Sunday, March 28, 2021

To Go Forward, First You Must Go Inward

This is the door you’ve feared to open. It is the door you must walk through. The way will be dark but I promise you the only true (redeeming) light is to be found on the other side of that darkness. You cannot lock away the darkness, for it will stay inside of you and eat at you. All of us must confront the things we locked away in childhood, the things that warped us and made us grow up into people we never wanted to be.

 I was looking at stock photos on MS Word today, and so many of them made me think “Oh God, I want to be there.” And every single image I saw that elicited that response from me was of something from the natural world. A flower, impossibly complex and beautiful. A panda in the wild, staring at me with eyes that were windows into a soul not so different than yours or mine. A stretch of forest in peak autumn colors. The sky surrendering the sun into the sea for the evening.

 This is where I wanted to be, with nature. Pretty much anywhere. How few of us have the privilege to spend much of our lives in communion with it. How few of us have the time to appreciate it as we drive through our busy lives in order to acquire and build the very things that are destroying all that we should hold most dear.

 We have seriously screwed up, people. As I continued to look through images while caged within the confines of my workspace, I was reminded of the joy and awe that I was able to experience as a child who had the time and the opportunity to witness even the simplest of nature’s wonders. A picture of robin’s eggs in a nest built upon the limb of a blossoming tree, small symbols of the overwhelming renewal of spring.

 This was our lives once upon a time. This is the environment we were created for. Not just on vacation. Not just on the weekend. We were meant to live our lives in nature. We ARE nature. When we cut ourselves off from her, we cut ourselves off from ourselves. Our true selves are locked in a dark room, afraid to even whisper. And yet that we are aware of that truth, though we do not permit it to enter our thoughts.

 We have cut ourselves off from the songs of birds. We do not witness the awesome experience of a sunrise. We do not really understand what the word awesome once meant. We use the word to describe pizza now.

 We do not know nature. We do not know the home that was made for us, that we were made for. We look to the stars as though we were explorers, never admitting we are not running to but running away. We fancy it a great and grand goal to be able to escape the environment we’ve very nearly destroyed.

 Put away your fanciful notions—you will die on this planet. You and everyone you know will die on this planet. The question is will you ever truly live on it? Because you cannot truly live when the better part of you sits in the darkness of fear and repression. Society has taught you its trauma and you have incorporated it into your being and will pass it on to your children, and they to theirs, until someone is willing to open that door and face the pain. That which does not kill you will make you stronger, but first you must feel it. You must be willing to let it touch you. You must open yourself up to it when for your entire life you’ve allowed yourself to believe it does not exist at all.

 We have to accept what we have done if we ever want to change for the better. What we have done because we have allowed others to tell us that's the way the world works. That murder is okay if you can justify it, that polluting our Earth is okay if someone makes money from it. We have to accept what has been done to us if we ever want to be free of it. And we can’t just do that with our intellect, we have to open up our deepest selves to it. Otherwise we are kidding ourselves to the grave.

 We’ve got to set aside all our distracting and comforting beliefs, our looping programs that are triggered whenever discomfort creeps up in us. We have to let go of all the crap society has told us and just feel. We have to feel Hiroshima. We have to experience its full horror without trying to rationalize it. We have to feel centuries of slavery. We have to feel the Holocaust, the rape of Nanking, the Armenian Genocide, the Massacre of the Congo. Feel it. Feel all the horrors humans are capable of. Not to fellow humans only but to every living thing. Admit the horrors of factory farming. Acknowledge how it must feel to work at an animal processing plant, see yourself as that person operating the bulldozer that is tearing down a forest while an orangutan tries to step between the machine and its home. Feel it, admit it, let it inside, because that is what you and I and us are.

 We are the ones polluting our rivers and streams, killing the life of the oceans themselves. It is not them, it is not the system, it is not the government it is not the corporations it is not capitalism or communism or men or white people or the Chinese or the Jews or the Trump supporters or the liberals. Don’t blame it on the powerful, because we are all the powerful, most of us just refuse to believe it. Most of us choose to lock the belief in the power we have by right of birth away because we have been traumatized. Most of us would rather live our entire lives only half-living because we are afraid to confront the trauma brought upon us. Because the people who caused it were grownups beating the resistance out of children the way it was once beaten out of them.

