Category Archives: Injustice

Unpleasant Reminders – now what?

In keeping with the protests against blatant homicidal racism expressed by the police in the US of A, the following article by George Monbiot explains how “America” is the legitimate inheritor of its racism: it came from Britain, particularly from the British empire. While this article focuses on the racist crimes perpetrated by “Great” Britain within the confines of its empire, others, such as the Dutch, the French, the Germans, the Spaniards, the Italians by no means get a whitewash. All are guilty to their unholy armpits of crimes against humanity perpetrated in the name of God, King/Republic and Country. Should we be scrutinizing that part of our white man history? Oh yes because it explains much of what is happening today. 

Lying In State – monbiot.com


Lying In State

Posted: 21 Jun 2020 10:06 AM PDT

History, as the government tells it, is one long lie, airbrushing a host of atrocities.

By George Monbiot, published in the Guardian 17th June 2020

When Boris Johnson claimed last week that removing statues is “to lie about our history”, you could almost admire his brass neck. This is the man who was sacked from his first job, on The Times, for lying about our history. He fabricated a quote from his own godfather, the historian Colin Lucas, to create a sensational front-page fiction about Edward II’s Rose Palace. A further lie about history – his own history – had him sacked from another job, as shadow arts minister under the Conservative leader Michael Howard.

But, Johnson tells us, “We cannot now try to edit or censor our past. We cannot pretend to have a different history.” Yet lies and erasures are crucial to the myths on which Britain’s official self-image is founded, and crucial to hiding the means by which those who still dominate us acquired their wealth and power.

Consider the concentration camps Britain built in Kenya in the 1950s. “What concentration camps?”, you might ask. If so, job done. When the Kikuyu people mobilised to reclaim the land that had been stolen from them by British settlers and the colonial authorities, almost the entire population – over 1 million – were herded into concentration camps and fortified villages. One of these camps, as if echoing Auschwitz, had the slogan “Labour and Freedom” above the gates. Even Eric Griffith-Jones, the attorney general of the colonial administration in Kenya, who was complicit in these crimes, remarked that the treatment of the inmates was “distressingly reminiscent of conditions in Nazi Germany”.

Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of prisoners died. Many succumbed to hunger and disease, including almost all the children in some camps. Many others were murdered. Some were beaten to death by their British guards. Some, as the governor of Kenya, Sir Evelyn Baring, acknowledged in a secret memo, were roasted alive. Others were anally raped with knives, rifle barrels and broken bottles, mauled by dogs or electrocuted. Many were castrated, with a special implement the British administration designed for the purpose. “By the time I cut his balls off,” one of the killers boasted, “he had no ears, and his eyeball, the right one, I think, was hanging out of its socket”. Some were rolled up in barbed wire and kicked around the compound until they bled to death. If you know nothing of this history, it’s because it was systematically censored and replaced with lies by the British authorities.

Only in 2012, when a group of Kikuyu survivors sued the British government for their torture and mutilation, was an archive, kept secret by the Foreign Office, discovered. It revealed the extraordinary measures taken by colonial officials to prevent information from leaking, and to fend off questions by Labour MPs with outright lies. For example, after 11 men were beaten to death by camp guards, Sir Evelyn Baring advised the colonial secretary to report that they had died from drinking dirty water. Baring himself authorised such assaults. In implementing this decision, Eric Griffith-Jones warned him “If we are going to sin, we must sin quietly.” When questions persisted, Baring told his officials to do “an exercise … on the dossiers”, to create the impression that the victims were hardened criminals.

As it happens, Sir Evelyn Baring was the grandfather of Mary Wakefield, the wife of Boris Johnson’s chief adviser, Dominic Cummings. Last month, her own truthfulness was called into question, as an article she wrote in the Spectator, discussing her experiences of coronavirus, created the strong impression that she and Cummings had remained in London, rather than travelling to Durham, against government instructions. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Baring’s family fortune was made from the ownership of slaves, and the massive compensation paid to the owners when the trade was banned.

The hidden Kikuyu documents that came to light in 2012 were part of a larger archive, most of which was systematically destroyed by the British authorities before decolonisation. Special Branch oversaw what it called “a thorough purge” of the Kenyan archives. Fake files were inserted to take the place of those that were expunged. “The very existence” of the deleted files, one memo insisted, “should never be revealed.” Where there were too many files to burn easily, an order proposed that they “be packed in weighted crates and dumped in very deep and current-free water at maximum practicable distance from the coast”. So much for not editing or censoring our past.

