I like Caitlin, for the most part, and rarely divest energy into pushing back against those who seem to me to be on the same page as far as ending the global Military Industrial Complex (along with the Pharmaceutical Industrial Complex, Food Industrial Complex and, so on) and in general seems to stand for the liberty and good of the common man.
But I really welcome those moments where I can Individuate from the cracks of the Progressive collectivist push, and here is such a one. So, thank you in advance, Caitlin.
“Defending the most powerful is always the wrong position. Defending cops from the people. The rich from the poor. The US empire from weaker powers. White people from the causes of people of color. Men from feminism. Israel from Palestinians. You’re just helping to create a more unjust and imbalanced world.” Caitlin Johnstone
WOW! The delusions here just smack me right in the face! So, who is right doesn’t matter. Justice doesn’t matter. Poor, disenfranchised, weak, that’s all that matters. What matters, whether wrong or right, Is ONLY that the strong don’t win.
Since when did ‘unjust’ come to mean ‘not sanctioned by the masses’? Since when did ‘imbalanced’ come to mean ‘cops, white people, men, and Israel are ALWAYS wrong’ just because they are stronger?
What happened to discernment? Why is everyone a member of a group before they are treated as individual cases?
If defending the most powerful is ALWAYS the wrong position, are we to assume the weakest ALWAYS know best?
What happens then when you are among the strongest yourself, Caitlin? I guess we must assume you will then always be wrong, unless you are standing for those weakest links, who will always be right.
I welcome you to a very fun Adulthood, in that case, and look forward to hearing how awesome it is for you to forever bow to the weakest links, no matter whether right or wrong, just because they are so pitiful in their weakness. No strong man is ever right or good, unless they are taking a knee to the consensus trance.
And the weakest in their collective consensus trance is always right and Hitler was also American, because everything evil originated from here, and remains the sole global scourge, obviously. As long as we are promoting weakness, it’s all good.
I remember being completely baffled in Thailand that an enormous, highly profitable industry had been developed around skirting the law. I lived there for a year, that’s where Hubby and I met, as ‘illegals’.
Visa scams, that was my first real foray into consciously participating in organized crime. I’m sure there were many other unconscious occasions before that.
Legal work arounds are like problem solving for dummies. It’s just kicking the proverbial can. It’s not even hacking at the branches instead of the roots, it’s supporting from, and profiting from, conspiracy and corruption. The problem is not fixed, it’s not meant to be. Nothing has disturbed the foundation of power abuse in the slightest, and that’s how it continues unabated. There’s a fat middle layer making enough money to bow to the status quo, and I played right into it. Just cross the border into Myanmar every 3 months, pay the required fees, and your ‘tourist’ visa is magically renewed, no questions asked.
That was the same year I read in the newspaper that the new Minister of Culture declared unequivocally, on the record loud and clear, that there was absolutely no sex trade in Thailand. That was 20 years ago, but still I remember thinking, I wonder how many people can read that statement with a straight face?
I was dissociated. I thought these were the sort of things that happened in corrupt ‘3rd and 2nd world’ countries. Even though I saw such similar charades in my life before that time, like the Iran-Contra ‘hearings’ that were televised laughable nonsense, it all still seemed remote from real life, officially far from the average Jane, in comparison to these other places, where the corruption was completely accepted, obvious on a daily basis, right upfront and center and requiring ample resources of time and cash every 3 months.
If it weren’t for those experiences I might not get so bristled when I see such adjustments to tyranny happening here and now. Making money off corruption is as common here as it ever was in any banana republic, and our officials will also look the camera right in the eye, and lie. And those profiting from it will look you right in the eye, and smirk. And those going along to get along, just wanting to travel and live their lives, like I once did, will look you right in the eye, and shrug.
Just like them, rather than heroes truly bucking the system, standing up against the fake foods and fake weather and fake pandemics, we have snake oil salesmen selling $50 an ounce wellness tea and boogalu crystals and chemtrail umbrellas and worst of all, a million fucking ‘wellness coaches’ who will adjust your ass to the insanity to the tune of $200/hour.