 Just let yourself feel. Open yourself up to the inside voice rather than trying to make peace with the outside voices, those voices that were put inside your brain to silence your own. Whatever you feel is yours, no one can explain it to you. No one can judge you, no one can call you weak for confronting and dealing with that which tried to control you from the outside, which planted its seed in you and tried to make you act according to its example. Finding your own true self may make you think you look weak in the eyes of others, but it is far more important to feel strong in your own skin.

 Feel what needs to be felt. Don’t defend, don’t deflect, don’t deny, just feel. It will feel as if there is a wave so great behind the damn of fear you have built that it will crush you, will destroy your entire world.

 Let it splash over you. These are your feelings. Don’t deny them. They ARE you. Let it be released. Let YOU be released. As it does rushes over you, it will so completely cleanse your insides that the water will pour out of your eyes. Let the tears flow. Let yourself feel like you have never allowed yourself to feel before. It is healing. It will make you strong. It will make you strong in the way you always tried to be but never really believed you could.

 When you open up that door, you are not letting the darkness out, you are letting the light in. You are letting it in so that you will never have to feel that fear again, you will never have to run from yourself or the life you want again. You will never again have to carry around that darkness, that fear, that lie.

 You will never have to try to be strong again because the strength will flow through you, a strength greater than any you could ever have summoned through will. You have misunderstood what strength means. You have thought it meant the ability to behave as someone once told you you should if you were to be a man. Or a woman. Or acceptable. Or loved. Strength does not come from the outside, but from the inside. Strength is not achieved by carrying the bull shit of others but by freeing yourself of it. Strength is never again having to defend the stories and the narratives of others.

 You will never have to be afraid again, because fear no longer has a place to live within you. You have opened that door where it sought refuge. You have subjected it to the light, and it has withered.

 This is the door you feared to open, and it has brought light into the dark places. This is the dark path you feared to walk through, and it has brought you to a light that made all things clear. You are once again a child of nature, in touch with your own nature which cries out for the natural. Your path is clear, your mind is clear, your heart is clear.

 You are free. 

You are powerful.

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Sunday, February 21, 2021

A Poor Fashion Choice


I’ve never been into fashion because I always figured it was just another way the elite were trying to dictate how we should live. Not bad enough that they were always telling us how to organize our society or who we should bomb, they wanted to dress us, as well. And as a straight, white, blue-collar male, I figured fashion had little to do with my type.


But in the 21st Century, I can’t help noticing us Joe Six-packs are as much victims of fashion as anyone. I see it everywhere I look nowadays among aging males with beards, bellies, and calloused hands, wearing all kinds of apparel with the letters HD prominent in order to denote the name brand. I never thought I’d see the day where my fellow boilermakers were making me feel self-conscious about my sartorial choices.

 Another new fashion choice I’ve noticed among my fellow metal fabricators recently is the faded or darkened U.S. flag. I see it everywhere, but nowhere so much as when it is used to cover people’s mouths and noses in this, the Covid-19 era. I think it is the gun-owner’s way of subtly protesting the need for masks, a way of saying that their rights are being trampled by the pandemic without actually resisting.

 I deem these darkened or damaged flags a fashion statement rather than a political one because there is no explicit ideology or cause tied to it, just a posture. It is no BLM or Gay Pride or Blue Lives Matter flag. A political statement is an explicit statement. A fashion statement may be a statement, but it is a subliminal one, one not fully or perhaps even partly understood by those who engage in it.

 The underlying statement made by this current darkened flag fashion seems to be a commitment to a particular narrative of our nation no matter how tattered or dark it becomes. It is a narrative they must have picked up when they were mere children and never developed or modified since then, a narrative best symbolized by muscle cars, Rambo, and professional wrestling. I like a 440 big block as much as the next guy, but I recognize the days of Superbirds are never coming back. I'm not going to mistake nostalgia for patriotism, nor am I going to get all Goth about it.

 I had notions of what the flag stood for when I was young, too. I remember how pretty the U.S. flag looked to me. I was 10 years old during the Bicentennial when patriotism was on the rise. It was a time for looking back at two hundred years of history, and as we prepared for the anniversary, we prettied up our nation. In the same way as we might dust off ornaments we are to use for a holiday, everything American was dusted off to make it look new and bright and vibrant. I remember our fire hydrants were painted up to look like patriotic figures like Uncle Sam and Abe Lincoln. I remember, even though our country was two hundred years old, that we were giving it a careful makeover to ensure that it was in proper shape to meet the future. We were celebrating the past because it had stood the test of time and felt our country was poised to thrive for another two hundred years.

