Showing posts with label the moral high ground. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the moral high ground. Show all posts

Friday, 5 July 2019

And Still, Worker Kills Worker.


         When worker kills worker under some coloured rag or other, called “the national flag” it is seldom, if ever, because that worker hates the other worker. It is usually they have been conscripted, (forced) or because of the mainstream media, the propaganda mouth piece of the state, has convinced them that it is their patriotic duty. That we as morally superior beings have to sort out the evil of the other. An so shop keeper goes to kill bus driver, and school teacher goes to kill mother of four. Factory worker goes to kill office worker. We have had mass protests across the globe in an attempt to stop this madness, this exploitation of people for power and wealth of the few. However a simple glance at the world to day and it is obvious we have failed miserably. State sponsored carnage continues to turn vast swaths of our planet into abattoirs, the devastation of countries is total, its people, bus drivers, office workers, school teachers, factory workers and innocent parents and children, die in fiery graves with tons of rumble heaped on them as grave stones. In days gone by, in military conflict the casualties were mainly the military. Now with aid of our wonderful technology, the civilian population are, by far, the main victims in any war.
        Four years ago I wrote the following little piece and today it is more relevant than ever, wars are still portrayed as a moral answer to problems, despite the flagrant slaughter of the innocent.

    February, 2015, When Worker kills Worker. 
        On most occasions, war, in our babbling brook of bullshit, the mainstream media, is portrayed as something heroic, with our side standing tall on the moral high ground, and the enemy crawling from the sewers with mean and nasty tactics. How else could they keep recruiting fresh young blood. We can be thankful for that band of heroes the poets, who experience war in all its brutality and record it, as viewed through the eyes of a human being, seeing the destruction and death of another human being.
      One such poet was the Gaelic poet George Campbell Hay, 1915-1984, born in Elderslie and brought up in Kintyre. Due to his pacifist values, for more than a year during WWII, he had tried to avoid conscription. Faced with prison, he opted for non-violent service in the army. George was sent to North Africa and given the job as night watchman. The events of the night May 7th. 1943 traumatised him, and he was never the same again. The event he witnessed was the allied saturation bombing of the German occupied town of Bizerta.

What is their name tonight,
the poor streets where every window spews
its flame and smoke,
its sparks and screaming of its inmates,
while house upon house is rent
and collapses in a gust of smoke?
And who tonight are beseeching
Death to come quickly in all their tongues,
or are struggling among stones and beams,
crying in frenzy for help, and are not heard?
Who to-night is paying
the old accustomed tax of common blood?
 
    Of course we  have to ask ourselves, why in Gaza and many, many more places on this planet, can these words still be applied. 
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