Letter to the Bank Manager #80 (A Spirit of Cooperation)

Dear Bank Manager,

Let us assume that today is the first day of a correspondence that will eventually grow into a marvelous, poetic, astute collection of letters between two people who are each, in their own way, artists in their chosen field. We will wash the slate clean and imagine you actually responding with great clarity, after deep contemplation, to each and every one of my letters. Confronted on one day by my complaints and whines you respond with patience and warmth, on another seeing my deep anguish over the state of my finances you proffer advice sprinkled with a humor that does wonders to my mood. The next letter comes at you loaded with existential fury and you reach and pull it down to earth where some of the questions may be tackled in a more practical light. I gratefully bow to your common sense and put aside the numerous questions I have regarding the current bizarre state of income inequality throughout the world. The next day I still cannot let go of the strange nagging feeling my questions have not been adequately answered and so come at you again with more troubling thoughts which you again take in and give generous response to thus easing my sense that all those who operate within the world of finance are thick skinned and unfeeling. Here, I think, is a man I can relate to. He has scruples and even, perhaps, doubts. You joke with me and side with me and agree that life is unfair. You prove to be utterly candid and frank as you tell me there is little you can do to help regarding the sad state of my personal bank account but that, on another level, we can at least engage in a passionate and heartfelt debate that may yield answers to some of the big questions eventually or at least will air the grievances felt by so many against the so few. You do not condescend or patronize. You observe  the protesters and the marchers, the drummers, the banners, the signs and say they are on to something, something even my colleagues can relate to. You say: We may wear fancy suits and silk ties. We may sport "bling" but is it real?  We may be the poor players in the world of finance—inside but at the bottom of the ladder, one health problem away from financial ruin ourselves. No wonder you are mad! No wonder you won’t take it anymore. You, at least, are doing something about it whilst they, the big they—the politicians, the CEOS, either remain aloof to it all, safely cocooned in their golden parachutes, huddled in gated communities of the like minded, emotionally remote, impenetrable in their own convictions whereby what they earned they earned and how they did so is none of our business and the right to privacy argues against the notion of transparency and if they ignore us they are confident we will simply melt away, tired of the wet cold sleeping bags, the constant harassment of the police, and giving in—as the winter draws close—to infighting and sullen moods that undermine the high spirits and huge hopes that began it all.

Let us assume this is not the case. The encampments will not melt away. The protesters will write more and more and more signs. The poets who did not know until now that they were poets will captivate, the artists who are discovering their inner fight will transform each other and those around them and each will inspire each and teach and the learning will be better than anything in an unaffordable college or university can offer for it will be grounded in reality and not chained up in an ivory prison of debt.

Let us hope that you, the bank manager, and I, the artist, can continue our dialogue and grow ideas they may not only strengthen our relationship but will help transform others so the world can move forward in a spirit of cooperation and not be split along what are basically class divisions. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could work together to make things better for everyone?

So far our letters to a fictional bank manager have not found their mark. They float out there in numerous bottles in an ocean that until recently seemed too vast to sail across.

However I/we—the members of the Bruxist Collective— remain eternally hopeful that the modest goals of eradicating poverty, hunger, debt, greed and corruption can be attained in our lifetime. Anything less won’t do.

Sincerely,



Art O’Connor (picking up the pen where my colleague, Kristian Witherkay, left it—beside the old, camp recliner—before he headed out on an exploratory expedition into the wilds of Occupy Wall Street and beyond).

PS—If none of this appears to make sense don’t worry. Sense, in a sense, has had its day.