It’s so rare to find any real truth or honor these days it seems appropriate to align with the misanthropes and to share and sing their praises more often, as I intend to do.
“All your toys, your ipods and iphones and all their clever apps, are not signs of your freedom or your power. They are not signs of progress. They are methods of stunning. Every connection you have to the media is like an electrode physically implanted into your brain, preventing you from acting either logically or by any residual intuition. In a word, you ARE controlled. Do not fear the future: the controllers do not require implanted computer chips or stronger drugs or HAARP waves or unmanned police blimps. The program is already nearly perfect. It was already nearly perfect a century ago. These horror stories of chips and waves and blimps and so on are just planted stories, planted to make you think the problem lies in the future, with something they may do. If you are worried about future legislation, you forget to remember all the legislation of the last hundred years.”
Hope is out there, for those who care to venture beyond their comfort zone, but to listen is going to cost you something much more precious than money. So, if you can’t imagine there is something more precious than money, don’t venture further.
I rewrite this personal anecdote every few years, whenever it feels I might be able to improve it a bit at just a moment when I feel the seed may fall on fertile ground.
The scene: Me, alone, 1989, traveling by train through Italy, Czech Republic, Poland, East Germany before a semester abroad in Lille, France:
The demand at every border, on both sides of the border, by intimidating uniformed men who could tell instantly I was a foreigner, well before my passport and visas were promptly presented. This is, for reference, even in the five miles it takes across ‘no man’s land’ from East Germany to West, between Germany and Italy, between Czech Republic and Slovakia, etc.
For reference, imagine traveling the equivalent of 3 states in New England and having to show your papers 6 times, even in the middle of the night in your sleeping car. Whether they chose to search your backpack or detain you for any number of unknown reasons depended more on the officials’ mood than anything you might say in the moment, so you learn quickly to keep your mouth shut, nod and smile, A LOT.
It was annoying and intimidating but especially, for me as a young, naive American, it was baffling. As was the constant currency exchanging, the shifting languages, the ghost-town Sundays when everything was closed. I was already used to being mobile across vast distances since my earliest memories without any of these inconveniences. It seemed primitive to me. Backwards, less advanced culturally, surviving from the Stone Age.
It was the first time I really considered a few of the advantages of my home country, since it was already trendy by that time at university to defile the uncouth, uneducated ‘ugly American abroad’.
When I went back again after grad school in the mid-90s I saw for the first time protestors against the European Union and heard for the first time the word “Globalism”. I considered those protestors as I did the other European inconveniences, that is, yet more survivors of the Stone Age. I’d bought the propaganda like the good student I was.
Please note—I was bold enough to travel through foreign countries alone as a ‘cute young thang’, foolish enough to roll my eyes at border officials (once), confident enough to crash on strangers’ couches or even on a bench of a train platform, desperate enough to work illegally, dumb enough to smoke hash in the loo, smart enough to learn a few foreign languages—but not nearly wise enough to recognize the mountain of propaganda I’d swallowed—hook, line and sinker.
No borders? Single currency? One GIANT happy Global family? What in carnation could be wrong with those protestors??
I saw the EU maneuvers as the continuation of a smooth skate in an ever-ascending flow toward cultural Enlightenment.
I was a front-row witness to an explosion of progress and those protestors were a visual menace to Europe’s peaceful transition. Thankfully for me, they were really easy to ignore. The politicians and media agreed with me, obviously, and slurred and minimized their pathetic attempts at being such bitter clingers to the past.
Ringing any bells yet?
It wasn’t for several more years that a few pinholes pierced through my blinders. First, it was non-stop celebration.
I lived on the Czech side of what was referred to as Sudetenland, just past the west German border and the goods were flowing, fast. The thrill of choosing between 3 kinds of toilet paper, the gratitude for non-fat yogurt, the convenience of plastic wrap and home phones and fancy new trains, all upstaged the coming onslaught, for a while.
