They find a hole punched in the bathroom door, and a wall lamp with exposed wires. “Don’t touch it-it looks too dangerous,” Greg warns. Cole repeatedly closes a cupboard door in the kitchen that won’t stay shut. Greg pulls back the covers of one of the beds and smells the sheets. He finds silverfish in the sink. “Cockroaches, termites…” Cole lists off the gross things he sees. They inspect a mysterious gritty substance spilled all over a chair. “Oh, that is disgusting.” Greg comments.

Greg and Cole are slumming. The millionaire and his son live on Balboa Island, where you can’t buy much house for less than a million bucks. Today, they have boated down here disguised as poor people, with the intent to philanthropize. Greg-who admits with a hint of pride that Cole was “spoiled rotten”-also thinks that this will be an “enlightening experience” for his son. It will at least be a very different experience from, say, the time that Greg leased a castle in Ireland for Cole’s 15^th birthday.

So begins Fox’s new series Secret Millionaire. The premise is simple: a millionaire (or a pair of them) goes undercover for five days in one of the country’s poorest neighborhoods. The only cash they are allowed to take with them is “welfare wages” of about a hundred bucks. Their temporary digs are in keeping with the standards of the neighborhood, and some, like Greg and Cole, will find low-paying jobs in order to cover their basic expenses.

The millionaires’ mission is to go out and find deserving locals to whom they will, on the sixth day-after changing back into their “real” clothes and personas-donate at least a hundred grand of their own money.

Public reaction has been polarized and often heated. Snarky detractors are quick to point out the hypocrisies and shortcomings of both the show and the participating millionaires; god-blessing fans retort that the haters are “just bitter” and should give the millionaires more credit.

It’s true that all the millionaires have changed many lives with their generosity, and it’s true that their participation on the show opens their eyes to some important social realities. For that, I congratulate both the producers and the participants. There’s nothing wrong with rich people giving away lots of money to poor people, and there’s nothing wrong with teaching rich people what it’s like to be poor. Both of those things should be encouraged, and should happen more often.

It’s also true that there is much to criticize.

As is the case with all reality TV, the show is heavy-handedly edited for the entertainment values of voyeurism and sentimentality; to this effect, the producers take care to showcase any of the millionaires’ particularly grating behaviors or utterances. After all, we’re supposed to love them and hate them.

Certain of the show’s participants have been more roundly disparaged than others, and millionaire Gurbaksh “G” Chahal has been an especially easy target for character criticism.

G. acquired his millions by starting internet-ad companies and then selling them to other companies (the first for 40 million; the second for 300 million). The producers deliberately exaggerate his young-metrosexual-playboy style and demeanor as he shows off his brand new, gaudily decorated penthouse condo in what looks to be one of the widely hated new skyscrapers in San Francisco’s recently gentrified SOMA district.

They send him off to live in the Tenderloin, an area of the city full to overflowing with camera-ready homeless people and junkies. His temporary apartment is, by area standards, hella nice. It has refinished wood floors and uniformly white walls; there is no visible grime or mold; the furnishings are spare but stylish. It’s a one-bedroom, the likes of which would currently go for $1,500 to $2,000 per month. For effect, somebody has left a jar of something old and gross in the fridge.

A real poor person could not afford this apartment. Minimum wage in San Francisco is $9.36, the second-highest in the country, but at 40 hours per week that’s still only $375 per week, roughly $1,500 per month, and $19,400 per year–before taxes. And, as anyone who’s ever worked for minimum wage (or close to it) knows, truly full-time crappy jobs can be hard to come by.

We watch as G changes into his “poor” outfit: jeans and a tight camo hoodie. He looks like he belongs in the Castro, not the Tenderloin. He passes many a grizzled old homeless guy. He wakes up at night, afraid because there’s a knock on the door and the toilet keeps making sounds. He goes grocery shopping and struggles to tear off a produce bag from the roll. He now claims on his blog that he did not actually say afterwards, “grocery shopping–it’s not that easy”.

G volunteers at a soup kitchen and a women’s shelter in order to locate some deserving poor people. He probes into the life stories of the currently and formerly homeless, sometimes insensitively, as when he inquires of a woman who was in an abusive relationship, “Did it ever get…physical?”