 The flags on display were new. Their colors were sharp, vivid, distinct. There was a richness to be found in the simple reds and whites and blue. There was a crispness to the material. It made a child feel good to be American

 Flashforward to a present where few people would know how to put a decent crease in a pantleg. The flag they wear—which was never meant to be worn—is a mockery of the one I knew. It is menacing. It’s unsettling the way Nazi sculpture is unsettling. Like fascism, it does not stand FOR something but seems to stand AGAINST something. Anything. Everything. It is nihilistic. I can only imagine how a child feels who sees one of these dark flags.

 I find the notion of embracing a worn and faded flag, rather than repairing it or sewing a new one, to be unhealthy. It’s like sticking to a diet of cheeseburgers after your third heart attack. And being proud of it. It’s like trying to fit into the same clothes you wore in high school when you’re fifty. It’s like never really letting go of your first love and never finding happiness. It’s like failing to adjust to a new environment. It’s like not feeling the need to improve yourself but instead resting on former glory. That dark flag is like Al Bundy sitting on his couch telling you how he won the big game back in high school.

 Like I said though, I don’t think the black flag is an overt statement of politics but a subliminal expression of a mood or trend. People have flirted with fascism as fashion before. I wouldn’t accuse those who sport the dark flag of being fascists but I won’t approve of their fashion choice, either. And if it is in fact a political statement, I don’t much care for it. I’ve always been suspicious of those who use fashion to announce their political beliefs because I’ve always seen it as posturing over substance.

 My suggestion to those who wear a darkened or faded flag because they identify with it is this: delve into the history of the United States with an open mind and an open heart. Do not seek to deny or white wash the darker elements, but find the ideas and moments in our history that make you feel good. Not necessarily proud, because pride is the worst of the deadly sins, but something that makes you feel good. And then carry that into the present and see how it relates to today. Because if something makes you feel good—not proud or superior—it very definitely has value in the present. Take the very positive feeling you have from being a part of the United States, and use it to create something positive in the present that will make future Americans proud of the country they happened to be born in.

 But for God’s sake, the future will not look back proudly at an ugly and menacing flag like the kind you’re covering your face with.

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Tuesday, February 16, 2021

What Can Hamlet Tell Us About Reparations?


Great literature can teach us a lot about life. Take for example, Hamlet. There is a scene in it where Claudius contends with his guilt for killing his brother, Hamlet’s father. There is honest regret in his words and a desire to pray to God for forgiveness. He states his moral dilemma thus:

 Then I’ll look up, my fault is past.

But, O, what form of prayer can serve my turn? “Forgive me my foul murder?”

That cannot be for I am still possessed

of those effects for which I did the murder.

My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.

May one be pardoned and retain the offense?

In other words, he realizes it is useless to pray for forgiveness when he is unable to let go of what he has gained by his brother’s death. He then goes on to say that perhaps man’s justice might let him get away with it, but God surely sees through his lack of repentance.

 Actually, Claudius sees God as the sterner judge, but He is far more merciful than man can be. For as Claudius speaks, Hamlet looks on, planning to kill him where he kneels. Hamlet is now convinced that his uncle has killed his father. He sees Claudius seemingly at prayer, seemingly contrite, and pauses. He does so not out of pity but with the thought that if he kills him as he is praying for forgiveness, he will be forgiven and go to Heaven. Hamlet does not simply want to kill his Uncle, he wants to make sure his Uncle spends eternity in Hell for his crime.

 No, it is far wiser to depend on God’s mercy than man’s. But Claudius realizes even God will not extend mercy to one who yet retains the rewards gained by his crime. Even someone so horrible as to engage in regicide and fratricide can yet see this clearly.

 Let’s for a moment extend the story into the hypothetical. What if both Claudius and Hamlet survived to have descendants? Would the children of Claudius be without sin if they too held possession of the crown and the castle that by rights belonged to Hamlet and only came to them through murder? I was never fond of the Biblical passage that talks about God “visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the sons to the third and fourth generation” but it seems appropriate in this circumstance. What was unjustly taken will be a source of contention until the crime no longer rewards the guilty.

 I think about this when hearing people so lightly dismiss the past injustices suffered by others. “African Americans were slaves,” they say, “but that was a long time ago. No one alive now experienced that.”

 But an injustice must not merely be undone but rectified. Atonement must be made or it will hang over even generations that had no part in it. For if they are still possessed of the effects of their ancestors’ crimes, can they be forgiven by God let alone man?

