Rumours of war and the lexicon of war permeate the culture of empires, and the US empire is not an exception. In a concomitant manner, the spectre of violent death pervades the imagery of the US’s entertainment industry and stalks the citizen’s dreams.
Present circumstances merge with the sleeping monster of history: Close your eyes and images of cross burnings, lynchings, mountains of bison skulls, flaring veils of napalm and blooming mushroom clouds rise from within.
All the bristling, military armaments of the Pentagon cannot turn back the raging storm.
The mere existence of vast arrays of weapons, deployed or not, does great harm to the soul of a nation. US Americans are fearful, day and night. We would not feel secure if we ensconced ourselves in an armory.
An empire, built on the backs of slaves, both actual and de facto, with its expansion across the continent expedited by genocide, has conjured internal Furies — raging apparitions, borne of the nation’s collective soul and of nature’s fury, that cannot be repelled by weapons of any make.
Amid the empire of the feckless, we on the Left have been rendered all but voiceless. We wander in a wasteland of resentment, marginalised, denied a voice in cultural discourse. Online, we gibber and snarl at each other and curse our predicament like Dante’s figures of the damned in pits of the Inferno. By all indications, we are bereft of the knowledge of where and how to even begin the dialog.