The Midas Touch

Our oligarchs-in-chief would have you believe that everything they touch turns to gold—or at least gold plate, like Trump’s toilets. All evidence to the contrary, they promise that a golden age of prosperity is coming, by virtue of that magic touch. Apparently quite some number of people believe them. (Yes, I get into these conversations with folks on social media, trying to figure the whole thing out.)

And, I mean, they are Very Wealthy Men, and getting wealthier, so mustn’t it be true that they have that magical Midas touch? But here’s the thing about putting your faith in these men because everything they touch turns to gold. You didn’t pay attention to the story.

If you recall, King Midas was granted a wish by the god Dionysus. And because Midas loved wealth above all things, he asked the god to make it so that everything he touched turned to gold. The god of revelry and madness gave him the side-eye, but granted the wish. Midas returned home, and in morning, when he touched his side table *bing* it turned to solid gold. Midas was elated, and ran around touching things in his castle, turning everything to gold. (Did the ancient Greeks have flush toilets? If so, definitely solid gold.) Pretty soon everything around him gleamed and shimmered, and he knew that he must be the richest man in the world. Midas paused to admire a perfect rose in a vase, taking a deep inhale of its fragrance. *Bing* the rose turned to gold as his nose touched it, and all fragrance disappeared. Oh well, small price to pay.

Worn out by his thrilling morning, Midas sat down to lunch. *Bing* the chair turned to gold. *Bing, bing* Also the silverware, which might as well be gold as silver, although a solid gold knife is too soft to cut much. But pretty. He reached for a delicious apple, but of course *bing* it turned to a great weight of inedible gold. He tried carefully transferring food to his plate with his gold utensils, but as soon as his lips or his tongue connected *bing* the fish or the rice or the dolmas turned to pure, inedible gold. Midas’s elation was starting to turn to confusion tinged with fear. Then Midas’s daughter came in the room, and he ran to comfort himself with her presence. Of course, *bing* as he hugged her his daughter was gone, a life-sized gold statue in her place.

Midas learned his lesson, and was able to get the wish reversed. Unfortunately, I doubt if the sociopaths in chief are likely to have the kind of revelation needed to see clearly the kind of death and destruction their golden touch will leave in its wake—or care if they do see it. It is entirely possible that they will keep on turning things sterile and lifeless: *bing* US AID, *bing* the Kennedy Center, *bing* the NEA, NIH, etc., etc.

We will do what we can, but maybe what we can best do at this juncture is to consider what we love, and how we would hope to transform the things that we touch. If nothing else, we can be the ones planting trees or flowers or veggies, the ones teaching children, the ones reading or writing books, the ones playing or composing music, the ones hugging our friends and our kids and our parents, who will not turn to sterile gold, but will instead be ever so slightly enlivened by our touch.