 But perhaps your family came to America after slavery was outlawed. You possess no land that was farmed by slaves. Surely you owe no debt.

 Yet the land you now own was once the land where others lived. They did not leave voluntarily. Because of the sins of others, you now have what you have. So long as you participate in the spoils of a sin, you share in the guilt.

 Even if you are a poor white person with no land and little wealth, you share in the guilt of those who have unjustly taken from others. The phone you use contains minerals mined by children in Africa. The food you eat was farmed by itinerant labor. The beans that make the coffee you drink were picked by exploited peasants. Much of the clothes you wear were made by children or by those whose ability to earn a living will be used up at an early age.

 But let us put aside the question of what we owe to our fellow man and to man’s justice. Let us ask what debt we owe to our very planet. How can we claim to own what we have obtained by her rape? The crimes we are committing now will be paid for by all our children, who will never share in the wealth we created by our planet’s destruction. What possession is worth retaining in the light of the punishment we will pass on to our children’s children? How can we hope to gains God's forgiveness, let alone theirs? 

 Our choice, as it was for Claudius and as it would have been for his descendants if he had had any, is a choice between seeking God’s forgiveness and keeping all we have acquired through theft and murder. As Claudius realized, it is not an easy choice. In his case, it would have meant abandoning his crown, his wife, his wealth, his renown. In our own case...well, that is what we must decide. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer would say, there is no cheap grace, no easy path to God’s love.

 It is surely the easiest path to say we need not account for sins of the past, sins committed by those long dead. But until those who continue to benefit from such crimes make an earnest attempt to redress them, an earnest attempt to foreswear all that we possess through those crimes, even if they were not committed by us, we will of necessity continue to participate in those sins. As with Claudius’ and Hamlet’s hypothetical descendants, that which was taken by the father must be defended by the son, one generation to the next. Until the day that God’s or man’s judgment is exacted.

The choices are stark. Claudius’ choice was between repentance or continued killing. If Claudius had passed his ill-gotten gains to his children, he would have passed along with them the need for generations of subjugation of those who were dispossessed. Our choice is not so different. The path forward will not be easy—as it has not been easy for generations of those who sought forgiveness while possessing the offense—but it is not obscure.

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Sunday, January 31, 2021

A Magical Place Called "Away"

 When we are babies, we can’t really grasp the idea that someone can still exist if we cannot see or hear them. When our mother is gone we feel as if we have been abandoned and we might never see her again. Gradually we are introduced to the idea that just because we close our eyes does not make the outside world cease to be. Our parents cover their eyes and then ask where we are and we giggle at their stupidity, having forgotten we once thought the same way.

 When I was a child there once existed a magical land where we could send everything that was bad in our lives. It was called “away”. If there was something cluttering our house, we could simply send it there. When I useded the toilet, the results of my efforts were similarly sent “away”, never to be seen (or smelled) again. It was magic, but then again, childhood is a magical time.

 Gradually it dawned on me that “away” was not the same thing as “far away”. When I threw my candy bar wrapper out the car window, I thought I was throwing it “away”, but my parents informed me it was not “away” until it was in a trash can. That apparently was where the magic happened, like a woman walking into a magician's cabinet and simply vanishing. And sure enough, I came to realize that when someone threw something out a car window, it just stayed on the ground.

 Still later on in life I discovered that a garbage can was not a magical portal to nowhere. The things we no longer wanted did not cease to exist just because we put them in there. In fact, a rather complicated process was involved. My older brother was taxed with the burden of taking the trash from the house and putting it on the curb, where a large and noisy truck picked it up and delivered it to the void from which nothing is ever again seen or smelled.

 Then I learned about Mount Trashmore. Mount Trashmore was the name given for where all the garbage that was taken by the big noisy trucks went. If you got close enough, you could smell it. There were vents put into it so that the noxious gasses might escape. The gasses were lit on fire so that night and day they burned.

 When people talked about Mount Trashmore, they spoke of it contemptuously. It was a bad thing, a place to be avoided. We viewed it the way we view people we don’t regard very favorably. Just as we blame people who live on the other side of the tracks for being wretched, so to did we blame Mount Trashmore for being the disgusting thing it was. Which is pretty weird when you stop to think of it, blaming a mountain of trash for existing. But we did, and we heaped scorn on it because it was ugly and smelly and it was most likely unhealthy to be around.

