Better than ever

The roaring twenties. Prosperity, celebration, social and artistic renaissance. The Foxtrot and the Charleston. One hundred years ago.

Things come in cycles. Waves and tides, wealth and poverty, peace and war. War.

It was at this time, one hundred years ago when society shifted. People partied too hard and then the bill came. The great depression, the collapse of the world markets, the shift to fascism and then a decline into World War 2, or more commonly known to some at the time as Hell.

This was a pattern I regularly think of and wonder, could it be that simple? and can it be averted?

My best friend says categorically, "There's no way it is going to happen, nobody wants a war", but I know that is not true. When you look at armed force personnel on social media, they are generally quite proud of their penchant for conflict. "The world is a different place, no matter how bad you think it is, it is better than ever".

If you regularly follow the news, no matter where you are in the world, you would nearly swear the opposite. But then the news is a currency of fear and complaint. Much of the complaint is justified, but it is never balanced with cause to praise.

There are glossy video lectures of how wars nowadays have far fewer fatalities, otherwise known as deaths. There is polemic that you can buy things in shops now that you couldn't buy a hundred years ago. There are stark warnings about climate shifts, yet this is moulded into a voyeuristic critique that asserts children who speak up, are hysterical.

I was at a food counter yesterday and I stood waiting. There was one stack of three shelves to my right with bottles. The top shelf was a third filled with a good number or varied drink products. The middle shelf was filled completely with a brand of water, and the bottom shelf was filled completely with another brand of water.

My mind interpreted the metaphor of the cliché of society. Twenty percent of society control the other eighty percent. Ten of that twenty are good and ten are bad. On the top shelf was the colourful twenty percent. The two rows of water were the eighty percent of proletariat. Half of which (the middle row) can support themselves and for the bottom row, life was a struggle. The summary of this was, such structure resulted in the varieties of juices and sodas preserving the two rows of water.

Then I looked at the stack of three shelves on the left. They were full of cakes and pastries, some sweet, some savoury. Some fresh, some ageing. Immediate clarity. These were all the individuals of society. Each one was its own contribution to the menu. Granted the shelves on the left were not all filled. The middle shelf was half filled. Half filled with less enticing servings.

My metaphor progressed. This was the same society as the rack on the right but without the assertion of the twenty/eighty ratio. And the middle shelf on the left were the individuals on the right top shelf. Not in any way exceptional. Not in any way more colourful, and to a certain extent, slightly less enticing, and on the middle shelf. Average.

Having purchased my apple, I left the café with my new-found iota of knowledge. It's not twenty percent of society who control everything for the rest of us. Its society who put twenty percent of the population into this position. Another nugget was that it wasn't society as it happens all the way around the world. It was populations. Groups of people. It is human nature.

As I made my way across a large car park to my car, I finished my apple. I went to throw it in a ditch at the end of the car park, when I noticed an empty car with its driver door ajar. Over to the side was a man hanging around in his valet shed. Business was slow. I could see he was aware of the empty car and went over to ask if the car was a victim of theft, out of concern.

We both made our way to the car. He didn't say much as English wasn't his first language. I asked, "Has this car been there for long?". We looked for a moment into the car. Then he just shrugged, nudged the door shut, and the conversation had finished.

I made my way back to my car, wondering if my colleague and I were bottles of water or cakes? And which would be better?