Paul Kingsnorth

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Know Your Place

Monday, December 11

The Cautionary Tale of Milton, Augusto and all their little friends

It continues to rain, I still have a stinking virus, I have too much work to do, not enough time to do it and barely enough money to live on. I hate winter.

And yet, there are reasons to be happy. Here is one of them: Pinochet is dead. Hurray.

That's three down:












And two to go:











As we watch them all slowly drop into the pages of history, it's worth remembering that the cautionary story of this little gang of friends is the story of how we got where we are today.

Milton is a clever little boy. Milton has an idea : let people make as much money as they like, without anyone stopping them, by any means they can, and the world will be a better place. When Milton tells people about his idea, most of them laugh. But Milton doesn't care. He believes.

Milton makes friends with Augusto. Augusto is about to take over a country, and he thinks Milton's idea is a good one. Milton is pleased: he needs somewhere to try it out. Augusto, with some help and some aeroplanes from his friend Henry, takes over the country, rounds up and kills anyone who doesn't like him, and proceeds to restructure the country according to Milton's idea. Lots of Augusto and Henry's friends get very rich. Augusto and Henry are pleased.

Ronald and Margaret are also friends with Augusto and Henry. They have been watching Augusto's country with some interest. Soon, Ronald and Margaret get to take over their own countries, though they don't use planes. Like Augusto, they start to use Milton's idea to change things. Milton is happy.

Suddenly, no-one is laughing at Milton any more. In fact, lots of other people who run countries are starting to smile at him and invite him to parties. They can see how rich some people are getting thanks to Milton. Lots of other people are getting poor, of course, but these people don't run countries, or have friends who run countries.

Soon, almost everyone is the world likes Milton's idea. So many people like his idea, in fact, that anyone who doesn't feels left out. They also feel poor, as Milton's friends now run the whole world, and they don't like anyone who doesn't like Milton.

Milton lived happily ever after until he died, very old and rich. So did Augusto and Ronald. Margaret and Henry still live happily ever after. They spend their old age helping their friends get richer, and telling everyone how nice Milton and Augusto were. They are all very happy.

The End. Possibly in more ways than we can currently imagine.

Posted by Paul at 2:37 PM

1 Comments

This is the last poem of Victor Jara, written while he was imprisoned in Chile Stadium (now Victor Jara Stadium) which was used to hold, interrogate and torture thousands of Pinochet's opponents. He was killed there, and the poem was smuggled out in I think the sock of a fellow inmate who managed to get out.

"Silence and screams..." stays in my head. So do the "dissappeared".
Alice x


There are five thousand of us here
in this small part of the city.
We are five thousand.
I wonder how many we are in all
in the cities and in the whole country?
Here alone
are ten thousand hands which plant seeds
and make the factories run.
How much humanity
exposed to hunger, cold, panic, pain,
moral pressure, terror and insanity?
Six of us were lost
as if into starry space.
One dead, another beaten as I could never have believed
a human being could be beaten.
The other four wanted to end their terror
one jumping into nothingness,
another beating his head against a wall,
but all with the fixed stare of death.
What horror the face of fascism creates!
They carry out their plans with knife-like precision.
Nothing matters to them.
To them, blood equals medals,
slaughter is an act of heroism.
Oh God, is this the world that you created,
for this your seven days of wonder and work?
Within these four walls only a number exists
which does not progress,
which slowly will wish more and more for death.
But suddenly my conscience awakes
and I see that this tide has no heartbeat,
only the pulse of machines
and the military showing their midwives' faces
full of sweetness.
Let Mexico, Cuba and the world
cry out against this atrocity!
We are ten thousand hands
which can produce nothing.
How many of us in the whole country?
The blood of our President, our compaƱero,
will strike with more strength than bombs and machine guns!
So will our fist strike again!
How hard it is to sing
when I must sing of horror.
Horror which I am living,
horror which I am dying.
To see myself among so much
and so many moments of infinity
in which silence and screams
are the end of my song.
What I see, I have never seen
What I have felt and what I feel
Will give birth to the moment ...

(Victor Jara, Estadio Chile, Septiembre 1973)
In Spanish here if you prefer http://www.margencero.com/musica/jara/censurainformativa.htm

Posted by: Anonymous Anonymous at 7:41 PM  

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