.
In his now seminal book, ‘Generation X’, Douglas Copeland notes the phenomenon of ‘downscaling’ in which yuppies who have it all opt out of the race and take low paying jobs as burger flippers or something equally ambitionless. It’s an intriguing strategy that apparently offers the best of both worlds: a form of low-income retirement.
Wherever you expect to end up on the food chain however, one piece of advice holds true: “Never bite off more than you can possibly chew.” Bon apetit.
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