"Housing is a commodity like furniture and automobiles, and inducing citizens to buy more of it is no business of the state."
In truth everything is a commodity to people like David Stockman, and that he'd much prefer a world which puts more people into that category, as the tenants of landlords, says it all.
Without realizing it, he puts his finger on the problem with what has happened in America in our lifetimes. Everything got commodified, not just our jobs, and now our mortgages, but our very selves. It happens to people who forget where they came from, who they are, and God. That we let the vampires get a hold of the American dream and make a bundle off it is only the most acute and visible example of it. It is almost quaint how Stockman likens what's happened to indentured servitude, as if his remedy doesn't resemble the same.
With mortgage securitization, the American dream got carved up, packaged and sold off to the highest bidder like so many sausages at the meat counter. But the intangible assets of four walls and a piece of ground mean nothing to David Stockman. Privacy, peace and quiet. Some flowers for the table and tomatoes for the pasta, the companionship of pets and a place to bury them when they're gone. The sound of the wind blowing through the trees. The glory of a red maple leaf against a blue sky. The goldfinch, the bluejay, the robin, and crows as big as coons. The snowman standing where bright green grass once called you to mow it. Where families gather to give thanks once a year for our many blessings, in spite of it all.
If that makes me a slave, I'll own it. Someone's banking on it, and not just Bill Gross.
