Showing posts with label protest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label protest. Show all posts

Protest - By Siobhan Wilson

Protest

Protest is a funny thing. It can be found in the streets of St Pauls to the disparaging glances in coffee-shops. It can be a video, a T-shirt, a film, an article, a look, a gesture, a letter, a market stall. It can be violent. It can be peaceful. It can be a denial, or a plea. It can be unnoticed. But it can never be silent.

This is why protests are so rare. Protest, by its very nature, requires the positive communication of ‘I don’t Agree.’ This, in itself, is a powerful statement. How many times have we agreed to something, just to make life easier? Agreed, even when you don’t? Agreed, even when it angers you? Agreed, even when it offends you?

Why do we agree? Do we just not care? I think we do. I think we care. I have spent a frightening portion of my life venting frustration or anger because I have agreed to something that I DISAGREE with. I disagree with how I am spoken to. I disagree with being patronised. I disagree with my friends. I disagree with my parents. I disagree with my lecturers. I disagree with the news. And yet I agree. I agree by staying silent. Everyday, I hold my own personal internal riot against the world and all the things I disagree with. And yet, I stay silent. I agree. I do not protest...because I am polite.

There is something about ‘protest’ and ‘politeness’ which jar. Speaking out is impolite. Yelling is impolite. Speaking up is impolite. And the human condition seems to be trained to be polite at all costs. You may have just heard the most offensive insult you ever thought possible to hear, and will cry for days from the emotional fall-out...but you daren’t speak up, for fear of offense.

Protest is a funny thing. The lack of it shows how we are quite (un)happy for our own feelings or values to be trodden on whilst staying silent for fear of offending the treader. (My spell-check is telling me right now that ‘treader’ isn’t a word. I have decided to protest by leaving it in there, and stating on record now, that it IS a word, even if I have just made it up) Well...frankly, fuck that. The saying ‘Pick your battles’ will always have it’s place – no-one will thank you for ‘protesting’ at a cashier in Starbucks. But I think the words ‘But when you have picked – fight like a motherfucker’ should be added. 

Protests can be big and small. Some change the world, others change a person, and some just change what we view on Twitter each day. But that’s what protest creates. Change. So agree to not agree. Let your emotions take over, and say those three words: ‘I don’t agree.’ Say them again. Say them to someone. Add a ‘fuck you’ in there somewhere. And say them often. ‘I don’t agree’. Because personally, I don’t agree with a world where politeness comes before passion.

And to everyone who has ever trod on me: I was too polite to tell you, but Fuck You, I don’t agree. If you want to protest, write an article.

By Siobhan Wilson

Don’t Dream To Be Me - By Mark Dawson

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

Create, do not destroy - By Selim 'Selim' Talat

Create, do not destroy

   Firstly, lets start with the following question: What can I as an individual achieve? How much of an impact can I make on the world? Do I have any power over the society around me? Some people may say no. They may feel that the perfect world in their heads cannot be put into action because of their lack of power. I think this is a good thing. Democracy is all about spreading power. What can I do as an individual? Not too much - but if you could do more than you currently can, you'd probably f*** things up in short order!

   Quite simply put, we will be in a much better position when power is taken away from particular individuals, and placed in the hands of organizations. Groups of people thinking about things, and discussing things, will argue, fall out, hate one another - all perfectly natural behaviours. And ultimately worth it for what those groups can achieve - a better society. This does not mean that individuals are impotent, for individuality is essential to creativity. Individuals should be powerful insofar as they can convince a group to take collective action in a creative way; to try something new and see if it works. Individuals should be powerful in a way that is not dominating.

How is this relevant to protest? I will now make my point clear.

   A large group of people ready and willing to brave the streets is not an impotent gesture, so numbers should not be completed discounted, as numbers are essential to change. It is true that we have the liberty to protest, indeed it is the cornerstone of our democracy, but we should not think that just because there is a lack of water-cannon facing the masses that their struggles mean nothing; for what is the conclusion of this: That we should fund more riot police to make our protests more dangerous and therefore more viable?

   Still, protest alone is not enough. We would not live in a meritocratic society if sheer numbers alone had the ability to alter it. We need tried and tested institutions.
Protest is useful as a symbolic gesture and as a social exercise (and I don't mean that in a casual, socialize-with-your-friends-way, I mean it in a meet-people-you-can-go-into-association with kind of way). After all, the rich and the powerful gather together all the time, why should we not also?
   So, protest alone will not change anything. Nor should it. What will change things? Violence? No. Violence should not be completely ruled out, for who can predict when it may be useful to society (and we should not live by absolute rules - sometimes we need to make exceptions), but violence should be considered mostly derogatory, appealing to our basest, most archaic instincts, and inspiring the worst of humanity - in a word 'fear'.