The same deletions occurred across the British Empire. We can only guess at what the lost documents might have revealed. Were there more details of the massacre of civilians in Malaya? Of Britain’s dirty war in Yemen in the 1960s? Of the catastrophic famine the British government created in Bengal in 1943, by snatching food from the mouths of local people and exporting it? Of its atrocities in Aden and Cyprus? One thing the surviving files do show us is the British government’s secret eviction of the inhabitants of the Chagos Islands in the Indian Ocean, to make way for a US air base. The Foreign Office instructed its officials to deny the very existence of the indigenous islanders, so that they could be removed without compensation or parliamentary objections.

The erasures and deletions continue. In 2010, the disembarkation cards of the Windrush generation of immigrants from the Caribbean were all destroyed by Theresa May’s Home Office. Many people suddenly had no means of proving their right to citizenship of this country, facilitating her cruel and outrageous deportations. In 2013, the Conservatives deleted the entire public archive of their speeches and press releases from 2000 to 2010, and blocked access to web searches using the Wayback Machine, impeding people trying to hold them to account for past statements and policies.

This week, the Prime Minister asked the head of his policy unit, Munira Mirza, to set up a commission on racial inequalities. She is part of a network of activists whose entire history has been, in my view, confused and obfuscated. It arose from the Revolutionary Communist Party and Living Marxism magazine. As these names suggest, they purported to belong to the far left, but they look to me like the extreme right. In 2018 I discovered that one of its outlets, spiked magazine, had been heavily funded by the US billionaire Charles Koch. Other sources of funding remain obscure. In common with some of her comrades, Mirza has cast doubt on institutional racism. Her new role has caused dismay among anti-racist campaigners, who fear yet more editing of history.

Lying about history, censoring and editing is what the political establishment does. The histories promoted by successive governments, especially those involving the UK’s relationship with other nations, are one long chain of lies. Because we are lied to, we cannot move on. Maturity, either in a person or in a nation, could be defined as being honest about ourselves. We urgently need to grow up.

http://www.monbiot.com

The Criminal Doctors of Auschwitz

From Top documentary – Criminal Doctors of Auschwitz

When I was a child growing up in Canadian schools the by-word was trust. Trust the priest, trust medical doctors and people in white lab coats, trust the police, trust the government to always deliver on electoral promises, trust the bank to never try to rob you. Above all, trust science. Science is pure, it never lies, never fudges on results of experiments. Science is  black and white.

Then the real world entered my life and my mind.

 The building and testing of nuclear weapons and the use of Napalm in Vietnam were the turning points in my life when I saw bought and paid for scientists become nothing but willing tools of the State-Corporate-Financial empire. Then I read about Dr. Mengele in Auschwitz and those teams of medical doctors only too willing to do the bidding of the Nazi Aryan race engine to torture thousands of innocent people including children as young as two years old to death in so-called scientific experiments.

Some will argue for well meaning individuals in every institution or situation. Well meaning individuals served the Nazis at Auschwitz; well meaning individuals participated in the making of horrendous weaponry – and still do; well meaning individuals go along with the party line in government even when they disagree and know the majority of those who voted for them would disagree.

On that note, please take the few minutes it takes to watch this documentary. Its words are clinically brutal, not for entertainment. Take note that by all appearances our power systems are currently leaning heavily towards another “race” for totalitarian world domination by certain groups and once again we are facing the concept of eugenics. What took place at Auschwitz in the 1940’s is only too relevant to our day.

https://topdocumentaryfilms.com/criminal-doctors-auschwitz/?utm_source=newsletter&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=recently_posted_documentaries&utm_term=2020-06-14

Can also be viewed on YouTube at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WcQ37Ycx9Bg&feature=emb_logo

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #108

I must sleep now.  Tomorrow I will be empowered, one last time, to use every technique, every trick with weapons I’ve ever learned and used or can remember.  I will be free to grab an opponents weapons if I so choose and use it against him, or them.  There are no rules tomorrow.  I plan to use Tomia as a bulwark against the attacking males to protect the two young trainees for as long as we can, if the girls will let us.  At least that will give us a common purpose, apart from just tearing men apart and being torn apart by them in turn.
Tomorrow is our future.   

