Archives mensuelles : avril 2021

Whether the stick comes under the guise of…

being told by one’s schizophrenic mother being gay is a psychiatric illness;

being instantaneously fired with prejudice without even being asked one’s side of the story, after an early-morning altercation with the driver of a Porsche parked on the sidewalk who got angry because one’s vehicle didn’t stop when His Majesty decided to re-enter traffic;

being purposefully left to freeze in one’s rented apartment for an entire winter because the apartment’s boiler was kaput and the landlord would do nothing about it;

the unilateral withdrawal of one’s attorney from a case after he claimed the provision paid to him in accordance with a fully certified legal document wasn’t high enough;

the local Bar endorsing the attorney’s withdrawal and refusing to abide by the conditions it had set out in its own legal documents;

the local Bar being sentenced in abstentia to abide by those conditions in first instance, yet appealing that decision after being incomprehensibly absent at the hearing;

four other attorneys, all appointed by the local Bar, consecutively withdrawing from the case because they felt they were unable to do anything about it;

a pseudo-judge, after having issued an interlocutory injunction only to allow the (powerful) landlord to settle the dispute, closing the case unilaterally despite having been duly informed one had no attorney and was in the process of getting a new one appointed;

being physically beaten (a second time), this time for political purposes and because of one’s sexual preference (kissing a black guy in a park);

one’s concrete efforts to find a new professional activity (and, incidentally, one’s very survival) being repeatedly thwarted by delayed payments of one’s so-called benefits (nearly two months, in one particular instance, which happened to comprise the New Year holiday period), and one being subsequently forced to abandon an internship abroad for which one had at long last been selected, after years of unemployment;

being offered jobs as a street sweeper or for other functions without the slightest relation to one’s experience or interests;

being purposefully forced to inhale harmful volatile chemical substances in quasi-industrial quantities, originating from a neighboring apartment, 24 hours a day, for a year and a half (until December of 2015), as acknowledged three times by the police, with sleep deprivation and an anaphylactic shock as a result;

being informed one’s father has passed away, four months after his passing;

being constantly bullied by mean idiotic neighbors, including through the repeated sabotage of utilities;

being sued by a public-utility company for the sabotage caused by one of said neighbors, noticed the day of one’s fucking birthday (because the door of the utility room had been left wide open while it’s supposed to be locked);

being forced to do the attorney’s job and write one’s own conclusions since the clumsy yet arrogant bastard is only in it for the cash;

being announced, two weeks after that same birthday, that, following one’s grandmother’s admission into a nursing home, her own home, in which one had spent one’s entire childhood, was being sold and had already been emptied (despite provisions to the contrary in her last known will and testament, agreed to by all parties years before, which was a scam from the very beginning);

never receiving any single answer to one’s written proposal to move to her house and continue paying rent to help support the cost;

being prohibited by one’s mother’s attorney from seeing one’s grandmother ever again (as attested by a previous post), after having talked to her for about four hours right after her admission and having left her in good terms;

a mother who had been informed of one’s father passing six months before and who, on that occasion, had also been made aware of the bullying resulting in sleep deprivation, a mother who, for decades, never having had to pay one single rent in her entire life, lived for free in her parents’ second house, then sold that house and used the money to buy a comfy apartment, yet had the audacity to say : “It’s already something, isn’t it ?” (« C’est déjà ça de pris. »), a mother whose word is worth shit;

one’s tyrannical mother calling the cops on her son after feeling threatened because the latter had dared verbally express his anger over that entire situation, in which his mere involvement was never ever solicited;

one’s belongings of sentimental, educational or artistic value (for instance, a painting received as a gift for having organized an art exhibition during one’s college years) being offered to others behind one’s back as if one were already dead;

the constant determination of one’s life by others, in a feudal way, without one even being invited to the table;

the primitive people, ignorant of karma, who, while hiding from the light, always attempt to take advantage of one for merely stating these things, the same who would piss their pants (or blow themselves up ?) if they had to endure half of it, while being estranged from nearly everyone;

the manipulative interferences of “the society of the spectacle” one has to endure all along, and the feeling one gets one is living in some sort of tragic Truman Show, hence one’s ever more absurd take on things;

