The very week a 50-year study of tax-cuts for the rich hammered the final nail in trickle-down economics' coffin, a rising Republican star in California was fired from his appointed office for advising governments to let Covid-19 "cull the herd" of children and the poor—a firing that came the same day we learned Trump and his toadies at HHS had been advocating the very same policy all summer.
You'll recall from A Christmas Carol Scrooge's embrace of GOP-style Malthusianism in response to a charity canvasser:
“At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge,” said the gentleman, taking up a pen, “it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute."
“Are there no prisons?” asked Scrooge.
“Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.
“And the union workhouses?” demanded Scrooge. “Are they still in operation?”
“They are. Still,” returned the gentleman, “I wish I could say they were not.”
“The treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigor, then?” said Scrooge.
“Both very busy, sir.”
“Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course,” said Scrooge.
“Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude,” returned the gentleman, “a few of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. What shall I put you down for?”
“Nothing!” Scrooge replied.
“Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.
“And the union workhouses?” demanded Scrooge. “Are they still in operation?”
“They are. Still,” returned the gentleman, “I wish I could say they were not.”
“The treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigor, then?” said Scrooge.
“Both very busy, sir.”
“Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course,” said Scrooge.
“Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude,” returned the gentleman, “a few of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. What shall I put you down for?”
“Nothing!” Scrooge replied.
“You wish to be anonymous?”
“I wish to be left alone,” said Scrooge. “Since you ask me what I wish, that is my answer. I don’t make merry myself at Christmas and I can’t afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned—they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there.”
“Many can’t go there; and many would rather die.”
“If they would rather die,” said Scrooge, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population."
Economist Thomas Malthus, popular when A Christmas Carol appeared in 1843, believed that global famine was inevitable, given population growth, and that governments should therefore promote mass human extinction.
Why so many members of the GOP today embrace Malthus's "life-boat ethics"—and do so proudly—should come as no surprise to anyone.
Since the Gilded Age, the GOP has—and always shall remain—the party of the rich, the party of the greedy, the party of Scrooge.