Qualityland

THE DINNER PROBLEM

“John, my boy,” says Tony, licking his lips, “this goose is first class! It’s a crying shame you can’t try it.”

John of Us is sitting at the head of a large table. Each time a new course arrives, a full plate is placed in front of him, then cleared away again untouched once the following course is served. For two whole days, Aisha racked her brains to find a better solution to the dinner problem, but eventually came to the conclusion that it would look even more stupid if there was no place setting in front of John.

“John, you won’t eat that, will you?” asks Tony, shoveling John’s goose onto his plate without waiting for an answer.

“No, knock yourself out,” says the android.

At least the party leader is satisfied with my solution, thinks Aisha. She is sitting to the right of Tony, who is sitting to the right of John, who is sitting there and eating nothing. The politicians, bankers, CEOs, and investors present studiously ignore the strange circumstances. John himself is as inscrutable as ever, but Aisha has the feeling he’s not happy.

“John, we always hear you talk about a basic income,” says Patricia Team-Leader. “It’s a very nice idea, but how do you intend to finance it?”

As the biggest donor to the Progress Alliance, the QualityPartner CEO has received the seat of honor to John’s left.

“A basic income would allow people to do meaningful work free of economic pressures,” Aisha speaks up, before John responds. “And we believe that everybody wants to do something meaningful. That’s why we consider an unconditional basic income to have a, er…”

“A very transformative power,” says John.

“Well, theoretically it sounds lovely,” says Patricia, “but you haven’t answered my question about how to finance it.”

“Well, of course it’s more a vision for the future than a genuinely planned project,” says Tony.

“On the contrary,” says John. “I actually have several suggestions of how to finance it. In a connected world, everything takes place via platforms. The platform owners have the most power and make the most profit. I don’t need to tell you that, after all. What better solution could there be than to tax these platforms more heavily?”

“Touché,” says Patricia Team-Leader with a laugh. “I like your sense of humor. It’s okay, if you don’t have any concrete plans yet, you don’t have to tell me.”

John is about to respond, probably to say that he wasn’t joking, but Aisha puts her fingers to her lips and John falls silent.

Fifty-one point two minutes later, after the guests have finally finished their slow, inefficient method of energy intake, little groups form in the convention room. Most of the donors, of course, are standing around John.

“Capital is accumulating ever more quickly, in dimensions that are becoming increasingly unimaginable to you, and the number of salaried workplaces are rapidly shrinking,” says John. “But what do we do? We predominantly tax salaried work and not capital. An obvious mistake.”

“Tell me,” Tony whispers to Aisha, “does he realize who he’s talking to here? Maybe he should sing a different tune for once.”

“I’ve been accompanying him for a few weeks now,” says Aisha, “and as far as I can see, he only sings one.”

“Getting the financial markets under control is, of course, our most pressing task,” says John. “We have to force them to direct a large part of their profits to the public well-being.”

“What?” asks the QualityBank executive board spokesman, stunned. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a financial transaction tax,” says John. “Not a particularly new idea, I know. But it’s mostly down to you and your colleagues that it hasn’t been tried out yet.”

A tall, fat man with a black hat, who has just joined John’s little group, laughs loudly. “You might as well suggest carrying the capital in bags over the border yourself!”

Tony tries to change the subject. “John, have you met Bob Chairman?” he asks. “His son is in the party, too. We met him, remember? Mario Chairman.”

“I remember everything,” says John. “Martyn Chairman, you mean.”

“Oh yes, of course.”

Bob Chairman tips the rim of his hat in greeting.

John gives a friendly nod. “I think this capital flight is just a specter,” he says. “In principle, my tax would only replace the financial transaction tax that has already been in existence for a long time.”

“What are you talking about?” asks Bob.

“I’m talking about high-frequency trading,” says John. “Anybody who wants to buy shares on the stock market has the problem that he is nanoseconds slower than the professionals. Even if his computer is just as quick as the professionals’ computers, it’s slower because the signal needs a few fractions of a second until it can make its way down the cable to him, while the professionals have bought allotted spaces directly inside the data center of the stock market. This means that some high-frequency trader finds out you’ve placed an order and buys the shares you want to have—nanoseconds more quickly than you, in order to then sell them on to you with a slight price increase. But what is this small increase other than a levy that is paid on every financial transaction? It is, in a sense, a transaction tax. Except that the money flows into private pockets, instead of going to the general public. A financial transaction tax would do away with this legal but morally appalling behavior, by making sure that these methods are attributed the only adjective which is capable of keeping the financial industry from wrongdoing: unprofitable.”

“Is he serious?” Tony whispers to Aisha.

“I certainly hope so.”

“You hope so?” splutters Tony. “Am I surrounded by lunatics?”

“If he were lying,” says Aisha, “then he would also have been lying when he told us that he can’t lie, and that’s a possibility I don’t even want to think about.”

“You know, tin man,” says Bob Chairman, “what bothers me is this: everyone complains about capitalism, but no one has any ideas about what would be better.”

Murmurs of agreement come from the other donors.

“Oh. I’ve certainly got some ideas,” says John. “A permanent negative interest, for example, which pulls money away from the unproductive financial market and gives it back to the productive economy. A negative interest ensures ablating capital and self-reducing debts. An interesting concept, don’t you think? Or regional currencies, which strengthen local producers and the sustainable circulation of goods. A tax on consumption of resources, in order to internalize external costs. And I lean toward a broad definition of resources. Clean air, clean water, land, and…”

“John, John,” Tony interrupts him. “I think that’s enough. We don’t want to bore our guests.”

He laughs, a little too artificially.

“Another interesting idea, of course, is simply creating the money for the basic income,” says John.

Bob Chairman laughs loudly and claps Tony on the shoulder as he walks away. “It seems like the circuits of your tin man have burned through once and for all!”

“Our currency hasn’t been connected to any real value, like gold, for a long time now,” continues John, undeterred. “It is minted trust in the state. As long as the trust is there, we can simply create money. In principle, that’s what bankers are doing when they give credit. Money from nothing. Chicks for free.”

Tony pulls Aisha to the side. “This is a catastrophe,” he whispers. “The entire economy will turn its back on us. I always thought he was just playing around. Of course, you can play around with redistribution. That’s what left-wing parties have always done, but none of them planned to actually implement these kinds of measures! This is madness!”

Twenty-five point six minutes later, the last guest departs.

Aisha is sitting at a table in the corner with a despairing Tony.

“That has to have been the shortest fundraising dinner in history!” says Tony.

John comes over. “Well?” he asks. “I’d say that was a complete success.”

“Oh, John,” says Tony, standing up. “What idiot gave you the directive of taking care of society as a whole! Was it me? Perhaps this whole thing wasn’t such a good idea.”

His shoulders slumping, he leaves the room.

“What did he mean by that?” asks John.

Aisha rolls her eyes. “This is a goddamn election campaign, John. You do realize that, don’t you? Tony is of the opinion that you should stop saying sensible things.”

“And you? Do you agree with him?”

“Well, perhaps you shouldn’t have gone in quite so heftily. The conversations tonight certainly haven’t given us any advantage in the campaign.”

“I disagree,” says John. “I’ve just sent you recordings of all the conversations.”

“Thanks. So that I can listen to them as bedtime stories of you alienating all the big capitalists, or what? What am I supposed to do with your shitty recordings?”

John smiles and says: “Publish them.”

Aisha’s mouth gapes open.

“Unofficially of course,” says John. “It has to look as though the recordings were leaked.”

Now Aisha smiles too. “You sly fox…”