the way most people look at one and judge one by one’s looks, before one is even able to say a single word;

nearly every institution trampling upon one’s rights, and individuals coordinating to corner one, using the respective codes of conduct supposed to rule their activities as toilet paper;

being addressed as a robot in a robotic manner in every single interaction, sometimes as a piece of garbage, including by those who are supposed / paid to defend one’s interests;

being sued by another landlord following the flooding of his apartment, in which one bears no responsibility whatsoever, despite never being late in paying any rent for the past ten years;

having to discover, out of the blue, that one’s grandmother had died three years earlier (a mere ten months after she had been admitted into the aforementioned nursing home, on a busy city boulevard, while having always lived in the country), and that no one had had the basic decency to inform the scapegoat;

having to learn the next day, during the hearing, that the opposing counsel had contacted one’s mother, standing as irrevocable collateral security for the rental agreement, who, while also standing on top of her accumulated inherited wealth, had basically told them she didn’t give a damn, whether one was guilty or not, even at the eve of an unprecedented financial crisis;

being sentenced by the aforementioned bitch judge, all too eager to take his revenge, without any of the concrete evidence one had presented being taken into account while the opposing party had presented no evidence at all, and through a non-motivated verdict (which is illegal);

all the things not mentioned here for lack of space;

anything yet to come;

Whatever the guise of the stick, when, because of years and years and years of undue procedure (summarized here in a few sentences), one is not allowed to live one’s own life, even when the central principle of that life is to not cause others any concrete harm, leaving one to wonder why it should matter to live at all, when the (documented) harassment is permanent and, despite all the evidence, no one will either acknowledge it or put an end to it, when one realizes civilization is but an illusion, concrete commitment has no value and sadism is everywhere, in other words, when there is but the stick, and one is as tired of it as one is of fighting it, since it never stops and it always takes yet another form, one can indeed be considered by some to be responsible for no longer fighting back, but that’s where one’s (secondary) responsibility stops, and it will never erase the blatant primary responsibility of the mean primitive bitches (from whatever gender) who’ve been holding the stick all along, and who keep “pushing” and “pushing”, relentlessly, to the precipice…

Fuck the barcode 297.1 (F22) “persecutory type” ! Fuck the ignorant who blame cannabis ! And fuck those who are used to being served everything on a silver platter and think this is whining or self-pity ! This is “lived experience”, bitches ! At least, for now…

Catégories : Lettres ouvertes des plus surréalistes... | Poster un commentaire

Wise words…

The following statement is between quotation marks to indicate it is not mine. Exceptionally however, I won’t divulge whose it is because, on the one hand, my answer is not directed at its author and, on the other hand, it is purposefully taken out of context, a context that far exceeds the scope of said (philosophical) answer, which comes as a series of questions. In this instance, neither the author of the quote nor the context matter; they would only pollute the argument. What matters is the statement itself…

We often need a master figure to push us out of an inertia and […] force us to be free. Freedom and responsibility hurt; they require an effort. And the highest function of an authentic master is to literally awaken us to our freedom. We are not spontaneously really free.

What makes a “master” a “master” ? Is the “master” status self-proclaimed ? Is apprentice or servant an assigned role or one to be chosen voluntarily ?

What makes any “master“ feel entitled to “push” someone who hasn’t acknowledged or has recused their “master” status ? Is that pushing vindicated by anything other than linear assumptions and expectations, that is to say systemic ones ? At what point/After how many refusals does it become harassment ?

The “master”/apprentice (or servant) paradigm institutes a hierarchy supposedly based on wisdom and experience. But what if one considers wisdom and experience to be precisely antithetical to hierarchy ? In such a hypothesis, how could one ever acknowledge the supposed wisdom and experience of any alleged “master”, and by extension any alleged “master” ‘s legitimacy itself ? How could such an individual proclaim not only to know, but also to teach – or rather inculcate – the recipe of freedom ?

Even when taking into account those – and it seems there are few of them – who are wise enough to know any “master” can only truly fulfill their task if they end up being surpassed, or at the very least if the apprentice becomes his own master, Isn’t the very concept of “master” a remnant of patriarchy ? Of an oppressive, colonial mindset ?

