You become a dissident because you are thrown into it by your personal sense of responsibility, combined with a complex set of external circumstances

March 9th, 2010

lightningshuttle


“If we see

the end of this country

it will come from the right and

our failure to provide people with the

basic necessities of life,” said Johnston.

“Revolutions occur when young men see the present

as worse than the unknown future. We are not there. But it

will not take a lot to get there. The politicians running for office

who are denigrating the government, who are saying there are traitors

in Congress, who say we do not need the IRS, this when no government in the

history of the world has existed without a tax enforcement agency, are sowing the

seeds for the destruction of the country. A lot of the people on the right hate the

United States of America. They would say they hate the people they are arrayed

against. But the whole idea of the United States is that we criticize the

government. We remake it to serve our interests. They do not want

that kind of society. They reject, as Aristotle said, the idea that

democracy is to rule and to be ruled in turns. They see a

world where they are right and that is it. If we do not

want to do it their way we should be vanquished.

This is not the idea on which

the United States was

founded.”


It is hard

to see how this can be

prevented. The engines of social

reform are dead. Liberal apologists, who

long ago should have abandoned the Democratic

Party, continue to make pathetic appeals to a tone-deaf

corporate state and Barack Obama while the working and middle

class are ruthlessly stripped of rights, income and jobs. Liberals self-

righteously condemn imperial wars and the looting of the U.S. Treasury by

Wall Street but not the Democrats who are responsible. And the longer the liberal

class dithers and speaks in the bloodless language of policies and programs,

the more hated and irrelevant it becomes. No one has discredited

American liberalism more than liberals themselves. And I do

not hold out any hope for their reform. We have entered

an age in which, as William Butler Yeats wrote,

“the best lack all conviction and the worst

are full of passionate

intensity.”


“If we end

up with violence in the streets

on a large scale, not random riots, but insurrection and

things break down, there will be a coup d’état from

the right,” Johnston said. “We have already

had an economic coup d’état. It will not

take much to go

further.”


How do we resist?

How, if this descent is inevitable,

as I believe it is, do we fight back? Why should

we resist at all? Why not give in to cynicism and despair?

Why not carve out as comfortable a niche as possible within the embrace

of the corporate state and spend our lives attempting to satiate

our private needs? The power elite, including most of

those who graduate from our top universities and

our liberal and intellectual classes, have sold

out for personal comfort.

Why not us?


The French

moral philosopher Albert Camus

argued that we are separated from each other.

Our lives are meaningless. We cannot influence fate.

We will all die and our individual being will be obliterated.

And yet Camus wrote that “one of the only coherent philosophical

positions is revolt. It is a constant confrontation between man

and his obscurity. It is not aspiration, for it is devoid of

hope. That revolt is the certainty of a crushing fate,

without the resignation that ought

to accompany it.”


“A living man

can be enslaved and reduced to

the historic condition of an object,” Camus warned.

“But if he dies in refusing to be enslaved, he

reaffirms the existence of another kind

of human nature which refuses

to be classified as

an object.”


The rebel,

for Camus, stands with

the oppressed—the unemployed workers

being thrust into impoverishment and misery by the

corporate state, the Palestinians in Gaza, the civilians in Iraq and

Afghanistan, the disappeared who are held in our global black sites, the poor

in our inner cities and depressed rural communities, immigrants and

those locked away in our prison system. And to stand with them

does not mean to collaborate with parties, such as the

Democrats, who can mouth the words of justice

while carrying out acts of oppression.

It means open and direct

defiance.


The power

structure and its liberal

apologists dismiss the rebel as

impractical and see the rebel’s outsider

stance as counterproductive. They condemn the

rebel for expressing anger at injustice. The elites and

their apologists call for calm and patience. They use the hypocritical

language of spirituality, compromise, generosity and compassion to argue

that the only alternative is to accept and work with the systems of power. The rebel,

however, is beholden to a moral commitment that makes it impossible to stand

with the power elite. The rebel refuses to be bought off with foundation

grants, invitations to the White House, television appearances, book

contracts, academic appointments or empty rhetoric. The rebel

is not concerned with self-promotion or public opinion. The

rebel knows that, as Augustine wrote, hope has two

beautiful daughters, anger and courage—anger at

the way things are and the courage to see that

they do not remain the way they are.

The rebel is aware that virtue is

not rewarded. The act of

rebellion defines

itself.


“You do

not become a ‘dissident’

just because you decide one day to

take up this most unusual career,” Vaclav

Havel said when he battled the communist regime

in Czechoslovakia. “You are thrown into it by your personal

sense of responsibility, combined with a complex set of external

circumstances. You are cast out of the existing structures and placed

in a position of conflict with them. It begins as an attempt to do your work

well, and ends with being branded an enemy of society. … The dissident does

not operate in the realm of genuine power at all. He is not seeking power.

He has no desire for office and does not gather votes. He does not

attempt to charm the public. He offers nothing and promises

nothing. He can offer, if anything, only his own skin—

and he offers it solely because he has no other way

of affirming the truth he stands for. His actions

simply articulate his dignity as

a citizen, regardless of

the cost.”


Chris Hedges


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