If and when the American Empire fades into the history books, or at least fades from world domination, what reasons would encyclopedia authors give for its demise?
A military invasion? Doubtful. America’s sheer size and its geographic distance from established world powers makes it unlikely foreign troops will ever march down the streets of Omaha or Sheboygan. A civil war? I don’t foresee many states rallying behind the all-powerful militias of Montana and Idaho. Effects of global warming? Though Midwesterners like myself cringe at the idea of mass relocation from the coasts, America itself is probably better suited for such a catastrophe than the bulk of the world.
No, America won’t die by drowning in rising oceans or bowing to foreign soldiers. But it may be buried alive — suffocated and crushed by mountains of paperwork.
I’m serious. Maybe not in the literal sense, due to the rise of computers (although the law-school admissions process has left me thinking, “Paperless society my ass”). But figuratively and symbolically, spiritually and symptomatically, America’s power fades with every financial form and TPS report that gets thrown into the filing cabinet.
On the practical side, the endlessness of paperwork simply drains American citizens of precious time. Want to see a doctor? Fill out forms. Take a day off from work? Fill out forms. Update a college course? Fill out forms. Get a student loan? Clear your schedule for the next week, then fill out forms.
And what, exactly, is all this information that is required of us? Most of the time, the information requested is none of the requesters’ business. Loan companies do not really need to know the year my grandparents bought their house. Sports Illustrated does not need to know the kind of car I drive. I should not have to fill out a waiver form to visit the local ice-skating rink.
But we do. Paperwork eats away at the time available in each of our days to actually help contribute to America’s greatness, but this loss of time is the least of the nation’s worries. The paperwork also serves as a symptom of another change that may ultimately doom the nation — the change from an economy of production to one of paper-shuffling, from one that makes goods to one that just gathers information about them, then invests in the companies gathering information.
The people on the receiving end of this paper trail aren’t complaining: the investors who get rich by moving money around, the executives who get economic analyses indicating they should move their manufacturing plants to Indonesia, and the information companies that make money without really making anything. But sooner or later, this ghost of an economy will fade as jobs for the unskilled shuffler go overseas, along with their money for manufactured goods. This new economy will be exposed to be just as flimsy and thin as the single sheets of paper it shuffles around.
The historical precedent certainly exists. Look at the downfall of Britain in the last century as it ceased producing anything to focus on trade, or the collapse of Enron as it moved to financial speculation. Even the mafia in America lost power when it turned to investing and laundering money instead of just beating it out of people.
Of course, the country might indefinitely hang on by the same thread it clings to now. But even then, the paperwork still murders another significant part of this country’s livelihood: its spirit and soul.
We have always had citizens who excelled at and enjoyed doing paperwork, but these citizens have always been vastly outnumbered by the independent spirits. These pioneers love America for its freedom and its opportunities to perform tasks both tangible and meaningful — to make something, to do something, to make a difference. And anyone could do it. These jobs were everywhere, and they attracted the best, brightest and bravest from around the world.
Look at our symbolic heroes. Could you imagine Daniel Boone working at H&R Block? Wyatt Earp processing claims at Met Life? Rosie the Riveter filing expense accounts as a temp?
There exists at least a little of these heroes’ independent spirit in all of us. These kind of people never feel as impotent as when they are faced with a stack of paperwork they find utterly meaningless; they never feel as isolated from their labor as when they perform unending tasks without leaving their mark. Their souls will either boil over and force change, or they will die. Or, like today, they will transfer this spirit to other pursuits — their manicured lawns, their decorated homes, their kids’ little-league successes — which is the equivalent of emasculation.
On second thought, perhaps Americans will flock to the aid of militias in the wilds of Montana after all. I doubt their membership forms ask the year your grandparents bought their home.
Matt Lynch ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in English and political science.
