Entries Tagged 'English' ↓

To the tune of

To a North Cali town they call Berkeley
There came a man called Joey G.
Who told all who’d listen he came in peace
To protest for speech that was free.
The clubs, the knives, and the rifles
I saw made me start to suspect
That Joey G.’s words were a trifle,
Shall we say, not strictly correct.

CHORUS I
‘Oh, let the fascists speak freely,
for it is the law of the land’
so say all those liberals who really
need fear neither Nazis nor Klan.

To verify my perceptions,
I went to the first one I saw,
And asked ‘if peace is your intention,
Why’ve you got more guns than the Ra?’
I’m offended by your question, you see,
He said as he turned to reload.
‘I’m not much for public speaking, me,
So my gun talks for me in Morse code.’

CHORUS I

He then took his gun by the barrel,
And knocked me quick smart to the ground,
When a group all clad in black apparel,
Arrived, both of us to surround.
‘Leave her alone‘, said one of them,
‘or else you’ll be tasting my stick.’
With that, the peach freezer began to sob
And then buggered off right quick.

CHORUS II
When Nazi peaches are frozen,
If you are a WASP then it’s cool,
But if you’re not one of the chosen,
They’ll burn down your house, mosque, or shul.

They helped me get back up on my feet,
And took me to get some first aid,
On the way one bravely got between me
And a police concussion grenade.
She said, ‘let this be a lesson to you,
They’re never just talking, you know.
They’re much more into performance, it’s true,
And their medium’s bullets and blows.’

CHORUS III
‘Oh, let the fascists speak freely,
As the Constitution commands,’
While you talk with your mouths so mealy,
I’m joining the red-and-black band.

The press the very next morning did say:
‘We witnessed a terrorist act:
Poor innocent fascists were chased away
By those who wore the red and the black.‘
The liberals will happily look away
when Nazi gangs shoot and bust heads,
because, you know, at the end of the day,
they only like us when we’re dead.

FINAL CHORUS
‘Oh, let the fascists speak freely,
for it is the law of the land’
so say all those liberals who really
need fear neither Nazis nor Klan.
Their knives, clubs, and guns are their writer’s quill,
Their cars do interpretive dance.
Don’t you dare stop the triumph of their will
or liberals just might look askance.
‘Defend the free speech of the fascists,’
they say as the fash arm for war,
but our lives will never be gratis.
We’ll fight like we’ve ne’er fought before!

(Melody)

Don’t you dare speak of our fallen heroes,
For they’re equally guilty to you.
As you fiddle away just like Nero,
Know their blood sticks to your hands, too.

REFRAIN:
So wash the word from your mouths, liberal traitors,
The Resistance is not yours to sell.
It will never belong to red-baiters,
Either join us, or go straight to hell.
The resistance, let there be no error,
Will be found in the fields and the streets,
Raining blows down on fash and state terror,
Not retweeting some shite from Joy Reid.

While you fawn over Hillary Clinton
And the rest of those ruling-class pricks,
We will stand by Miguel and Durruti,
by Assata Shakur and Hirsh Glik.

REFRAIN

Where were you when the fascists descended
With their torches and guns out for blood?
You weren’t standing with those who defended,
Whose good names you still drag through the mud.

REFRAIN

You are nothing but collaborators,
As your words and your actions have shown,
We’ll not let you usurp credit later
For the victories that we’ve won alone.

REFRAIN

Oh, please, spare us your lectures on violence
When you’ve brought the world nothing but war.
It’s past time you graced us with your silence,
For the working class now has the floor.

(soft waltz)

There once was a group by the name ISO,
wherever they went, constipation would go
‚Please comrades, no fighting, the fash might get hurt,
and that sounds far too much like that ghastly R word‘
said the I…I…ISO.

