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MURDER IS MURDER
We live in necrocratic world. We, the people of the world, live at the mercy of our world leaders. We may be breathing and blinking about at this one moment. The next, we are obliterated from the face of the earth. BOOM! so fast and loud we can’t see it coming, we can’t hear it land, we can’t feel it explode. Just like that. Like with the snap of a finger.
Death is death. Murder is murder, regardless of who executes it, no matter for what cause. Murder sustains necrocracy the world over.
We live so that necropots can justify their existence: “But, hey, the people of my great, the greatest country in the world, have elected me. Great people, wonderful people, smart people. God bless you! I’m gonna make you great again. Greater!”
We die so that necropots can live: “We shall eliminate all the enemies of our great nation, the greatest nation in the world. The people of our great nation, the strongest nation of them all, by the way, say that we must follow our enemies of peace and our way of life anywhere in the world. We’ll find them. They can’t hide. The only place for them to hide is their shit-hole countries’ graves once we’ve taught them a lesson. Don’t mess with God’s greatest nation on earth. We gonna getcha!”
Lord, have mercy!!!
As a concept, an instrument of power, and process, leadership is, by default, murderous. Any person that, by any means, legitimate or otherwise, depending on the dominant existential paradigm in a given domain, assumes power over others, automatically becomes a potential murderer. The probability of necropower becoming a reality for a leader is directly proportional to the joint organic and structural complexity of the organization they lead.
We see the highest of such sociological complexity at the national leadership level. Therefore, all national leaders at the top of the decision-making hierarchy will either be directly murderous as individuals, or be directly responsible for murderous acts committed by others on their behalf. All in the name of national security, in defence of national sovereignty, territorial boundaries, and in support of allies in international solidarity treaties in times of strife in various parts of the world. In this regard, at any one time, no state leader can be seen to be better or worse than any other regarding necropower atrocities; be they locally, regionally, or globally.
Murder is murder. Death is death, regardless of who dies, no matter for what cause. Death is the food of necrocracy the world over. But all life is sacred. No matter the race, colour, creed, and all the possible permutations of the condition of being human on earth.
On the grander scale of conflicts, wars allow necropots to manifest the full range of their respective psychopathic dispositions. We die, we survive, we cry, we fight amongst ourselves, we mobilize mass anti- or pro-war protests, we run away to other lands for shelter, we are pro the one necropot contra the other/ -s, we go to the United Nations, we get peace-keeping forces, and we still die; all of us: children, women, men, combatants, cats, and dogs. Observing all this, these necropots just laugh at us. They think we are absolutely crazy. Murder is such fun. It is such profitable business.
The bigger, the more enduring the wars, the bigger the party for the necropots on either side, the more the money made by the war industrial complex, the more the blood on necropots’ hands, and the blinder the necropots get. Wiping the eyes with their bloodied hands, the necropots cease to see reality for what it is. They can only smell and taste blood money everywhere, oblivious to how they have led necrocracy onto an effectively self-destructive path, taking down humanity together with it. They seem to think that a nuclear bomb is a joke. Climate change, well, let’s not go there at this stage.
And we help them, necropots, along. We take sides. Our senses of right or wrong are clouded by our ideologies, personal ideals, identities, ambitions, psycho-social attributes, and much more. We go out and intellectually, psychologically, and spiritually kill those that do not share our views of the world, as in par with our chosen necropots.
Pro-necropot logic: It’s okay, our chosen necropots are not murderers, they only, necessarily, kill in self-defence, even if those getting killed are their very own people. The enemies of our favoured necropot carry out genocide, you see. Our favoured necropots are strong leaders; they only want to achieve the best for their people. It is irrelevant as to whether or not the people approve of our favoured necropot. People are stupid.
Only strong leaders like our favoured necropots know what is good for the people. It’s okay if some of these stupid people have to be killed in the process, you see. From time to time, a bit of ethnic cleansing never hurt anyone.
Our favoured necropot is breeding a nation of sheep people. These will abide by his rules without question, you see. Wouldn’t it be nice if people understood that good leaders, like our favoured necropot, are made and chosen by God for the people? Punishment for those defying God’s will is death. By killing his enemies, our favoured necropot is only carrying out God’s will. May the wrath of God fall upon the external enemies of our favoured necropot!
