Trickle Me Pink
The poor, lacking real property, do not own “assets” as such, but rather “liabilities” – insofar as goods and chattels must needs be housed, somewhere. At the drop of a hat, the most prized of personal belongings becomes merely a feature item in a movable garage sale conducted for the landlord’s benefit. No matter how rare or intrinsically valuable, goods and chattels owned by the poor are as nothing when compared with the artificially inflated value of the landlord’s rent. The same holds true, of course, for the worker’s labour. The cost of constructing a dwelling (labour, materials) is as nothing when compared with the market value of a property (derived from intangibles such as “location” – that is to say, within proximity of public utilities such as schools and transport; preferably in a suburb boasting “character” which is merely the result of collective effort over successive generations of local residents). The builder of a dwelling receives what passes for wages; the poor tenant receives what passes for shelter. But each of these is as nothing when compared with the landlord’s unbounded (and in the case of rental property, endless) profits.
Consider the intricate detail and workmanship that goes into the construction of a piano. Perhaps you inherited such a fine piece of antique furniture, well maintained over the generations. It has a base value – as firewood, for example – but even if sold at a good price to an appreciative buyer, the piano will fetch you, at most, the equivalent of one week’s rent in an average inner-suburban Melbourne home. The landlord might even take the piano off your hands in exchange for two weeks’ rent – if you should be so “lucky.” In the case of non-durable goods – the throwaway rubbish foisted upon consumers in the name of an increasingly mandatory iLife™– the exchange rate is all the more severe.
In Australia, where real property is currently overvalued by some 25 percent (and that’s just according to official estimates), property speculation and acquisition is tantamount to a state religion. We worship private profits, condemn the public good out of hand. Wealth will “trickle down” to the poor, so we are promised – never bindingly. But is that wealth or landlords’ piss raining down on us? Either way, feel free to request property maintenance (at risk of yet another rent hike or worse, eviction). Put up or shut up: that’s the message trickling down from on high.
Consider the intricate detail and workmanship that goes into the construction of a piano. Perhaps you inherited such a fine piece of antique furniture, well maintained over the generations. It has a base value – as firewood, for example – but even if sold at a good price to an appreciative buyer, the piano will fetch you, at most, the equivalent of one week’s rent in an average inner-suburban Melbourne home. The landlord might even take the piano off your hands in exchange for two weeks’ rent – if you should be so “lucky.” In the case of non-durable goods – the throwaway rubbish foisted upon consumers in the name of an increasingly mandatory iLife™– the exchange rate is all the more severe.
In Australia, where real property is currently overvalued by some 25 percent (and that’s just according to official estimates), property speculation and acquisition is tantamount to a state religion. We worship private profits, condemn the public good out of hand. Wealth will “trickle down” to the poor, so we are promised – never bindingly. But is that wealth or landlords’ piss raining down on us? Either way, feel free to request property maintenance (at risk of yet another rent hike or worse, eviction). Put up or shut up: that’s the message trickling down from on high.