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Solidarity
By Charles Sullivan
11/09/07 "ICH"
--- - We are living in extraordinarily dangerous times, when
evil, rather than justice, prevails. The schoolyard is
terrorized by thugs and punks with names like Bush, Cheney,
Limbaugh, Robertson, Clinton, Rockefeller, Rice, Rumsfeld, Perle,
Kristol and Giuliani—pedigreed people all.
In an inconspicuous corner of the schoolyard, the good
people—and they are legion—keep to themselves, afraid. No one
wants to be hurt; and the thugs and punks are dangerous, even
criminally insane people. They have terrible weapons and
criminal gangs who patrol the schoolyard to intimidate and
terrorize, looking for those who talk to others; looking for
signs of organization and resistance. The good people have
witnessed their maiming and killing countless times. They have
every reason to be afraid.
An aberration of nature, the blood of the punks and thugs is not
red like ours; it is green, the color of money. They have an
insatiable thirst for blood—our blood; the blood of all
innocents. Blood money is their currency. Through some kind of
strange alchemy, they are able to convert blood into money to
own the world.
Every aspect of the schoolyard: the church, the Federal Reserve,
the banks, the workplace, the corporation, and the militia are
under their control. Not only do the thugs and killers have
weapons, they have chemical and nuclear weapons, doomsday
machines by the dozen. They have no regard for life, human and
non-human alike. They are incapable of rational thought guided
by just principles. The world, every inch of it, belongs to
them. They are its rightful masters, so they think—holding
patents on life’s genetic blueprints; gods among mortal beings,
without limitations. They are our all knowing superiors and we
are their helpless, foolish children tugging anxiously at their
pant legs, vying for attention.
The thugs and punks are aggressive without restraint, and they
wear the garments of priests and saints and public service.
Their minds are disturbed, their hands stained with the blood of
the innocent. Their conscience, if it exists at all, is
unstained by guilt or principle. Their decadent, wrinkled bodies
are devoid of soul, sustained by the embalming fluid of the
walking dead.
Their ancestors were the inventors of chattel slavery; ours were
their servants who worked the fields and died in their wars.
Their ancestors tormented and eradicated the aboriginal peoples
under the flag of religion and manifest destiny—testaments to
their stupendous strength and superiority; ours were the
vanquished and oppressed.
It was their ancestors who busted the unions of our ancestors,
who killed our ancestral kin at Wounded Knee; at Ludlow and the
McCormick Reaper Works at Chicago, and thousands of other places
like those. It was their ancestors who shot Joe Hill in Utah and
lynched Frank Little from a railroad trestle in Butte, Montana.
And it was them who murdered hope and kept fear alive; a fear
that stalks and haunts us to this day: a horror that has given
the Manitou of Dick Cheney to the present like the kiss of
Judas; a specter of endless war and war profiteers that
parasitizes the innocent and the just, with the insatiable
appetite of maggots that feed on the decaying flesh of the dead.
The thugs and punks are not like us. They know they are superior
to us and to everyone; to every being on this planet. We are not
of their class, the descendants of wealth and property, with
social pedigrees obtained through terror and mayhem. They and
their ancestors have always been the terrorists, and we and our
ancestors have always been the terrorized.
The present is a manifestation of an unbroken chain of events
converging from the distant past. The reign of terror can be
ended, must be ended, by breaking the chain and casting its
hefty iron links into the sea. The bullies, the punks and thugs
terrorize the schoolyard because they were not dealt with in the
past. We did not arrive at this important moment in history by
chance. Cause and effect brought us here. Those in the present
are reaping what was sown by those who came before us, just as
the future will be the result of what we do now.
Most of those in the schoolyard, aside from the thugs and punks,
are peace loving people. They do not want trouble, so they
knuckle under and do what they are told, and the decay continues
to spread like a dark plague of pitiless death that blots out
the sun. Like ghastly cadavers, the good and the innocent lie in
quiet repose, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty, unable or
unwilling to act in their own defense.
Because the social disease that leads to injustice and war was
never adequately addressed, it persists; it festers and
mortifies. Our gangrened limbs blacken, stink, and fall by the
wayside in response to festering injustice. The sickening stench
that envelops us is the half buried corpses of our ancestors
clamoring for truth; screaming not for vengeance, but for
justice. We pretend that we do not hear, but a deafening
crescendo of the dead is rising all around and within us, too
awful, too persistent to be ignored indefinitely; a nightmare
that haunts and tortures our sleep, our every waking moment.
The chain must be broken or it will continue to grow and it will
beat down our children and our children’s children. It is a
frightening and troublesome thought, but it is wholly rational
and based upon convincing physical evidence. History has borne
ample witness to these events, as we bear witness to them now.
It explains both past and present, and it portends an ever
worsening future—a nightmare worse than all of those of the past
added together; for injustice, like cancer, does not grow
linear—like, but like crystals of quartz; it grows
exponentially, like atoms unleashed in a nuclear explosion that
consumes the world in fire and smoke.
In the end, there is only one way to remove the thugs and punks
from our schoolyard. It is to face them down, not alone, which
would be suicidal, but in unison, for we outnumber them millions
to one. Unity, solidarity and justice are more powerful forces
than hate and violence, just as surely as truth is superior to
lies, life is preferable to death; and freedom is preferable to
imprisonment and servitude. The disparate parts of solidarity
already exist in broken disarray at our feet: We have only to
bring them together in a continuous chain of ironclad unity.
There are risks involved. Success is not guaranteed. But without
just opposition to terror just outcomes are not possible. So we
need courage and faith that translates into principled
action—and solidarity. It is high time to call the punks and
thugs out into the open. Those who are ruled by fear cannot be
guided by justice. Justice demands that we have this fight—us
against them.
Charles Sullivan is a nature photographer, free-lance writer,
and community activist residing in the Ridge and Valley Province
of geopolitical West Virginia. He welcomes your comments at
csullivan@phreego.com.
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