Chapter 202
You Deserve to Win
Chapter 202 You Deserve to Win
Simon explained to Arthur in detail the three pillars that allowed them to barely survive.
The first is collective purchasing.
"In the past, we bought seeds and fertilizers directly from the merchants in town. They knew we didn't have cash on hand, so they would give us credit, but the interest rates were outrageously high."
"A bag of seeds costs one dollar on the market, but they're asking for two dollars. You won't buy it? If you don't buy it, you can't farm. Can't farm?"
If you can't farm, you'll just have to wait for the bank to take your land.
Simon gave a cold laugh.
"Those people are in cahoots with the bank. They squeezed us dry with high-interest loans, and when we couldn't repay them, the bank came and took over the land. It was a trap."
After the cooperative was established, they pooled together the few hundred dollars that the whole village had left and sent two of the smartest young men in a beat-up truck to pick up goods directly from wholesalers in other states.
"No middlemen, no loan sharks. We buy with cash, and the wholesalers give us discounts. A bag of seeds that costs a dollar on the market can be bought for seventy cents. A barrel of diesel that costs two dollars at the town's gas station can be bought directly from the refinery for a dollar."
The second is unified pricing.
"After the grain was harvested, the grain merchants came. They drove brand-new trucks, wore shiny leather shoes, and went to the fields, knocking on doors one by one."
"The price they offered was even lower than the cost price. If you don't sell, you can just wait for the grain to rot in the warehouse. If you sell, you'll lose money, but at least you can get some cash to buy some bread."
He spat.
"Those people are also working for the bank. They buy our grain at low prices and resell it to city dwellers, making more money than we earn from farming for a year."
"And what about us? The more we lose, the less we can repay our loans, and the easier it is for the banks to seize our land."
The cooperative set a rule: no one is allowed to sell grain privately.
"All grain is negotiated by the cooperative. When grain merchants come, we send someone to talk to them. If the price is even one cent below cost, we'd rather burn the grain than sell it."
He pointed to the mountain of sacks piled up in the granary.
"That winter, those grain merchants came three times. We said, 'Thirty cents, not a cent less.' They left cursing and swearing."
"And then?" Arthur asked.
Simon smiled.
"Then they came back. Because grain merchants throughout the state were driving down prices, farmers weren't selling, and city dwellers were running out of food."
Finally, they bought half of our grain for twenty-eight cents. We were still losing money, but at least not as much.
Third, and most importantly, mutual assistance in grain storage.
"In the past, if a family ran out of food, they had no choice but to borrow money from loan sharks to buy bread," Simon said. "Those loan sharks charged even higher interest rates than banks. If you borrowed ten dollars, you had to pay back twenty dollars after six months. If you couldn't pay it back, you had to mortgage your land to them."
He pointed to the sacks above his head.
"Things are different now. All the grain is stored in this public granary according to the number of people and laborers in each household. If any family can't make ends meet, the cooperative will directly provide relief grain. There's no need to repay the money or use collateral; they can just work harder to pay it back when things get better."
He paused, a hint of emotion creeping into his voice.
Last winter, the son of the old Jensen family fell ill and needed to go to the city for medical treatment. His family didn't have a single grain of food, and they couldn't even afford a train ticket.
"The cooperative allocated two bags of corn from the granary for him to sell and earn money. His son recovered and is now lively and energetic."
""
He looked up at Arthur.
"Mr. Kennedy, do you know what this means? It means that as long as there is food left, the whole village will share it, and no one will starve. The banks will also be unable to use hunger to force any company to sell land at a low price."
As Arthur listened to Simon's story, he was deeply moved.
In the heart of capitalism, under the dual strangulation of banks and grain merchants, this group of ordinary farmers, who had never studied advanced theories, managed to build a miniature economic utopia using the most basic survival wisdom.
They broke the exploitation of middlemen through collective purchasing, resisted the price suppression by grain merchants through unified price negotiation, and resisted the threat of hunger through mutual grain storage.
