Hola Señor McCloskey, me llama Miguel Miguelosquez. Estoy disponible para trabajar con sus vacas, señor.

A Hoosier dairy farmer by the name of Mike McCloskey just admitted on the record in the Economist to systemic discrimination in his own hiring practices. “‘I’m a bit racist, I don’t hire gringos,’ jokes Mr McCloskey, who is fluent in Spanish thanks to his Puerto Rican mother. He hires only Hispanics to work on his farms.”

That’s a hell of a joke for anyone who might conceivably have even one stray Anglo or honorary Anglo floating around in his applicant pool. The likelihood of a member of Whitey or the Community suddenly developing an unprecedented interest in pulling titty in Northwest Indiana just jumped significantly now that Mr. McCloskey has gone on the record as having 36,000 head of dairy cattle to go along with his stated policy of employment discrimination on the basis of race and national origin. Verily the servant of God Michael joyously offers first fruits unto the trial bar. With a herd of that size and a flagship farm that he operates as a sort of amusement park, dude’s loaded. This isn’t some Amishman who hires only his nephews and cousins to help him milk his herd of two dozen in exchange for a box of fresh tomatoes or maybe a mason jar of kraut. Amishmen don’t usually spend so much time telling a reporter from Britain’s premier weekly newspaper about how dear Mother so generously bestowed upon them the gift of Spanish.

This cross-cultural linguistic preening is telling. All these fuckheads are acting like some Hoosier having native fluency in the Romance language most widely spoken in the United States (and the Western Hemisphere) is a big accomplishment. Basically, Mom taught him some shit that he could have forgotten but managed to remember instead. I became proficient in conversational Korean as a toddler because I had a Korean babysitter and can sort of recall a few stray words from a boarding announcement that I overheard a few years ago for a flight from Dulles to Incheon. Maybe the Economist would like to interview me about reunification policy. It actually concluded an article by discussing how this cow mogul dipshit in Indiana speaks Spanish and thinks racial discrimination in employment is highly amusing.

This has to be some of the most meretricious writing on earth. The Economist’s articles are consistently stylistically sound, if not eloquent, but they also routinely shoehorn barely relevant, diversionary bullshit into what might otherwise be good journalism. “From moo to you” went off the rails in its last paragraph, and I’m paranoid enough to suspect that it was by design. When Upton Sinclair tacked that bizarre socialist agitprop coda onto the end of The Jungle, the storyline sucked. It was like, okay, everyone but Jurgis is either dead to the world in some whorehouse or literally dead, but that speaker at the socialist meeting gave a good talk, QED workers of the world unite. The Economist is much smoother than that, and that’s what’s dangerous about it. Readers have to read with a critical eye to have a hope of noticing the propaganda. Subtly appending a screed about the uselessness of American workers to an article about innovations in the dairy industry by way of purporting to discuss labor shortages is a Bernaysian masterstroke. Does Occam’s Razor suggest that a piece with such efficacy as neoliberal propaganda accidentally fell into place in the course of a writing and editing process free of all ulterior motives or that the piece was calculatingly crafted as propaganda? That’s the thing: in theory, it should, but given the circumstances, I wouldn’t believe it. The Economist pulls this sort of shit all the time.

Here’s another way to look at it: Upton Sinclair:The Economist::Robert Pickton:Russell Williams. Sometimes the well-bred Englishman looks like a jolly old chap with a jolly old wit; other times, he looks like he ought to be bunking with Gary Glitter in Rock and Roll Part Eww. #TheMoreYouKnow: Jian Ghomeshi and Col. Williams were both born in England, eh. Okay, so was Mark Saunders. But that’s also the country whose elites knowingly harbored Jimmy Savile through his decades of perv, and it’s hard to find a story of student life at its boarding schools that isn’t thoroughly creepifying. There’s a lot of really dangerous shit going on at the top of British society. It isn’t just the occasional religious nut putting a machete to some poor Drummer’s neck who needs to catch the next bus to Belmarsh.

We’re told that “American dairy farmers see labour shortages as their biggest challenge.” Bullshit. These labor shortages have an odd way of afflicting industries where the pay sucks. Don’t try to tell me that orthopedic surgery (“strong as an ox and twice as smart”) is pleasant. It pays better than wiping down a cow’s tits in a shitty milking parlor, though. #TeshTips: If you’re paying a guy ten dollars an hour to wipe placental slime off newborn calves all night, he’ll probably accept any management-track offer he receives from Dunkin’ Donuts. The solution is to increase pay scales so that Dunkin’ Donuts can’t compete with its compensation package. If conditions are unpleasant enough, that might mean six-figure annual pay including overtime, but we’re talking about a highly automated dairy empire with a herd in the tens of thousands. The costs of not acceding to labor’s demands in such circumstances are immense, but the benefits of acceding are equally immense.

Of course management would still like to lowball labor, never mind that labor in this case is a tiny workforce keeping tens of thousands fed. This is the United States. Martyrdom stories about how there aren’t enough workers willing to do hard jobs for hardworking businessmen because we’re a people gone soft are as American as Abu Ghraib. The pay scales in question are usually left conveniently unmentioned, as they were by the Economist. The great Bernaysian adventure requires that we continue to submit to our collective whippings until our morale improves. Remember, we were assembled into a country from a number of slave states, and our Constitution (yes, that one) to this day permits the enslavement of convicts.

One of the most brazen sob stories of a workforce gone soft involves a purported chef shortage. Obviously, the only genuine chef shortage was South Park’s religiously inspired temporary Chef shortage, which, owing to the way of all flesh and Isaac Hayes’ expedited advancement to the next level in the game of Scientology, soon became a permanent Chef shortage. But there have actually been articles about the inability of restaurants to attract enough chefs. God forbid, bougies with ten-thousand dollar custom stoves might actually have to do their own cooking instead of going out to restaurants and having someone else cook for them right now. Or the restaurants might get more crowded because there are fewer of them, or some shit. This is obviously a top-shelf White Whine. What’s at stake is the affluent having to wait longer and pay more for other people to cook them bespoke meals on command.

This is another function of the free market at work. The shitty pay for non-celebrity chefs (and especially chefs in training) isn’t enough to convince them to tough it out through grueling work schedules in unpleasant environments. There’d be more of them if they were paid better, but they aren’t, so they’re fewer in number, and now Bougie is having a bitchfest about stupid shit again, because the invisible hand of the market is for other, less privileged, people. Cutting their wages because MUH FREE MORKETS is cool; cutting restaurant offerings for yuppies because markets is not.

My goodness, Mrs. O’Hara, it is hard to find a good house negro these days!


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