When the fash came to Berkeley, the fight they declined,
And abandoned the campus to Nazis each time,
When Antifa gallantly fought the fash back,
‘they’re probably cops, all those hoodlums in black’
Said the I…I…ISO

The ISO are preaching the pacifist fight,
For it might work this time where before it’s been shite,
‘We’ll sell them our papers to take home and keep;
Without throwing a punch that will put them to sleep’
Said the I…I…ISO

They love to quote Lenin and dear Trotsky, too,
Except what he said with the fascists to do,
‘A fighting force led by a strong working class,
Would have us all out on our petit-bourge ass,’
Said the I…I…ISO

Even after that dark day in old Charlottesville,
The ISO don’t care how many are killed,
‘Our Central Committee has laid down the line,
And miles behind it is where you will find’
The I…I…ISO

Each day, we see more workers joining the fight,
Whilst Nazis are turning a new shade of white.
And if ISO can’t catch up to join us and win,
Then with Jaco they’ll find themselves chucked in the bin,
Good-bye I…I…ISO.

Let me tell you the story of Pepe the Frog,
who would have done well to remain on his log,
contenting himself with the mossies and flies.
But he gave himself airs, and that’s why Pepe died.

Young Pepe’s first words were ‚I’m better than this.‘
His fellow tadpoles said ‚You’re taking the piss!‘
And thus from the very day that he was hatched,
Our Pepe was known as the prick of the batch.

‘That’s it, then,’ said Pepe, ‘I’m leaving this log
To tell the world of feminazis and ZOG,
For then they won’t bother those who turn the screws,
They’ll blame it on foreigners, blacks, and the Jews.’

But soon, Pepe wondered, ‘Oh, what will I eat?’
But an earwig told him where the hunting’s a treat
And the tastiest brains all defencelessly roam.
So 4Chan’s fragrant bogs became Pepe’s new home.

He wrote to the log to tell of his new friends,
‘With Spencer and Bannon, the fun never ends!
We’re making the memes and dividing the loot.’
But he never expected the Antifa boot.

You’d think Pepe’s life was off to a great start,
He helped strike the fear into many a heart.
With Trump in DC he was loving the craic,
So much that wee Pepe did not watch his back.

‘Those lefties are cowards,’ he’d oft heard it said,
‘And if you turn up heavy, they’ll run off in dread.
They’re just keyboard warriors; they’ll run from a fight.‘
As Pepe’d soon learn, this was a bunch of shite.

That day on the streets with all his new friends,
Pepe’d never have guessed that his joy would soon end.
That frog was plain giddy as he took in the scene
Of boneheads with bottles and AR-15s.

When all had arrived, they were led by the cops
to a corner with a mosque and a nice halal shop,
and a synagogue offering a free Yiddish class.
Our Pepe looked forward to kicking some ass.

On such a great day for the men with white laces,
From emptying the bottles they were all off their faces.
The first firebomb they threw did not land with a crack;
It was caught by a comrade, who chucked it right back.

The bottle broke open, the flames soon drew near.
Pepe heard a voice say ‘get the fuck out of here!’
Some of his friends answered by raising their guns,
But soon found out that theirs weren’t the only ones.

Pepe made froggy cough sounds as he choked on the smoke,
And all his friends ran from the butt of their jokes.
He sat blinded by smoke, fire, and muzzle flash,
And the first boot to hit him belonged to the fash.

One after another, the master race fled.
Pepe’d seen better days, but he still wasn’t dead.
His frog eyes were bulging, and he had a hunch
That what he’d puked up wasn’t only his lunch.

Pepe wanted to run when a red and black boot,
Took both his legs clean off and rendered it moot.
He was stomped, and to add to his growing ennui,
He soon started a new life as cuisse de grenouille.

As he breathed his last, our wee fascist frog,
Wondered how things were going back home on the log.
The locals breathed easy, with nothing to fear.
And a white guy with dreadlocks shed Pepe’s first tear.

(Melody)

Inauguration Day draws near, and the fascists think it’s clear:
Get out your guns, at last our day is here!
Now it’s time to fill the streets, with the sounds of marching feet,
And to make a lot of people live in fear.
‘Sieg Heil’ they’ll yell as they march, looking for something to torch.
‘Remember 1933’ they yell.
But now it’s 2017,
And how that ends, we all have seen.
Which is why it’s time to send them back to hell.

