A man got laid off today. His boss gives him a weak apologetic smile. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. He worked there for about two months, fourteen hours a day getting paid mere dollars a day. Though all that time, he never learned more about his boss. He took the job so that his eight-year-old son didn't have to apply for a job, but now he’s starting to think that it’s a possibility that they can’t afford to avoid. His boss said something about a lack of funds. Someone else was willing to work for less. His replacement was an immigrant. Jewish. He didn’t even speak a lick of English, but that didn’t matter. What mattered is that he’s cheap. That man cried himself to sleep, too cowardly to tell his wife why his son needs to apply to work the next day.

Two men watch from a distance. Rousseau says “These people need laws to protect them! It’s not right. These people are mistreated on a daily basis, working for ridiculous hours in dangerous conditions and are practically getting paid pennies. These workers are giving up their precious rights for countless hours a day, and are receiving nothing in return except dollars a day. There was nothing stopping these factories from just firing every worker who needs to provide for their families and just replacing them with the next cheap immigrant who gets off the boat. Not to mention how dangerous these conditions are. Especially with how long they have to work, I bet they barely get any sleep!  They aren’t even taught proper safety. These people court death every second they’re working here. These factories don’t care if someone loses an arm. They would just fire them, and bring in the next worker on the street. Even the government doesn't even care. Their economy is booming, so to them, everything is fine, it’s citizens aside. And that’s not even mentioning how these factories are not only employing, but underpaying and overworking these kids. Minors! Kids that should be in school, not toiling away in a factory. This either needs to be fixed, or it ends now.”

Hobbes remains poker-faced. “Why?” he solemnly breathes.

“Why? Because slavery is finally illegal, but this right here. This is just a bad day away from what these people just fought and killed to stop.”

“These people knew what they were signing up for. They don’t deserve special rights if they can’t fight for it themselves. If they don’t like it then they can walk away as simple as that. If they start to rebel against the system then we’ll talk, but they aren’t because this is a step up from what they had before. For once, they have food on the table, and actually, have a form of income.”

“Okay, wait you can’t possibly belei-”

“Fine, I’ll humor you. Say these people rise up, and demand safer conditions, shorter hours, and more pay. The money that will be funneled into better conditions,

fewer hours and their pay will come out on these products. Products, even unemployment, are at an all-time low. These factories are employing so many people and producing so much product, that they’re axselling them. This means that fewer people will be able to afford these productions and this will also mean that the factories are going to let even more people go as they can no longer afford them. Hell, even factories might even close down leading to people with at least an income flooding back onto the streets  damaging the economy that’s constantly improving today.”

“Are you seriously putting the factories and these people’s jobs over their lives?” Hobbes turns to look his friend in the eye. “Don’t you remember, back when we were young? We said that each and every person on this planet is entitled to three rights: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” He gestures around and scoffs. “The working class, as they call it, don’t have the time to even achieve those last two. The only thing these people are doing is living. Just getting by. Working at least 12 hours a day, every day of the week barely leaving enough time to see their family. And that’s not even mentioning how they’re being treated. Roussou, what you’re defending is against the very idea you stood for almost your entire life!”

Roussou looks Hobbes with a questioning eye, “What on earth are you talking about?”

To Rousseau's surprise, Hobbes laughs, “The social contract!..” Hobbes shakes his head as a sudden idea comes to him. “Here, come take a walk with me.”

Hobbes slowly troddes over to one of the sides of the factory, with Rousseau hesitantly trails behind. They come to look up at a window, dimly illuminated by a kerosine yellow light inside. A dark shadow from inside moves around, breaking up the fine flickering beams of light.

Hobbes gestures, “See that idiot? That’s their boss. You know what he’s probably doing right now? He’s writing a check to himself to go under the IRS’ radar. He’s giving himself money while a man literally just got laid off for a “lack of funds”. And do you know why the government doesn't do anything about this. About him giving himself far too much money, or how his workers work too long, and are getting paid too little. When do you think the last time an inspector came through here and made sure all these machines are safe to use? Because the government doesn't care. The social contract, the contract that you wrote with your bare hands, dictates that people need to give up rights and in exchange have laws that keep them in check. Yet do you see the government cracking down? No. They couldn’t care less. Why? Because a handful of people have jobs and are off the streets, and are paying their due tax even if their bosses aren’t. It’s a fact. The only people who are being forced to follow the law are the workers. The government aren’t treating the high-class people the same as they would the workers because they’re the ones creating jobs, products, and trade.”