   We need to be creative, not destructive. The idea that there is a split between revolution (total and immediate overthrow of power) and reformism (gradual change to achieve a better society) is nonsense. We can develop new institutions within our current system, rather than tweaking the current institutions until they are eventually half decent or completely destroying our current institutions and replacing them (no doubt leading to something worse). What we must do is be creative, use our heads to think outside of the box.
   Yet we must never alienate the general masses, who are our greatest ally. We must consent to law and order if we are to change law and order, or else our endeavours will appeal only to the fringes of society (who may well be moral people, but unfortunately impotent to bring about mass change). If a law is terrible, we can change it.

   This is all very abstract, so I shall provide an example. We have a university system that is on the threshold of betraying the poorer elements of our society. We can overthrow the university system, along with other institutions, by any means necessary, and replace it with something (supposedly) better. We can try and reform the current system so that it is no longer s*** (which is a better option). Or we can try and create an alternative to the university system, and test it, and see if it works; to make something practically viable. We can compete with the present system and provide an alternative - if we fail, then our idea was unrealistic in the first place.

   In conclusion, we cannot say 'we have a better idea, we are going to destroy the current idea and then implement our idea'. We must prove our idea works, alongside the current idea, and convince people with facts and working systems rather than speculation and ideology. This means that protest alone should not lead to creating a better society - creating working alternative institutions within that society is the way forward and protest is useful only so far as it enhances this goal.

By Selim 'Selim' Talat

Philosophy Tales - The Renegade Sons! - By Ellese Elliott

 Philosophy Tales - The Renegade Sons!
 
Glaring from the outside in, far enough away that she wasn’t gorged  by the blaze, but her hair singed by the flames, Greudach await to see who, if anyone, would emerge from the burning shack and into the moonlight.  The inferno raged and roared like a pack of hungry lions, feasting upon the screams of those inside. The callous smoke trailed the frosty sky and dirty snow floated in the wind choking the young girl with its ashes.
Petrified and frozen stiff by the fire, she did nothing to save them.  ‘Creek. Crash!’ The left side of the house came crumbling down, liberating a cloud of dust.  Thick, hot and grimy; the cloud smothered the lungs of the living, than slowly cleared as it was inhaled out of the air.  Alone, standing in the cleft of the gorge was a mass of metal.  That was it; they were gone.
 A pang of horror hit her in the chest like a gong struck by a mallet and a wave of shock flooded the atmosphere. Unable to breathe, Greudach drowned in sorrow.   But then, in the depths of her despair, someone emerged from the flames.  Someone had lived.
Staggering, spluttering and spilling in all directions an adolescent boy covered in soot had escaped from the gateways to hell. “Cailean!” she shouted and burst into motion; her frozen state melting away. ‘Is that you? Oh my bubba!’ Greudach wailed in her realisation, “I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry!”
 Cailean said nothing, in shock, he allowed her to hold him. “I thought you were gone, I thought I would never see you again.” Overwhelmed by her tears, their embrace was a comfort to them both. “Where is the rest of the tribe?”  Cailean asked, but Greudach could not reply with words, she just cried; if only the water that streamed from her eyes were enough to have filled buckets; then her family may have been here,   but they weren’t and Cailean understood, without the words being uttered, that the family had returned to the dusts of the Earth. 
“I don’t even know how it happened.” she cried. “I had just gone to gather fodder for the goats up the glen when I heard a loud bang. I ran as fast as my wee legs could carry me bubba, but it was too late; the clan were ben the burning hoose.”  Cailean however, knew all too well what had happened; he was there. Rage filled his heart; a feeling that was foreign to a boy who, at the tender age of thirteen, had indulged only in the innocence of childhood. Their mother and their father sheltered and protected them both, offering them a superior education; averting away from the indoctrination of the masses. But now they were gone, and so were the rest of their siblings; their lives hijacked by the ‘Freedom Enforcers’.
 For over eighty years the “Just War” had waged, the soldiers self proclaimed as the ‘Freedom Enforcers’ killed millions; demolishing state after state in order to achieve a vision of a ‘Free world’.   “Freedom. Ha!” 
  “Come Cailean, let us leave this place.”