End blog post #107
—————————-
Start blog post #108

Epilogue

A report from researcher and chronicler for the Supremacy,  Michele Dellman

From the reams of committee reports, council decisions, legal proceedings, including almost endless lists of supply requests, legal gambling wins and losses subject to the King’s tax and other documents found after the sack of Hyrete and which I scanned through for many days looking to satisfy my curiosity about this place I became excited when I saw the name of Antierra surface again in a set of memcards used in the antique datacoms of the period.  Most of the story has already been published but for some reason the last days, or day, of that particular female fighter had not been recovered.  After some painstaking efforts to translate this digital document, I have this to add to what I have boldly called ‘The Antierra Manifesto’ in my private collection.

 Sometime after the defeat of Heitchef Warmo in the arena, Antierra was eventually condemned to die by execution.  Through the efforts of her [lover? friend?] called Doctor Balomo Echinoza, a doctor of medicine and anthropologist from the world of Koron on assignment to Elbre, the sentence was commuted to Antierra being condemned to a fight to the death in a killing orgy in the arena of Hyrete.  Here are the reports made by one of Doctor Echinosa’s Cydroids of that fateful day.  Be warned that the following is not for the queasy.

Report by Cydroid number XBA3 for archiving

“My name, as given to me by Antierra, is Xoba Three, normally known as Cydroid XBA3.  I am one of the male Cydroids of doctor Echinoza’s family.  I was one of the handlers who took Antierra to the arena the day of the killing orgy and thus observed the proceedings.  This is a verbal report of what took place.

First the fighters are escorted to the edge of the arena and made to stand, unarmed and naked for the crowd to curse and lust after.  Personal items are thrown at the women to fall harmlessly on the freshly raked sands and have to be collected and taken away by male eunuch slaves.  23 female fighters, mostly dikfols, including Antierra, are lined up along the wall, then another twenty females are also brought in.  The total number of females in the arena when the gates are officially closed and manned by armed guards and specially cleared fighters is exactly 43.  These must all be killed regardless of performance or how many men they kill attempting to survive.  If men stop entering the arena to fight the remaining fighters because of fear, the fighters will be decimated with lasers.  This is an execution, not a fight.  The fighting is for entertainment value and blood-letting only.  There is no official betting as on a normal fight though it is common for challengers and spectators to bet between each other as to numbers of kills.  Most of the audience is made up of street males who cannot usually afford to attend fights and the unofficial sums that pass through their hands in this unofficial betting are negligible.

In the annals, this “interactive” event is marked as an official holiday.

Each female is given a weapon at random.  Antierra gets a long double-handed  sword, undoubtedly a subtle gift from the judge for she is deadliest with this weapon.  A trumpet blows and a gate opens at the opposite end of the arena floor.  Naked men troop in.  I count exactly fifty in the first group.  They all hold various types of weapons which according to the rules of this day, must be official.  How this is determined is by lottery draw.  Each man, as he enters the arena to file in the stands is given a ticket with a number on it.  While the men of Elbre cannot read letters, much less words, they can all read numbers and work with them.  Statistics and money are very important here.  When the stands have filled, or the entrance gates are officially closed, whichever comes first, numbers are called.  Each man with a ticket number that matches the called number takes it to the judges’ tables and receives a weapon in exchange for his ticket.  He then strips and joins the group that will be let into the arena to fight the females.

Thus it appears that for the rag-tag group of dikfols who can barely defend themselves due to problems with their heads, the half dozen or so truly trained fighters and the twenty sacrificial victims of worker and sex slave categories added to the roster for additional numbers, the judges choose to allow fifty men in at one time as challengers.  I will do the human thing here and colour my report with the use of sarcasm: fair is fair after all.  Honour and bravery must always be displayed by the male heroes.

Another trumpet sounds and the fight is on.  The men rush upon the women.  Antierra has organized her group in a tight square and boxed in the less trained and most vulnerable members, the two child-women dikfols and the worker females.  Two of the workers insist on joining in the first rush and do a passable job of defending themselves.  Antierra’s fighters decimate over twenty of the rushing louts before they even realize what has happened.  The fighters grab the men’s weapons as back up and pass them behind to their charges for quick access.  The male rush ends with the score: fifty men killed.  One woman dead and three wounded, one seriously.

