The recent floods in the south of England has kept our millionaire Oxbridge parasite leader, in wellies for a while. This has probably taken his mind, temporarily, off his arrogant grandiose scheme of trying to turn that imperialist blood letting known as the First World War, into a glorious struggle for the freedom of the people. No doubt his minions will still be beavering away in the back rooms of power, dreaming up methods to turn it all into a pompous spectacle. A spectacle where the parasite class will put on all their finery, stand under flags listening to “Land of Hope and Glory”, drunk on that poison “patriotism”.
No, I shall not die for the fluttering flag,
if truth be known, ’tis nothing but a multi-coloured rag
held aloft by some foolish hand
inciting worker and peasant to kill
on some green and wooded hill,
peasant and worker from some other land.
Nor shall I shed blood for the fluttering rag
that brings out fools to stand and brag
of brutal deeds painted grand,
deeds where rustic and craftsman lie so still
killed by my brothers' misguided hand.
No allegiance have I for the Nation
this man made autocratic creation
that divides my brothers in a world so small,
binds us to a country's cause, right or wrong,
bids us follow its drum, sing its song,
then sheds our blood in some border brawl.
No, I'll be no slave to flag or nation,
have no ear for power oration,
though its iron heel is on my breast,
my back feels its leather thong,
at patriotism's barracoon, I'll be no guest.
Perhaps as they stand with their shining medals, chains and badges of phony honour, they will reflect on the 306 young men that their class had shot at dawn for “cowardice”. 306 young men that had experienced their mind being crush by the endless pointless slaughter all around them. Young men that had seen their friends and in some case family members blown to pieces and maimed, and could see no end in sight. Men as young as 17, tied to a stake and shot at dawn, by their own comrades, on the orders of the blood crazed defenders of imperialism, for what today we would refer to as post-traumatic stress syndrome and combat stress reaction.
Shot at dawn memorial, at the National Memorial Arboretum
Another thought that should permeate through their warped minds is the fact that the UK was one of the last countries to end this barbaric dawn murder of its own troops. The die-hard UK imperialists would cling to this savagery until the bitter end. It was two different classes, the arrogant upper class, officer prats, and the worthless working class, who had to be treated brutally to keep them in line. Nothing much has changed in their mental attitude, it is still them, who believe they were born to lead, and us, who need to be kept in line, or we might start doing what we want to do.
We owe it to those 306 young men and all those who suffered during and after that imperialist land grab, to remember it for what it was, a massive blood letting, so that the European aristocrats could settle their greed driven differences.