What is “real freedom“ ?

Can there be a universal definition of it ? If so, isn’t it paradoxically totalitarian ? What are its ground principles ? Can they be discussed ?

Can any so-called “master“ claim to hold that definition – for others ?

Is it Montaigne’s, in part borrowed from Seneca ?

What did Montaigne (through Cicero) say about “masters” again ?…

When self-appointed or co-opted “masters” go too far, when their authority is fraudulent and when they “push” beyond reason, are they really expecting others to free themselves ? Was it really “inertia” Mario Salvo was advocating ?

Or was he advocating “real freedom” through social justice ?

If he was advocating the latter, how could it ever be achieved without the fundamental respect every individual is owed, regardless of their status ? And how could it ever be achieved without integrity ?…

Catégories : Philo de comptoir | Étiquettes : , , , , , | Poster un commentaire

Absurda lex, sed lex !

Obéissance à la Loi est condition de l’Ordre. Et la Loi, malotru, est point d’exclamation ! Ce point se suffit à lui-même. Il n’y a pas à s’interroger, à demander pourquoi la Loi est : tout point d’interrogation est pour l’Ordre une menace. La Loi est… Un point d’exclamation, c’est tout ! Et puisque la Loi est, la Loi est bonne, sans quoi elle ne serait pas la Loi.

c.q.f.d.

Que peut l’Homme face au point d’exclamation, la raison face à la foi ?

Catégories : Philo de comptoir, Politique / Société | Étiquettes : , | Poster un commentaire

Eigen volk eerst !

We are an intentional community devoted to God. Note I say God, not the Church. I am an elder, we have no titles here but brother, sister… No law, save [for] the Good Book, and the Book tells us to welcome the stranger as if they were Christ himself. We are called Eidolon.

Dat een aantal onder hen van corona gebruik zouden maken om hun conservatieve trekjes ongeremd hun gang te laten gaan stond in de sterren geschreven. Maar dat de blow of death voor buitenlandse blowers (alsook voor een groot aantal Amsterdamse coffeeshops) van Femke Opstelten zou komen, de voormalige GroenLinks-coryfee wier echtgenoot het recentelijk nog voor Johan van Laarhooven opnam, had enkel een helderziende tijdens een lugubere paddotrip kunnen voorspellen…

Het begon met Roosendaal, net over de Belgische grens, een tiental jaar geleden, nog voor de boze Opstelten en zijn niets uithalende wietpas : van de een op de andere dag werden de dagjestoeristen voor wie de gemeente decennialang synoniem was geweest met Liberty (R.I.P.) ongeacht hun individuele houding tot overlastveroorzakers of zelfs onruststokers omgedoopt, en moesten alle coffeeshops ineens dicht. Al viel dat toen bijzonder tegen, het argument dat het om een ietwat landelijke gemeente ging, wier inwoners op korte tijd een reeks bijzonder gruwelijke taferelen hadden moeten incasseren, valt achteraf wel te begrijpen.

Maar dan was Breda aan de beurt, en dat is een kleine stad. Daar moesten de coffeeshops niet dicht, maar de buitenlanders werden niettemin met de invoering van de wietpas tot personae non gratae verklaard. Geen bijlen hier, maar wel die overlast. Altijd die overlast, nietwaar… Voor zover ik weet heeft niemand ooit gepoogd hier een concrete definitie van te geven, zodat de aanwezigheid van een buitenlander op een bepaalde plek op zich al verdomd verdacht kan zijn, al komt hij in peace.

