I woke up again this morning. I was hoping I wouldn’t. Last night, when I lay under my heavy blanket staring at the darkened ceiling, I prayed that it would all just go away, that I could escape from all this. When I woke to see the ceiling looking back at me, I was sad once again, but I said a prayer of gratitude, regardless. I told myself that I should be grateful that I could still fight with my mind and heart, grateful that I had something to eat, grateful that I was not preparing weapons for an imminent battle.
Someday my wish will be granted, and I will be away from all of this, staring down at my daughter should she survive me, and I will try to connect with her. Perhaps she will hear me in the language of God, the language that this society regards as symptomatic of madness.
When explorers landed on the shores of this continent, they referred to the inhabitants as ‘Indios’. That later became ‘Indian’ and a mythology developed that they had been looking for spices from India. This story, like most of the history inculcated in the minds of children, is not all true, of course. India, had always been known as Hindustan, and ‘In Dios’ means ‘In God’. The explorers had labelled them as such because they noticed these people had a genuine way of communicating with the Creator.
Now, the term ‘Indian’ has become politically incorrect and has been replaced by either ‘indigenous’ or ‘aboriginal’. When I explain to people why I continue to use the term ‘Indian’ and that ‘aboriginal’ actually means the opposite of ‘original’, they just walk away, muttering the word ‘racist’ or ‘right wing.’ They have their language, and it has no room for intelligent discourse.
Two of my favourite minds, Shaw and Orwell – ironically, both ‘left wing’ – had been absorbed by this idea that language was a political tool. For Shaw, the way we spoke demarcated our class, much like a top-hat. For Orwell, our lack of precision, or laziness in choice of vocabulary made us more easily subject to indoctrination. The tragedy of Orwell’s observation is that the indoctrinated do not see themselves as such. This is the nature of language; we become what we speak. And if we speak in meaningless idioms and expressions, our minds become feeble and subject to programming.
Much of the language one hears today is reminiscent of apes picking ticks out of each other’s hair; simple grunts will suffice. These grunts are indistinguishable from each other. What is important to these apes is that they are grunting together. They repeat what the other has repeated because they feel a part of a community: ‘build back better’, ‘war is peace’, ‘you racist’, ‘you homophobe’. What is important is that there is unity, unity at any cost, one language, one world, a New World Order. These people do not realize that this so-called New World Order has no place for them.
Two years ago, when I witnessed people clapping when someone announced that they had taken the jab, I shuddered inside. Why were they clapping? I thought that this was it, this was the end, Orwell’s dystopian revelation coming to fruition, people clapping only because they had seen others do it. Where was Reason?
Then, a few months later, a palpable devolution of our language and what distinguishes us as human came about. People were responding to questions I had posed about such behaviour saying “I trust ‘the science’”, though any attempt to discuss the science was met with a rebuff: “Are you a doctor?” They would then turn their back and walk away in angry haste. And if one were to provide volumes of evidence which contradicted the current political narrative (i.e. what was disregarded in the name of “science”), as courts have forced Pfizer to do, these people would ignore it, and call you a danger to society, as they have been trained to do by our rather devious political masters.
And those who try to show the cracks of this seeming dystopia, and who have to endure this with a calm mind and loving heart will continue to stare at the ceiling each night, hoping it is all just a bad dream. It is not.
This is a guest post from P. Rich, who lives in Canada. It reflects P. Rich’s views.