Making A Difference: The Diary of Justin Trudeau-Fairchild, Intern
Week Two: The Romney Rehabilitation
October 2 2014 | Rate This |
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You can read this series from the beginning here.
I spent the next week reading the Piketty book, or at least trying to. I think I understood the parts that didn't have any math in them. I got desperate enough in trying to understand the rest of it that I broke down and called my dad for help.
"Enjoying yourself in Washington?" he asked.
"Not so far," I said. "I'm trying to figure out the difference between the Gini coefficient and the Lorenz Curve."
"Don't tell me," he said. "Let me guess. They've got you reading that Piketty book, haven't they? This income inequality nonsense is starting to get some political traction, I take it."
"It's not nonsense, Dad. According to Piketty, that is."
"All right, then. I'll arrange to have eighty percent of your trust fund transferred over to the deserving poor. I can talk to Consuela; she'll know someone."
"That's not what I meant!" I said.
"If you really believe in what you stand for, you'd be willing to make the sacrifice. Consuela's got three brothers in the Philippines; she'd be happy to help you send them some money."
"It would just be an empty gesture on my part," I said. "The wealth tax has to have a global component, or it won't work."
"Global, you mean, except for the Cayman Islands," he said. "Or let's hope so. Speaking of which, I need to get back to work, kid. Enjoy your internship."
I looked up the Cayman Islands on the Internet, because I didn't know where they were and I didn't want Dad to think I was stupid if the subject came up again. It turns out that they are in the Caribbean, and are a holdover from British colonialism and mercantilism, with a large population of individuals of African descent. I don't know why the people there wouldn't want to participate in global redistribution. I did remember something about Mitt Romney having investments there, but I never understood why that was, and anyway, who cared about Mitt Romney anymore?
"All right," Polly said. "Your assignment for today is to say nice things about Mitt Romney."
Everyone in the conference room for the daily intern orientation groaned. A couple of people booed.
"I don't like it any more than you do," Polly said. "But the fact is that Romney's come out for a minimum wage increase. That puts him at odds with the House Republicans. You know how the game works as well as I do. We're united; they're divided. We're for principle; they're for political expediency. We're the centrists; they're the extremists. Something like this is gold for us, and you don't let gold pass through your hands."
"Did they ask the dog on top of his car how he felt about the minimum wage increase?" someone asked.
Polly looked up at the ceiling, as though she was wishing that Tom Cruise would rappel down from the ventilation ducts and rescue her. "I want all of you to listen to me," she said. "All those anti-Romney memes and jokes and slogans that we developed? Do not use a single one of them. Period. The first person who makes a Big Bird joke is out of here. Anyone who says the word 'binders' in my presence is going to risk my wrath. We treat former Governor Romney with the utmost respect, at least for today. Get to work."
Polly tapped me on the arm as I was walking out of the conference room, and I went over to see what she wanted. "Did you finish that book?" she asked.
"Not exactly," I said.
"Don't worry about it," she said. "I couldn't, either. I don't think anyone else has finished it, not in this country, anyway. We need all hands on deck today for this Romney thing. Can I count on you?"
"You can count on me," I said. "I just have one question."
"Shoot," Polly said.
I thought about pointing out that she was using violent pro-gun imagery, but I decided to save that discussion for another day. "I think there's a way we can leverage the Romney announcement in a way that enhances our principles as an organization."
"Whatever that is, no," she said. "You have a job to do. Do your job. Leave the principles of the organization to someone else."
"You haven't even heard the idea," I said. "And I got it from you. You said we were the ones who were consistent and united, and they weren't."
"This is about minimum wage for interns," she said.
"How did you know?" I asked.
"Because you're not the first person to bring this up, that's why. Listen, Justin. We don't pay interns. We never pay interns. We need interns, and you do an important job. We couldn't do the social-media stuff we do without interns. But we don't pay interns, and we're not going to, and if I hear you say anything about wanting to get paid to another intern, you're going to be looking for another internship. Do you understand?"
"No," I said.
"Then think about it until you do understand," Polly said. "I would do that very quickly, if I were you."
"How can the organization advocate for an increase in a minimum wage when its interns don't make any money at all?" I asked. "It's not consistent."
"The Republicans say they value jobs and not food stamps, yet they won't agree to pay minimum-wage workers enough to buy food. That's not consistent. Focus on what they're doing wrong, instead of what we're doing wrong. If you stay on offense, you never have to go on defense. That's a football metaphor, in case you're not a fan."
"If we can show we're paying interns a living wage, then that makes our offensive that much more credible," I said.
Polly rubbed her temples, which is something she does when her headache pain returns. I keep meaning to refer her to my herbologist.
"Before you seriously consider just how much of a financial hit we would take in paying interns," she said, "and what that would do to payroll, including my job, you should check your privilege. After you do that, get back to work."
At first, I didn't know why my privilege had anything to do with anything, but I checked it anyway, because it's always a good idea. I decided that she was right. A minimum-wage increase would do more to help low-income workers than the issue of whether or not my fellow interns and I were able to earn a few more dollars a week, and anything I could do to help get the legislation passed--even saying nice things about Mitt Romney!--was more important than ideological consistency and purity.
Still, I'm not sure I made that much of a difference this week or not. So I'm going to calculate how much I would have earned this week if I had been paid a minimum wage, and then I'm going to send it to Consuelo so that she can send it to her family in the Philippines. It is only a little blow for global income equality, but it makes me feel better about what I'm doing. (I would have asked her to send a copy of the Piketty book to them, too, but it doesn't seem to have been translated into Tagalog yet.)
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