Gelijktijdig begonnen vreselijke propagandafilmpjes van de Nederlandse politie op het internet te verschijnen. Eentje ervan (dat ik hard heb proberen terug te vinden, maar intussen waarschijnlijk is verwijderd) schilderde drie Belgische drugstoeristen als achterlijke nietsnutten af, die ergens in een afgelegen dorp (?) een coffeeshop binnentraden, waar een karikatuur van een kale Nederlander, welke er bovendien, net zoals zijn winkel trouwens, bijzonder vies en louche uitzag – eigenlijk een dikkere versie van de kroegbaas in Fear The Walking Dead –, hen aan hun vijf grammetjes zou helpen. De boodschap was duidelijk : wiet verkopen is voor criminelen, en jonge Belgische zombies dienen bij Nederlandse criminelen weg te blijven. Klasse, nuance, respect, menselijkheid, inzicht : een puur juweeltje was dat filmpje…

Noodgedwongen (bij wijze van spreken) hebben die buitenlandse blowers die tot deze conclusie nog niet waren gekomen van Amsterdam hun laatste oaze gemaakt. Telkens ik er toekwam begaf ik me tot de fietspont, waar ik enkele minuten in stilte in de verte keek. Ik voelde me er welkom, en ik ervaarde de stad ook als een waar toevluchtsoord, een lichtboei in de duisternis van het ascetische Opstelten-tijdperk.

In het Engels ontdekte ik de Oude Kerk, op haar oorspronkelijke locatie. Die zou later ook dichtmoeten, althans als dusdanig, maar Van der Laan, die blijkbaar de eigenares kende, zou het op het laatste nippertje dan toch op een akkoordje gooien.

De prostitutiewijk vond ik afschuwelijk, vooral ’s nachts, met die trossen buitenlandse jongeren die in die smalle met rode neonlichten verlichte straatjes schaamteloos de aap uithingen voor al dat menselijke vlees dat er werd tentoongesteld. Maar goed, ieder zijn trekjes zeker, zolang het zonder dwang gebeurt

Soms maakte ik vrij lange wandelingen, bijvoorbeeld van de Dam tot aan het Stedelijk Museum, dat ik op een dag besloot te bezichtigen en waarin ik een uur of drie gefascineerd heb rondgedwaald. Ook mijn bezoek aan het Anne Frank-museum heb ik aan cannabis te danken…

Voor mijn terugreis naar Brussel maakte ik gewoonlijk altijd een laatste halte aan de AH-winkel nabij de Dam, waar ik liters en liters versgeperst fruitsap kocht, dat je toen in België nergens kon verkrijgen (Peer/munt, braambessen en banaan/sinaasappel waren enkele van mijn favoriete variëteiten…), maar die avond heb ik moeten rennen zoals zelden tevoren om de laatste trein te halen. Het was letterlijk een kwestie van minuten.

Toen ik op de trein weer tot adem kwam zette ik mijn MP3 speler aan en, zonder veel na te denken, koos ik voor Dark And Long (Dark Train) van Underworld. En dan moest ik weer aan die aardbeien denken, helemaal onderaan het prikbord waarop overigens talloze Hollywood-sterren waren vastgeprikt, in Annes slaapkamer (of was het nu haar speelkamer ?). Je moest je bukken om ze op te merken, maar niets anders op dat bord was even kleurrijk. Van de schaduwen van idolen kon Anne misschien dromen; wellicht identificeerde ze zich ermee om aan haar duistere werkelijkheid te ontsnappen, maar de aardbeien (Ceci n’est pas une fraise.), die stonden voor iets echts. Confituur maken was immers Annes vaders beroep. En aangezien ook mijn grootmoeder elk jaar, wanneer het juiste seizoen aanbrak, allerlei soorten verrukkelijke confituur maakte, weet ik maar al te goed met welk enthousiasme een kind (van het platteland, in mijn geval) dat geboren is voor het GSM-tijdperk ernaar uit kon kijken. Soms zegt zo’n onopvallend detail veel meer over iemands persoonlijkheid en interesses dan al het bombastische eromheen…

Halverwege tussen Amsterdam en Schiphol is de perverse symboliek van dat moment, het fundamentele verschil tussen twee treinreizen, tot me doorgedrongen. Nooit eerder had een Intercity-reis me zo tot nadenken gebracht (en, voor diegenen die zich de vraag zouden stellen, ik was nog niet high). Met andere woorden, cannabis doet nadenken, al is het soms onrechtstreeks…

Zou hij nu het lef hebben om een al dan niet subtiele vergelijking te maken met bepaalde tendensen in de hedendaagse Amsterdamse politiek ? vragen sommigen zich misschien af…