CHORUS: Oh, you won’t be marching in Montana with your rifles and your flags
For it’s time you learnt: The people won’t lie down.
And we will not endure your taunts,
Or the swastikas you flaunt.
Remember: If you play with fire, you will burn.
So just stop and count the cost, because the battle will be lost.
Soon you’ll envy all the others, safe at home.

So, when Adolf married Eve, tell me: What lesson did he leave?
How to celebrate a fascist honeymoon:
First you go and you get hitched, then you find yourself a ditch,
And you consummate your marriage with a BOOM.
He’s your leader, take his lead,
His example you should heed.
If you don’t, it will hurt more than if you do.
If you want to go unharmed,
Hit the snooze on your alarm
Just say ‘Fuck it’ and your kneecaps will thank you.

(CHORUS)

Here’s to Marek Edelman, and the Bielski Partisans,
To Durruti and the Panthers and the MIR.
They all fought you way back when, and now we’ll fight you once again,
For your bonehead bullshit isn’t wanted here.
Here’s a piece of free advice:
Don’t expect us to be nice,
And do watch out for surprises from above.
All the people in the know,
Say ‘Bring aloe if you go’:
For every Ribbentrop must meet his molotov.

(CHORUS)

(Melody)

At night when I’m not sleeping,
I see those armoured cars,
The air unfit for breathing –
From my mind it’s never far.
The city in full blackout
Save for the flaming streets
Prepared by brave young compas
Who defended our retreat.
Along the Alameda
We marched, and we weren’t few
Till we reached La Moneda
In the president’s full view.
The voices full suddenly silent,
That had just been raised in song
As the cops began the riot
They’d been preparing all along.
Some things are soon forgiven,
Some sights soon fade to black.
But I’m forever living
The moment they attacked.

Armoured cars and water cannons
My heart began to race
Stifling the urge to panic
As poison mist inflamed my face

Though by sunup the bastards
Had left no trace of their shame,
To my eyes, the Alameda
Will never look the same.

They took my fear and turned it
Into incandescent rage
That in my eyes is burning
Like a thousand gas grenades.
And when I see a cop now,
I clearly see the day
When our lines are advancing
And they all run away.

Whenever that proud day might be,
And let it not be far
Perhaps I’ll close my eyes
And see no fucking armoured cars.

Mr Speaker, these are frightening times. Everywhere I go, I see ordinary people going about their lives gripped by a profound sense of insecurity, even foreboding. As Members of this House, it is our duty, indeed our honour to do something about that. I’d go so far as to say that the desire to improve people’s lives is why we went into politics in the first place. I know that’s why I did.

All my life, both before and since I came to Parliament, I have been guided by my belief that there are no trivial problems. No problem is trivial for those who suffer it. All people want and deserve solutions to the problems that plague their lives, no matter how small those problems may seem to those of us who can claim tens of thousands of pounds in expenses every month.

And just as there is no such thing as a trivial problem, I believe there is no such thing as a drastic solution. Solutions either solve the problem, or they are no solutions at all. All anyone wants, and all anyone can ask for, is a solution that does what it says on the tin.

That is why I, as a member of the opposition, am proud to stand in solidarity with our Government in their bold and innovative proposals to deal with the problem of young criminals nicking things out of shops. Trivial, you say? Then you must not be a shopkeeper.

I have disagreed with the Government on many things, and I am sure I will disagree with them on many more in the future, but when someone gets something right, it is incumbent upon us to acknowledge that. The Government recognise that the only way to deal with this problem is to strike at the root. The Government seek to cure the disease rather than just treating the symptoms by asking the obvious questions: Where do these criminals congregate? Where do they plan their attacks on our nation’s economy? Where do they find a safe haven when the deed is done?

I have in my hands the Government’s White Paper, which summarises the findings of their extraordinarily exhaustive review of the available evidence. I hope that everyone in this House, including those who disagree with the Government’s plan, has at least taken the time to read it, because it deserves to be read.