With just enough time for Antierra to rearrange her quadrangle, another fifty “challengers” are let in.  The bodies have been piled to the side by the eunuchs and the challengers are somewhat intimidated by the sight of their male buddies lying dead and bleeding still.  Nevertheless, loaded with brew and chakr mix they rush the defensive ring of women.  The remaining active fighters dispatch these as fast as they can, Antierra’s long sword never missing a throat, arm or torso.  She decapitates two rushers while throwing two daggers at a man who had jumped the cordon and attacked a frightened worker female.  Before the dagger got him he had killed the female.  Score on second rush: 50 males dead, five females, of which three of Antierra’s trained force.  That leaves Antierra still unscathed and three trained and clear-minded fighters, of whom one has several cuts and is bleeding profusely.

Antierra looks at her hopeless situation and forces five more dikfol trained fighters to take the point, and uses three of the worker females as partners.  The one she has named “Tomia” is still active and taking another point of the square when the third rush trumpet sounds.  The men do not run into the women’s weapons this time.  They take time to organize themselves somewhat and become more wary and dangerous.  The fighters are better armed but less sure now that except for two, the best are dead or disabled.  Antierra holds two daggers in one hand and is still using her long sword.  Tomia is armed with two of the deadly staffs fully extended.  There is no finesse here, just killing speed.  Dispatch as many men as you can as fast as you can.

The men attack viciously.  They are pushed back even more viciously.  Dikfols now smell blood and scream their hate, throwing themselves at the men, taking several down permanently before they are speared from behind.  The fighting continues until all the men are dead or dying.  Women’s bodies lie all over now.  Antierra is cut and bleeding across the forehead.  Her worker partners are all dead.  Tomia is dying.  Only one of the real fighters remains standing and eleven other women, including the small girl women who now must take their place in the defense position.  It is hard to imagine that so few women could have dispatched one hundred and fifty men and no one calls for mercy.  No, let me correct this statement.  It is not hard to imagine, it is impossible to.

A fourth trumpet sounds and another fifty men are ready to attack the remaining group of defenders.  They come, fresh and eager to maim and kill.  They want body parts.  They are the ones who will mostly survive this day, this they can see; the ones who will be royally treated for giving their friends in the stands the coveted female body parts.  They are the ones who will rape and torture the remaining living females.

What is Antierra thinking as she stands there?  She looks up into the stands, makes the “mercy” gesture and points at the two young girls beside her.  Her gesture is greeted by spitting and cursing.  She turns to the two children and while they are looking at the approaching men wide eyed and shaking, she puts her sword through their hearts.  Then she turns to the men and utters the loudest blood-curdling shriek that place has ever heard.  I had never heard anything like it and it made me shudder.  It seems to come from some awakened beast, not of human voice. Long it echoes along the high walls and through the compounds; so loud it is, it intimidates that wild and unruly crowd to utter and cowed silence.

End blog post #108

Antierra Manifesto-blog post #95

NOTE: I have been truly derelict in posting segments of the Manifesto this month. So much happening and so much to talk about, and one has to wonder, in retrospect, what all that talk accomplishes. But be that as it may be, I intend to be much more disciplined in posting the rest of this story. I’ll give it 3-4 days in between each post, no more. So here goes with blog post 95. I hope you can re-connect with what was going on. Thanks!]

“Now hold your weapons high and salute life.  Salute victory.  Salute the goddess who slowly awakens to you as you awaken to her.  Our days are coming, as surely as the seasons change.  Hail to the weapons!”

Each time we go through this ritual the women barely restrain themselves from cheering.  These are the moments that inexorably change the face of Malefactus. 

End blog post #94
______________________
Begin blog post #95

I am beginning to sense what the Teaching is accomplishing.  Without making any significant change to the external conditions of things here, since we do not have the power to do so, and if we attempted it the suffering would bring unimaginable terror upon us all, it is causing changes within.  It is making these helpless individuals aware there are some forms of power no amount of repression can take away.  Repression has its limits whereas personal power does not know the meaning of limit!  