Then the McDonalds came, and the ubiquitous candy and junk food and porn and the flood of advertising. And, once the EU was firmly established by the end of the decade throughout most of Europe, it became nearly impossible for an unconnected American to find legal work anymore.
And if that wasn’t all bad enough, then came the crowds.
Booming tourism, which I once believed would be a great thing, began invading all my favorite quiet haunts and deserted streets and the subtle, muted colors of old Europe went proverbially (and sometimes literally) neon.
And, finally, I questioned, “Uh-oh, what have I been blindly supporting through my ignorance and short-sidedness all this time?”
It had never occurred to me for a moment that I might be inviting in Tyranny through the back door. I’d considered myself an advocate of progress. But, I was not wise enough to ask: “Whose version of progress?”
The American Empire is on its last legs, but I never wanted, or asked, to be a part of any empire. Progress to me now means something very different than it did 3 decades ago. I wish we could go down more gracefully than the empires of the past, but there’s little hope of that.
So instead of hoping for a miracle I work, with growing awareness in ever-increasing ranks, toward piercing more pinholes in all those as unaware and propagandized as I once was—those who are still blinded by tyranny in its many guises and stuck in various roles of keeping it alive and thriving, while insanely badgering on about ‘progress’.
The artists know. They just don’t know exactly what they know, or how they know it. Can you see what he feels?
Beginning in 1890, Jacques-Arsene d’Arsonval (1851-1940) Director of the Laboratory of Biological Physics at the College de France, investigates how electricity of high frequencies affect living organisms. The facts proved, he wrote, “That the currents of high frequency penetrate deeply into the organism.”
The Scream (1893) Edvard Munch
G. Marconi, electrical engineer, had not heard of D’Arsonval’s research.
“If radio waves are dangerous, Marconi, of all people in the world, should have suffered from them. Let us see if he did.
As early as 1896, after a year and a half of experimenting with radio equipment in his father’s attic, the previously healthy 22-year-old youth began running high temperatures which he attributed to stress. These fevers were to recur for the rest of his life. By 1900 his doctors were speculating that perhaps he had unknowingly had rheumatic fever as a child. By 1904 his bouts of chills and fevers had become so severe that it was thought they were recurrences of malaria. At that time he was so occupied with building a permanent super-high-power radio link across the Atlantic Ocean between Cornwall, England and Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia.”
I was lucky enough to be invited yesterday on a foray, a mushroom hunt, about two hours south of us. My first question was, “Are masks required?” That’s because I had to cancel my participation in a much anticipated wilderness walk last month as soon as I learned masks were required.
There is a point where mask-wearing logic among folks must fly right out the window, no? Or at least, I keep hoping to stumble upon this point. Instead, I find at a mushroom foray where masks are not required, everyone is wearing a mask, children included, except for our party of 3.
That folks think these masks are actually doing anything is now a completely mute point to me. I know now, it doesn’t matter. If the masks are effective does not even cross the radar of most of them, I’m willing to bet.
At one point a mushroom was passed around the circle, so we could all touch and smell it, in order to better understand its properties and therefor how to identify it. The mask-wearers pulled their masks down in order to smell this mushroom that’s been passed under everyone’s noses in the circle.
At what point might we question whether these folks use any brand of reasoning faculties before making a decision of any variety? These weren’t even orders, they were nonsensical, unreasonable, unenforceable ’suggestions’ from Government tyrants they’ve never met, Not required by the event organizers (bless their hearts) yet they allow these control freaks dominion over their very breathing with NO basis whatsoever.
Logic, indeed real science, is banned and blocked and algorithmed to Fahrenheit 451, and corrupt professionals the world over take advantage of this.
Welcome to your asylum.
Here’s a few voices of reason left should you need to take a breath of fresh air, hurry, while supplies last.
This is really the last straw and it’s clear I must find a way to demonstrate the resolute firmness of my stance. I will not comply, cooperate, collaborate, conform, or negotiate.