Laat me ze geruststellen : het zou van wansmaak getuigen en volkomen ongepast zijn, des te meer omdat het beleid van de stad Amsterdam omtrent asielzoekers vrij progressistisch blijft. Wel valt enerzijds op te merken dat de bedrijfswereld – waar coffeeshopeigenaars uiteraard niet toe behoren – de belangrijkste drijvende kracht is achter het nieuwe puritanisme – de vertrutting – in de Lage Landen (Prostituees ontmoet je in luxehotels en betaal je met Gold creditkaarten; van softdrugs in het straatbeeld moeten we af, cocaïne is geurloos en verhoogt de productiviteit van de doorsnee Übermensch…) :

… en anderzijds dat links uiterst bourgeois is geworden, en nu in de meest liberale stad in Europa zelfs voor stop-and-frisk openstaat : hoe liberaler de VS (nochtans de bakermat van de war on drugs), hoe meer bekrompen de Nederlandse politieke kleinburgerij (nochtans de voortrekkers van weleer).

Wat mocht – of was gedoogd – mag niet meer. Waarom niet ? Daarom niet ! Omdat de repressieve experimenten in de zuidelijke provincies zo’n succes waren, en wegens de austeriteit, dommerik, die – “The Book tells us” – ons allen zal redden…

Weg met die vuile buitenlanders, die “verkeerde toeristen” ! Maak Amsterdam zuiver again !

Drie jaar geleden begonnen er in sommige Nederlandse kranten opiniestukken op te duiken die nostalgisch naar het Amsterdam van voor de jaren ’80 terugblikten : toen was het allemaal toch zo beter, nietwaar, toen het enigszins nog geen wereldstad was ? Ofte, zoals de Franse extreemrechtse commentator Eric Zemmour het regelmatig verwoordt : “c’était mieux avant”…

Welnu, mijns inziens was het stukken beter vooraleer Opstelten in de poppenkast verscheen : ieder zijn nostalgie, zou je kunnen beweren, ware het niet dat de mijne, zoals Van Goghs zonnebloemen, het licht opzoekt…

Begrijp me niet verkeerd : Amsterdam hoeft niet per se alle gevolgen van de kortzichtigheid en de tekortkomingen van andere landen met betrekking tot hun softdrugsbeleid op zich te nemen. Wanneer ik door de Wallen liep ondervond ik bovendien vaak plaatsvervangende schaamte voor de barbarenhordes die er luidruchtig zaten te zuipen als hadden ze het land net veroverd. En ik besef dat dit voor de geboren en getogen Amsterdammer des te frustrerender moet zijn.

Ik hoefde echter enkel naar de meeuwen te luisteren, die boven het grachtje rondvlogen, om ogenblikkelijk het gevoel te krijgen dat ik in een onwaarschijnlijk land, onwaarschijnlijk feeëriek in elk geval, was beland – voor een of andere reden hebben de Oostendse meeuwen me nooit zo’n gevoel gegeven. En ik vrees dat ze zich in een gedesinfecteerde Amsterdam, naar het model van Londen of Parijs, een Amsterdam bevrijd van tuig zoals ik en andere respectvolle tijdelijke gasten, ze zich vrij snel zeer eenzaam zouden voelen, en ze misschien zelfs met uitsterven zouden worden bedreigd…

Catégories : Carnet de voyage, Politique / Société | Étiquettes : , , , | Poster un commentaire

Dat kun je niet menen, August…

Met de concrete bepaling van het genot moet de staat zich net niet bemoeien, of je krijgt een Huxleyaanse nachtmerrie, zoals zeventig jaar geleden door de meester zelf (die van OOBEs uiteraard iets afwist) reeds geschetst :

Stel je voor : zo’n achterbaks mannetje en anderen van hetzelfde gespuis, die – zoals je het zelf in de uitzending aankaartte – zodanig gewetensvol zijn dat ze bewust minderjarigen aan het criminele circuit blootstellen, zouden dan een politiek beleid gaan uitstippelen rond concreet genot : vade retro ! je zou hun in godsnaam je huisdier zelfs niet toevertrouwen…

