In 1973, on the Jewish holy day Yom Kippur, Syria and Egypt attacked Israel. The U.S. decided to provide military aid to the embattled state and the Arab nations were livid. After only brief discussions, the OPEC alliance moved to turn off the oil tap. Saudi Arabia, Libya, and other Arab states followed through, imposing a unified embargo that would cause Americans' pain at the pumps.

I remember it well—I had a wife and three kids and was struggling to break even at the end of each month. A so-called "Arab oil embargo" sent gasoline prices soaring—from a mere 30 cents to an astonishing 60 cents per gallon. Younger people today will choke on these numbers. To them, a mere $.60 per gallon is unbelievable, but it was, at the time, a significant addition to monthly financial burdens.

During the early 1970s, the U.S. was highly dependent on the cheap and easy flow of Arab oil. We were not the net-exporting petroleum giant we are today. The embargo of '73 dealt a crippling blow. Americans cringed as the price of a barrel soared from $3 to $5. By early 1974, it was pegged at $12—the highest price in history.

Suddenly, America's gas-guzzling cars seemed far less sensible, and there was an almost immediate push to produce and market vehicles that were more economical to drive. Smaller Japanese cars made their U.S. debut, and the Plymouth Valiant, Ford Falcon and Mercury Comet became desirable alternatives as drivers sought relief from the rising price of gas.

In addition to the instant insult of higher gas prices, America's lawmakers responded with the hair-brained, poorly-researched idea that a new national speed limit—just 55 mph—would lower fuel consumption, and millions were spent on the replacement of the existing regulatory road signs. The lead foot of the American driver was largely eliminated, as state agencies rushed to enforce the new federal law. And trucking companies faced considerable expenses in re-gearing their over-the-road vehicles to be more efficient at lower speeds.

Driver frustration was only one problem—no one liked to endure such low speeds, especially when driving cross-country—and the long, boring miles added to the number of asleep-at-the-wheel rollovers. In an effort to quell the growing anger and widespread non-compliance, the government moved to create an alternative scapegoat: safety. Suddenly we were seeing the slogan "55—Arrive Alive," but the public didn't buy it.

As gas was a significant portion of people's monthly expenses, what happened next was entirely predictable. Led by higher transportation costs, inflation surged out of control. Sound familiar?

It's a sort-of déjà vu, but this time around, it's not about the Arabs causing consumer pain. As Putin's army turns into a serial-killing machine in Ukraine, America faces tough decisions on how to proceed. It appears that economic sanctions are our only choice. Along with our allies, we're rejecting Putin's oil in an effort to end the inhumanity and insanity of his attack on Ukraine, and American consumers are voicing their support, considering the extra burden as their personal contribution to the war effort.

When a government provides a palatable explanation for why the population must tighten its belts and endure new hardships, there's a sort of patriotic response that serves to lighten the level of suffering, and it's tempered by the understanding and belief that it's everyone—not only us—who are involved in ending Russia's aggression. Bearing the pain is what it means to be a world citizen.

In today's America, the 1973 rationale still applies. I don't know about you, but I could actually get all warm and fuzzy, filling my car with overpriced gasoline—that's if the soaring prices can help end the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Let's face it: If one life can be saved, that's a small price to pay. And if allied involvement can be averted, I am more than willing to open my wallet.

Considering the horrific suffering of the Ukrainians—not to mention the pimple-faced Russian soldiers who are also facing the loss of their dreams and lives—it's a small sacrifice for me. I can afford to pay that extra price for each tank of gas. Like other Americans, I'm happy to do that if it will help crush Putin's attack on Ukraine.

But, to make the population suffer, without a credible explanation? That's a different story. (And, it's all about the "story.") Maybe I'm being a bit cynical, but isn't there a chance—a pretty big chance—that corporations are exploiting the current world situation in order to add billions more to their bottom lines? In a country where there seems to be no effective anti-trust enforcement, we've certainly opened ourselves up for being raped by big business. A relatively few mega-corporations are—seemingly without restraints—in the driver's seat and, once again they're having their way with the American people.

Keep in mind, the costs of producing American oil haven't suddenly soared. What's happening is just another example of American corporate greed in action. In the absence of higher production costs, every dollar in increased gas prices goes straight to the oil companies' bottom lines and to the insane bonuses of their CEOs.

So, why are our oil prices soaring? The reality is that, in today's world, it's the international supply-and-demand that creates price changes. When prices are high elsewhere, it means that U.S. companies will rush to sell our oil abroad, rather than keeping domestic prices low. It's a little dance that huge corporations do to raise their already-insane profits.

Oh yes, we all need to support an end to the Russian invasion of Ukraine. But, just like the pharmaceutical giants that have added billions to their bottom lines during the pandemic, American monopolies are doing what they do best—exploiting another crisis and gouging our citizens. Shame on them!

This would be a good time to rein-in the American "combinations-in-restraint-of-trade" that were once the focus of some highly-effective anti-trust laws. It's time to bring the trust-busters back.

The author is a retired businessman, novelist, columnist, and former Vietnam-era Army assistant public information officer. He resides in Riverton with his wife, Carol, and the beloved ashes of their mongrel dog.