Minimalism — Socialism For The Single Person

adePhoto by Natalie Kinnear on Unsplash

Minimalism is how I can be a socialist in a capitalist society. It is unlikely that the proles will rise up and take over the means of production in my country any time soon, so what do I do? Minimalism begins with a choice between two ways of life. Let’s take a look at two children:

Tom is 7 years old, and it’s a warm sunny July day. He looks outside from his air-conditioned bedroom and sees people walking by — hot, sweaty tired. He thinks — what sort of commodity can I produce that would cause them to give up a small part of what they’ve earned from their labor? (He’s a fairly smart 7-year-old whose favorite movie is Atlas Shrugged.)

He goes to the refrigerator, and he sees his mom has bought a bag of lemons. He explains his project to her, and she supplies the means of production — some sugar, access to the water faucet, and a pitcher. She also finds him some small paper cups.

He lugs a table outside and he tapes an AI-generated consumer-friendly sign on the front: “Lemonade — 50 cents”. He puts on his Make the Whole World Great Again hat that his uncle sent him for his birthday, sits in a lawn chair, and waits. He is hungry for his first taste of profit.

Sue, also 7 years old, lives next door to him. Her family has a solar-powered tiny house surrounded by a food garden and a small windmill. She looks at Tom through her window. She frowns. Several minutes later, she walks out to the sidewalk and intercepts Tom’s hot, sweaty customers. She’s wearing a Mandami for Mayor of the World hat her aunt in NY sent her for her birthday. She says to each one, “You must be thirsty,” and pours each of them a free glass of lemonade.

Tom gets up from his lawn chair and says, “You’re ruining my business.”

She says, “I have more than enough lemons, and I’m happy to share what I have with those who have less. Lemons are meant for everyone, not just a select few.”

Her father leans out the door, “Ask them if they need health insurance or free day care, honey!”

She waves back, “I will, Dad!”

Everybody I know chose Tom’s path, and they are in great shape for their retirement with a house and a nest egg. They figured out early that in order to have money, you have to convince people they need something that they don’t need, produce that need, and make them give you money for the thing they don’t need: a certain kind of phone, or car, or watch, or vacation, or whatever.

Or you can get a degree and convince someone richer than you that you can help them make money. You can then work for a company where you convince people to buy something they don’t need.

You then hoard your profit and make sure no one has access to your resources until the interest makes you a trillionaire.

I’m like Sue. My lemonade is your lemonade. I didn’t want to be an entrepeneur or a corporate lackey. So I don’t have any money. For my retirement, I’m pricing vans and wondering where they have the best climate for living in a tent.

The only choice we have to make in life is this: Am I going to make money by convincing people to buy stuff they don’t need, or am I going to give away what I have because it helps people become better people?

Minimalism is the choice to give things away by not owning them in the first place.

Minimalism is not rooted in frugality — it’s rooted in justice. It’s a decision to use only that which I need to sustain life and let everything else flow through my hands to the rest of the world. Minimalism means that I am just a conduit for resources to move from one set of hands to another. I don’t hoard wealth. I don’t own anything valuable. Money comes to me and goes back into the system so that whatever I make is redistributed.

Since we’re not a country of democratic socialists, minimalism is a way I can create my own individual economic justice.

Have some of my lemonade.