"The epicentres of such problems lies in me..."

"Nobody dared to announce the end of colonialism for fear that it would spring up all over the place like a jack-in-the-box whose lid doesn’t shut properly. In fact, from the moment when the collapse of colonial power revealed the colonialism inherent in all power over men, the problems of race and colour became about as important as crossword puzzles. What effect did the clowns of the left have as they trotted about on their anti-racialist and anti-anti-semitic hobbyhorses? In the last analysis, that of smothering the cries of tormented Jews and negroes which were uttered by all those who were not Jews or negroes, starting with the Jews and negroes themselves. Of course, I would not dream of questioning the spirit of generosity which has inspired recent anti-racialism. But I lose interest in the past as soon as I can no longer affect it. I am speaking here and now, and nobody can persuade me, in the name of Alabama or South Africa and their spectacular exploitation, to forget that the epicentres of such problems lies in me and in each being who is humiliated and scorned by every aspect of our own society.

I shall not renounce my share of violence.

Human relationships can hardly be discussed in terms of more or less tolerable conditions, more or less admissible indignities. Qualification is irrelevant. Do insults like ‘wog’ or ‘nigger’ hurt more than a word of command? When he is summoned, told off, or ordered around by a policeman, a boss, an authority, who doesn’t feel deep down, in moments of lucidity, that he is a darkie and a gook?

The old colonials provided us with a perfect identi-kit portrait of power when they predicted the descent into bestiality and wretchedness of those who found their presence undesirable. Law and order come first, says the guard to the prisoner. Yesterday’s anti-colonialists are trying to humanize the generalized colonialism of power. They become it’s watchdogs in the cleverest way: by barking at all the after-effects of past inhumanity.

pg. 16

Before he tried to get himself made President of Martinique, Aimé Césaire made a famous remark: “The bourgeoisie has found itself unable to solve the major problems which its own existence has produced: the colonial problem and the problem of the proletariat.” He forgot to add: “For they are one and the same problem, a problem which anyone who separates them will fail to understand.”

SOURCE: The Revolution of Everyday Life, By Raoul Vaneigem, 1963–1965, Chapter 2 Humiliation.

A Note From The Gull

They say that exchange is no robbery so at some point we have to acknowledge that much of what we complain about is part and parcel of the deals we have chosen to pursue, accept, close, renew. We continue to make these choices every day. These include making accommodations with the very Devil that we like to think we are opposing. Some of us are at least honest enough to admit that we've actually grown to love the old rascal.

We live for decades in abusive personal, societal, political, international relationships in exchange for something. So if we are honest, those of us who aren't children or are in some way incapacitated, cannot continue to describe ourselves as victims.  

Some of us steal brazenly from our nation's patrimony in exchange for something. Some of us remain addicted to alcohol and drugs for decades in exchange for something. Some of us are still assiduously applying the hair straighteners and hair extensions, fake or natural, and slathering bleaching products on the skin in exchange for something. Some of us remain supporters of destructive world views, political parties, gangs and enterprises in exchange for something.

What is the breaking point? When we die? When we experience an epiphany and realise that the something for which we've been trading our dignity, health and safety is actually not worth the sacrifice? Or does it occur more often that a breaking point is not really what it seems but just a swapping of the old devil for a devil with a fresher face/ideology/hype who takes us under its wing with the heady confetti of hashtags and fist bumps of solidarity and exhorts us: Let's DO this!

Do what exactly? The ALS Ice Bucket Challenge?
"Raising $80 million since its inception July 29, 2014, the ice-bucket challenge is defining a new YouTube era. But it is frigid in its effect on a fatal disease where the medical model fails miserably and where the ALS foundation admits only 27% of donations will go toward research (using this failed medical model). There is a growing backlash against the ice-bucket campaign stemming from mistrust of charities in general. Many angry videos being posted cite the bloated salary of the CEO, research using animals and embryonic stem cells, cyber thieves duping donors, and even the waste of good water when there are water shortages in several countries." Read more...
The pace is hectic. One tremor is hardly over before another is being thrown on the barbie for our consumption. Before we've removed the colours of some country's flag off our Facebook cover photos, we're onto Twitter hashtag "I am -------- [Insert name of poster victim du jour]."

Many of us who are in between rocks or who have never been shown any rock to which we can cling, are unaware that we are becoming frenetically modified organisms, dizzied, bazodee, groomed to be energetic tools and fodder for some larger agenda but enervated for ourselves and each other.

When we are lost, where are our rocks?

I have heard others referring to the homeland as the rock to emphasise its smallness and vulnerability, but even though its beaches are littered with the Trojan Horses of numerous interventions and betrayals, I cannot seem to shake the conviction that this rock remains something upon which a beacon can be built, a rock to which drowning men have and may continue to cling. There is something instructive in the blind faith of the leatherback sea turtles as they turn and turn and turn towards their nesting grounds. Whether or not we choose to be undeserving of the privilege of their arrival, the fact remains that they continue to bless us and the rock with their presence.

Where are the rocks that our elders once were? Why can't abused daughters gather up their children and run with confidence to the protection of their families and friends? Where can our men turn for the sort of support and guidance that they can relate to and respect? Where are the churches which are supposed to represent the strongest rock of all? Why are we agreeing to continue tilting at artifacts? We cannot blame anyone else. We dare not shame anyone else. We have no excuse. I have no excuse.

Both the revolution and the kingdom of God - and some will argue that they are one and the same - were always within us and we are the ones who make the choice to betray even that in exchange for something.

Meanwhile, little Bhutan is quietly and solidly on its way to becoming 100 percent organic. It is a wise and courageous choice that they have made for their people and for a planet that can benefit from the knowledge that they are gaining along the way. I wish them every success and strongest protection.

This world could be Eden again and we can each begin, without any fanfare, in our own backyards.

Uploaded by solmanmusic

By Solman

The sun is shining and there's light in the sky
The breeze is breathing and the earth is alive
And all around me there is life to be felt
This could be Eden again.

And in -------- rivers still flow
On sunlit branches there are fruits hanging low
And still I know that life is doing its best
This could be Eden again.

This could be Eden again, oh, Eden again
A living garden and a paradise for men
I'm singing, Eden again, oh, Eden again
And then when we know that we could
We''ll make this Eden again.

The earth is singing as she's dancing along
Some try to stop her but she still dances on
I looked upon this and I think to myself
This could be Eden again.

This could be Eden again, oh, Eden again
A living garden and a paradise for men
I'm singing, Eden again, oh, Eden again
And then when we know that we could
We''ll make this Eden again.

This could be Eden again, oh, Eden again
A living garden and a paradise for men
I'm singing, Eden again, oh, Eden again
And then when we know that we could
We''ll make this Eden again
Let's make this Eden again.

"Patria est communis omnium parens" - Our native land is the common parent of us all. Keep it beautiful, make it even more so.

Blessed is all of creation
Blessed be my beautiful people
Blessed be the day of our awakening
Blessed is my country
Blessed are her patient hills.

Mweh ka allay!