A fresh faced girl with wide eyes that gently slope downward and pigtails curled up under a wreath of flowers looks up at me from beneath my wine glass' base. I pick up the stem between my pointer and middle fingers, bringing the nutty scented red closer to my nose while all the while staring at the matryoshka imprinted on the wine coaster. I found her, along with five sisters, in a tin can featuring bright red and white depictions of the quintessential Russian gift- the nesting doll. Matryoshki are so synonymous with the Russian Motherland that they are cited alongside the Kremlin's spired cupola's and supermodels as hallmarks of Russian life. The kitsch of the brightly-hued Russian girls keeping my wine from dripping on the table was enough to convince me of their necessity. For $2, I bought the tin and cork coasters along with matching dishtowels.
So why the talk of this latest purchase? Let me explain. I've begun reading a provocative 2004 New York Times Bestseller (the same sort I generally stay away from in hopes of not becoming one of the sheeple). This entertaining book, while limited in its source material by its very nature, is a tell-all of sorts by a former "corporatocracy" insider. "Confessions of an Economic Hitman" is John Perkins' guilt-ridden answer to his otherwise sexy, filthy rich jet-setting life that reads like a Bond novel. It might have been the perfect life for the Peace Corp. member gone bad if only it weren't for the fact that he was finding ways to legitimize a sort of New World Order (or "corporatocracy" as he prefers, dispelling any ideas of conspiracy in favor of more obvious and shady global business practices vis a vis loans to the emerging world).
Confessions recounts Perkins' days working as an economic consultant in the private sector. Dubiously charged with inflating economic predictions in emerging world markets (think Ecuador and Indonesia), Perkins claims to be one of a select few who worked to sustain the American 'Empire' within the private sector. His aquaintences, conversations and knowledge were far reaching and gave Perkins the opportunity to gain firsthand knowledge of the countries he sought to rob. He constantly reminds the reader that this is how the world operates on something of a parallel and unseen field, imaging what the rest of us lowly citizens know about our government and its relationships with the rest of the world. In moments of sheer brilliance, Perkins' retells conversations with ordinary citizens in impoverished nations who apparently aren't as 'in the dark' as we ourselves are.
While it is rare to find such an insider plagued by guilt and retiring from his extremely powerful role, there is a question of his genuine reasoning. Is the book a tell-all for Americans and Westerners- revealing to us how the First World cheats the rest through the likes of Haliburton, the IMF and other major organizations and corporations? Or is it simply another cheap way to make a buck in a consumer-driven market such as he purports to have shrugged off after a life of intrigue and economic espionage? It certainly leaves an unsettling feeling, questioning our very altruism. Are we really helping countries in Africa when we build them an energy plant or provide them with clean water when, in actuality, the work is being done predominantly by our own firms... recycling our own donated money, essentially, and leaving the poor nation in massive debt to us- repaid only through agreements that benefit us. I equate this unease with the feeling of being cheated by someone so sly that you fail to recognize it while it's occurring.
In light of my little red matryoshka coaster, who is still beaming up at me, I wonder exactly how she came to be- how her $2 figure was decided upon and by whom. Is it really all as simple as supply vs. demand? Or somewhere is there an economic hitman robbing a southeast Asian country blind by falsifying economic projections and raising their interest rates, building factories in the process and bringing about cheaply made goods of icons from thousands miles away to those employment dumps... and eventually making their way beneath my wine glass.
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