Dear Reader,
The ports in southern California are still backlogged, and Christmas is on its way, but not to worry: a few hundred miles up the coast, Facebook has changed its name.
Despite some improvements resulting from a recent “tweetstorm,” the ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach, which account for forty percent of U.S. seaborne imports, show little sign of imminent recovery. It’s the same with logistics everywhere: the global spate of supply-chain troubles has been vast and ongoing. As early as August, Kamala Harris was letting everyone know, “. . . if you want to have Christmas toys for your children it might be the time to start buying them because the delay may be many, many months.” If you don’t get a gift from her this year, I guess you’ll know why.
But the supply chain implications are deeper than the empty stockings by the tree. Things that support our current mode of life are not getting where they are wanted. We have a crisis on our hands. Thankfully, as I mentioned, last week Facebook Inc. changed its name.
You might be thinking Facebook made the change because faces have gone somewhat out of style these past twenty months. But that’s not it. The corporation has changed its legal name to “Meta” to stress that it is first and foremost a Metaverse company. If you’ve missed the latest buzzword du jour, the Metaverse (playing off the word universe) is an envisioned convergence of internet technologies, virtual spaces, cryptocurrencies, and the physical world. It might be likened to a grand-scale augmented reality, to borrow a previous latest buzzword.
As major news outlets have (for some reason) repeatedly reported, the Metaverse promises, among other things, the ability to attend a 3D virtual meeting in the form of a rabbit. You could, for instance, be a rabbit having coffee with a friend from another continent appearing right next to you as a holographic image of himself — or of another rabbit. Two grown adults in distant lands able to more easily play rabbit. Truly, these are the days of miracle and wonder.
Meanwhile, back in the analog world, we can’t get cars because we can’t get computer chips. Construction materials are increasingly scarce and precious; the other day a friend was quoted four thousand dollars for a masonry project that might have cost an eighth of that before all this. And, between delivery issues and inflation, food supplies and costs are again of concern. I saw a poll that showed twenty-three percent of persons earning at least one hundred thousand dollars per year had skipped a meal recently due to increased food prices.
There’s a human exhaustion factor too. The International Chamber of Shipping, and affiliated groups, which collectively represent sixty-five million transport workers and twenty trillion dollars of commerce, penned an open letter stating: “The impact of nearly two years’ worth of strain, placed particularly upon maritime and road transport workers . . . is now being seen. Their continued mistreatment is adding pressure on an already crumbling global supply chain. We are witnessing unprecedented disruptions and global delays and shortages on essential goods including electronics, food, fuel and medical supplies.”
In previous times, the United States would have responded to such a crisis by revving up the engines of domestic production and finding creative ways to bolster critical supplies. During World War II, Victory Gardens produced forty percent of the vegetables grown in the U.S. At the same time, new factories were rapidly built, Ford Motor Company started making B-24 bombers, and the Lionel toy train company made compasses for warships. Mr. Zuckerberg’s company has ten billion dollars this year alone to invest in the Metaverse; can neither he nor any of his Silicon Valley pals find some way to make computer chips for cars? Or could Detroit maybe make cars that don’t need them? In the past, we would have rallied and kept America doing what America does: making stuff and growing stuff. But those were older, less enlightened times. Nowadays, it’s not the plants or the plants, but the ports and the portals that get the attention. We rally and keep America doing what America does: buying stuff from Asia and pretending to be rabbits.
Whatever may happen in L.A., in the Metaverse there presumably won’t be supply-chain disruptions. The company formerly known as Facebook will see to that, I’m sure. There will be endless virtual presents on whatever virtual holiday you choose to observe. Your table will be full and your virtual cup will runneth over.
Or maybe we’ll all be runneth over. The virtual images might steal our attention for too long from the avalanche of real troubles headed our way. It’s rather concerning. But I hold out hope.
Our current mode of life and its underlying systems were simply never sustainable. Maybe they have finally reached their unavoidable breaking point; that’s a good thing. Our job is to rebuild in a more viable, distributed, human way. Here, in the real universe. Here, where farmers still wake up early and start their chores. Where craftsmen and tradesmen press on. Where truckers, stevedores, riggers, and the rest of those sixty-five million transport workers keep moving, despite the abuse. The metaverses and the technocrats and most of the politicians are less like those folks and more like the rabbits. They’re interesting, and they garner much attention, but they disappear if the power goes out. They may make headlines and they may make trouble, but we have been through headlines and trouble before. It’s always the real people, and their real God, who get us through.
Sincerely,
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