In his 1833 book, American Utopianist J.A. Etzler predicted that mankind was years away from developing a technological paradise. He obtained funding and attempted to create a Utopia, wherein all could thrive. Wherein food and shelter would be inalienable rights. However, the available technology proved insufficient, and Etzler's plans failed.
Technology has greatly advanced since Etzler's day. In 2010, a real-life Frankensteinian experiment took place in Rockville, Maryland. Dr. Craig Venter and his team created a new bacteria---entirely from scratch, built from artificial DNA.
Mankind has achieved the highest dream of sci-fi prophecy: the creation of life. We are beginning to unlock the secrets of existence. But can we make a home for the life that already exists? Has the age of Etzler's paradise come at last?
Let's see what life is like for 80% of people on our planet.
Click below to find out:
[[BEGIN->BEGIN]]
You work for several hours.
You are surrounded by people who don't know you lived on the street last year. You wonder what they would do if they know you had an eviction notice on your door right now, due to lack of rent payment.
You know you will be hungry after this shift, but you have to save the money.
You'll have to wait for food until you can get to St. Vincents, early tomorrow morning.
[[Continue-> St. Vincents]]
Welcome to your new life.
You are part of the 80% of the world population who lives on less than $10 per day.
80% of all people...is a lot of people.
Of course, there are about 7 billion people on Earth, and about 2 billion lack access to proper water or sanitation.
You aren't at the rock bottom of poverty.
You do have access to water and sanitation.
You managed to scrape together a shared apartment.
You're fortunate.
But you'd better find out what your housing situation is costing you.
[[Continue->Housing]]
You roll over and look at your clock. It's 6:00 am. You ache all over. You've barely slept.
You and your partner share an apartment, costing $750 per month. Not a bad deal, except that you only bring in $800 dollars per month.
You haven't eaten much lately.
You need to find some food today.
No money left though.
[[Go outside and think->Outside]]
[[Sit inside and ask your partner for advice->Partner]]
You walk outside.
It's raining.
[[Stand in the rain->Stand in rain]]
[[Take cover under the awning->take cover]]
[[Go back inside and ask for advice->Inside]]
"Hey," you say to your partner, who didn't sleep much better than you. "Any thoughts on food today?"
[[What is the reply->talking to partner]]
The rain is freezing.
Your shoes are quickly soaked.
You're probably going to develop a cough now.
Some people carrying umbrellas go to the other side of the street to avoid you. You look at them.
What now?
[[Go back inside->you're wet]]
[[Take shelter->take cover]]
It's drier under the awning.
You wait for the rain to pass.
Cars drive by, splashing water nearly on you.
It's been a long time since you had a car.
The rain begins to lighten.
You see the food bank in the distance.
You could go there.
Or you could try to get in line at St. Vincents. If you go now and wait in line, you might be able to get something to eat by 5 pm this evening.
[[Walk to the food bank->Food bank]]
[[Walk to St. Vincents->St. Vincents]]
You sigh at the sight of the rain, and go back inside to talk to your partner.
[[Continue->talking to partner]]
"Why don't you go over to St. Vincents," says your partner.
"The food bank is open soon too."
[[Go to the food bank->Food bank]]
[[Go to St. Vincents->St. Vincents]]
The food bank tends to have a lot of day-old giveaways: cakes, donuts, bagels. Today is no exception.
In another life, you might have refrained, because you are allergic to gluten.
However, a wheat diet is cheap and energy dense.
You look at your arms. Still covered with hives from last week's wheat binge. It itches terribly. Is it getting worse?
[[Do you want to get more free bagels and donuts?->wheat]]
[[Try going to a clinic to get ointment for the rash->clinic]]
[[Forget this. Go to St. Vincent's->late]]
The following is an account about an experience at a charity organizaiton, based on a true story, written by essayist Amanda Sledz:
"It’s 7:15, and the line is already a grey snake that curves around the outside of the building. The people at the front of the line are drunk. The bottles around them suggest that last night they hit a liquor store just before close and elected to drink their purchases right there. A flash of judgment and scorn hits you hard, and then you notice that you wish you were drunk, too.
You become fast friends with the woman directly in front of you, Marciela, when she notices your cough matches her daughter’s. She has two children with her. The older one is four, and is carrying a copy of It’s Not Easy Being a Bunny. You’re hoping you can read it with her once inside. The other daughter is bundled in a collapsible baby carriage of plastic and wobbly wheels that you’ve seen some children use for their baby dolls. She’s fast asleep and wrapped in a blanket decorated with orange ducks, a bright knit cap covering her ears and tied just under her chin. She has the longest eyelashes you’ve ever seen, and after a few minutes of staring she blinks her eyes awake to look at you, and smiles. For a second, the world feels okay.