That awful night something had been destroyed in them both, but in Cailean something had been created.  Baptised, no longer the son of Artair, his father, a just and fair man, but the son of the ‘Just War’.  Cailean was now known as what the ‘Freedom Enforcers’ called a ‘Renegade Son’ and will be  targeted, hunted and killed by the special unit ‘Backlash’ as those who lived would seek vengeance.  The Renegade sons, dispersed all over the world, were the victims turned rebels of the ‘Just War’.
Greudach and Cailean left on foot; wandering for many days in search of food, or an inhabited place.  They fought many of the elements, escaped unknown perils whilst wounded inside and out by the events passed. Tired and hungry, on the sixth day of walking, they saw over the hills a small town. They were saved!
‘Bailie five-hundred yards ahead’ It said on an old rickety post. “Bailie aye? Don’t Bailie mean something to do with justice?” Greudach asked.  “Something like that.” Cailean replied.  “Listen to me Greudach.  When we get to this town I tell you heather lamp, you don’t want no one suspecting noting.”  “What you on about bubba?  Of course I heard our father telling us to raise our knees high in case of folk being suspicious, I ain't stupid you know. Artair always told me every night by my bedside that folks been converted.” “Aye shut up ya bampot, let’s just go down the brae!”
And so, when one hundred yards yonder from Bailie the children heather lamped.
Cailean and Greudach stood out immediately. Most of the people of Bailie wore clothes bearing the crest of the ’Just War’, but the siblings just looked like Heather pikers, poor,  but they were heather lamping  so it was okay. Looking around the village the shops were closing, and with no money between them, their misfortunes continued. However, Cailean spotted some bakers throwing the unsold food out in the alleyway.
They crept over, albeit still heather lamping and climbed over the wire fence.  “Oh gosh Cailean. Kebbuck!” Greudach screeched.” “ Shhhh!” Cailean screwed his face up at Greudach’s stupidity, but then they heard voices approach. “Quick. Hide.” Cailean whispered.  Grabbing the cheese and bread they hid underneath the bins.
“Aye the meeting is on tonight, at Barebal’s house. Its top secret! Don’t let anyone else know.” A man quietly imparted this clandestine knowledge to another. “But Aonghus, my friend, he is a ‘Freedom Enforcer, but wants to escape, can't he?” “No! No way. You mad? Don’t let anyone know.  Especially a ‘Freedom Enforcer!’ Even if they say they want to escape, don’t trust ‘em.“ As the children quietly eavesdropped unbeknown to them they too were being tracked by the ‘Backlash Unit’ who were able to discover their location when they came into close range with a ‘Freedom Enforcer.’
“Okay okay, so it’s at Barabels house, tonight at seven thirty.  And I just have to scratch me nose twice and they’ll let me in.” “No No, you have to scratch ya nose twice and pull your ear. Do you want to get shot in the face?”  “Sorry I’m just nervous.”  “Quick let’s go ben, before someone hears us talking.” Aonghus urged and they went.
“Bubba, look at all this cheese.” Greudach smiled. But Cailean didn’t care about the food. He had
just found out where his brothers were meeting, the ‘Renegade Sons’. Meanwhile the ‘Backlash Units’ radar had scrambled and for now, Cailean and Greudach were untraceable.  
It was approximately seven fifteen when the two men who spoke of the secret meeting appeared out of the bakery. By that time Greudach had ate most of the food and Cailean only some.  Hiding in the shadows they followed the unsuspecting comrades down the main street, through some back roads until they arrived and went in to what must have been Barebal’s house. “Come Greudach lets go in the houdin.““No, what for?” Greudach said apprehensively. “Just come on and remember, scratch ya button twice and pull your ear.”
They went over to the house and a little nervous slammed the heavy bronze knocker which, a peculiar thing in itself, bared the shape of a star.
“Who is it?” A frail old voice asked with the door still on the chain lock letting out a glow of candle light. Greudach and Cailean gave the signal nervously. “Booom!”The door slammed shut in their faces creating a small gust of wind and a series of locks were shuffled and turned.
“Ceud mile failte, cuad mile failte! A hundred thousand welcomes!” A big round lady greeted in a jolly voice. “I am Barebal, nice to have some new comrades on board, and so young. Come come, the meeting’s starting.” Rushed past the living room and into a huge dining area containing a long table the room was filled with, who could only be, the ‘Renegade Sons’.
“Welcome ,welcome  comrades. Ceud mile failte, caud mile failte!” Barebel bellowed form the head of the table which presented gothic chalices and plenty of drink. “Look over there.” Cailean said ”There’s Aonghus and that other guy.”  “We have all come together to finish the ‘Just War” and by whatever means possible!” “Aye! The comrades chorused listening loyally as Barabel continued. “We are the Renegades. The people who had previously lived lives and worked and had families and were good. Now before me, looking around the table, I see sorrow and deep loss, death and anger. Guid-mean and guid-wives killed, our children murdered and our animals slaughtered.  But I also see something great and good and right and we together will fight against the ‘Freedom Enforcers.’Those lhiam-lhiats who  do not spread peace and justice like the name of our abducted town, Bailie, but fear, horror and enslavement. They hide under the guise of good, and spit on its name and call us renegades.  Well I tell you, freedom is not enslavement. And until we exterminate those ‘Freedom Enforcers’ freedom will never prevail!” “Aye!” They all cheered, including Cailean!  “Now let’s drink before we discuss the means to the end. Cheers!” Chalices banged together and the room was filled with bustle. 
Cailean and Greudach walked around the room fortunately not having to heather lamp. As they circulated they could not help but overhear the similar misfortunes of others.  Men lynched, women shot and their children cremated.  The way they were treated under the regime was worse than how any criminal or animal had been; degraded daily by those who said they fought for freedom. The contradictions were profound.    The regime stood in complete polar opposite to their goal. How could it have been possible to achieve such a benevolent end using such malevolent force?  Surely the force for freedom would have been much kinder?
 ‘Ting ting ting.’ Aonghus tapped his chalice with a spoon seated at the opposite head of the table drawing the attention of the comrades. “‘Renegades!’ Let us commence without fear, to speak our hearts and minds.”  The room fell silent. ”Now, we all know why we are here. We are here because we have been united by a common cause, a grief imposed on us by the ‘Freedom Enforcers’ and we are here too, to unite against it. This is a braw day my fellow ‘Renegades’.  We are stoners, hard and strong.  And we will fight fire with fire, weapon to weapon, fist to fist. Listen carefully, we have tholed the dule , but they too will feel the consequences of their own evils. Tonight, at midnight, I will lead those who wish to be lead to blow up the ‘Freedom Enforcers Headquarters’ with the some good old Scottish explosives.
The comrades cheered and seemed, except for a few, more than willing to commit such an act upon those that had been inflicted upon them.  Cailean was ready, he wanted revenge for his dead mother and father and sisters and brothers and for every other person that had been a victim of the ‘Freedom Enforcers’ ‘Just War’.  “Who will go first?” Aonghus asked, “Who will be the first to be a martyr and a hero?” Cailean, without a second thought jumped up onto the table flinging his hands up, “I will kill!” he triumphantly announced. “No!” Greudach cried, “Bubba get down from there!”
 But the crowd cheered him, exalting Cailean in their merry state.
 Barabel at the head of the table shouted over the commotion in an assertive tone, “Renegades! Let the girl speak. As Aonghus said, speak your hearts and minds and I will say, listen to those who do.”  Greudach proceeded as the crowd fell silent.  “My brother, the last living relative I have, been born into a good family and the son of Artair, should not go against his father’s teaching.  Our father was a wise man who taught us to not fight fire with fire, as fire begets more fire. If we fight to gain freedom we will be committing the same irrational acts as they do.  Violence does nor beget freedom.”

