In one of the novels I analyze for my book, a mega wealthy movie director burns down the house of one of his workers in order to film the man’s devastated face when he discovers the incinerated house. The rich filmmaker believes that since he compensated the loss of the house with a cash gift, it’s all good. That the fire destroyed the family heirlooms, the photo albums, and the beloved knick-knacks of the worker’s family is of no interest to him. The worker can now buy a new house and all the new stuff, so what’s the problem?
The movie director is, of course, very left-wing.
I always think of this scene when I read the endless chatter regarding how the looting and the destruction during leftist riots is not a big deal because “insurance pays for it.”
The entire mentality of (neo)liberalism is here on full view. Everything is replaceable, and a new, shiny version is always better than the old one. The idea that objects are repositories of meaning and people are repositories of culture is alien to them.
The novel is Salvar el fuego by Guillermo Arriaga. I can’t recommend it highly enough. And yes, it’s five trillion pages long but each page is a linguistic delight.