To that end, I’m going to coin a new mental disorder for myself and all the other poor dear souls seriously suffering for the idiocy of this current madness sweeping global civilization.
All those with Authoritarian Defiance Syndrome please step forward. Let’s join together in our victimhood, in that, at least, we can feel a part of the in-crowd again.
The scenario that did me in was serious indeed. In hindsight, with my 2020 goggles on, breathing freely without a suffocating face diaper, I’ve rewritten this conversation in a more sincere way, closer to the way I really feel. Authenticity is so important these days, or so they keep saying. How that fits in with covering the most expressive part of the face and the fine nuances of the voice, I’ve not a clue, but that doesn’t really matter now.
I gifted myself a birthday present and I was really excited about it. I’m not a big shopper at all, but I do love learning and adventure. So I invited Hubby and a friend to join me for a plant walk at the Caddo Mounds with a well-known naturalist in our region.
I was very excited, because I already tried to go on this plant walk last year, right before a manufactured tornado in the middle of the day during one of their spiritual ceremonies leveled the place, along with miles of the surrounding forest. Needless to say, the event was canceled.
Having already paid the $50 each for the afternoon walk, I received a courtesy call for the current event: Masks required.
Of course, I cancelled, despite my intense desire to learn from this expert on the flora and fauna in fall in our region and waiting patiently already a year and a half.
Why do I refuse? ADS. That’s right: Authoritarian Defiance Syndrome. I find it absolutely impossible to bow to tyranny. It’s not just that it’s even more ridiculous to walk around the forest in a mask than it is in the city. It’s the principle. Many will have no idea what that word means and even less what it looks like in action.
Another friend suggested I write to this expert and ask for special permission to remain free of required face diaper. I considered this option, and thought, what appeal might I make for such an undeserved privilege? Why should I be able to breath and speak freely while everyone else in the group is muzzled? How selfish. After all, I know folks who’ve got infections and rashes from wearing these awful things, yet still they comply. Is my suffering on par with theirs before making such a bold gesture as expecting special privileges from the expert?
What makes me so special? I haven’t worn one yet and it’s my goal to keep it that way. But, how? My concern is accelerating. It looks like this charade is not going to let up and in fact, the tyrants look to me like they are doubling down, with great pleasure.
ADS. The harder they push, the worse my condition becomes, it’s extraordinary. The more illogical they get, the more stubborn I get. Clearly this is an adverse condition that should make it into the DSM15, or whatever number the expert psychologist collaborators of tyranny are on now.
If my condition were severe claustrophobia (in fact my case is fairly mild, relatively speaking) would I be required by the social rulers to ride in a crowded elevator everyday? Would that not seem to be a cruel punishment of a mentally handicapped individual?
Obviously it’s ridiculous on its face that masks should be required in an outdoor setting. And to pour a little salt on the wound of my ruined birthday plans, my friend is going anyway. Nice.
In the meantime, I’m practicing my routine, for the next time I have to sacrifice to the many tyrants and the hordes of worshippers who love them.
Clerk: Ma’am, you’ll need to wear a mask. Ma’am (me): You mean a face diaper? I’m so sorry, I can’t wear one of those. I suffer from ADS. Clerk: It’s required, ma’am. Me: No, you see, I have an exemption from my therapist, it’s right here, Dr. Freeman, psychological condition, you see it marked right there, ADS. Clerk: It’s not a face diaper, it’s a mask. Doctors wear them all the time, they never have any problems. Me: Oh, but you see, that’s exactly why I didn’t become a brain surgeon. The first time I had to wear one in medical school I had an attack, that’s when I was diagnosed with claustrophobia. They didn’t know about ADS back then. Clerk: What’s ADS? I’ve never heard of it before. Me: Don’t worry, you will, they are popularizing new syndromes all the time. This one’s going to be really huge, my astrologer told me. Clerk: Well I find it offensive when you call a surgical mask a face diaper. Me: That’s because you’re not performing surgery. Clerk: But diapers are for babies. Me: Potato-PoTAto. Where you see a mask, I see a diaper. Can’t you see now what a serious mental condition this is?