What are Avatari Teachings but methods to make an individual mind aware of this power within itself?  They are that which defines us, as individual ISSA beings, and collectively as humans.  What the Melkiars attempted to do; what they may well be involved in doing here, the force of mind-life is always stronger, always survives and eventually always overcomes. The Teaching does not have to be pure, complete, ‘right’ or perfect.  It is a can opener, a ram, a hammer, a simple ice pick, a fly in the ointment; “un sabot dans l’engrenage,” anything that breaks the carapace of an oppressive force and drains it of power so life can express itself again, however much it may have changed in nature during the times of oppression.   What these women are feeling; what they want to cheer to, is the latent force that oppression has so tightly bottled inside their minds with the power of fear.  And this I now demonstrate for them.

Again, using a low voice pitched for us alone, I call their attention before we begin our training for the day.  “Now listen to this again and learn it, it is a powerful magic force hidden in words.  The following words change life:

I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.  I will face my fear. I will let it pass over me and through me. When it has gone, I will look with the inner eye at its passage and nothing will remain.  Only I will be standing there.”[1]

“I will continue to repeat those words to you as often as you need to hear them to learn, know and understand their meaning.  The way men control you here is through fear.  The way they are controlled is also through fear.  Men do not own the power they use.  It is given to them only to hurt us.  They fear if they stop hurting women they will lose that power.  So we all need to kill the fear that feeds the power.  That is much harder to do than fight in the arena.  Fear is our greatest challenger and we must all defeat it, leave it dead in the sand until there is no longer any blood flowing into that sand, understand? 

All the Teaching does is create the individual weapon a woman uses to kill fear.  When the fear is gone, the woman will experience no more suffering, even in pain.  Remember this, fighters of the goddess:  the fear you fight, it is not your fear.  It is your challenger; your enemy.  Fear is that which hurts you before you are actually hurt.  It seeks to kill you by disempowering you.  You defeat it by facing it and letting it pass through you so you can see what lies behind it; what it is hiding.  Always fear hides the power that can defeat it.  Fear drags its own defeat, always.  Let the first wave of hurt pass so you may see you have not been hurt.  Then the physical aspect of pain is of little consequence.”

I repeat the mantra for them, explaining the word ‘obliteration’ which they fail to grasp at first.  They are quick to understand because all of us know fear everyday.

“If we banish fear from our lives, who can hurt us before they hurt us?  Our disempowerment does not come from the physical mistreatment we must endure and eventually succumb to, but from our fear of such treatment; from the fear of what they can do to those we love.  Do you think they give us lovers because the care about us?  No!  They give us lovers so they can frighten us, cause us to snitch on one-another and do many servile things so our lover isn’t hurt.  Is that not so?”  There is much agreement and awakening to this truth. 

I have decided not to use their pidgin in some cases when applying the Teaching.  Force them to listen to new words and insert them in their vocabulary.  Add to their sense of self-esteem.  I know they hate sex-slaves because many have better education.  Perhaps if they feel they can speak as well, there will be less hate, greater acceptance?

It’s back to our training and the difference is palpable.  A victory of sorts was scored here today.  A victory over collective darkness.  Now back to some personal details involving promises of help.

I work my way to the one I nickname Zel, Huntu’s lover.  She knows I want to talk to her and switches position, still working her long sword without missing a beat.  Finally we face each other and I signal a pretend point jab where she scores a hit and gets to stand over me as I kneel on the stones.  I say to her,

“I call you ‘Zel’ so keep secret name.  You, Tieka, have plan yet?”

“No sir, cannot make.  Not know how.  Need to run away but many troubles.  Gates, doors, alarms.  Guards with guns.  With carriages.  What we do?”

“Nothing I know now.  Plan.  Think.  Think, not how to escape.  Think what you do when in desert far away.  No food.  No water.  No shelter from sand storm or hiding from evil eye.  No man to give drink, food, care.  How you survive, huh?  Think that.  Maybe other problems not so big, eh?  Think power, Zel.  Think love for man.  That be miracle already.  That already be escape from hate.  Understand?  Already I speak to Hudu and Huntu.  They thinking too.  Find escape plan.”

“Yes sir.  Understand.  Thank you.”  

