Two Towns Try to Bridge a Recession – S.I. Hayakawa

The Word is Not the Thing

Long ago when I was beginning to learn to think, someone suggested that I should read “Language in Thought and Action,” by S I Hayakawa.  Someone suggested if I learned anything from it I might get a good grade.  She was an attractive authority figure and I was motivated to gain her approval in the way any insecure 13-year old might.

This was my introduction to General Semantics, which, at first, I thought was a disease.  I won’t bore you with a description of GM, there are people far more intelligent who are better at this sort of thing.  So, here is a short story that has parallels to contemporary humanity.

The Story of A-town and B-ville

Once upon a time, said the Professor, there were two small communities, spiritually as well as geographically situated at a considerable distance from each other. They had, however, these problems in common: both were hard hit by a recession, so that in each of the towns there were about one hundred heads of families unemployed.

The city fathers of A-town, the first community, were substantial and sound-thinking businessmen. The unemployed tried hard, as unemployed people usually do, to find jobs; but the situation did not improve. The city fathers had been brought up to believe that there is always enough work for everyone, if you only look for it hard enough.  Comforting themselves with this doctrine, the city fathers could have shrugged their shoulders and turned their backs on the problem, except for the fact that they were genuinely kindhearted men. They could not bear to see the unemployed men and their wives and children starving.

In order to prevent hardship, they felt that they had to provide these people with some means of sustenance. Their principles told them, nevertheless, that if people were given something for nothing, it would demoralize their character. Naturally this made the city fathers even more unhappy, because they were faced with the horrible choice of (1) letting the unemployed starve, or (2) destroying their moral character.

The solution they finally hit upon, after much debate and soul-searching, was this. They decided to give the unemployed families “relief payments” of two hundred dollars a month. (They considered using the English term “dole,” but with their characteristic American penchant for euphemism, they decided on the less offensive term.) To make sure that the unemployed would not take their unearned payments too much for granted, however, they decided that
the “relief” was to be accompanied by a moral lesson; to wit: the obtaining of the assistance would be made so difficult, humiliating, and disagreeable that there would be no temptation for anyone to go through the process unless it was absolutely necessary; the moral disapproval of the community would be turned upon the recipients of the money at all times in such a way that they would try hard to get “off relief” and “regain their self-respect.” Some even proposed that people on relief be denied the vote, so that the moral lesson would be more deeply impressed upon them. Others suggested that their names be published at regular intervals in the  newspapers. The city fathers had enough faith in the goodness of human nature to expect that the recipients would be grateful, since they were getting something for nothing, something which they hadn’t worked for.

When the plan was put into operation, however, the recipients of the relief checks proved to be an ungrateful, ugly bunch. They seemed to resent the cross-examinations and inspections at the hands of the “relief investigators,” who, they said, took advantage of a man’s misery to snoop into every detail of his private life. In spite of uplifting editorials in the A-town Tribune telling them how grateful they ought to be, the recipients of the relief refused to learn any moral lessons, declaring that they were “just as good as anybody else.”

When, for example, they permitted themselves the rare luxury of a movie or an evening of bingo, their neighbors looked at them sourly as if to say, “I work hard and pay my taxes just in order to support loafers like you in idleness and pleasure.” This attitude, which was fairly characteristic of those members of the community who still had jobs, further embittered the relief recipients, so that they showed even less gratitude as time went on and were constantly on the lookout for insults, real or imaginary, from people who might think that they weren’t as good as anybody else.

A number of them took to moping all day long; one or two even committed suicide. Others, feeling that they had failed to provide, found it hard to look their wives and children in the face. Children whose parents were “on relief” felt inferior to classmates whose parents were not “public charges.” Some of these children developed inferiority complexes which affected not only their grades at school, but their careers after graduation. Finally, several relief recipients felt they could stand their loss of self-respect no longer and decided, after many efforts
to gain honest jobs, that they would earn money by their own efforts even if they had to rob. They did so and were caught and sent to the state penitentiary.

The depression, therefore, hit A-town very hard. The relief policy had averted starvation, no doubt, but suicide, personal quarrels, unhappy homes, the weakening of social organizations, the maladjustment of children, and, finally, crime, had resulted. The town was divided in two, the “haves” and the “have-nots,” so that there was class hatred. People shook their heads sadly and declared that it all went to prove over again what they had known from the beginning, that giving people something for nothing inevitably demoralizes their character. The citizens of A-town gloomily waited for prosperity to return, with less and less hope as time went on.

The story of the other community, B-ville, was entirely different. B-ville was a relatively isolated town, too far out of the way to be reached by Rotary Club speakers and other dispensers of conventional wisdom. One of the aldermen, however, who was some-thing of an economist, explained to his fellow aldermen that unemployment, like sickness, accident, fire, tornado, or death, hits unexpectedly in modem society, irrespective of the victim’s merits or deserts.

He went on to say that B-ville’s homes, parks, streets, industries, and everything else B-ville was proud of, had been built in part by the work of these same people who were now unemployed. He then proposed to apply a principle of insurance: If the work these unemployed people had previously done for the community could be regarded as a form of “premium” paid to the community against a time of misfortune, payments now made to them to prevent their starvation could be regarded as “insurance claims.” He therefore proposed that all men of good repute who had worked in the community in some line of useful endeavor, whether as machinists, clerks, or bank managers, be regarded as “citizen policyholders,” having “claims” against the city in the case of unemployment for two hundred dollars a month until such time as they might again be employed.