They are not economists or politicians, but a group of people who have been driven to the brink and have no choice but to band together for warmth.
"But this model has threatened the interests of local elites and banks," Arthur said.
Simon's face fell.
"That's right. So we're barely surviving right now, and we could be crushed at any moment."
He told Arthur that the banks and local merchants had joined forces to impose a complete blockade on them.
"The town's banks joined together and issued a notice: anyone who does business with the Carney County Cooperative should not expect to borrow a single penny from us."
"The worst part is diesel. The gas stations in town received orders not to sell us a single drop of diesel. We went to gas stations in the next county, and they said, 'You people from Kani County? We won't sell to you.'"
He gritted his teeth.
"If we can't expand the planting area this spring, and we don't have enough diesel, the tractors won't be able to run, and we won't be able to plant anything. When the cooperative's funding chain dries up in the fall, we'll all be finished. Those banks are just waiting for that day."
The surrounding farmers all lowered their heads. Faced with the massive capital blockade, their spontaneous mutual aid organization appeared so fragile and vulnerable.
Arthur stood up and looked at Simon and the farmers.
"Simon, just barely holding on isn't enough. Defense will never win this war."
Simon was stunned.
"What do you mean?"
Arthur walked to the barn door, pushed open the heavy wooden door, and pointed to the barren land outside.
Those farms seized by the banks, those empty houses, those farmlands buried by sandstorms, looked like a huge graveyard under the setting sun.
"Since the farms outside have gone bankrupt, those lands are just lying there abandoned. Those displaced farmers are fleeing westward along the highway, starving to death by the roadside. Since the banks won't lend you money, we'll take over those lands in our own way."
Simon's eyes slowly widened.
"You mean—"
"Your cooperative should not be limited to Carney County. I want to support you in expanding and strengthening it in the three surrounding counties, and even throughout Nebraska."
"I will use the power of the New York Herald to give you positive coverage across the United States."
"We'll portray you as heroic examples of farmers saving themselves during the Great Depression. What are those banks most afraid of? They're most afraid of public opinion. As long as your stories are on the front page every day, they'll be hesitant to act openly against you."
He walked over to the old Dilling tractor and patted the rusty hood.
"Not only that. I will persuade some people to establish a nationwide agricultural mutual aid fund" to support farmers in helping themselves.
He turned around and looked into Simon's eyes.
"With money, you can buy diesel, seeds, and fertilizer. With money, you can re-employ the bankrupt farmers in the surrounding area and bring them into your ranks."
He walked to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and drew several circles on it.
"The scale of unified procurement should be expanded to the entire state. You can purchase directly from manufacturers, bypassing all middlemen and minimizing costs."
"The fist of unified pricing is going to smash into the grain merchants on Wall Street. When they find that you control all of Nebraska's grain, they'll have to kneel down and beg you to sell."
He put down the chalk and looked at the farmers.
He gave a cold laugh.
"I will make their names appear on radios all over America. I will make every housewife know that the uniformed sheriff is a dog for the bank and helps starving farmers. I will ruin their reputation and make them afraid to even go out without being spat on."
The barn was deathly silent.
No one spoke. Only the flame of the kerosene lamp flickered gently, casting an intermittent glow on each face.
Then, someone, for reasons unknown, started a long-suppressed, thunderous cheer.
The farmers rushed up, patting Arthur on the shoulder and grasping his hand, their eyes filled with tears. Some knelt on the ground, some buried their heads in their hands and wept, and some shouted at the ceiling.
Simon stood in the center of the crowd, his eyes also reddening. He gripped Arthur's hand tightly, the rough hand trembling slightly.
"Mr. Kennedy," his voice was hoarse, "we've endured this wasteland for so long, and we've never..." "As for those sheriffs who dared to block your grain wagons, those merchants who dared to cut off your diesel fuel—"
I dreamed of winning someday. But now—"
He couldn't continue.
Arthur patted him on the shoulder.
"It's not that you're winning, it's that you deserve to win."