Orwellian Snapshots, Episode 9: “A Festival of Sensitivity”

[Note: Below is the ninth installment of the Orwellian Snapshots (future time travel) series. For background information, including how I came to have access to the time machine in the White House basement, read this post. For other episodes, click the "Orwellian Snapshots" link in the sidebar. Enjoy...]

It was with vigor in my step that I stole into the White House basement and started up the time machine. Several weeks had passed since I last took a spin, and the thrill of probing the future was missing from my existence. The date I selected was October 10, 2012, near the end of the current presidential term; the place, right there in the same spot—the White House basement. What would I find in the corridors and rooms above, not to mention the rest of our nation’s capital?

Not long thereafter I emerged from the machine and climbed the stairs to the ground floor. Everything looked familiar, except for a rather large portrait of Hugo Chavez. I heard the sound of human voices emanating from a small conference room, so I went inside. About a dozen people were present, chatting in small groups. Empty coffee cups and the remains of breakfast were strewn about. There was no sign of the president or first lady.

I approached a pair of high-volume interlocutors as they gesticulated excitedly: White House Communications Director Anita Dunn and former Green Jobs Czar Van Jones. They were engaged in a heated debate over who is the greatest revolutionary leader of all time.

“Mao, without question,” declared Anita, smacking her lips with satisfaction. “He applied the methodology of community organizing on the largest scale imaginable. And he started from nothing, absolutely nothing.”

“Mao was great, I agree,” said Van, his index finger pointed upward for emphasis. “But he couldn’t shine the shoes of Ho Chi Minh. Mao had only the bourgeois Chinese reactionaries to deal with. In other words, only his own people. Ho Chi Minh, with fewer resources, had to take on the Great Satan itself, bearing the full brunt of America’s racist military-industrial complex.”

I was eager to hear the pro-Mao rejoinder, but Attorney-General Eric Holder had entered the room, and was presently exchanging a high-five salutation with Van Jones. “Van, my man, what d’ya say?” exclaimed Eric, with warmth and verve.

“I’m doin’ okay.”

“Glad to have you back on board. I was getting worried you might have a problem with those Senate confirmation hearings last month. Those racist Republicans don’t take too kindly to havin’ us colored folk on the Supreme Court, heh heh.”

“You better believe it, bro,” said Van. “But it was no sweat. Ever since those hate-crime laws were passed, we don’t have to worry about being insulted by racist remarks. Anyway, that’ll be the last time we get harassed by right-wing extremists in the Senate. Tomorrow, my fellow justices and I are going to declare the whole rigmarole—you know, the Senate approval of every damn federal judge—to be unconstitutional.”

“It’s about time,” said Anita, glancing at her watch. “Oh my, I’m late. I have to get over to Capitol Hill for the hearings of the Imperialism Watchdog Committee. See you guys later.” She exchanged high-fives with the two legal scholars, and exited the room.

The Imperialism Watchdog Committee, what was that all about? I had to find out. I returned to the time machine and set the dials for five minutes into the future, on Capitol Hill. The machine touched down in an obscure corridor. It took me over ten minutes to locate the room in which the hearings were taking place. I found a seat in the visitors’ gallery.

The chairman, Senator Harry Reid, was calling the meeting to order. “Ladies, gentlemen, and others. Welcome to the hearings of the Joint Congressional Committee for the Monitoring of Imperialism. Last week, we awarded two billion dollars in damages to Cambodia for medical expenses resulting from the degradation of their health by American soft-drink manufacturers.”

“Mr. Chairperson,” said a committee member.

“Yes, Mr. Damon?” (It was really Matt Damon, though he had put on a bit of weight.)

“Mr. Chairperson, what about Upper Volta? We have evidence of hundreds of millions of dollars worth of deteriorating health in that country as the result of Coke and Pepsi alone.”

“I know, Mr. Damon,” replied Harry, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And many other places besides. They will be considered in due course, by the subcommittee on the African continent. Now on to current business. We have with us today Anita Dunn, the International Sensitivity Czar. She will enlighten us about a case of American imperialism in…wait…Canada? Is that correct?”

“That’s right, Mr. Chairperson,” said Anita, smiling behind a large microphone. “We’re talking about the Eskimos of the Northwest Territories. As a result of propaganda coming from global-warming deniers, these people have suffered unspeakable emotional trauma. They were led to believe, by far-right-wing agitators, that America would sacrifice them, that we didn’t care if their entire culture disappeared along with the ice, the polar bears, and the igloos.” She held up a thick leather-bound dossier. “It’s all documented in this scientific study.”

“So,” said Harry, “I presume the administration is recommending reparations?”

“Absolutely. We feel that ten billion should cover it. We also recommend that fines be imposed on the global-warming deniers.”

“It’ll take too long,” said Matt Damon, shaking his head. “I mean going through the courts and all that.”

“No need for the courts,” replied Anita. “We’re holding the deniers right now in a special lockup, courtesy of Homeland Security. Getting them to pay their fines will be a breeze. Then we’ll fly them to northern Alaska for some Eskimo sensitivity training.”

I walked out of the chamber and headed back to the time machine, chastising myself for being so damn curious about the future.

Enter, and you shall be sensitized: