Bloomberg’s voluntary War on Salt making it hard to write satire

Posted on January 29th, 2009 by Scott Stein

I thought I wrote a satire. My novel Mean Martin Manning, as a satire, exaggerated certain realities for the purposes of entertaining readers and criticizing a prevalent attitude among politicians and bureaucrats and too many citizens. One of these realities is the American nanny state, the growing government involvement in and regulation of the everyday personal and health decisions of citizens, always for their own good, of course. Almost weekly, something in the news makes my exaggerations seem not all that exaggerated.

New York’s Mayor Bloomberg appears to be on a mission to make my satire into, not a satire of an exaggerated near-future, but a humorous and critical conveying of the present, actual reality. Don’t believe me? Consider Bloomberg’s newest idea, the War on Salt. If you’re familiar with my novel and Caseworker Alice Pitney, I ask you, in the below, couldn’t you replace “Thomas Frieden” with “Caseworker Pitney”?

Thomas Frieden, the city’s health commissioner, said he wants manufacturers and restaurants to join the war on salt voluntarily. If they don’t, the city could pass legislation making it the law.

In other words, “Volunteer or we’ll pass a law that forces you to volunteer.” If I wrote that, readers would recognize it as satire, an exaggeration of government bullying, and maybe even accuse me of being unsubtle. In fact, reflecting the proposals by some to require community service of all citizens, and the service some schools require of their students, I did write something very much like that.

In Chapter 36 of Mean Martin Manning, Caseworker Pitney informs Martin Manning and the rest of the group that they will be spending the day volunteering because it “was well known that volunteering offered many benefits for the volunteer as well as those being served.” The following exchange ensues:

I wanted to stay quiet, avoid controversy, but it was hard to stand there and listen to her. “I don’t mean to cause trouble, but it isn’t accurate to call us volunteers.”

“We’re all volunteers, Mr. Manning. It’s volunteer day for our group. We’ll be coming here every week to help the homeless.”

“We’re not volunteers. Maybe I shouldn’t speak for the others. I’m not a volunteer.”

“Are you refusing to participate?” There was the hint of a threat.

“No”

“Great. Then you’re a volunteer.”

“No, I’m not. I’m not here by choice. I haven’t been given any choices at all. I’m doing this beause I have to. Don’t expect any trouble out of me, but don’t call me a volunteer.”

“Mr. Manning, it’s volunteer day. We’re all volunteers. Volunteering is a key step to improving. We give to others to free ourselves of the selfishness so deeply ingrained.”

I told her it was her program. She could call it whatever she wanted. I wasn’t doing anything out of the kindness of my heart. I wasn’t being charitable or caring. I would serve slop to people who didn’t bathe, but there would be no feeling of goodness to go along with my service. This was against my will, all of it, and I would feel nothing but resentment at everyone and everything. Words couldn’t change reality. She could call me whatever the hell she wanted.

“Good,” Pitney said. “I’m glad we agree. You’re a volunteer, like the rest of us. Now let’s go do some good.”