The day does get oppressively hot again but no breaks are called.  We fight fiercely in sweat and dust, drinking tepid water to stay on our feet.  Guards, handlers and trainers drink cool home-made brew in the shade under awnings and ogle us.  Today they are not keen on taking the young ones to rape in their huts.  I see the overseer cabin is open and empty.  No one has replaced Achnarr yet.  I’m sure the judge I spoke to yesterday will see to it that the next overseer is a stickler for rules.  That will make the men tense and angry.  They will be more inclined to find fault and to carry out ‘official’ punishments.  It will be more difficult to curry favours with any of them.  Hudu and Huntu sit together at a small trainer table and watch Zel go through her routines.  I assume Tieka is working in the kitchens. 

I feel it before I can turn to look.  A woman has fallen down from heat stroke.  Fortunately for us, Hudu jumps quickly to be the one to investigate.  As he approaches, two women have revived the other and she is sitting, then with surreptitious help manages to stand, leaning on a staff she was quietly handed.  Hudu goes through the motion of warning us about slacking off. 

“Know rules: anyone falls, stays down, flogged.  Good for nothing goras!  Cannot stand little heat?  How stand fight in arena?  Lazy!  Lazy!  Now continue training, now!”  He yells but wants us to know his heart is not in it.  It does save the girl’s life though.  She recovers enough to walk to the water trough with two others who throw water on her and help her drink.  Then she goes back to the training, her partner taking care not to force her to move fast.  It’s ridiculous to keep us in the heat and cause heat stroke.  This doesn’t make us tougher or better at fighting, just weaker.  We need food and shade.  I signal for attention and motion for a general subtle slow down of movement to save our strength.  In the heat waves it’s unlikely the men will notice our subterfuge.

And that is the thing about becoming a real leader.  From the ordinary you make it appear as if you create the extraordinary.  You make ‘stuff’ happen because you care.  You forget yourself in the drama and crises around you and incarnate it all.  Of necessity.  You don’t resent any of it.  You just do it.  Sometimes I feel I’ve been graduated to that rather unenviable position. 

True to his word, judge Algomo rescheduled the fight and as he warned, he was unable to rescind the plan to have me fight two trained challengers.  The two men choose late afternoon to come and let me see their choice of weapon.  They deliberate, then ask a handler if they could watch me work with each one.  It’s late, I’m tired and the heat is beyond oppressive now.  Would I get a reprieve from the handlers?

“Slave, you show challenger skill in weapons.  Start with staff.”  So much for that.  A male trainer is assigned to be my sparring partner.  If I play dumb this time, I’ll get thrashed.  So I must ‘demonstrate’ my abilities on the poor trainer.  He’s good but not in league with bionic implants.  I lay the staff on him twice and he quits.  I guess they won’t choose the staff now.  Another trainer is sent forth for the sword routine.  The sweat is pouring off him and no wonder.  There he sat, through the heat of the day, drinking cooled beverages and in the shade while I was in the sun and by now my bony frame is practically dry of sweat, just covered with dust streaks.  I fear he’ll drop from heat stroke himself before I can lay a hand on him.

He takes his stance and does his best, I’ll grant him that.  A few well-chosen thrusts and while he parries one I lay into him and drop him with a hilt blow to the shoulder.  I put my foot on his belly and lift my sword.  It’s comical to see the look on their faces when I do that.  He cannot know I won’t follow through.  What if I’m dikfol?  There’s real terror there.  My challengers are frowning.  Good.  Got them a bit confused as to their choice.  I lift my foot from the trainer’s belly and help him up, patting him on the back as he turns to leave, adding insult to injury but this one had it coming.  He mistreats the young ones. 

The sword still lies on the stones.  In a moment of stupid bravado, I pick it up, walk within two meters of the challengers and offer either of them the sword.

Any other slave had done that she would have been instantly dragged to the flogging post by handlers.  But I know their thinking, and their limits.  They’ve got money riding on me and the more I intimidate the challengers, the greater the chance they’ll lose.  Also, I’m running out of time and they know this.  The day of their retribution will come.  I cannot win, according to their view.  I can never win.