But the real problem with Secret Millionaire is not the personalities of its participants; it’s the fact that the show structured in such a way that it might be more aptly titled Secret Capitalist Propaganda.

More than one of the millionaires gushes that he or she is “living the American Dream.” The term was coined in 1931 by James Truslow Adams, who had in mind a collective wish “of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position.” These days, however, it’s more often associated with the individualism found in the phrase “rags to riches,” the concept of “pulling yourself up by the bootstraps,” or plain-and-simple financial success.

Season two’s Todd Graves is the CEO and founder of the Raising Cane’s fast-food chain; his wife Gwen is a millionaire in her own right, as the former owner of a McDonald’s franchise. Todd (and several of the other millionaires) boast of coming from “nothing;” the implication is that they have at least some sense of what it’s like to be poor, and that they earned their money legitimately. Some of these rags-to-riches claims are more dubious than others.

Central to the narrative of the show is the idea that only certain kinds of poor people deserve a better life. Not one of the millionaires can get from one commercial break to the next without mentioning how “blessed” or “fortunate” they are. Luck may have been a factor in the accumulation of their wealth, but only merit will influence whom they pass it on to.

They say things like “this woman has earned the right to have an easier life,” “she’s completely selfless,” and “I want to…really find the true stories.” Poverty, in and of itself, is not what makes any of the recipients “worthy.” As G walks down Market Street, which is a spot as well known for tourism and shopping as it is for poverty, one of the homeless dudes grunts in G’s general direction, “gimme some money!” This man clearly does need money, and he needs it more urgently than do the eventual beneficiaries of G’s largesse.

He won’t get any from G though, and that’s in large part because he’s demanding it. The lucky, deserving poor people on this show are the ones who don’t ask. They’re the ones whose spirits haven’t been “broken,” the ones who aren’t pissed off about economic inequality. They’re the ones who plod along, grateful for what little good comes their way, and stoically uncomplaining about all the bad.

What is entirely left out of the show’s conceptual framework is the question of whether the millionaires themselves deserve the money that they already have.

Greg Ruzicka is rich because he’s a partner in a law firm that specializes in evictions and foreclosures. He says of his business ”when the economy does poorly…we do very, very well.” The Graveses have raked in the money by overseeing the operations of fast food restaurants. The Raising Cane’s website doesn’t advertise a wage range for any of its positions, but it does say that only full-time managers get health coverage and sick days, which leaves little doubt in my mind about the minimum-wage nature of the other positions.

Most of the millionaires wipe away tears at the end of the show as they announce that their recent experience has changed their life, and I think those tears are genuine. But never do we see any indication that they’ve made the connection between their own wealth and the systematic exploitation of other people. Will Greg Ruzicka quit his job and put his lawyerly skills to a more socially productive use? Will Todd Graves and the other businessmen millionaires start paying their staff more?

Public philanthropy of the Secret Millionaire sort is as much about the giver as the receiver, as most of the givers make clear. It makes them feel good to make a difference, to be the face associated with generosity, to be thanked and hugged. But poverty is a necessary fact of a capitalist economy, and philanthropy, whatever the motivation behind it, is a stopgap measure, not a long-term solution.

After G hands over his check and leaves the soup kitchen, the other volunteers resume their tasks. “Back to work!” one of them announces, still giddy with appreciation.

G will head back to his hyper-monogrammed penthouse; the volunteers will chop more vegetables for the stream of homeless people that won’t abate. The crack and speed trade in the Tenderloin will continue; the counter staff at Raising Cane’s will be paid far less than the value of their labor; another family will be evicted. The poor will stay poor; the rich will get richer.

Back to work, indeed.

Join us as we break through the year’s rhetoric and double-speak as simply as we know how, and leave your own equations in the comments. For the historically minded, take a look at 2007’s edition.

Brigid Barry

Thrift shops > American Apparel
Why buy your ill-fitting 70s throwbacks from a misogynist who overcharges when you could buy them cheap and green from the used clothing store across the street?

Brigid Barry is a freelance copy editor based in San Francisco, CA. She is the Associate Editor of Is Greater Than and also writes short fiction and cultural analysis, and knits in her spare time.