After months of investigation, the Government’s researchers came to the conclusion that these criminals hide and conspire in the very symbol of innocence itself: Our nation’s playgrounds. It is from these cradles of our children’s dreams that they launch their daily attacks on our economy and on the brave men and women on duty every day at our nation’s off-licences. Greater cynicism than this is hard to imagine.

I have yet to hear any opponent of the Government’s proposal deny any of what I have just said, and so I believe I am entirely justified in taking it as common ground. We are all in agreement that there is a problem. We are in agreement about what it is. We are all in agreement that it is serious and that something must be done. Am I mistaken?

I would like it noted in Hansard that not even the left wing of our party disagrees with the Government’s and my analysis of the issue.

Ah. I’ve just been informed that he’s popped out to the lav. Well, we can’t deny him that, can we?

So all of us – supporters and opponents of the Government’s plan alike – agree about the nature of the problem, with one possible exception. One cannot help but notice, however, the gulf between the well-reasoned, thoroughly researched proposals offered by the Government and the simplistic response offered by the opponents of the plan.

Do they offer any alternatives? No, at least they offer no alternatives that are worthy of the name. All they say is that it’s ‚wrong‘ to put landmines in children’s playgrounds. They question whether it’s ‚moral‘. They claim it goes against their ‚principles‘.

‚Principled objections‘ are what separates the pontificating moralist from the statesman. We should always be suspicious of these appeals to principle, because they eliminate options. Moralists may have no problem eliminating potential solutions from consideration based on their ‚principles‘, but statesmen have no such luxury.

Imagine where we would be if statesmen were guided by a politics of principles rather than one of pragmatism and possibility. It hardly bears thinking about, for it is a world where the Spanish royal family might even today be denied their rightful place on the throne, a world where the arts would forever be impoverished because Picasso would never have been inspired to paint his masterpiece Guernica, Shostakovich might never have composed his Leningrad symphony, and Churchill might never have had the good fortune to be Prime Minister in what might never have had the chance to be Britain’s finest hour.

Where moralists can see nothing but maimed bodies and ruined lives, statesmen see the enrichment of history.

And whilst there are no trivial problems, there are always trivial obstacles, and statesmen do not allow trivial obstacles to deter them from great solutions. Great solutions like the Government’s Safe Playgrounds Initiative.

I do not wish to seem heartless here. The opponents of the Safe Playgrounds Initiative do not hold a monopoly on humanity. I, too, feel strongly that innocent lives must be protected, and I would not support the Initiative if the Government had not gone to such great lengths to craft safeguards in order to do just that.

Because I trust that everyone here has read the proposal, I note merely for the record the scientifically tested fail-safe mechanism that is built in to the proposal. According to the proposal’s safeguards, the mines will be used according to a strict formula, and will be laid in playgrounds in direct proportion to their proximity to council estates and comprehensive schools. But it does not stop there. The proposal further provides that not a single mine will be laid in playgrounds belonging to estates in  a council tax band higher than F.

This is how statesmen show humanity, not by closing doors, but by opening the window to opportunity.

The opponents of the Safe Playgrounds Initiative, or, to put the matter more bluntly, the proponents of inaction in the face of the plight of our great British shopkeepers, seek to terrify us with spectres of limbs and lives lost, and have even soared to heights of alliterative wizardry to deem the Safe Playgrounds Initiative the ‚charnel house of childhood‘. This pathetically pornographic, petty pusillanimity, Mr Speaker, is synonymous with siding with those who are sullying the sanctity of our stores. They have decided to take up the cause of our enemies. Shame on all of them.

It is time that we all came together and did our bit to make Britain once again safe for shopkeepers, and that, Mr Speaker, is why I urge this House to support the Government’s motion and implement the Safe Playgrounds Initiative.

Since the publication of CounterPunch or Suckerpunch?, my Twitter feed has been bombarded with attacks from people who take issue with some aspect or other of my critique of fascist and white-supremacist ideology and ideologues. Many of those who have been offended by the article take me to task for things that really merit no detailed refutation, such as the claim that I equate opposition to US-Israeli crimes with white supremacism. No examples of statements by me that would support such charges are forthcoming, because none exist.