Roussou puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, you have my attention. They’re working too long, and under all the wrong conditions, I’ll agree with you on that.” Roussou nods his head. “But the government simply can’t afford to spend more money as it is. The government needs the money just as much as the people, perhaps even more. The US is the most industrialized country to date.  Not even the Luddites can stop this revolution. The economy is booming, and, as I said, there's more food than there’s ever been, and fewer people are starving to death on the streets. Everything is now more affordable, and luxuries previously beheld only by the rich are now available for all. If the government and factories are forced to spend more money, and enforce laws that would only slow down the process, then humanity will suffer for it. Many factories will go bankrupt, causing their products to increase in value, and also leaving thousands of their workers jobless, back onto the streets. You talk about people working too much, well if your ideas take place, then these people can’t even work at all, dangerous conditions or not. If these factories were so dangerous then these people wouldn’t come into work. Roussou, this is working. We are living in the most technologically advanced time period in history. Our children and their children will thank us because they’ll have the opportunities we never had. They’ll live in an age where they don’t have to worry about if they can put food on the table, or having to live paycheck by paycheck. Worrying if there’s going to be another famine or if a plague is going to wipe out everyone you know. Look, it may not be perfect, but this is the best thing humanity’s has so far.”

“That doesn't mean it can’t be improved... Mark my words, this system is going to fail. It will.”

“Well see…”

. . .

His heart beating to the sound of machinery, the poor man’s young son works his third year in the textile factory. Rustic, sharp, soulless machines spin and grind away. The clanging of machinery acts as a constant reminder of the slow, crawling ticking of time. The air is chokingly pungent with their sweat, yet it pales compared to the smoke.

The boy’s surrounded by other kids as far as he can see, yet he feels completely alone. They’re not allowed to talk, the threat of unemployment raining over their head by their boss. On his first day in the factory, they didn’t even teach him how to use the machines. They just told him to copy the other kids. He doesn't remember the last time he got decent sleep. Dreams are a distant memory, yet even worse, getting caught sleeping would only lead to trouble.

He started daydreaming… Dreaming how he wished his family had enough money to put food on the table. Wishing that he could be going to school instead of being stuck in this factory. But daydreaming does not substitute sleep. The clouds of hopes and wishes for a better life muddy his vision and thinking. A simple lever he was supposed to grab, swung by his face. Impulsively, he grabs for it, catching air instead. He reaches too far, and the spinning blades embrace his arm.

Downstairs, the workers hear the shattering wails from kids, followed by the grotesque thud of something moist.  

. . .

A sea of black face a small box and a grave. The casket was small. Too small. Two men, watch from the funeral from a distance. By choice. The only thing these two men agree on is that sobbing is not pleasing to the ear. Especially when it could have been prevented.

Roussou turns, “This is what I meant Hobbes! Perhaps, maybe the men choose to do this, but the kids! They don’t deserve this. That’s where I draw the line. You must know this is wrong right? No matter however many excuses you can makeup, you must admit that this is wrong. No one here knows it, but that little boy’s blood is on our hands for no to stopping this.”

Roussou glances over at Hobbes who takes a sudden interest in his shoes.  

“What? You finally got nothing to say?” Roussou presses.

“Alright, alright.” Hobbes relents. “What can even be done to fix this? This is the most successful revolution to date, and it will continue, whether we like it or not. There’s nothing we could do to make the government listen to them. Nothing short of...” Hobbes pauses for a moment, eyebrows knitted in concentration. “Remember how you brought up the social contract?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Well it dictates that  the people in power, the government, in this case, don’t protect the rights of citizens, then the citizens would have the right to overthrow. Now, that’s a little dramatic, and this may sound odd, but what if the workers joined together uniting?”

“Like some sort of union?”

“Exactly. But not just the workers in one factory, but the workers in all of them around the country. That way they can voice their concerns, and their ideas. And that way if their rights aren’t protected, say they aren’t being paid enough, the workers strike. Their voices may not speak to corporate, but the money they lose will. If their bosses don’t give in to their needs, then they’ll go out of business. And they’ll even be protected by the union if they start to think about firing them! This way they can bargain over wages, working conditions, hours, benefits, and so much more!” Hobbes giggles with a child-like innocence, “Roussou, this is what we’ve been looking for! The ideas we created over two hundred years ago that laid forgotten, can now be seamlessly integrated today.”

Rousseau think hesitantly for a moment. “... I’m not saying that it’s impossible, but this will take time. Many of the people today won’t live to see it.”

For the first time in years, Hobbes cracks a hopeful smile. “But their kids will. And, like you said, ‘Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.’”