Leland Cheuk

The Economy > The Price of Oil > The Popularity of Private Jets

2008 was a very bad year if you were a corrupt politician, Gordon Ramsey, a UK social services worker, a banker investing in oil futures, or a Republican. But 2008 was much worse if you were, say, a private jet company reliant on flying executives of Sean John or the Big Three automakers. Not only did the price of oil cause Diddy to swear off Cristal-loaded private jets early in 2008. The nose-diving economy caused private jets to become a political football when GM, Ford and Chrysler executives flew into Washington D.C. to ask for what ended up being a $14 billion bailout. I hope 2009 is friendlier to companies like Onesky and Privateair so we won’t have to bail them out in June. After all, it’s not their fault that we’re in the bind that we’re in.

Leland Cheuk is is a currently an MFA candidate at Lesley University’s Creative Writing program. His writing has appeared in MostlyFiction, Punk Planet, and other publications. Recently, one of his short stories was selected as finalist in the 2007 Washington Square Review Contest. He lives in San Francisco and is working on a novel.

Leilani Clark

Mushrooms > Anything made by humans

In Cormac McCarthy’s novel The Road mushrooms are the first organic matter to grow after the an apocalypse brings on nuclear winter. While humans fall into cannibalistic disarray, the fungi keep on trucking. Tenacious and communicative, mushrooms are key to a thriving natural ecosystem. They make a simple hike in the woods into an awesome treasure-hunt. In addition, they are damn good to eat.  In 2008, you could listen to mycillium guru Paul Stamets talking about the glorious power of toadstools on just about every media outlet–from books to radio to YouTube. We should pull up a chair, take notes and learn something new that just might save the world.

Leilani Clark has written for Clamor Magazine and the North Bay Bohemian. She loves free media and defending the working class. She writes about more then mushrooms at www.leilaniclark.com.

Paul M. Davis

Reason > Superstition

The election of 2008 wasn’t only a triumph for those of us who have watched the last eight years in horror as the imperial President attempted to drag this new century into the 17th. Indeed, it was a triumph of a reasoned, pro-science, pro-progress mentality over the superstitious beliefs of the Christian Evangelical crusaders. But it was also the year in which the reasonable majority appeared to wipe the collected mung out of its eyes and return to its senses. To wit, the Republican intellectual schism of August and September 2008, in which numerous vocal figures dismissed the party’s insane Evangelical wing in favor of critical thinking. It was also the year in which a realistic appreciation for regulated markets emerged out of the ruins of post-Friedmanite, neoconservative economic policy. It was a year for sober realism over faith in destructive myths, and even if the reality before us is fucked, it’s preferable to living a collective fantasy.

Paul M. Davis is the editor and publisher of Is Greater Than. His Is Greater Than blog is Attencion!

Whitney Dibo

Gail Collins > Maureen Dowd.

Thank god the New York Times finally landed a female columnist who can write coherent, if shrill, commentary. Collins’ editorials around the election season were hilariously poignant and spot-on, as opposed to Dowd (whose idea of a productive use of New York Times editorial space is to write imaginary conversations between famous people). And Collins doesn’t even have a glamour-shot picture, (almost no makeup – gasp!) a sharp contrast to Dowd’s vampy smirk.

Harry Potter > Twilight

As a child of the Potter generation, it seems painstakingly obvious that to even put the two fantasy novels in same league is treason so high even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wouldn’t dare do it. Harry Potter is to the Imaginatively Curious as Twilight is to the Sexually Frustrated. I mean – the apple on the cover? Come on.

Whitney Dibo is a freelance writer and also works in the Education Department of Steppenwolf Theatre Company. She graduated from the University of Michigan in 2007 with a degree in English and Political Science.

Levi Fuller

Elective democracy > Direct democracy
In Washington, as in many states, “The People” lately have a huge boner for legislating via initiative.  Every once in a while this ends up being a good thing:  Smart, active citizens can ban together and pass legislation that our elected officials are too afraid or busy to pass (witness our recent “Death with Dignity” initiative).  For the most part, however, it’s a complete, unalloyed disaster that has our legislature and courts scurrying to and fro trying to manage the repercussions.

