Brooks' Dickensian

Except for Dick Cheney, David Brooks must be the only man who has read Charles Dickens and imagines himself as the workhouse manager rather than the starving boy asking for more food. He admires, too, Scrooge and his counting houses, not the Bob Cratchets who make them work. His refrain for the holidays is, "Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?"

Consider David Brooks’ lament about our moral values. He frames the health care debate and the Senate’s upcoming vote on reform legislation with this question: Can you responsibly vote for this legislation to increase security today, if the cost is less economic "vitality" tomorrow?

Reform would make us a more decent society, but also a less vibrant one. It would ease the anxiety of millions at the cost of future growth. It would heal a wound in the social fabric while piling another expensive and untouchable promise on top of the many such promises we’ve already made. America would be a less youthful, ragged and unforgiving nation, and a more middle-aged, civilized and sedate one.

We all have to decide what we want at this moment in history, vitality or security. We can debate this or that provision, but where we come down will depend on that moral preference. Don’t get stupefied by technical details. This debate is about values.

The "moral choice" for Bobo is clear: future business vitality trumps individual vitality and family health. He gets there by neatly synthesizing Republican talking points and by reducing to passive abstraction millions of Americans denied medical treatment by our bizarre and unsustainable health insurance system. He then reassures Republicans that they will be "responsible stewards" of tomorrow when they say no to demands for greater "comfort" today. Because we just can’t afford it. Tell that to two thousand people lined up all night at a free clinic in hopes of seeing their first doctor or dentist in six years.

None of that cold reality for Mr. Brooks. He clings to his straw men and his Burkean demeanor. He waxes philosophically about political "sweet spots" and imaginary opportunities to create change at manageable costs. Sadly, he says, those hopes that "we all shared" conflict with how things work in the real world. To wit, "capital gravitates toward the young and productive" and that’s a tide we cannot and should not tell to stop flowing.

The comfortable, multi-millionaire, wingnut-welfared Mr. Brooks recommends that the rest of us forego getting our children, spouses and neighbors better medical care today because it might sap our "vitality" tomorrow. Is that the vitality of New Orleans’ 9th ward, Cleveland’s Shaker Heights, DC’s SE neighborhoods or the vitality of an insurance company CEO?

At its best, the reforms in this bill are already deferred until 2014. Using the Harvard study’s figures, nearly 200,000 of our family, friends and neighbors will be prematurely dead by then, owing to an avoidable lack of health care. That’s lost vitality I can relate to and with which we should concern ourselves.

Not so Mr. Brooks. He ignores insurance company monopoly excesses and how they’ve gamed regulators into allowing them to sell fraudulent products for high profits. He reduces his Thanksgiving week argument to a simplistic morality tale even an overworked CEO can remember. Succoring the medically needy, which is most of us at one time or another, weakens the spirit, it drains oil from the machinery of enterprise.

Mr. Brooks is not a beneficent philosopher or a storm-tossed politician trying to do good and pay for it. He is a Dickensian workhouse manager, telling his boys that they ought to be comforted by their hunger, because those who survive it will become better men. If that doesn’t quiet them down, there’s always Bill Sykes and his dog. If only there were a Dickensian ending for those boys, for us and for Mr. Brooks.