On wings of aspirational flim-flam, the progs now contemplate one of their elderly own, Bernie S., leading the party he is not a part of as the presidential candidate in the new Hot Number 1 slot. His handlers even made sure to get the one black guy in New Hampshire that had even heard of him to sit TV-right and front as the gun-manufacturer buddy-pal gave another of his interminable cribbed sermons.
Social nihilism, however, does not dwell in the fantastical world of the MacGovernite Hope and Change and 1% OFF and the Billionaire Bad Deal and the other righteous invocations of liberal piety. The record bespeaks other realities. Noam Chomsky was cashing every check from MIT, as its other Faculty Club regulars were DARPAing this world to the specious, horrific murder of millions from Vietnam to Afghanistan, as is soberly documented in Andrew Cockburn’s breezy Kill Chain. If you try to make sense of that history, of idiots with technological idee fixes and bureaucratic access incinerating civilians and Third World poor military, why then there’s place for you in front of the boob tube or at the classroom lectern. If you refuse to countenance the acceptance of so much bombing, killing, ecocidal horror, then what do you do?
There is no “treatment plan” for humanity, as a Counterpunch regular tried to get away with positing after mock self-questioning from a nihilist perspective.
Instead of shrugging your shoulders and writing me off as another hopeless radical tilting at windmills, dear reader, you might want to start thinking about how to build the army you are right to note that I lack.
Thanks, Street – but the only army out there is busy lap-topping wedding parties. How do “hopeless radicals” keep the flagging faith in windmills coming down going?