The Sort of Behaviour That Gets You a Robespierre

And well-deserved it will be. (Mylan makes the Epi-pen, which went from $90 to $600, and which schools are required to buy by law to stop fatal allergic reactions.)

Chair of Mylan literally held out middle fingers to regulators, Congressional critics, his own executives over profiteering concerns. pic.twitter.com/vezvKcDW3f — Matt Stoller (@matthewstoller) June 5, 2017

While I actually find this pretty funny, it’s also the sort of thing that makes me think, “up against the wall,” because a lot of people are dying so that Coury can get rich.

Now, I, of course, would never condone political violence. I believe that poor people and, lately, middle class people should just die, or just do non-violent things and never, ever, ever do violent things when their lords and masters are getting rich off of their own backs and the backs and lives of their children.

But it might be, it just might be, that others might not be as committed to pacifism as I, and that when things go sideways, they might remember the people who engaged in this sort of profit gouging.

Might?

Might not.

But perhaps our lords and masters have become overly insulated from the results of their actions.

I am reminded of what Mark Twain wrote about the Terror.

THERE were two “Reigns of Terror,” if we would but remember it and consider it; the one wrought murder in hot passion, the other in heartless cold blood; the one lasted mere months, the other had lasted a thousand years; the one inflicted death upon ten thousand persons, the other upon a hundred millions; but our shudders are all for the “horrors” of the minor Terror, the momentary Terror, so to speak; whereas, what is the horror of swift death by the axe, compared with lifelong death from hunger, cold, insult, cruelty, and heart-break? What is swift death by lightning compared with death by slow fire at the stake? A city cemetery could contain the coffins filled by that brief Terror which we have all been so diligently taught to shiver at and mourn over; but all France could hardly contain the coffins filled by that older and real Terror—that unspeakably bitter and awful Terror which none of us has been taught to see in its vastness or pity as it deserves.

‘Nough said.

Oh, and Coury? He deserves a round of anatomically challenging self-fulfillment.

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