Well, I had been planning on hoisting a white flag here today – declaring a tregua from all things political [whether otherly or otherwise] – but it seems the gods are bitch-slapping me back into submission.
After all, the topic on offer is certainly, always and now, of the greatest importance, at least for those who care. Despite the fact that it’s becoming increasingly apparent to me that a decreasingly fewer number of persons do, in fact. Care, that is.
Dissent. Constructive criticism. Democratic and/or participatory decision-making. Horizontal [in lieu of, you know, vertical] structure. A voice where all voices count.
The battle has always raged and never more fiercely than on the Left, in any Left. The words say one thing, the peer pressure [although that is only the weapon of choice for enforcing unspoken protocol] something else entirely.
Suddenly, though, the Issue is peeking out from behind closed doors and minds. On the Page, concerning path, way and means, daring to question received wisdom. In the Kitten Fights between the tubby old gringos, as if some of the rugged cowboys have managed to retain the odd principle, or at least a semblance thereof. In exceptionally focused, wise and articulate pages being written by some, off-Page.
There are undoubtedly many reasons why the Left has always attracted more than its fair share of those who shudder, shriek and shrink at any questioning of current gospel. And a fair few more reasons when dealing with imbedded icon and animus ridden projection.
But there it is.
And unless some somewhere somehow manage to walk the bloody walk of their words, and, in fact, listen, and, in fact, learn from others, and, in fact, open their arms instead of giving in to the urge to purge, and, in fact, not prescribe doctrinal litmus tests, and, in fact…
Oh, what the fuck.
Why the hell should they anyway? Their fans would probably put out their own eyes or take the Kool-Aid en masse, if the bottle feeding were ever to stop.
On the other hand – very deep sigh – I know for a fact that there still a few who have no interest in either the taking or receiving of pablum. Oddly enough many of them [though not all] are women who would rather think for themselves, speak for themselves and fritter away their odd moments fancying Argentinean futbol players than throwing themselves at the feet of doctrine and messiah.
So the issue is either going to be taken out of the closet and addressed, or, once again, nothing is going to happen or change, at least not for the better.
There was a time, once upon a time, when some saw a different model, one that purportedly had no truck with predigested formula, wizened wizards-in-hiding, exclusion, patronizing sophistry, dogma and witlessness.
There was constructive thought, action and model. Grounded in the reality of real lives and real needs. There was no disconnect between short and long term words, tactics, strategy and goals.
The pond was filling as it should: artlessly, seeking its own level. So it seemed, and so it was. And not, we know, just by men willing to fire “cannon and bazooka” in temporary service to long-term, pre-scripted, political agenda.
[And, depressingly enough, this was written before today's sterling example of all the above in our tabloid.]
More, later on the life-cycle of ponds, but now I really am going to wave the white flag.
At least for the Primera Plana.