The doors open at 8AM and the whole crowd surges forward. A man nearly knocks over Marciela, who shouts at him, “I’ve got children, here!” You stand on the other side of her daughter so she doesn’t get knocked to the ground. She doesn’t thank you, and why should she? This is something you shouldn’t have to do.
Inside, a giant man over six feet three huddles behind protective glass and shouts to take a form and sign in. Everyone knows the drill: if you’re not in the top 20, this is going to be a bad day. If you’re after 20, you might as well go home, and try again tomorrow. You’re number 11. With a little luck, they might see you before lunchtime.
You should have got there earlier.
The seats are all taken and this is okay, because you’re able-bodied and need to dry out anyway. You shift back and forth on your feet, because the four year-old likes the squishing sound of wet sock meeting wet shoe. There are other children in the waiting area, eager to play and aware of the importance of not making their parents angry. A Russian girl looks up at her mother several times, and then pulls a green ball from her pocket. She rolls it across the room to the four year-old. A quiet game is on.
It’s a downtrodden rainbow tribe. An elderly black man with a Vietnam Veteran cap offers his seat to Marciela. A couple trades what sounds like insults in Russian. A white woman with a nice purse and nice rings wears a face that reveals she no longer cares if people think she looks like someone who belongs elsewhere. Some college students. A man who talks to himself in song lyrics. You keep gloves on your hands so no one sees your skin and wonders if you’re contagious. Within thirty minutes, people are talking, and not the shallow conversations of people greeting each other in a grocery line. No one is here because things are good. It’s a volley of unpaid child support payments, being screwed out of unemployment, delayed financial aid checks, money tied up before an estate is settled, an employer who just announced there wasn’t money to meet payroll. Each story is chased by surprising phrases of hope and gratitude. No one bangs on the glass and asks them to hurry up. It’s the patience of a forgotten era, infecting any new comer who arrives to discover no seats, and nothing but time in front of them.
After 9AM everyone who comes in walks away angry. The sad-eyed man behind the glass repeats the same refrain: “You can wait if you want to, but you probably won’t be seen today.” Every time he says it, his face accumulates another shade of age. He reminds the people who walk away angry that they have to come early. They just have to. People try to negotiate, offer long stories about when the power will be shut off and how they have kids at home and they’ll be in the dark today. Some of the people in the top 5 were these people yesterday. Every time one storms out, the woman closest to the door laughs, and the man next to you says: “They should have come early.”
It’s getting close to lunchtime. The panic in the waiting room is rising. Every day they close at noon and reopen at one. They’re on number 9. Marciela is number 10. Her panic is so thick she will no longer talk to you, or anyone. Her son is released from school at 2, and she has to be there to pick him up. She walks up to the window at five to noon, and asks if he thinks she can get in. She says she has to get her son. The baby has begun to fuss, and the four year-old is trying not to look bored by feigning being hypnotized by a carpet stain. The Russian girl can’t find her ball. She whispers, “Can you help me find my ball?” You help her look, and notice a slimy looking man. You think he has her ball, and too many demons.
Marciela is told no, and the announcement for lunch is made. The man behind the glass offers juice for the baby as consolation. She can’t talk. He offers a cell phone so she can call somebody. She takes it, looks at the ground, hurries her children outside.
The man on the wall trades “They should have come early” for “Lord, have mercy.”
You follow Marciella outside. She’s talking on the phone, crying. She’s trying to find someone to pick up her son. The first option doesn’t work, and she shields the side of her face with her hand as she tries to remember the number for the school. The baby is officially wailing. The four year-old is rubbing the baby’s duck-covered belly, trying not to look at her mother. You know in an instant: she will remember this.
She will remember all of this.
You go back inside and pound on the protective glass. A sad-eyed woman has traded places with the sad-eyed man. You say, “There’s a woman outside crying. Number 10. She needs to pick up her son. You have to see her, or she will have to go home.”
She looks at the clock, and back at you. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they made these rules for a reason. It doesn’t take a genius to see her anxiety that one exception could lead to five or accusations of unfairness. You repeat again, “You have to see her.”
Another person behind you says, “See her now, please.”
Another says, “Please help the mother. Please.”
It’s too much “please” for one food bank. Marciela is brought back in, and led to the back. You’ll see her when you return, the four year-old eating dry cheerios and the baby sleeping all over again, each side of the stroller weighted with plastic food bags.
You will never see her again, and you’re glad."
[[Continue->end]]
You come back inside, dripping wet.
There's not a lot of space in the one room apartment.
This is uncomfortable.
You don't have any clean clothes.