The only social media I follow are YouTube (which I’m happy to replace with D-Tube or whatever-comes-next-Tube) and this site where I post this blog.That’s simply because, I’m not forced to spend time on any others.
I don’t like it enough to spend many hours daily in cyberspace, but I know loads of folks are all over many social sites.So, I rely on a few trusted channels to inform me on what’s informing our shared reality.
James Corbett is a major one, for a very long time. It’s been so long now that I’ve lost track of how many years I’ve been following his work.James and I have a lot in common actually.We both studied literature at university.We both taught English in countries outside our own.And where I’m something of a ‘word NAZI’ he’s something of a ‘fact NAZI’—something I adore about him.(Do I even dare to make NAZI jokes these days?!)
Anyway, it’s clear in these ‘days of our virus’ (aka ‘Best Apocalypse Ever’) that facts have run amok, manufactured chaos has crowned himself king, and discernment is on death’s doorstep.
I can hear poor discernment knocking on this door, pounding actually and yelling at the top of his lungs, “Hey, anybody in there who wants to come out yet?” He’s just found some extra room in his balloon and he’s rescuing yet-undead prisoners by the dozens.
I expect that it’s a limited time only offer.
If you’re ready to join him, here’s a great lesson on facts.
James sparked a profound memory for me during this video: The first time I remember Mom saying to me: “Look it up!”
She was talking about the phone book, which from the moment when I pulled one of the enormous yellow volumes from the hall closet, it felt like the most fascinating book I’d ever seen. I remember trying to figure out the phone book not long before I tried to figure out the dictionary, then the encyclopedia, then the Bible.
I remember my huge frustration at wanting to look up so many things, but I didn’t even know the words for them. So, ‘look it up’ became my first seemingly insurmountable challenge as a child. If I wanted to ‘look it up’ I had to first know what it’s called.
Lifetime mission begins.
Here’s going to be a great lesson on fiction.
I’ll admit, I haven’t read it yet. But, I’m about to start it today. Since we’re on a James theme I figure, why not advertise it, just because I trust it’s going to be excellent?!
And here’s my life: a great lesson on making your fantasies into actual realities. We did this, from scratch—raw land at first—mistaking our way to this point like the one-eyed man leading the blind lady.
I can’t help but wonder sometimes if I would’ve had the courage to do it if Grandpa hadn’t thrown me in lake before I knew how to swim.
While I still mostly suck at it even after a decade, at least I can trust it’s real.
Love-bombing expert Marianne Williamson has come out in support of Bernie Sanders, jolly good, we here on the wee homestead hope he makes the selection ritual, but for differing reasons.Not the topic today though.
If we consider which characteristics would be considered masculine and which feminine, shape-shifting might be one that isn’t immediately apparent.I’d say it’s definitely feminine, because in the masculine archetypes the force is overt, whereas shape-shifting, like the chameleon, the Tartuffe even, is a manifestation of mostly covert manipulation.
It really doesn’t matter anyway, as the saying goes, all roads lead to Rome.Sometimes, as in, the actual modern-day Club of Rome, the think tank, to which I’m pretty sure Marianne Williamson and the bulk of her cohorts are card-carrying members.
Instead of staying in the superficial layer of gamers’ tomfoolery, let’s focus on the tactics of lifetime actors, be they politicians, or other run-of-the-mill fraudster-types, so that maybe future generations can be spared their incessant manipulations.Dare to dream!
Marianne Williamson is the perfect divide and conquer spin doctor to attempt to bridge the gap between American politics and New Age ‘feminine power’ in our day, I’d say.
Just because she promotes love and peace one thinks she’s so much different from Trump, but they share something very special in common—an astronomical capacity for bullshit.