Naturally, he had to talk very slowly and patiently, since the idea was entirely new to his fellow aldermen. But he described his plan as a “straight business proposition,” and finally they were persuaded. They worked out in detail, to everyone’s satisfaction, the conditions under which citizens should be regarded as policy-holders in the city’s social insurance plan, and decided to give checks for two hundred dollars a month to the heads of each of B-ville’s indigent families.

B-ville’s “claim adjusters,” whose duty it was to investigate the claims of the citizen “policyholders,” had a much better time than A-town’s “relief investigators.”  While the latter had been resentfully regarded as snoopers, the former, having no moral lesson to teach but simply a business transaction to carry out, treated their clients with businesslike courtesy and got the same amount of information as the relief investigators had, with considerably less difficulty.

There were no hard feelings. It further happened, fortunately, that news of B-ville’s plans reached a liberal newspaper editor in the big city at the other end of the state. This writer described the plan in a leading feature story headed “B-VILLE LOOKS AHEAD. Adventure in Social Pioneering Launched by Upper Valley Community.” As a result of this publicity, inquiries about the plan began to come to the city hall even before the first checks were mailed out. This led, naturally, to a considerable feeling of pride on the part of the aldermen, who, being boosters, felt that this was a wonderful opportunity to put B-ville on the map.

Accordingly, the aldermen decided that instead of simply mailing out the checks as they had originally intended, they would publicly present the first checks at a monster civic ceremony. They invited the governor of the state, who was glad to come to bolster his none-too-enthusiastic support in that locality, the president of the state university, the senator from their district, and other functionaries.

They decorated the National Guard armory with flags and got out the American Legion Fife and Drum Corps, the Boy Scouts, and other civic organizations. At the big celebration, each family to receive a “social insurance check” was marched up to the platform to receive it, and the governor and the mayor shook hands with each of them as they came trooping up in their best clothes. Fine speeches were made; there was much cheering and shouting; pictures of the event showing the recipients of the checks shaking hands with the mayor, and the governor patting the heads of the children, were published not only in the local papers but also in several metropolitan picture sections.

Every recipient of these insurance checks had a feeling, therefore, that he had been personally honored, that he lived in a wonderful little town, and that he could face his unemployment with greater courage and assurance, since his community was back of him. The men and women found themselves being kidded in a friendly way by their acquaintances for having been “up there with the big shots,” shaking hands with the governor, and so on. The children at school found themselves envied for having had their pictures in the papers. All in all, B-ville’s unemployed did not commit suicide, were not haunted by a sense of failure, did not turn to crime, did not manifest personal maladjustments, did not develop class hatred, as the result of their two hundred dollars a month. . . .

At the conclusion of the Professor’s story, the discussion began:
“That just goes to show,” said the Advertising Man, who was known among his friends as a realistic thinker, “what good promotional work can do. B-ville’s city council had real advertising sense, and that civic ceremony was a masterpiece . . . made everyone happy . . . put over the scheme in a big way. Reminds me of the way we do things in our business: as soon as we called horse-mackerel tuna-fish, we developed a big market for it. I suppose if you called relief `insurance,’ you could actually get people to like it, couldn’t you?”

     “What do you mean, `calling’ it insurance?” asked the Social Worker. “B-ville’s scheme wasn’t relief at all. It was insurance.”

     “Good grief, man! Do you realize what you’re saying?” cried the Advertising Man in surprise. “Are you implying that those people had any right to that money? All I said was that it’s a good idea to disguise relief as insurance if it’s going to make people any happier. But it’s still relief, no matter what you call it. It’s all right to kid the public along to reduce discontent, but we don’t need to kid ourselves as well!”

     “But they do have a right to that money! They’re not getting something for nothing. It’s insurance. They did something for the community, and that’s their premium.”

     “Say, are you crazy?”

     “Who’s crazy?”

     “You’re crazy. Relief is relief, isn’t it? If you’d only call things by their right names. . . .”
“But, confound it, insurance is insurance, isn’t it?”

P.S. Those who have concluded that the point of the story is that the Social Worker and the Advertising Man were “only arguing about different names for the same thing,” are asked to reread the story and explain what they mean by (1) “only” and (2) “the same thing.”

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About carlos

I'm a curious person, of reasonable intellect, "on the beach" (retired) and enjoying my interest in anthropology, language, civil rights, and a few other areas. I've been a hippie/student/aerospace tech writer in the '60s, a witness to the Portuguese revolution in the ‘70s, a defense test engineer and witness to the Guatemalan genocide in the '80s, and a network engineer for an ISP in the '90s. Now I’m a student and commentator until my time is up. I've spent time under the spell of the Mesoamerican pyramids and the sweet sound of the Portuguese language. I've lived in Europe, traveled in Brazil, Central America, Iceland, New Zealand, and other places. My preferred mode of travel is with a backpack and I eat (almost) anything local. Somehow, many of the countries I have been to have had civil unrest (for which I was not responsible). I'm open to correspond with anyone who might share my liberal, humanist interests. I live in San Buenaventura, California.
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