[[Strip down and climb back into your sleeping bag->BEGIN]]
[[Ask your partner for advice->talking to partner]]
You get a big trashbag full of cakes, donuts and bagels.
It's heavy.
How will you get this home?
You'd like to take the bus, but the bus is $5.
$5 = a can of tomatoes, garlic, onion, ginger, beans and rice.
[[Take the bus->unhappy]]
[[Walk back->walk]]
Your rash has become worse. Your visible skin looks like shrivelled lobster. Is this all from your gluten allergy? Additionally, you're coughing now. Your mind feels tired. Can you get sick from being in the rain this quickly?
You arrive at the clinic.
They tell you the ointment for your rash will be $40. An unholy sum. Totally unaffordable without health insurance.
You'll have to convince one of your buddies to fill the prescription for you. Maybe?
You leave, unsatisfied.
The walk home is long and wearisome.
When you arrive, you curl up.
You can't help but cry. You hurt all over.
Your partner has a work interview tomorrow. Good luck with that. Is there anything suitable to wear to an interview around here?
You think about calling your mom, but know it would be too much shame.
[[Do you have the willpower to work tomorrow? Did you get any sleep?->Untitled Passage 1]]
[[You sleep through work, but manage to make it to St. Vincents in the early morning, on the next day->St. Vincents]]
You're late to St. Vincents.
Only the first 20 visitors get anything.
You'll have to be hungry today, again.
Your partner won't be happy.
One of the guys who among the first 20 visitors laughs as you leave, and suggests, "Come earlier tomorrow."
You won't be able to come early tomorrow, because you actually have a work shift tomorrow. The job pays $10 per hour, but only gives a few shifts per week. It's an easy job; your sickness won't let you do anything else. In fact, you only got this job because of the master's degree you obtained a lifetime ago.
You'll have to come to St. Vincents two days from now.
[[Try again in two days->BEGIN]]
[[Try to get to the clinic before it closes->clinic]]
You take the bus home.
Your partner is pleased with the bagels and such,
but concerned about your rash.
Your partner says you'll need to go to the clinic.
[[Walk to the clinic->clinic]]
By the time you get home with the bag, your shoes are soaked.
The zippers have been broken for a long time, and offer little protection.
You're coughing, and the rash from eating wheat is worse than ever. Your partner offers to walk with you to the clinic.
You say:
[[No, I need to visit St. Vincents before they get too busy->St. Vincents]]
[[Ok, let's go to the clinic->clinic]]
You think to yourself:
There are countless stereotypes about people in poverty.
Maybe the drunk people in the line at St. Vincents---maybe they fit those stereotypes. Maybe they sell their food stamps for drugs, and maybe they have no ethics---but, not you, right?
You're a normal decent person who ended up in bad situation.
As it happens, so are most of the people in unfortunate circumstances.
That's it, you realize. You worked hard, you got your degree. But somehow, things went wrong, and you couldn't get a job. You got sick. You fell into debt. You fell into poverty.
It was all due to unfortunate circumstance.
If only you could have eliminated those circumstances.
But we can eliminate unfortunate circumstance.
Remember Etzler's Paradise?
[[Find out about Etzler's Paradise->NEXT]]
[[Continue->St. Vincents]]
Nearly a billion people entered the 21st century unable to read a book or sign their names.
Less than one per cent of what the world spent every year on weapons was needed to put every child into school by the year 2000 and yet it didn’t happen.
If we stopped our wars and our squabbles, if we united, then we could universally combat unfortunate life circumstances.
We could create Etzler's Paradise.
It could happen any time.
How will it happen?
You tell me.
What will it be? Self-sufficient auotmatic food factories? Machines that automatically sow, harvest, and process crops?
Millenia ago, before the dawn of modern society, there were no inalienable rights. Men killed one another for food and shelter, and no laws protected them.
Today, life and liberty are considered inalienable rights. But they were not always. Why are they now? Because society now exists in a form wherein these rights CAN be inalienable.
Why can't food and shelter be inalienable rights? We could make a world where the basics of survival are automatically provided, without cost; made automatically by untiring machines.
"We have the technology."
Just because the world is the way it is, just because it has been the way it is --->
This does not mean it is meant to be this way.
This does not mean it needs to stay this way.
Sources:
"The paradise within the reach of all men, without labour, by powers of nature and machinery : an address to all intelligent men" by Etzler, J. A. (John Adolphus)
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/science/7745868/Scientist-Craig-Venter-creates-life-for-first-time-in-laboratory-sparking-debate-about-playing-god.html
http://www.globalissues.org/article/26/poverty-facts-and-stats
http://amandasledz.com/2013/09/a-day-in-the-life-of-poverty/