The challengers at first look nonplussed by my offer.  Then they gather their thoughts and sneer, turning to the handlers and motioning for them to set me straight.  The handlers don’t care, just snort and laugh.  We have to settle it then.  I pull the sword back, turn submissively and return to the rack where I file both weapons and take out two axes.  I wait where I am supposed to stand, one axe in hand, the other’s pointed handle set in a crack between the pavers.  Finally another trainer reluctantly takes his position.  He has put on the required armour and looks as miserable as anyone can.  I remain naked, not having enough strength left to handle both the axe and the weight and friction heat of the cheelth skin.  In the last four years they haven’t had a trainer who could come even close to matching my strokes and they all know it.  I’m not worried on that score.  I recognize the trainer as he moves close to me before he picks up the axe to ask in low tones,

“Please no hurt, I not hate you.  Only do what must, see?  Make you look good, I do, then let me go?”

“I no hurt you Tarnat.  You good man.  We fight fake, I win, go back to shade.  Now loud, you curse me.  Look angry.  Fight crazy Desert Beast.  Be brave.”

Always the necessity to make those men look good in their peers’ eyes.  He curses me loudly, spits, yells ‘krosspeeg’ and attacks.  I take several steps back deliberately for our little play, parry each stroke, then go on the attack in turn.  Several swings, neither intended to connect fly around cleverly.  Finally he lays the side of his axe against my side.  I flinch and go to one knee.  He charges and I throw him off balance with a hook in his armour skirt, spinning him and laying him flat down.  I throw my right foot on his chest, raise my axe… then lower it.  I move off him and offer to help him up.  He refuses, stands up, throws the axe apparently in disgust and walks away.  There’s one relieved trainer.

I have to rack the weapons again.  I take the last in the acceptable series.  Rapier and dagger combination.  I put on my belt with the dagger and again I wait.  But the challengers have seen enough.  They choose the one weapon they have not seen me handle.  Perhaps they want to keep an illusion that in a two on one competition four blades to my two is a greater advantage.  I’ll grant them that: it is.  A wise choice, not so good for me.  I wonder if the Cedric is available tomorrow and if I have a date? 

That’s no way to think, girl.  You can beat those anal-retentive drooks.  After all, it is the drooks who more often than not refuse to acknowledge our superior speed and skill with any type of weapon cleared for use in the arena.  They are the ones who are the most likely to sneer when our skills are mentioned.  However many we kill, they keep coming.  And why not?  Over all they do kill more women than we get of them simply because in fixed fights, as most of their fights are,  they get the young or the weaker ones.  Some of these drooks take months to investigate a group of fighters and pick the ones they will fight.  Of course the law as written does not allow challengers to choose their fighters, only the Fighter Council judges can do that.  But then laws are made to be broken and law enforcers are equally made to be bought.  All a part of the game.  Had Achnarr been in charge the game would have gone much more in their favour and that’s what they had counted on.

You may wonder why they did not just back out of the event?  They can’t.  Once the bets begin to go in and are registered, no challenger can change his mind.  Since a fight depends entirely on the bets made on it, challengers are forced to declare their intentions long before the actual match is scheduled and set.  Bit of a catch-22 for the drooks.  But that does not help us much.  They know our weaknesses.  Mine is age.  That’s what they bet on, that I won’t be able to endure a sustained bout.  I shouldn’t be except for two things: my desire to see things to their end, and the amazing Cedric.

End blog post #95

Covid-19 has taken away bread and circuses, laying bare the true American empire

This is a simple text copy. If interested and you want to see the original with picture and everything, go here:
https://www.rt.com/op-ed/483675-coronavirus-america-bread-circuses-illusions/

by Michael McCaffrey

Michael McCaffrey lives in Los Angeles where he works as an acting coach, screenwriter and consultant. He is also a freelance film and cultural critic whose work can be read at RT, Counterpunch and at his website mpmacting.com/blog.

21 Mar, 2020 14:28

Regular Americans can no longer numb themselves with sports and gluttony, freeing them to clearly see the malignantly craven ruling class that exploits and despises them. If only they would open their eyes to reality.

Anyone who has eyes to see can clearly make out that America is an addled empire in steep decline that is firmly entrenched in its bread-and-circuses stage. This has been brought into clear focus due to Covid-19. Since there is now a shortage of bread, as supermarket shelves are bare, and the distraction of the circus of sports has been indefinitely removed from the culture, Americans are left with little to distract them from cold, hard reality.

Coronavirus calls US’ ‘world’s richest country’ bluff: Will it cling to busted myths or evolve under pressure?

With no brawls or ballgames to watch, and the fear of potential hunger gnawing at their bloated bellies and brains, and with social distancing leaving them isolated with little but their thoughts as company, Americans will now find it harder and harder to ignore the truth about their country and its deplorably corrupt media, financial, government, education and health care systems, that is staring them in the face.

