Inflation, Stagflation, Recession - What Really Matters?
Story Time:
In 2003 I was in India, preparing to bring Sukanya home. I was sitting in some random government official's waiting room. Kamala, the boss-lady at the Guild of Service was using my talents as someone who regularly spoke with government officials, to lobby them on moving her applications for adoption to US families faster. More about that meeting in a minute.
In the waiting room one couldn't ignore all 5'2" of the mighty Kamala Ramanathan, barraging a secretary with a precise Tamil verbal assault. She was telling that secretary that The Official Himself certainly had time for us.
An older Indian gentleman sat near me listening in, not that it was any effort for him. People were hearing the ferocious Ms. Ramanathan down the street. The old man leaned closer to me and asked "so you are from America? And you work for the government there?"
"Well yes, I'm from Seattle, it's in the state of Washington. And I do work for the government, sort of."
He gave me a sad little smile. "You know that they are protesting on Anna Circle, in front of the consulate, yes?" As if I knew where Anna Circle was.
"I didn't know that."
He was so polite, so dignified. His accent was so proper. His clothing was ragged. It might have barely been good enough to sell in a thrift store here in the US.
"You will invade Afghanistan, yes?"
I nodded, tired. "Soon," was all the words I had for the current geopolitical situation.
"Why do you Americans think that you can fix everything in other countries? Don't you have enough troubles in your own house?"
That was the question indeed. But jet lag was a killer, and when it came to Washington D.C., why do we do anything that we do? I'm just little me, here to bring my daughter home. But not in his eyes. This might be his one chance to speak directly to the United States of America. And he was being so polite, so steadfast, he deserved an answer.
"They killed many people. America will demand punishment. I suppose that's it," I said.
"Do you think that you can fix Afghanistan? You Americans have so little experience there. Here in India we know about Afghanistan. Why do you not ask us our thoughts first?" He didn't mean government to government. He was asking me.
"What do you think we should do?" I was hoping beyond hope that Kamala would soon break through the gatekeeper in the next room. I wondered why this man was languishing in this waiting room. What was his trouble that needed attention in this concrete government building?
Unlike me, he had no Kamala-tiger working to get him past the gatekeeper next door. I felt a little sorry for him.
But his grand moment had arrived. The United States of America was sitting next to him. And children, here comes the money line.
"Nothing good can come from Afghanistan. We in India have learned to kill anything that comes out of those mountains. You will waste many lives and very much money." He put his hand on my arm, gently, and I felt him searching my heart.
"Please, please, fix your own economy. When the United States economy is broken, everyone's economy is broken. Please fix inflation. It's killing us all."
Couldn't argue with that (although I’ve met very nice Afghanis). Still, I found it interesting that fixing inflation in the US was more important to this man in Chennai India. He lived so near to the mess that was Afghanistan. Economics was more important to him than fighting Al Queda. Or the Taliban. Or whatever this new century's fanatics were calling themselves there.
Afghanistan would always be Afghanistan, in his eyes. But economics can be a temporary condition.
"Will you tell them?" he asked, imploringly.
"I can write a letter to President Bush. But he won't listen to me."
"But you will at least try?"
"Sure, I'll try."
I can still see that elderly gentleman. Damn. India will fool you. You see a poor old man but inside there is wisdom and perspective, so deep, so strong. So worthy of respect.
His money line wasn't about military intervention. It was Please Fix Your Own House First.
Now I'm becoming one of those ragged elders who's seen too much. I remember the economy of 1980, and every downturn since then. I've donated hundreds of thousands of retirement dollars to Wall Street during downturns and it's happening again.
It's happening again, just as I'm thinking about how long it will be before I start trying to live off of what didn't go up investor's noses in the past 4 economic crises here at home.
Inflation won't end soon. We're in for tough times. There's probably another "once in a lifetime stagflation" episode for my lifetime. Recession. We're going to have to try to remember the important things to live for.
Not money, though it certainly helps. None of our wages or retirement income levels are going to keep up for a few years. We'll get through it children but there will be pain for nearly everyone.
What truly matters?
Love. Family. Friends. Art. Conversation. Music. The glory of a songbird singing its song of hope and existence.
Sukanya, by the way, is a delight. They had held up her adoption because they couldn't understand why a family would adopt a child with cerebral palsy and developmental disabilities. Why didn't America want to steal India's best and brightest, instead of cleaning out their orphanages of the "un-adoptable?"
They were suspicious about our motives. God help us.
Now, as to the conversation that ultimately happened after the Force of Nature Kamala Ramanathan pushed through the bureaucratic logjam and got me into the public official's office:
Govt. Official: So you would adopt this cripple?
Me: You're talking about my daughter (Insert glare)
Govt. Official: (chastised) Yes, of course, I apologize.
Me: (Taking the moral high ground) In America sometimes we in government have learned that, when good people like Ms. Ramanathan are trying to do good things, we should just get out of the way.
Govt. Official: Ah, yes. I see. Yes that makes sense.
Me, turning to Kamala: Is that what I was supposed to say?
The Mighty Kamala Ramanathan, Growing to About 8 Feet Tall: Yes that will do nicely.
