Morality is a cultural notion. Very little in Nature
holds itself up as a tuning fork that broadcasts this
much revered note. Where we originally heard it is a
mystery. But social evolution, that slow agency of human
association which grew out of our first guttural barks
and gestures and directed itself toward biometric implants
and interplanetary travel, would indicate morality appeared
around the time the first man of influence gathered
around himself more material wealth then any of his
neighbors.
A culture's inclination to invest morality with importance,
even elevate it to a mandate, is relative to its material
security. When people fear the loss of their possessions,
it is in their interest to promote a moral instinct
in those around them. But during an economic crisis
the division between the haves and the have-not's become
blurred. And morality erodes away from both ends of
the social hierarchy.
There is a new fraud in town, a telephone fraud that
taps into the soft natures of norteamericanos
raised in front of 50s television, well known to have
poured morality out like water from a fire hose. Programs
like The Donna Reed Show, Father Knows Best, My
Three Sons and Leave It to Beaver exhaled
their moral incense into our living rooms as families
gathered together to watch them. Now, a half century
later, the scent of their absorbed values inform our
reaction to any human adversity that requires a proper
response , one we innately know to be a moral lesson
already learned by The Beaver, Bud or Betty Anderson,
or one of the Douglas boys.
The telephone fraud works something like this:
Your phone will ring (always a prerequisite in a telephone
fraud) and when you answer a cheery voice will say,
"Guess who this is?" The voice will have a
Mexican accent (due to a geographic influence, I'm sure)
but the English will be perfectly understandable. Since
the voice is fairly generic, you're immediate response
is to name a name you have quickly associated with it.
"Yeah, it's me. I'm coming down."
You haven't seen the name in quite a while so you reply,
"Where are you?"
"I'm in San Diego (or some other north-of-the-border
warren). I'll be coming down in a few days."
"Great," you say. Why be rude?
"I'll give you a call when I get to the border."
"OK."
And that's the end of the call. You mull it around
in your head for a while, wondering who the hell it
was because it sure didn't sound like the name you named.
And then you get on with your life.
A few days later your phone starts gargling bells again.
"It's me," says the voice. And the name comes
back to you; the one you associated with the voice.
"Oh hi!"
"I'm at the border," says the south end of
your phone.
"Great!"
"No, not great. They stopped me and they're going
to put me in jail." And here the story will likely
vary depending on what the voice thinks you might believe.
But in every variation there will be a plea for money.
After all, the name was on his way to see YOU.
The voice will be forthcoming with banking information,
routing number, etc. to make it easy for you to transfer
money from the local bank to his account so he can pay
his way out the bind.
Now here is the hard part: --ignore what the Beaver
would do, what Bud, Betty, Robbie, Chip and Ernie spent
years teaching you. Harden your heart for this one phone
call and do like a friend of mine did, --gather up every
fiber of your moral reserve, put it in the towel drawer,
pick up the phone and tell the voice to f--- off.
After all, times are tough.
Despite the lightness of the writing, this telephone
scam is real. I received the calls myself. And other
people have reported the same experience. I even heard
someone did transfer some money. Then an investigation
of the bank numbers showed the account to be in "Guadalajara.