When in Texas Williamson is touting the memorable upbringing she had as a Texas native reciting the pledge of allegiance with her hand across her heart in grammar school—oh such a precious image.
When in California and DC she’s touting the importance of strict gun restrictions.One minute she says the vaccine mandates are draconian, the next minute she denies it and changes the subject.
Remind you of anyone, lately?
In this recent clip she’s clearly pandering to the ‘less fortunate’ of our society, yet directly comparing them to wealthy women of leisure lobbying for suffrage a century ago.
”It’s our turn now!” She claims. Ours? Another rich Globalist white woman desperately trying to identify with folks she’d never invite home to dinner.
But they are actors, folks, what used to be a degrading profession and before professions existed was called shape-shifting, probably when we first started to comprehend as a species what dissociation, aka self-evacuation, actually looks like in the flesh.
It looks actually like lost in the crowd on purpose, surrounded and drowned in the collective, the end of Self as we know it.
Welcome, to the machine, by hook or by crook, that is, through fear and intimidation, or through love and manipulation, you will become One.
Not just doomed to fail, but designed, then built, expressly to fail.
SMART cities are Agenda 21/2030 cities, NLP (neuro-linguistic programming) buzzwords include: “sustainable,” “resilient,” “connected,” “hi-tech” — as cool and cosmopolitan as the marketers try to make them sound, the reality is the polar opposite.These cities are death traps and the Globalists want it that way.
Common sense question: If ‘resilience’ were really the goal, why continue to rebuild, incessantly, in places like Houston and New Orleans, and other fire-prone areas, or flood and hurricane prone areas?
I’ve never called myself a ‘doomsdayer’ among the many things I call myself, but I think I might start.
It’s clear to see the Globalists’ get-rich-forever plan is alive and thriving after my recent trip to Dallas.Of course, I’ve seen changes in our rural area as well, but it’s more nuanced: road construction, new fancy schools, increased consumerism, a noticeable influx of immigration in the surrounding small cities.
But Dallas, whoa!From here on the wee homestead to there, as to Houston, or Austin, is as big a contrast as most any three-hour tours could take you today, I imagine.
I traveled alone, which I like to do, even though it often feels weird and lonely.
“Weird” was a theme, considering one of my destinations was the Flat Earth conference. Owen Benjamin was the comic crowd pleaser, me excluded. He tenderly refers to the conference as “The Island of Misfit Toys.”
Then from Flat Earth to Ancestral Earth, for the Wise Traditions conference, coincidentally just 20 minutes away.
Coincidence, or synchronicity, was another theme.More on that later, maybe.
For the moment though, here’s why I now have no doubt these SMART cities are for corralling human livestock for future culling.The most basic logic, based on clear data that anyone could see, if they would just look.
Weather modification exists.It’s not being used for the benefit of the populace.The cities do not have their own food sources.They rely on electricity to function already and will become even more vulnerable with IOT (Internet of Things) and the 5G grid.
Both weather modification and 5G rely on altering the atmosphere through manipulation of frequencies, so as these systems attempt to co-exist in densely populated areas, we are in dangerous and uncharted territory. Many claim, lethal territory.
Because I met several awesome folks at each conference, I thought maybe, hopefully, they might look me up, and be reading now, and wondering if I have any quick bird’s eye perspective on my takeaway from each event.
Of course I do.
Of Flat Earth: The map is not the territory.
Of Wise Traditions: Look up.
Of Strategy, for us all: Know the enemy, know thyself.
So, I was at the laundromat again on Friday learning about life.I’m happy we’ll finally be getting our new washer this month, after a taxing but novel summer of informative observations.
I’m actually a bit thankful our last washing machine was such a complete piece of crap.That ‘Made in America’ logo on the side should be designed with far less pride, seems to me.
People-watching at the laundromat, located in the small city nearest us, population less than 19,000, is not like people-watching somewhere like the airport or the train station, or in a big city.There’s no bustling around, no stressed out complaining, no strained glances at watches and clocks.