 “Greudach, you speak of our father and his wise words, but if our father was so wise he would not have been murdered. He is dead Greudach, dead!” Cailean argued in anger.
 “But you are not Cailean!” Greudach shouted “And I beg you, all of you, to use your head about such matters.  How is this regressive logic going to solve anything?  An eye for an eye for an eye; forever aye? When will it end?”
“What else are we meant to do?” A voice bellowed from the crowd. “Roll over,? Heather lamp the streets with pretty banners? Occupy  buildings? Do you think the ‘Freedom Enforcers’,  who strip our land of all life and resources care. Who keep us alive merely to retrieve valuables so they might gain more wealth?  Don’t be so naive young girl. We will be murdered too. So the only logic we can follow is to fight tooth and nail.” “Aye!” The crowd cheered.
“No!” Greudach replied, “We must only fight with reason, with our heads.”
But then Aonghus proclaimed “No my young comrade.  We must fight until reason reigns! “Aye!”

And the crowd broke out with the verve of vengeance, their hearts racing, gathering weapons and artillery to blow up the ‘Freedom Enforcers Headquarters’.  Their plans were confirmed; Cailien would march into the gates disguised as an ‘Enforcer’ and blow the place into smithereens, followed by the other ‘Renegades’.  It was twenty three hundred hours and Cailean did not even wave goodbye to his sister, his mind possessed with revenge.” We are the Renagade Sons and we will fight until reason reigns!” Aonghus declared as they charged out of Barabel’s house and poured into the street.
“Arggghhhhh! Bang ! Bang! Bang! 'Rat atatatatatatat! Bang! “Arrggghhhhh” Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The ‘Backlash Unit’ had located the underground meeting. The Renegade Sons lay dead on the gravel and the ‘Just War’ continued.

The End. 

By Ellese Elliott
Dedicated to Tom Palmer

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