However, much has been made of my use of the concept of conspiracism, and that, I think, does merit some response in order to differentiate between how I am accused of using the term (despite defining it quite explicitly) and how I actually define it. Although those who have attacked my use of the concept have made it clear that they do not do so in the best of faith, some might well be confused by their distortions. As such, I will endeavour below to set out my working definition of conspiracism even more explicitly.

It seems worthwhile to start with what conspiracism is not. Conspiracism is not, first of all, any interpretation or explanation of events that conflicts with an official narrative, even if that interpretation or explanation should ultimately prove false. Nor does the concept of conspiracism extend to all investigation and examination of actual or suspected conspiracies. Conspiracies certainly exist; listing examples is trivial (Watergate, the overthrow of Allende in Chile, COINTELPRO, or the conspiracy of the  US consulate and embassy in Santiago to kill Charles Horman and Frank Teruggi, recently demonstrated following a lengthy judicial inquiry in Chile).

In short, then, a hypothesis does not constitute conspiracism merely because it posits the existence of a conspiracy, nor does it become conspiracism simply because it ultimately proves false. These are empirical questions that can only be resolved on a case-by-case basis.

Nor does the concept require a person to believe in every conspiracy ‚theory‘ that’s going. Indeed, to require that would be patently absurd, since such ‚theories‘ are often mutually exclusive. A person who believes the Nazi myth about the power of the Rothschild family is no less a conspiracist because she does not buy into controlled demolition. To say otherwise would be akin to calling the pope an atheist because he believes in Catholicism, but not Hinduism.

Rather, conspiracism is a habit of thought, or analytical mode, as I have described it elsewhere. It is a profoundly Manichaean view that sees the plotting of shadowy elites as the motor of human history. It is characterised not so much by specific ‚theories‘ (for conspiracists are a deeply sectarian lot and jealously defend their own beliefs against the proponents of alternate versions), as by a specific style of argument and a highly particular brand of ‚activism‘. From my own observations of, and interactions with, these circles, I have found the following characteristics to be consistent features of the conspiracist worldview:

• The preference of an individualistic, moralising view of power over any form of class analysis. Conspiracists see the evil of a handful of individuals behind the injustices of capitalism rather than a set of material social relations giving rise to specific classes with specific interests and a specific array of forces between them. This is an essentially conservative worldview where the problem is the venality of the court, rather than monarchy itself. As such, it lends itself to conservative solutions, e.g., replacing those in power rather than abolishing the system that allows them to wield power.
• Non-falsifiability: There is no evidence that is capable of refuting a conspiracist’s pet narrative. Indeed, the lack of supporting evidence – or the existence of contrary evidence – serves only to prove the awesome power and foresight of the conspirators. An example of this thinking can be seen in the Pentagon Papers, the classified internal record of the US occupation of Indochina. One pet project of US intelligence was to prove that the indigenous peasant resistance in Vietnam was armed, funded, and controlled by Moscow, ‚Peiping‘, or both. After years of evidence gathered in the field showed that the National Liberation Front were only using weapons they had captured from the French and US occupation forces, or had improvised themselves, the intelligence analysts concluded that this proved that Moscow and/or ‚Peiping‘ had such total control that there was no need to issue orders or send weapons.
• Strict binarism: Either one buys into the particular narrative a conspiracist espouses, or one bust support the ‚official story‘. The possibility that someone might reject both is excluded a priori. This gives conspiracists a perceived monopoly on dissent.
• No good-faith, informed scepticism: Conspiracism leaves no room for the possibility that someone might consider the available evidence and reach a different conclusion. The conspiracist’s preferred version is a Self-Evident Truth, and anyone who does not see that is either a dupe (’sheeple‘) or – if their counterargument is good – actively working for the enemy. This creates a cult-like solidarity (in the face of an exponentially growing conspiracy) combined with immense in-group pressure not to express any dissent. If you dissent, you must be One Of Them.
• The absence of concrete proposals: Conspiracists rarely have much in the way of concrete solutions to offer. Mostly, they believe that things will sort themselves out if only the ’sheeple‘ learn ‚the truth‘. Beyond platitudes like ‚WAKE UP‘ or the call to ‚take back America‘ (often paired with the invocation of a past age of goodness and legitimate government), conspiracism offers no real programme of action. Because conspiracism is, however, never short on convenient scapegoats, it provides a fertile ground for fascism and other reactionary ideologies that seek to pre-empt any revolutionary social change, as well as ‚good-faith distraction material‘ (to quote a leaked Booz Allen Hamilton memo on declassification policy) to keep people busy who might otherwise organise in a fashion more threatening to power.

