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["More importantly, those who are the most confined by our oppression must
ask themselves similar question. Why didn't you scream and rage and revolt
when it was me, or people like me, under the gun? Will you put me back in my
place when your part of the "revolution" is accomplished? Will you fight for
my freedom and safety once you have your own? Remember, the people asking
these questions have been, and continue to be, the most committed
revolutionaries."]
In a message dated 22/07/01 01:39:07 Eastern Daylight Time,
[EMAIL PROTECTED] writes:
<< www.indymedia.org
The Moment We've Been Waiting For?
author: fiery truth teller
summary
As in every episode of unnecessary pain, of continuing oppression, of the
cold lethal workings of our governments, there is something within us that
responds to Carlo Giuliani's death by screaming "Start the revolution
already!" That said, what stands between us and the revolution tonight?
The Moment We've Been Waiting For?
Revolution and Solidarity in the Wake of Genoa
Outrage. Pain. Mourning. Fear. Exhaustion. Solidarity. Hope. We in the
anticapitalist movement have felt it all in the short hours following the
killing of protester Carlo Giuliani by police in Genoa. As in every episode
of unnecessary pain, of continuing oppression, of the cold lethal workings of
our governments, there is something within us that responds by screaming
"Start the revolution already!"
That screaming exists outside, as well. Today's demonstrations in
Genoa were nearly double the size of yesterday's demonstrations, with more
than 200,000 people according to the Italian newspaper _La Repubblica._ Calls
have been made not just for solidarity demonstrations (which have already
taken place across Europe and the Americas), but a general strike in Italy,
possibly expanding wider.
I won't add to those calls tonight, but rest assured that I find
myself more and more among the camp who "pray every single day for a
revolution." And not just me. It is more than a couple of cliches that
revolution is the hope of the hopeless, and the carnival of the oppressed; it
is the lived experience of millions who have had their hopes and their joys
raised for at least a moment.
So, why not tonight, why not this moment?
The two bullets that penetrated Carlo Giuliani's skull and the two
times that an armored jeep ran over his dying body were unacceptable. Yet
they were no more and no less unacceptable than the shots and cruelty of
Colombian death squads, American prison guards, or Burmese torture experts.
The responsibility for Carlo's death goes all the way to the top of the
global economy, but so do those of an exhausted sweatshop worker in the
Phillipines, a poisoned villager in the Niger Delta, and a dispossessed
Native in northern Canada.
The difference, to some at least, is that a message has been sent that
no one will be exempted from the killing. Your nation and your class will not
save you. The brutal beatings suffered tonight by Indymedia workers and
others who announced themselves as "pacifisti" to the police in Genoa should
remind us all that a commitment to nonviolence will not save you either.
When creative activists have come face to face with the reality that
their government will not hesitate to kill anyone, they have risen up and
performed miracles. In May 1970, when four unarmed college students at Kent
State University were shot down for protesting the Vietnam War, American
higher education was brought to a halt and converted into the organizing
center of a national movement.
When people rise up in outrage in a moment like this, those who have
just learned that they are vulnerable are energized like never before. But
what of those of us who already knew that this system would sacrifice its own
youth? We are left wondering whether you needed to see a white, European face
on the dead before you rose up. We are left shaken that when we speak of
genocide, bloody and brutal, of entire peoples, it moves you less than a
single victim of a melee. Sometimes we are too excited by your outrage and
your hope to say this, but we are shaken nonetheless.
More importantly, those who are the most confined by our oppression
must ask themselves similar question. Why didn't you scream and rage and
revolt when it was me, or people like me, under the gun? Will you put me back
in my place when your part of the "revolution" is accomplished? Will you
fight for my freedom and safety once you have your own? Remember, the people
asking these questions have been, and continue to be, the most committed
revolutionaries.
So today, if you're feeling outraged, and want to kick it all over, I
ask you to do this: Rage all you can at the institutions of power. Find ways
to block them from their lethal course. But don't make it about just one man
in Genoa. Don't make it just about the G8. Find a way to make it about people
where you live. Find a way to show the deep and abiding love you feel for
this comrade to someone struggling to survive with an identity that is
despised by the mainstream of the community that surrounds you.
And do this together, with revolution in mind. March to the Italian
consulate, yes, but keep marching, to stand with another community that is
already organized. Take your zeal and your outrage and hurl it against the
reality of racism, of homophobia, of transphobia, of classism, of sexism, of
oppression of youth and the aged, that is right before you. And stand by
those defending their lives right beneath your noses. So that we may always
stand together in revolution.
There are other critical questions tonight: Can we win? And can we
protect those in struggle when we gain partial victories? Every time we raise
consciousness, create more alternative institutions, learn more, build links
of solidarity and love, and devise means of direct support for those in need,
these answers come closer to being yes. We need to pour our urgent desire for
a society that supports us all into acts that support each other right now.
