On Ants, Grasshoppers, and Safety Nets

By Dr. Ilil Arbel 

I do not think highly of this ant. Never did. Ever since I read this sanctimonious fable, I had my issues with the ant. This is how it goes, in case you forgot. The ant was finalizing the preparation of the enormous amount of grain she had collected for the winter. Granted, it was not just for her, she shared it with other ants, but let’s face it, the other ants must have horded just as much grain. If you check the real natural history books, there was plenty there for three winters. It was a cold fall day, and the grasshopper, as he passed by, did not look happy. In fact, even though grasshoppers are extremely handsome fellows, much better looking than the ants, this particular grasshopper was disheveled, tired, and a bit in panic. He looked at the enormous heap of grain, and visibly cheered up. “Would you kindly let me have some grains for the winter, madam? I have nothing and I am hungry already.” He said that very politely, since the grasshopper is a real gentleman, and of a rather aristocratic bent. The ant looked up from her labors, mildly irritated by the interruption.

“What have you been doing all summer?” She asked in her high-pitched, impatient voice. “Why didn’t you collect grain?” “I was too busy singing, madam,” said the grasshopper. He could have added, but did not, that he was a true musician, and that his singing entertained the ants the entire summer, every time they took a break from their endless toil. But he was much too well mannered to point out how boring the ants’ lives seemed to him. The ant did not seem to recollect any of it on her own. “Indeed. You were too busy singing. Just so. You know what? I would say that the best thing you can do in winter, then, is dance.” And she turned away from the grasshopper to join the other ants. This is how Aesop finishes the scenario. I’d like to think that the handsome grasshopper was not too discouraged by the cruel ant, had better luck with kinder creatures, and got himself set up for the winter in someone’s nice and warm nest, where he could practice his songs for next summer and make everyone happy all year round.  Nevertheless, this is just my personal fantasy, and the classical fable symbolizes to me the cruelty of our capitalistic society, which has created the idiotic myth of all those millions of rugged individualists, male and female, pulling their weight, never relying on anyone’s help, striving, making it to the top. Mix this myth with an empty-headed evangelical religion that tells you that life on earth is nothing and you must base your hopes on everlasting joy in Heaven, no matter how much you suffer in the here and now, and you have got yourself a merciless, heartless, soulless society who has forgotten ethics, humanism, and clear reason. On the other hand, let’s leave God out of it. God can very well take care of herself, and the prophet Jeremiah once mentioned casually that She prefers kindness between humans to burnt offerings. Jeremiah knew. Let’s get back to social conditions.

Some years ago, around 1993, all my clients began to die. Either computers killed their business, or the economy, or the new tax on overstocks, or whatever, and publishing as a business was in a very bad way. Some of my favorite editors actually passed away, some retired. When that happens, the new editor usually prefers his or her own “stable” and the previous gang is dropped. New clients were not knocking on my door. Asking among my friends and professional acquaintance, I heard the same story from many. No work in publishing. Nothing. And here I was, with no other skills. My computer expertise was zero. I could do word-processing, but not fast enough to get a job. My office skills were zero. I had no clue of how to even use the big copy machines, let alone make discreet travel reservations for the boss and his current girlfriend. To add to my woes, I was also a single mother with a young son and not too impressive child support. I was living in NJ at the time, in a suburban two family home, and could not drive, so my only choice was to do something in Manhattan, only half an hour away on the bus, if I managed to get the express. In absolute terror I went to an employment agency, bringing with me a truly useless resume and wearing what I thought was a business suit. There, I explained my situation to the woman, and asked for advice. I got it – I was to go and take expensive computer courses. That would make me eligible to receive a starvation salary in some office, which is really all I could hope for. So I went to one computer course after another, paying by piling debt over debt on my groaning credit cards that had nearly reached the limits, since I had to do the same with my rent. My landlady was not one to wait a single day for what was her due.Most of these courses were useless, but I did improve my word processing sufficiently to get a one-day job as a telephone receptionist, using a system I did not know. Don’t ask. This was at the financial house of Bear Stern, where I sat through the day listening to jokes that were really racial slurs, had a crumpled piece of paper literally thrown in my face by a budding politician whose name I mercifully forgot, and trying not to panic. A couple of other temporary jobs, one day at a time, followed.

Continues on the next page