Dat de staat zich maar beperkt tot de aanpak van wat effectief schadelijk is, liefst op een redelijke manier, als dat niet te veel gevraagd is. Het zou al een ongelooflijke vooruitgang betekenen. In onze huiskamers heeft het niets verloren…

Of, zoals een bekende Amerikaanse filosoof het zei…

Catégories : Expressions de sagesse passagère | Poster un commentaire

We should teach our kids…

– that the police should be reformed so as not to come to the rescue of people under imminent threat;

– that those people’s lives don’t matter : they don’t have “a motherly nature”, they do not “promote peace”;

– that if, in such circumstances, a white police officer doesn’t first write a short essay about 1619, he is the embodiment of white supremacy in action, even if he’s actually saving black lives;

– that deadly force is not justified when the aggressor’s knife is inches away from the potential victim’s body;

– that a temporary lapse of judgement vindicates any violent action, including possible attempted murder;

– that a poor upbringing and systemic injustice erase the very notion of personal responsibility;

– that that erasure and the nihilism that ensues will make their lives safer;

– that, in a contemporary version of Les Misérables, Hugo would replace Valjean with Franklin Saint;

– that Tamir Rice’s actions = Adam Toledo’s = Ma’Khia Bryant’s, for only through that equivalence can justice be served;

– that there is no better way of honoring Tamir Rice’s memory (or Adam Toledo’s);

– that this makes a righteous struggle even more righteous;

– that, when it comes to other people’s rights, blurring the lines between right and wrong will serve them well;

and – that, like the late Ma’Khia, we should always let our emotions have the upper hand, and think later…

Oh, but wait… Those are not our kids, are they ? They’re the kids of another race. And only racists would talk about universal principles. So, let’s hear it from a legitimate speaker :

I once laughingly told a little black girl who, despite her very young age, had very hairy arms, she looked like a little monkey. I myself am very hairy, you see…

As I’m writing this, I’m watching Them. The Emily Dickinson scene particularly fascinated me. Wouldn’t you agree it perfectly captures civilization ? The clash between civilized primates and enlightenment, to be more specific…

Catégories : Philo de comptoir, Politique / Société | Étiquettes : | Poster un commentaire

– 14 + 4 = Hooray !

The principle of a transatlantic corporate flat tax has been in the pipeline for nearly a decade. Please note that we’re talking about the nominal rate here, that is to say the percentage of their yearly profit companies are required to pay in theory, before the deductions and the loopholes foreseen by complacent fiscal legislation. What is this tax due for ? For roads and other infrastructure (water, energy), among other things, which businesses are not providing or paying for themselves, without which they would be unable to function and which therefore contribute to the maximization of their profits.

It having been in the pipeline for nearly a decade implies that putting it back on the table at this moment is highly opportunistic before anything else. The idea is to repatriate all the cash multinational corporations have been hiding abroad, either through elaborate (legal) fiscal schemes, or through illegal channels, both involving tax havens. Wait… What ? Hadn’t we been told ten years ago, long before the Panama papers and similar indiscretions that would expose oligarchs, heads of government and royals worldwide, that the nefarious influence of said havens would soon come to an end ? Whatever… This time, it’s for good, better believe it ! For far too long, small and medium enterprises have been milked while the fat ones were growing even fatter : no more ! 😊

Of course, the IRS and its counterparts in other industrialized countries had all the financial and technological resources they needed to track the culprits, as they do when it comes to the complex financial structures terrorist networks sometimes resort to. Of course, it might be a little ethically inappropriate to incentivize criminals  – because that’s what some of them are, isn’t it ? Some did break the law in a serious way – to repatriate what they should never have been hiding abroad in the first place. But why focus on such details ? White collars very quickly get dirty behind bars; we should avoid that at all cost and offer them a wholesale tax cut instead. It would be so unfair to leave them out of the sweeping criminal-justice reform that is underway…

But what then would the new nominal tax rate be ? Any mob boss seeking to cut a deal with a gang leader in another state would tell you that if you want to get at least, say, 35 % of the cake, you’ve got to start the bidding at 40 or 45 %.