 There was something similar a couple of towns over. It was a pond that stunk to high heaven. On a bad day, it would make the whole town smell terrible. I never knew what it was but it was likely farm runoff, or perhaps the unusable leftovers of a slaughterhouse being dumped into a drainage ditch. I hated that town because of the smell. I’m sure a lot of other people felt the same way. I was glad that it was far enough away from my own town. Of the two, Mount Trashmore was way less stinky. Not only that, it was said that it would one day be made into a ski hill. I looked forward to that. I could never imagine wanting to swim in that pond.

 The more I grew and the more I travelled, the more the magic disappeared along with my childhood. I realized a magician couldn’t really make a woman disappear by sticking her in a box and speaking an incantation. I learned, too, that “away” did not exist in any of the places I had ever visited. In fact, at some point in my life, I realized there was no such place as “away” at all.

 And yet “away” is still part of the equation for most of us. I don’t think there’s ever been a time like the present where we throw away as much as we do. In the last couple of decades we have switched from paper bags to plastic bags when we buy our groceries. We buy oranges pre-peeled and put in plastic containers. My God, we even buy water in single-use plastic bottles. And we throw them “away”.

If you work for a corporation, "away" is an even bigger part of the equation. For a corporations, "away" is any place that doesn't cost you money. Very real people live in this land. People who are poisoned and get cancer from the toxic stuff corporations throw "away". Animals live there too, just not as many as there used to be. There's nothing very magical about "away" to those who live there, but it's pretty damn magical to those who profit from believing in it.

 We are mostly a society of children, covering our eyes, believing we’ve sent what is no longer useful “away”. There is no "away". It's time to grow up. Because we are throwing our entire planet "away".

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One Final Visit Into The Past In Search Of Something I Had Forgotten

 I suppose it is not unnatural to revisit a place from your past with a certain expectation of rediscovering something you’ve forgotten. Life is a series of stages in which we are forced to abandon things that were once quite important to us. And being important to us, we are prone to search for them even though we no longer know exactly what it is we search for.

 I entered my alma mater last weekend with such an expectation, for the final time. The small Catholic liberal arts college I once attended has closed its doors and is in the process of selling off its assets. It’s sad to see such an institution go under, symbolizing as it does so many cultural values that no longer fit the times. It was understandable that such a place could no longer make it in such an age in which we now live. I had seen glimpses of its demise in its advertisements the last few years: it was attempting to adapt itself to a society that no longer prioritized a liberal education but instead demanded training for well-paying jobs. In fact, I have the suspicion that in the end it abandoned its soul in attempting to survive in a world that no longer has interest in liberal education, the arts, or anything deeply rooted in culture and Christianity. I have heard whispers that in its last years it failed quite spectacularly at sustaining both its moral and physical being.

 I chanced upon someone on Facebook showing sculptures they had bought at the liquidation sale and realized I had only a few hours left to return one final time to the place where I received my education. I hoped to find something there, some relic of my past, some souvenir I could possess of a place I would never again be able to visit. Some wreckage I might reclaim from the shipwreck.

 Updates had been done to the building in the 20-plus years since I’d been there, but it still bore the impress of its origins. Not the kind of antiquity that is timeless, but a building built in 1960 that sought to be modern but instantly became dated. Nevertheless, it was able to impart to me the true meaning of conservatism, the idea that knowledge of the past and ways of doing things should be maintained, that progress was not simply the paving over of what had come before.

 My first stop was to the library, where I was reminded of the true meaning of liberalism: the belief that all cultures were worthy of study and all opinions be greeted with an open mind if one hoped to grow as a person. I cannot help but think the word liberal has come to mean its very opposite these days, that open and vigorous debate was not as important as having the proper opinion.

 There are two great tragedies in life: a vast collection being sold off and a library being abandoned. But I was here to salvage what I could of the wreckage, to take into my care some refugees no longer welcome in their own home. I would take whatever books I had room for, whichever ones called to me and which I could best care for.

 It was the library of a Catholic liberal arts school. The books were mostly old, but they provided a breadth of learning that seems lacking today. Yes, there were many books dealing with Western civilization and Catholic teaching, like Kenneth Clark’s Civilization and a book by Thomas Merton. Treasures in their own right and the first to be added to my pile. But I also picked up a copy of the Upanishads, a book on Gandhi, and even a biography of the theosophist Madame Blavatsky. Whatever the beliefs of this Catholic institution run by Franciscan Sisters, they were unafraid of having their beliefs tested. Indeed, they seemed to think their beliefs nothing more than that if they were not.

