Don’t Dream To Be Me
Protest has become a form of simulation over the years; where people stand in line, waving banners, like there is any form of oppression to be challenged. Protest is selfishness on-mass. A form of political ideology that defines what is right or wrong. Like the privilege of existence is not enough.
What is desired is not equality but selfish interest and is dignified through symbolisms of the grand “SPECTACLE”. What I am saying here is that the protest has lost is signified meaning. Subsumed in to a self-fulfilling-prophesy where all actors in the ‘spectacle’ know the outcome, yet not their aims - a question to ask here is; what happened to the wildcat strikes? - I’ll leave that to you...
What protests signify is that certain ‘rights’ are a given; yet this is life, a foreboding void with no actual rights. Do you believe you have a right to exist? and if so for what reason? Is it to ask for more - if so, then you have walked into the wrong room. What this falls down to is ideology: a sublime yet ignorant interpretation of what life is. It carries meaning into bondage and slaves to the banner; but what banner do we carry today? - Liberalism capitalism, and this is a non-functional part of democratic process: The acceptation of action without cause and our new levels of hyper-communication increase the velocity to which these ideas disseminate.
Look at the human-rights movement of the 20th century and you will see something distinctly abject to the political left, for which these ideas come from. These protesters ask for equal rights to that which I am part of: the European white male. Yet we are the true targets of bondage in the world. We are the slaves; and those that protests (Feminism, Civil-rights etc) are all asking to become part of that cycle, which I, the white European male, has had to cover with a shining veneer.
We are the slaves of liberal capitalism; trudging our lives away in office blocks and warehouse floors for a pittance. You were once free, comrades, from the cogs of suppressive industrial and post-industrial bondage. But you wanted to be like me: equal in the wage of modern slavery. Now time never comes free, not for you, not for me; and anymore of this will be a becoming of my demise.
It’s the death I expect I suppose. But in those moments of simulation, the ‘spectacle’ is real. That is what we must realise; not protest or rebel for. For we are all human, and with a sobering sense I say this to you. ‘Do not dream to be like me, I am the cog for which once was society, but is now the fallacy of my protest of protesting in procrastination; of my will to be that which you once were: FREE.'
By Mark Dawson