The most egregious recent example of this “tyranny of the majority” is, of course, California’s Prop 8.  Millions of church dollars went to hammer home the message that “traditional marriage” needed defending from the loony left judges who wanted men to marry men and gerbils to marry ducks and kindergartners to be indoctrinated into the ways of homosexuality.  Another, smaller example from Seattle:  Our City Council recently passed a $.20 per-bag tax on grocery shopping bags to encourage people to get reusable bags and curb the ridiculous waste of resources that occurs all day every day in grocery stores.  This bill was much more moderate than San Francisco’s outright ban on plastic bags, but of course it was still too much for the American Chemistry Council, who banded together to get a recall of this simple, sensible bill on the ballot for next year.  For now, the status of bags in stores is in limbo, and every time I shop at Fred Meyer the checker automatically starts putting my item or items in a bag without even asking.  Elective democracy isn’t perfect, and the initiative process can be a useful tool of last resort, but there are times when we should just let our elected officials do the job we elected them to do.

Levi Fuller plays music, DJs on the Internet, curates a quarterly series of compilations, and generally runs himself ragged in Seattle. www.denimclature.com

Matt Gajewski

Buying fruit at red light-stalled intersections > Buying subprime mortgages at red light-stalled intersections

In previous years, the lane line-tiptoeing hawkers at US-1 and Bird Road near my home were all about subprime mortgages: “Hungry and homeless and need investors for asset-backed securities,” “Will disregard borrower’s past credit history 4 food.” But with the housing bubble bursting, the global economy collapsing, 2008 was the Year of Intersection Fruit: sweet-smelling guavas, succulent mangos, to-die-for tamarinds and tangerines and papayas; investors clearly voicing their preference of juicy, vitamin-rich produce over risky, subprime collateralized debt obligations. Let’s hope that 2009 will be no less delicious, and that our nation’s intersections will remain a cornucopia of discount, indigent-vended citrus for many years to come.

Matt Gajewski hosts Pure Imagination, a radio program featuring darkly comic short stories set to music on 90.5 WVUM in Miami, FL. Listen to past episodes at www.vangloria.net/pureimagination.

Narinda Heng

Real food > Bacon-wrapped, deep-fried, gravy-drowned novelties

While I can see the fun in chicken-fried bacon (and am in awe of the genius behind the bacon weave), real food that can be eaten every day (without giving you a heart attack at 40) is infinitely more interesting. The appearance of people like Michael Ruhlman, Michael Pollan, and Alice Waters in mainstream media advocating more sensible, healthful cooking shows that there is hope that we might be able to fit into last year’s skinny jeans someday.

Narinda Heng is planning to start 2009 unemployed. She’ll be writing at Long Cool Hallway and wherever else she can get a word in.

Rob Miller

Hysterical hyperbole > bland euphemism.
The following are exact quotations from ABC World News Tonight as they have described the economic apoplexy during the past couple of months.
At least as we all get closer to selling pencils out of tin cups (or would the modern day equivalent be flashdrives?), we can rest easy that we will be suitably entertained as we watch the news (even if we might be looking at the TV through an appliance store window like a Dickensian waif cuz our electricity was cut off).  But still….

Thus, in order of appearance:

• Troubling downturn
• Confidence is ebbing
• Contracting economy
• The Dow is losing ground
• Has the Bull market run out of steam
• Grim jobs report
• Panic on the trading floor
• Cascading job loss
• Might send investors heading for the ledge
• It was a bloodbath on Wall Street

See?  Isn’t that more fun?  When we started, you could feel your eyes go droopy with the musty, lifeless talk.  Shit, it’s like you’re in some Econ 101 lecture after spending all night proving you CAN play Quarter Bounce with tequila shots instead of beer.  But by the end of the list, you can almost SEE Chuck Norris starring in the movie version with guts and explosions and falling buildings and cars driving through plate glass windows.
It’s more warming than drinking after-shave lotion.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Rob Miller is the owner and founder of Bloodshot Records.

Laura Pearson

Supporting independent booksellers > Buying books on Amazon or at B&N or downloading digital files to your ebook reader. (Plus, talking all about your Kindle just sounds gross.) As we all know, it’s getting more difficult to be an independent anything, and there are oh so many reasons to support nearby, non-chain stores (e.g., Of $100 spent at a local business, $68 stays in the community; whereas at a national chain, only $43 of your $100 sticks around (www.indiebound.org)). Most importantly, in an age where virtual experience often supersedes the tangible, real-world stuff, the time has come to get in close proximity to actual pages… Bookshelves. Book smells. Or to put it in another, lamer way: In 2k9, acquire a spine.