 I left the library with as many books as I could cradle. I’m really in no position to be bringing any more books into my house, but some you just can’t refuse. After paying for them and dropping them off in my car, I returned to make a final sweep of the school, ostensibly to find a piece of furniture for an area of the house my wife is converting, though in truth it was to find that something I had left behind in my past. That something that had been missing, some proof that the past never dies, that what is important endures.

 I was like that on the day we sold our parent’s house. In a rush we had cleared out all their belongings so that now the house stood empty. And yet I needed to make a final, thorough inspection of the house. Because I needed to find that special something that would enlighten me, that magical talisman that would provide meaning to my lived experience. I never found it.

 So it was with some vague expectation that I walked from room to room. I scanned every table and shelf, expecting some item to call to me, expecting some almost supernatural connection to be made. But in room after room I only came across ordinary items. And just as I had done at my parents’ home, the further I went the more insistent I was to probe every nook and cranny in search of the missing piece.

 I never found it.

 And it was with the same sense of disappointment and loss and even disillusionment I had felt when leaving my parents’ home that I left Silver Lake College one final time. I left with a handful of books and a couple of other items. Common items, not magical talismans.

 How was it possible I could not reconnect with my past, with my former self? On a very deep level I felt it was not only possible but necessary that I do so.

 But the answers find us eventually, though not always when we demand them. My trip to Silver Lake college, like my final visit to my parents’ house, was not the time for reconnecting with the past but a time for saying goodbye. And that important something I had left in my past? Turns out I never left it at all. My time at Silver Lake College has had an important part in shaping who I am. The instruction I received and the work I undertook has been with me ever since the time I received my diploma. I would never have been so foolish to have left it behind.

 We are often forced to leave much of what we once were behind. Sometimes we would rather not but we have no choice. But no matter how far forward we travel and how great a distance we put behind ourselves and the people and places we once knew, we have to trust that we are carrying along the best of what we were able to take with us.

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Tuesday, January 19, 2021

Who Gave Corporations Control?

  Why should we recognize the rights of corporations? From whence comes their authority? Who bequeathed them their rights? The U.S. Constitution? There is no mention of corporations in that document.

Why should corporations own houses that go empty while people sleep under bridges? Why do they have access to our politicians when the pleas of their constituents fall on deaf ears? Why do we permit them to write our laws? Why do we fight their wars?
And who was it that decided corporations should be in charge of our water? I thought it would be obvious once they decided the best means of delivering water would be through single use plastic containers trucked in from hundreds of miles away that people would realize how stupid and evil this was, but we all just went along with it. Who told us that was a good idea?
I suppose it was the media, almost all of which is owned by corporations, 90% of which is owned by just 6 gigantic corporations. But who allowed that to happen?
It was our crooked politicians, all of whom rely on corporate funding to win elections. Democrats and Republicans alike are working for the same corporate interests. Where is the politician who will take the side of people over corporations? The system the corporations fund will never permit them to be elected.
Who gave corporations the power to control not only our means of production but our environment, our media, and our government? We the people didn’t give it to them. They never asked permission. They just took it.
But who’s allowing them continued ownership of nature, government, the machinery of production, and the influencing of our minds?
Who gave them our forests and gave them tax breaks on the purchase of chainsaws?
Who gave them our rivers and lakes to use as receptacles for their poisonous waste?
Who gave them our oceans to exploit and abuse every creature that lives within them?
Who gave them our genes to play with and the genes of our plants to patent?
You did.
You did, every time you willingly bought what they were selling you.
You did, when you voted for THEIR candidates.
You did, every time you turned on THEIR media and allowed them to dump THEIR lies into YOUR mind.
You did, every time you said “It’s just more convenient.”
You did, every time you refused to speak up or fight back.
You did, every time you bought your Made In China flag to show your Made In Madison Ave. patriotism.
And who is EVER going to make this right?
You will.
Not the politicians who owe their positions to corporate backing.
Not benevolent CEO’s or visionary billionaires.
Bill Gates won’t do it. He’ll just spray the sky to darken the sun.
Elon Musk won’t do it. He’ll just blast a car into outer space.
Technology won’t make this right.
Incremental progress won’t get us there.
The invisible hand of the market won’t be our savior.
Who then will make things right?
You will.
You can.
You must.
We will.
We must.
We shall.
P.S. F*ck Jeff Bezos.

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