The hope for revolution is no longer rare. Behind every door is a
potential revolutionary, waiting for a uprising that won't end in renewed
oppression or bloody defeat. What holds us back is doubt about the
possibility of achieving change. When people can look around and see the
solidarity of a movement embracing them, and the tools of a movement
promising survival for all, there won't be enough guns or jeeps or
caribinieri to hold us down. >>
______________________________________________________________________
To unsubscribe, write to [EMAIL PROTECTED]
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The Moment We've Been Waiting
For?
author: fiery truth teller
summary
As in
every episode of unnecessary pain, of continuing oppression, of the cold lethal
workings of our governments, there is something within us that responds to Carlo
Giuliani's death by screaming "Start the revolution already!" That said, what
stands between us and the revolution tonight?
The Moment We've Been Waiting
For?
Revolution and Solidarity in the Wake of Genoa
Outrage.
Pain. Mourning. Fear. Exhaustion. Solidarity. Hope. We in the
anticapitalist movement have felt it all in the short hours following the
killing of protester Carlo Giuliani by police in Genoa. As in every
episode of unnecessary pain, of continuing oppression, of the cold lethal
workings of our governments, there is something within us that responds by
screaming "Start the revolution already!"
That screaming exists
outside, as well. Today's demonstrations in Genoa were nearly double the
size of yesterday's demonstrations, with more than 200,000 people
according to the Italian newspaper _La Repubblica._ Calls have been made
not just for solidarity demonstrations (which have already taken place
across Europe and the Americas), but a general strike in Italy, possibly
expanding wider.
I won't add to those calls tonight, but rest
assured that I find myself more and more among the camp who "pray every
single day for a revolution." And not just me. It is more than a couple of
cliches that revolution is the hope of the hopeless, and the carnival of
the oppressed; it is the lived experience of millions who have had their
hopes and their joys raised for at least a moment.
So, why not
tonight, why not this moment?
The two bullets that penetrated
Carlo Giuliani's skull and the two times that an armored jeep ran over his
dying body were unacceptable. Yet they were no more and no less
unacceptable than the shots and cruelty of Colombian death squads,
American prison guards, or Burmese torture experts. The responsibility for
Carlo's death goes all the way to the top of the global economy, but so do
those of an exhausted sweatshop worker in the Phillipines, a poisoned
villager in the Niger Delta, and a dispossessed Native in northern Canada.
The difference, to some at least, is that a message has been sent
that no one will be exempted from the killing. Your nation and your class
will not save you. The brutal beatings suffered tonight by Indymedia
workers and others who announced themselves as "pacifisti" to the police
in Genoa should remind us all that a commitment to nonviolence will not
save you either.
When creative activists have come face to face
with the reality that their government will not hesitate to kill anyone,
they have risen up and performed miracles. In May 1970, when four unarmed
college students at Kent State University were shot down for protesting
the Vietnam War, American higher education was brought to a halt and
converted into the organizing center of a national movement.
When
people rise up in outrage in a moment like this, those who have just
learned that they are vulnerable are energized like never before. But what
of those of us who already knew that this system would sacrifice its own
youth? We are left wondering whether you needed to see a white, European
face on the dead before you rose up. We are left shaken that when we speak
of genocide, bloody and brutal, of entire peoples, it moves you less than
a single victim of a melee. Sometimes we are too excited by your outrage
and your hope to say this, but we are shaken nonetheless.
More
importantly, those who are the most confined by our oppression must ask
themselves similar question. Why didn't you scream and rage and revolt
when it was me, or people like me, under the gun? Will you put me back in
my place when your part of the "revolution" is accomplished? Will you
fight for my freedom and safety once you have your own? Remember, the
people asking these questions have been, and continue to be, the most
committed revolutionaries.
So today, if you're feeling outraged,
and want to kick it all over, I ask you to do this: Rage all you can at
the institutions of power. Find ways to block them from their lethal
course. But don't make it about just one man in Genoa. Don't make it just
about the G8. Find a way to make it about people where you live. Find a
way to show the deep and abiding love you feel for this comrade to someone
struggling to survive with an identity that is despised by the mainstream
of the community that surrounds you.
And do this together, with
revolution in mind. March to the Italian consulate, yes, but keep
marching, to stand with another community that is already organized. Take
your zeal and your outrage and hurl it against the reality of racism, of
homophobia, of transphobia, of classism, of sexism, of oppression of youth
and the aged, that is right before you. And stand by those defending their
lives right beneath your noses. So that we may always stand together in
revolution.
There are other critical questions tonight: Can we
win? And can we protect those in struggle when we gain partial victories?
Every time we raise consciousness, create more alternative institutions,
learn more, build links of solidarity and love, and devise means of direct
support for those in need, these answers come closer to being yes. We need
to pour our urgent desire for a society that supports us all into acts
that support each other right now.
The hope for revolution is no
longer rare. Behind every door is a potential revolutionary, waiting for a
uprising that won't end in renewed oppression or bloody defeat. What holds
us back is doubt about the possibility of achieving change. When people
can look around and see the solidarity of a movement embracing them, and
the tools of a movement promising survival for all, there won't be enough
guns or jeeps or caribinieri to hold us down.
|
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