The Labour flag is brightest white,

it’s raised without the slightest fight.
It says ‚We’ll beat the Tories yet
at scrapping all your benefits.‘

(CHORUS): So wave the white flag without shame,
for we’re Tories in all but name.
See traitors sneer and cowards wince,
at this year’s Labour conference.

In their graves, Merthyr martyrs turn
so fast that half the Rhondda burns.
Tho‘ plebs may rise and make a fuss,
that lot are nowt to do with us.

(Chorus)

In Tottenham we’ll ne’er be seen
till gentrifiers wipe it clean.
The Scottish worker we’ll ignore
(those jocks are such a ruddy bore)

(chorus)

It waved above the PFI
when the NHS was left to die.
It draped the coffin of BR
and welcomes fracking near and far.

(chorus)

It well recalls betrayals past
and brings the hope of profits fast.
The flag of fright, a symbol plain
of endless, unremitting pain.

(chorus)

It suits today the sycophant
who only stands for parliament
to fill with drink the rich man’s cup
and raise our party banner up

(chorus)

We’ll fully claim ev’ry expense
whilst others work for zero pence.
They’ve only got themselves to blame,
for morals are a muppet’s game.

So wave the white flag without shame,
and soon they’ll call you Sir and Dame.
And should a whistleblower talk,
you needn’t ever fear the dock.

Chile, ¡la alegría ya viene!

Chile, the joy is coming!
– NO Vote campaign jingle

Nos prometieron que llegaría la alegría
pero mintieron, gobiernan pa una minoría.
Nos oprimieron con injusticias cada día,
pero siguieron naciendo hijos de la rebeldía.

They promised us that the joy was coming,
but they lied – they govern for a minority.
They oppressed us with injustices every day,
but the children of rebellions kept being born.

–Vamos, Conspirazión

In the official narrative, Pinochet’s handover of his office to Patricio Aylwin (himself an unabashed supporter of the Pinochet coup), is known as the retorno a la democracia (‚return to democracy‘). Painted on walls throughout Chile, however, we find the words Aún vivimos en dictadura (‚We’re still living in a dictatorship‘).

In the book discussed in Part I, Chilean social historian Gabriel Salazar explains:

Los partidos políticos, golpeados como estaban, flotaron agarrados al vértigo de nuestro movimiento (aunque algunos pretenden convencernos de lo contrario) hasta que llegamos a 1990. Y fue allí entonces, en 1990, cuando, olvidando nuestra laboriosa autonomía y nuestra fuerza, depositamos de nuevo nuestra confianza en la clase política civil…Como si ‚ella‘ hubiera sido la ‚gran‘ vencedora en la retirada de Pinochet.

Y hemos estado más de 20 años esperando que ‚ella‘ mostrara su declamada vena democrática, su supuesta lealtad a la voluntad soberana del pueblo. O por lo menos su profesión de fe nacionalista.

The political parties, beaten as they were, were dragged along by the current of our movement (although some would have us believe otherwise) until we reached 1990. And it was then, in 1990, that, forgetting our hard-fought autonomy and our strength, we once again put our trust in the civilian political class…As if they had been the great victors in Pinochet’s departure.

And we have been waiting for more than 20 years now for them to show their oft-proclaimed democratic credentials, their alleged loyalty to the sovereign will of the people. Or at least their profession of nationalist faith.

(ellipses and emphasis in original)

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