The Company They Keep

OK, I know: my bias is showing.

But I am sick to death of the way the elite in America lord it over the rest of us, and how they, really, are all one—no matter their political “disagreements.”

A story (subscription required) in the New York Times two days ago still has my blood boiling. It’s titled “Lunch Menu: D’Amato, Koch, Clinton, ’08.”

What’s worst for me is that these are people who have become wealthy through politics. They are eating at New York’s posh Four Seasons restaurant on what should be our dime. Or $250.00 (or more) for the lunch.

No… I take that back. What’s worst for me is seeing Hillary Clinton going over to the other side without a qualm.

All I could think of was the end of George Orwell’s Animal Farm. Remember the commandments? At first they included “All animals are equal.” At the end, that has been changed:

ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUALBUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERSAfter that it did not seem strange when next day the pigs who were supervising the work of the farm all carried whips in their trotters. It did not seem strange to learn that the pigs had bought themselves a wireless set, were arranging to install a telephone, and had taken out subscriptions to John Bull, TitBits, and the Daily Mirror. It did not seem strange when Napoleon was seen strolling in the farmhouse garden with a pipe in his mouth-no, not even when the pigs took Mr. Jones’s clothes out of the wardrobes and put them on, Napoleon himself appearing in a black coat, ratcatcher breeches, and leather leggings, while his favourite sow appeared in the watered silk dress which Mrs. Jones had been used to wear on Sundays.

It doesn’t seem strange that Hillary Clinton, too, has taken on the trappings of the American elite.

The pigs and the humans soon have a dinner together (just like the three at the Four Seasons). One human, Mr. Pilkington, gives a speech:

He would end his remarks, he said, by emphasising once again the friendly feelings that subsisted, and ought to subsist, between Animal Farm and its neighbours. Between pigs and human beings there was not, and there need not be, any clash of interests whatever. Their struggles and their difficulties were one. Was not the labour problem the same everywhere?

Napoleon, the chief pig (or should he now be called Hillary?), soon rises to give a speech of his own:

He too, he said, was happy that the period of misunderstanding was at an end. For a long time there had been rumours-circulated, he had reason to think, by some malignant enemy-that there was something subversive and even revolutionary in the outlook of himself and his colleagues. They had been credited with attempting to stir up rebellion among the animals on neighbouring farms. Nothing could be further from the truth! Their sole wish, now and in the past, was to live at peace and in normal business relations with their neighbours. This farm which he had the honour to control, he added, was a co-operative enterprise. The title-deeds, which were in his own possession, were owned by the pigs jointly.

From outside, some of the other farm animals have been watching:

There was the same hearty cheering as before, and the mugs were emptied to the dregs. But as the animals outside gazed at the scene, it seemed to them that some strange thing was happening. What was it that had altered in the faces of the pigs? Clover’s old dim eyes flitted from one face to another. Some of them had five chins, some had four, some had three. But what was it that seemed to be melting and changing? Then, the applause having come to an end, the company took up their cards and continued the game that had been interrupted, and the animals crept silently away. But they had not gone twenty yards when they stopped short. An uproar of voices was coming from the farmhouse. They rushed back and looked through the window again. Yes, a violent quarrel was in progress. There were shoutings, bangings on the table, sharp suspicious glances, furious denials. The source of the trouble appeared to be that Napoleon and Mr. Pilkington had each played an ace of spades simultaneously. Twelve voices were shouting in anger, and they were all alike. No question, now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.

No matter how much they may fight among themselves, let’s not be fooled: Hillary Clinton has become one of them.

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