Living in the Heart of Heartlessness


Please read this essay by Andre Vltchek:

In the USA – “I Cannot Write!”>

After you've read it, you'll understand what I am about to write.

Recently Bill Blum sent an email to his list that he is less able to write these days. Those who read Fubar know I haven't done much writing in a long time. And there are many others who used to write a lot but no longer do. Living in a genocidal fascist country is not conducive to writing. Even for those who can breathe, the air they breathe is cancerous and radioactive.

I live in low-income senior housing. Downtown San Diego is divided between gentrified neighborhoods with new luxury condos, and block after block of the homeless people they've displaced. In my building there are several people who, although they themselves would be homeless if not for the means-tested social welfare program that provides them with subsidized housing, vehemently oppose social programs and delight in taunting and calling the cops on the homeless, as do the real estate developers whose stated goal as a non-profit is to house them.

Some people can write. Chris Hedges, for example, has no problem writing, although I don't know if he is paid by the column or by the word. One of his recent essays advised people not to cooperate in any way with our corrupt corporate governmental structure, but only after stating that he himself intends to continue to vote in its elections, as if doing his civic duty to support the government by voting wasn't cooperation. No matter, when the goal is money rather than truth, the words, however contradictory, come easily.

For the few of us who are not fascist, not genocidal, and not totally self-centered, living among those who are is painful.

There is a TV downstairs in the lobby. Whenever I pass by it seems to be tuned to FOX News, a show glorifying cowboys, or sports. Luckily I don't have a TV and can pass through the lobby quickly. But many of my neighbors seem to do little more than watch TV, and they pay their cable company about half as much as they pay for subsidized rent, for the privilege of being brainwashed against social programs, immigrants, and people of color.

One of my neighbors, a particularly vicious racist, sexist, Zionist liar, died not long ago, and I was overjoyed at no longer having to go out of my way to avoid him. But there are many more just like him.

As an attempt to cope with the stress, I see two case workers at the senior center. One of them recently asked me what I'd do if I had a lot of money. I said I'd move to Venezuela. I'd like to experience, even if it was only for a few moments, days, or weeks before I died, what it is to live in a socialist country.

I have a friend who grew up here but has lived for many years in Venezuela. He visits his mom here every few years, and sometimes stops by. He's the happiest guy I've ever known, and I can see why Venezuela is rated as one of the happiest countries in the world. Whereas for me, there is nothing but gloom, doom, and hopelessness, for him the revolution was over fifteen years ago, and they won. But there will be no revolution here. When the white supremacy of capitalist imperialism kills thousands of its own citizens every year, nobody shoots back and most applaud or forgive.

What the so-called "leftists" here in the USA seem to want are things like higher wages, legal pot, gay marriage, and GMO labels. The global genocide of capitalist imperialism and the nationalization of the US slave industry, which is now called prison labor, do not concern them. They want, as Vltchek says, more benefits and privileges for themselves and they don't care if millions of innocents are killed and the entire planet is polluted so they can get what they want.

What would it be like to live in a country where people of color have equal rights, where there is no extreme poverty and homelessness, and where the votes are actually counted and determine government policy? I'll probably never know, except through what my happy friend from Caracas tells me.

I am grateful to those like Sibel Edmonds, Margaret Kimberley, Paul Craig Roberts and Stephen Lendman who can still write, and I empathize with those like Bill Blum, William Bowles, and others who no longer can.

Living in a fascist country is nothing to write home about, and no place to call home.



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