Laura Pearson is a Chicago-based editor and writer. She has written music news stories, as well as book, zine, and comic reviews, but her favorite subject to write about is people who are both contributing to culture and creating culture.

Erica Phillips

The Beijing Olympics > everything else

The rest of the world got served by China this August. From the awesome spectacle of the opening ceremony, to the mod and exemplar facility architecture, and the over-coverage, obsessive interviews and photo opps. The 2008 Summer Olympic Games was the shiny and bedazzling thing that made us all forget everything else.

We forgot China’s human rights record and the Olympic torch parades through Tibet, when residents were not allowed in the streets unless they promised to yell “Go China” and nothing else. We forgot that NBC was making it censorship-level impossible to find Beijing youtube footage anywhere on the internet. We forgot about the diplomatic mess between Russia and US-backed new “democracy,” Georgia. We forgot about Pakistan and Iraq and Turkey and everything, because China stepped up and we were like “Woah, it might not be all about us anymore.”

Erica Phillips currently splits her time between an immigration law office and the Venus Zine headquarters. She is editor / publisher of globalhuman and has written a few things for Love, Chicago.

Chanda Prescod-Weinstein

Cloud Cult, Feel Good Ghosts (Tea-Partying Through Tornadoes) > Any other new music I heard this year (or last year)
I heard a lot of great music this year, including great new stuff from Sam Roberts and Malcolm Middleton, but I feel that this album really just is 2008. Taste this bit from “Hurricane and Fire Survival Guide”:

“I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired
I’ll laugh my whole way through the hurricanes and fire
That’s why you don’t wanna bring me down.”

The first Black President of the US was elected. You just try and bring me down. I will laugh my way through hurricanes and fire.

Chanda Prescod-Weinstein is in the process of building a veritable cornucopia of degrees in physics and astronomy. The black hole of academia is a dark and dangerous place. In a perhaps related story, she also seems to be known as a trouble maker. Her Is Greater Than blog is Disordered Cosmologist Is >.

Elaina Ramer

1929 > 2008
None of the Wall Street dudes who were taking those huge bonuses from dying financial companies really lost much as the markets have crashed and, thus did not throw themselves out the windows of Manhattan skyscrapers. Bummer.

The Half Pint (8 oz.) > The Imperial Pint (20 oz.)
At some point a few years ago, I discovered that my fav local pub, the Poet and the Patriot, serves beer in 20 oz. glasses. I was delighted. This year I discovered that consuming more alcohol makes me neither healthier nor wealthier nor wiser and that the Poet also serves beer in 8 oz. glasses. If I’ve got to cut back, I’d rather sacrifice the quantity of my beverage rather than the quality.

The Wide Leg > The Skinny Leg
Just trust me; I’m right.

The Shoes > The Bicycle> The Public Transit > The Private Automobile
This is as much practicality as it is green washing. For those of us who live in urban areas, walking, cycling, and taking transit are things we do and things we could afford to do more often. Each of the things listed above are affected by the price of gas and the political situation (listed from least to most affected). But when gas hits $10/gallon and people are rioting in the streets, you’ll still have your boots and no one is going to set your bicycle on fire.

Elaina Ramer is a fashionista, bike messenger and radical economist living in Santa Cruz, CA. She completed most of a degree in Global Economics before she dropped out of college to pursue enjoying her youth. Elaina blogs about fashion and global politics at frugal and hep dot com.

Boaz Vilozny

pretty good > best
Let’s face it—it was nice being the world’s dominant nation for a while back in the 20th century, but who wants to deal with all the pressure? It’s high time we stepped back and let someone take over as superpower #1 while we get our own house in order. Any volunteers? China? India? Cuba? Anyone? What if we throw in Afghanistan and Iraq?

Boaz Vilozny is a native of Santa Cruz, California, where he is currently completing his doctoral research in organic chemistry at UCSC. When not busy thinking deep thoughts about molecular recognition, he spends time with his family, plays music, reads, and cooks.