I found myself thinking repeatedly, “Are these the nicest folk you could ever meet?Or just average folk?”
Because, when watching the media—whether the news or series or movies—one is often led to believe there’s a good deal of multicultural strife in lower income environments in this country.
This last time I was the only white person there, besides the owner.Several women were chatting away in Spanish.One black man, Nigerian I believe, judging by his dress, car and manners, stopped what he was doing twice in order to open the door for me.Another gentlemen, Mexican, offered me his dryer, which was still piping hot with six minutes left on the timer. I happily accepted.
A few small kids were annoying, but that’s to be expected anywhere.
I like to go to the Mexican restaurant across the street afterward.It started off as a taqueria with a line around the building just a few years ago, and has slowly expanded into a real restaurant, a hopping hot spot that seems to have a new addition built every month.It’s run by a very pleasant and hard-working Mexican family and is full of gringos and immigrants alike, often sitting together.
I sometimes go to the grocery store too, also in this fairly diverse neighborhood.I see lots of friendly smiles and neighborly encounters and a generally good mood among folks.Sometimes this is surprising, because I can see that many are quite visibly ill, and a good many more are obviously terminally unhealthy.The line at the pharmacy counter is usually the longest one. They’re actively promoting the flu shot at the moment.
As I wait in the checkout line, and watch, I wonder:
What if they knew our “Smart Grid Space Fence Lockdown Surveillance System Police State Mega-Regions” will be toxic hellholes of farmed humans, by design?!
Remarkably (not), the newer the immigrant the healthier they look.I often find myself wondering, had they known the truth about this country, and not just the daily variety show of propaganda our media exports worldwide, would they still choose to come here?
If they knew the vaccines are toxic and soon to be mandatory nationwide. If they knew medical experimentation was justified from the highest levels and Disaster Corporatism the new and accepted normal. If they knew the government and global corporations run everything hand-in-glove, just like a mafia, and the individual is powerless against them.
Would they still covet the ‘American Dream’?
If they saw what I see, what many of us see, actually—that we are a country at war with the world, and with nature, and presumably between classes and races, but most especially within our own minds, our own realities—would they still choose to bloody their hands and souls in our epic global messes?
“I began to realize in 1970, as did millions of other eighteen-year-old American males, that the government considered me little more than a dispensable body to be kidnapped and turned into a bullet-stopping slave.”
“The Pentagon devised a new tactic. Instead of drafting middle-class kids, they made “military service” “voluntary,” in other words only the desperately poor—and those brainwashed by lies and “patriotism”—are sucked into the war machine.”
“The American people are irrevocably brainwashed. The state has distracted and divided them into mutually antagonistic groups. Instead of focusing on the US-spawned horror of forever war—Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria—and economic warfare against an ever-growing roster of nations not submitting to neoliberal economic suicide (Venezuela, North Korea, Cuba, Nicaragua), the people are distracted by celebrity pabulum, sports, television shows pushing identity and sexual politics and, recently arrived on the scene, a corrosive and vile partisan war that has since the election of Donald Trump resulted in riots, looting, violence, and death. It is now common to hear people demand the assassination of the president and the incarceration of his wife and children.”
I know a few readers who will likely protest. “Of course they’d still come here! Look where they come from, crazy woman, there’s many dozens of shittier countries out there!”
And you’d be absolutely right in pointing that out.
But, those countries know they’re shitty.That’s the critical difference.They admit it openly.I’ve yet to meet a Nigerian who believes he comes from the greatest country on Earth.
Personally, I’d have a lot more pride in my country if we could be that authentic.Instead of our motto claiming we are: ‘The land of the free and the home of the brave’ we could admit instead we are: ‘The land of illusions and the home of sorcerers.’
It’s the fact that we’re expected here to have pride in our shittiness that I find so unbearably insulting.
Perhaps, instead of The Star Spangled Banner as our country’s marching theme song, we could consider this one, in the spirit of authenticity?