If you don’t, you look weak : why would you ask for 28 % if you expect to get 35 ? Kinda of a clown does that ? Get outta hee ! And once it gets down to, say, 25 %, people start talking, it’s inevitable : wait a minute hee, this a waltz in three beats or sumthing ? Gino, come hee : you think the boss is in cahoots with the competition ?

Says he’s not, Al. Says the other boss can’t be trusted, he too extreme, too vulgar…

Yeah, that’s what they say, Gino, that’s what they say…

Catégories : Politique / Société | Étiquettes : , | Poster un commentaire

I’m sorry, Amy…

But, based on the (extensive, reliable and unedited) footage of this tragic event alone, this is not a coldblooded murderer, and certainly not a child murderer. This is not a cowboy like the one who, without a single warning, shot a twelve-year-old playing with a toy gun in an empty park in broad daylight. This is a cop who got scared, and had every reason to be.

From the quietness of my sofa, I can tell you I would have handled things differently : while chasing the suspect, I would have fired one shot in the air and told him to freeze immediately, then get down to the ground, with his hands behind his back, so that it would have been impossible for him to fire the gun he was obviously carrying at that time. As he did with the one officer Stillman ultimately gave him, the kid would have complied with that order. But I’m not a cop…

However, I think basic police training should have made that possibility obvious. The officer wouldn’t have had to make a split-second decision potentially involving preserving his own life. And this unbearable tragedy would never have occurred. If the officer is to blame, it is only for failing to consider the alternative, and nothing else.

This was not yet another extreme expression of police racism. This was not some fascist shooting an unarmed person multiple times in front of his kids and enjoying it. Officer Stillman did not shoot little Adam in the back as the latter was running away either. And when he actually started realizing what had just happened, audio and video footage attest he had the most humane reaction conceivable : he went to the side, sat down, cried and was obviously devastated. His mind most probably froze. Officer Stillman has a conscience…

Depicting him as a monster is a gift to the actual police criminals nationwide and to radical police unions alike, who will use this as an argument within the force to further demonstrate that, in the eyes of leftist activists, blue is wrong no matter what.

It is perfectly understandable – and legitimate – for Adam’s family and friends to be prey to very intense emotions, including a desire for revenge, after the loss of a child’s life in such atrocious circumstances. The main footage showing the kid’s final moments is like a horror movie, but without any screen. Watching those images, you can’t but feel for the boy. You’d have to be inhuman or deeply mentally ill  – and some, in the YouTube comment section but on some major news networks as well, unfortunately are – to think Adam deserved the indescribable agony and the unimaginable terror he had to endure in that cold Chicago night. But, as much as it is inexcusable for a police union representative – a truly racist pig, as far as he’s concerned – to treat the situation lightly and sarcastically (“But we’re not in school learning, now are we ?”), it is evil for politicians like Ms. Rodríguez-Sanchez to surf on those emotions for political gain.

[T]he only way forward now is to reduce contact with the public, to defund police so that we can fund the services that are actually going to keep our communities healthy and whole and are going to be able to heal our communities”, she claimed. But who, if not the police, will arrest oh so delicate little members of “our communities for “child endangerment” in the near future ?

Of all the ancient philosophers, Aristotle is undoubtedly the one socialists most regularly refer to. Marx himself is sometimes said to owe him a great debt. Central in Aristotle’s philosophy is primary cause. It should go without saying a “bad [13-year-old] hombre” (Congrats, Hannity ! Really… Hats off !) was not the primary cause of this tragedy. As hurtful as it may sound within Chicago’s Latino community (and beyond), neither was officer Stillman, in this specific instance. If Ms. Rodríguez-Sanchez is interested in pinpointing said primary cause, she knows where to look…

Catégories : Politique / Société | Étiquettes : , , | Poster un commentaire

Hier, j’ai écouté ça :

Oh, que c’est romantique par endroits ! me suis-je en silence exclamé. Et cette philosophie, quel délice, qui par malin plaisir met en évidence un égarement, sociétal, précédé par un autre : celui de l’esprit critique, supposé fonder les sociétés qui ont émergé de la féodalité !