As the old adage goes, crisis reveals character, and the coronavirus contagion is a crisis of epic proportions that is revealing America to be utterly devoid of any redeeming character whatsoever.

If America were a sane, healthy, and rational country this would be a great opportunity for change to occur…alas, it is not. America is an insane, unhealthy and irrational nation, and so any genuine change is inconceivable.

For example, this crisis has once again revealed the house of cards that is the smoke and mirrors American economy. The American economy has long been rigged through financialization, where stock buybacks and accounting shenanigans inflate the stock market but create nothing of substance for the masses except the illusion of prosperity. Here in America the economy long ago stopped working for regular folks, as evidenced by the fact that despite productivity soaring, for the last forty years wages have remained stagnant, while the cost of living has escalated.

The American Way has devolved into a bizarre reverse-Robin Hood world, where the rich steal from the poor and keep it for themselves. Proof of this is that this Covid-19 crisis will undoubtedly be used, just as the 2008 collapse, as a way for the malicious narcissists in Washington, Wall Street and in corporate boardrooms to come together to assure that all their losses are socialized and their profits privatized. Casinos, cruise lines, airlines, hotels and others are already lining up — including of course the scoundrels on Wall Street — for their taxpayer-funded handout.

Bailing out working- and middle-class Americans, though, is an absolute non-starter for the ruling elite. The upper crust will throw around vacuous catch phrases, like the deliciously ironic “moral hazard,” to make their argument, which is pretty rich considering the vermin on Wall Street and their cronies on Capitol Hill are so morally bereft, it is a hazard to all humanity.

Coronavirus is not nearly as deadly as the cancerous corruption that is endemic in our oligarchic corporatocracy. For proof of that look no further than Nancy Pelosi’s emergency “sick pay” bill, that exempts companies of over 500 employees from paying sick pay — and has a boatload of special exemptions for businesses below that threshold — which leaves all but 20% of workers eligible for benefits. The holes in Pelosi’s bill are bigger than the gaping void where her brain and soul should be.

This corruption of the elites is bipartisan, as evidenced by two Republican Senators, Richard Burr and Kelly Loeffler (who is married to Jeffrey Sprechter, chairman of the New York Stock Exchange), who allegedly took advantage of classified briefings on the impending severity of coronavirus in late January and early February to pull off some slick insider trading maneuvers so they could cash in before the public had any clue what was coming. Both, of course, deny any impropriety.

The egregious economic divide in America is further highlighted by the Covid-19 debate over whether to close schools amidst the crisis. The reason this debate raged on well past the rational time to act is that our education system is not a system of learning but rather a glorified daycare and food delivery service.

Proletarian parents are unable to stay home and raise their kids anymore because it now takes two parents — usually working multiple jobs — to make less equivalently than what one working parent did forty years ago.

In the Los Angeles Unified School District, 70% of all students are below the poverty line and rely on the school system for the majority of their meals. In the wealthiest country on the planet, that is absolutely disgraceful. The virus of structural economic inequality isa much more long-term and deadly problem than coronavirus, and the ruling class and their shameless lackeys in the press, have no interest in ever honestly addressing or acknowledging it.

The corporate whores in Congress and the White House (of both parties) also gleefully inform Americans that universal, single-payer health care, which every other industrialized nation in the world already has, is a pipe dream and impossibility.

How about help PEOPLE first? Boeing shredded for seeking ‘tens of billions’ in ANOTHER bailout amid coronavirus pandemic

They tell us they could never ever pay for something so decadent and luxurious as health care, but then they magically pull $1.5 trillion out of their gold-plated assholes in order to stave off a collapse of their own making. It is amazing how the Lords of Finance can make money miraculously appear in order to get things done when it is their exorbitant wealth on the line, and not ordinary Americans’ health and wellbeing.

Coronavirus is a crisis that is revealing the ugly truth about America and the malignant character of its ruling class. The crisis is going to get worse before it gets better, but it eventually will get better. America, on the other hand, will only get much worse, with no hope that it is ever going to get better.

Like this story? Share it with a friend!

https://www.rt.com/op-ed/483675-coronavirus-america-bread-circuses-illusions/