There's this thing called the supervisory board, whose job it is to look away on behalf of a formerly non-existent agency whose nature it'd been to accept its position. That's germane to here. Over there it's called a commission, whose job it is to be seen getting to the bottom of a barrel of conclusions and to issue a declaration of authorship on behalf of an unknowable hallowed authority. The question as to whether an additional level of oversight leads to better or worse self-control guarantees what one sees as the existence of a difference.
There're these people called representatives, whose job it is to represent one thing on behalf of another thing whose job it is to become the thing more worthy of representation. These invariably represent both public and private interests. Should the matter at hand be of public interest, decisions of private concerns can serve as guiding precedent. Should the matter at hand be of private interest, it's none of the public's business.
There's a logic that says it's preferable to pool public resources to pay the cost of collective private venture, whose job it is to grow at all cost. Should the former resources become outstripped, the collective can afford the public the extra credit. This magnanimity knows no bounds.
There's this thing called a supply chain, whose job it is to link production and all its rent-seeking part producers to consumption and all its shifty cravings. Should some links be broken via an act of apparent public writ, the way around it comes at an increased cost for the hooked, whose lows, even more than their highs, driven to drink by creative creatures, whose job it is to liquify & carbonate dreamlevel unique selling propositions, spell the perfect alibi for increased margins for recession-proofed industries, which, if you believe what's taught at business school, include alcohol, tobacco and firearms. And make-up. Bottom end lipstick must paint the perfect bullseye on the target market. The question as to whether these profits of boom and doom are sustainable underwrites the longing for the good old status quo, whose job it is to lie in the muddle of the business cycle.
There's this thing called war, whose job it is to be waged and the wages of which spoil the rich, whose job it is to build associations of nations of oh geez, whose job it is to build blame campaigns and erect oppositions. The question as to whether a side's gone too far is a cry that'd show why the dissonance is hushed.
There's this thing called intelligence, whose job it is to infiltrate and filter, pose penetrating questions of straw to subvert the subversive, in turn turning causes into causes for alarm that spook the general public, which is sure to make a certain kind of certainty out of their ignorance. The question as to whether a certain outcome is a question of right or wrong may be the wrong question, but it's a timely one.
What's your job? Ignoring Ignorance, Sir!