Mais si philo est amour, elle laisse ici sur sa faim. Ou plutôt, quelqu’un, après s’en être réclamé, l’a abandonnée, elle, avant l’extase. En a appelé à elle tout le long puis, en bout de course, l’a laissée sur le trottoir…  Car, enfin, romantiser l’histoire, celle qui supposément prend majuscule dans les sanglants rapports de force, combien d’autres ne s’y sont-ils essayés : que de plus romantique que le meurtre, qui se transcende à l’échelle de nations ? Mais n’entreprendre de justifier sa prétendue fatalité que par le ton posé de l’esthète et laisser entendre par absence d’arguments que cette Histoire est (encore) son propre principe, qui ne requiert ni critique, ni mise en abîme, à cet esprit fait-il honneur ?

Pour que la non-violence soit efficace, il faut que vos adversaires aient une conscience”, proclamait Carmichael. Mais face au postulat, sinon de la légitimité de la violence, de son inscription dans un état de choses inévitable (naturel ?), souhaitable même, dès lors que l’entérinerait le cours de l’Histoire lui-même, la philosophie contemporaine, tout ayant infailliblement déjà été dit, serait-elle appelée à être muette ?

Et si chaque recours à la violence par contrainte face à la contrainte était en réalité un retentissant échec de l’Histoire, laquelle, moins phallocratique, plus vertueuse et plus subtile, devrait, dans cette hypothèse, se comprendre comme l’épisodique progression, tout sauf inexorable mais d’inspiration supérieure néanmoins, vers une maturité sociale et interpersonnelle qui serait le fruit d’un double affranchissement : de la tyrannie, certes, mais aussi du déterminisme primal de la violence, dont elle a toujours fini par être l’aimant, dans des circonstances qui, en pratique, des droits de l’Homme n’ont jamais fait grand cas ?

Que l’Histoire, dont les rapports de forces violents ne seraient que pathologies infantiles, fourberies passagères, ne résiderait-elle dans cette alchimie-là, dont une nouvelle fois s’écartent à l’unisson les soubresauts de certaines foules et la sophistication technique toujours accrue qui a pour but de les dompter, par les ondes aujourd’hui, sur fond de droit déliquescent, demain par la conquête électronique des disques durs humains ?

De l’histoire, Fukuyama et Marx, en définitive, nonobstant leurs partis pris pour le moins divergents, n’avaient-ils pas, chacun à sa manière, scellé le sort ? Prophétie hâtive pour l’un, horizon désirable pour l’autre, sa fin n’était-elle pas désir commun qu’une alchimie instable, à renouveler en permanence, inviterait à revisiter en même temps que ses fins ?

Si l’Histoire est celle de la vie des sociétés en mouvement – et comment pourrait-elle être autre chose ? –, souhaiter ou proclamer sa fin revient à les figer, c’est-à-dire à les priver du droit de choisir une autre direction, c’est-à-dire encore à les soumettre à un joug tyrannique.

Mais si l’Histoire, en outre, est celle de la lente maturation de l’Humanité, elle ne peut être que celle de son extirpation de la bestialité. Dans cette perspective, par conséquent, tout recours à la violence est par principe constitutif d’une régression historique, indépendamment de son apparente nécessité conjoncturelle et d’un résultat qui, par paradoxe, a pu aboutir, à de rares occasions, soit à accroître cette maturation (la ratification de la Déclaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen, par exemple), soit à empêcher une régression plus prononcée (par exemple, la défaite du nazisme). Dans cette régression, le pouvoir tyrannique porte bien sûr une responsabilité considérable (quoique non exclusive), mais la considération est connexe dans la mesure où la régression historique est principielle.

D’où il ressort que l’humaniste peut, sans contradiction, espérer la fin de l’Histoire et sa continuation…

Catégories : Philo de comptoir, Politique / Société | Étiquettes : , | Poster un commentaire

Why should state repression apply to the nomenklatura ? Why should the nomenklatura be ashamed of exposing its double standard ? It is, after all, the nomenklatura, is it not ?…

Vouloir d’autrui le bien-être sans égard aucun pour sa conception d’icelui; y a-t-il pire égoïsme, d’une obscurantiste passion effeuillage plus manifeste ?

Catégories : Expressions de sagesse passagère, Musiques, Politique / Société | Poster un commentaire

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