We live in an age where necrocracy shouldn’t have any space to breathe. We live in an age where it ought to be crystal clear that a war on another cannot stop war, or other wars. In this day and age, fundamental human wisdom ought to be at the general understanding that, irrespective of how we colour and name organized, systematized, militarized killings of human collectives by others, murder remains what it is: murder. Murder doesn’t change character just because it is committed for a worthy cause, as the proponents may perceive it.
We live in an age of stalemates in war. National leaders of the world shall go into their graves with our blood perpetually dripping off their hands. Eternal necropots. The whole lot of them. Ain’t nobody better. Ain’t nobody worse. All as equally guilty of mass murders as hell. The only difference being in numbers. However, even one person slain is one person too many.
There is no way anybody can ever win a war lastingly in this Fourth Industrial Revolution (4IR) age. Albeit in variable degrees, as shall be determined by intellectual and resources capacity, any nation, or subversive group has access to all that is available of knowledge and technology to wage a war, either or both conventional and guerrilla style. Cease fires and progressive peace and reconciliation talks ought to be the order of the day in our time.
Peace and reconciliation talks assume, before everything else, humility and mutuality of respect for one another from all the parties concerned. The same should apply on the ground, from supporters and activists on all sides. Arrogance and bullying will never lead anybody anywhere. Never. Only back to war. Guaranteed.
Nobody can ever be coerced to come to sit around a negotiation table in the absence of the recognition of their humanity, no matter how banal it might seem to third parties. Outsiders can never determine what people know and value about themselves and their place in the world. This is what is at the core of all wars of liberation across the world, both historically, and in our contemporary world.
As a warrior, I know that if somebody unjustifiably hits me, I will hit them back, if they haven’t killed me. If the situation calls for it, I’ll murder them without thinking twice about it. There is a potential necropot in all of us. Nevertheless, if I ever will have to kill, it will be in the protection of my own life there and then. It will never be out of the need to sustain my power and dominance over others, in any given situation.
As a leader, I don’t need to be told that I’m no longer relevant. More often than not, I can see potential power antagonism looming from afar. If, after weighing my options, I deem it justifiable, in view of the bigger common good threatened, I’ll nip the antagonism in the bud. Otherwise, I pack my bags and leave. I, both as a matter of principle and personal proclivity, will never impose my leadership on unwilling people with whom I’m supposed to be pursuing a common cause.
As a private person, in whom it is encapsulated my warrior spirit and leadership potential, I am conflict shy. I’m conflict shy to a point of misrepresented cowardice, up until I have to fight, if and when called upon to. Conflict gives me a headache. Especially if it is over situations that do not make sense to me, or over matters that I consider not as adding value to my existential imperatives. Such conflict disorients me. It makes my body itch.
Conflict makes me want to sneeze, but constricts my chest at the same time. I’m acutely allergic to what I consider to be nonsensical conflict pursuits founded on ignorance, parochial thinking, and poor philosophical principles, if any at all. I am conflict shy not only by choice, but also by natural disposition. Therefore, I am not prone to militant activism.
It is not about lacking the guts, or having no spine. I am simply not confrontational by nature. I am just not wired for unrestrained, militant activism. Neither am I inclined to evangelism with respect to life values I stand for, and the choices I shall want to, and actually make in my life.
I speak and shout with my writings. I also often express my life views in professional, and other social engagements endeavours I’ll find myself in from time to time. It is what it is. Take me or leave me. I am anti-necropower, regardless of the practitioner, or their cause. Murder is murder. Necrocracy has no future.
June 21, 2018
Responding to Norwegian Aftenposten newspaper article:
My aunt ‘Mabatho/ Mother of The People, if, on a good day, you were to call on her unannounced in the morning, you’d find her shabbily dressed in a tattered nightdress. Her eyes will be red; face as radiant as sunset orange in the Free State veld, though. She will give you this warm hug, kiss you reassuringly on the forehead, saying softly, “Ngwanake/ My child, they were here again. Ohhh, I am so tired …”
From time to time, our family ancestral spirits visit my aunt. She says they are ever so angry and bitter at the world. They want to burn the world down for the evil on it, the evil that destroyed my aunt’s life forever. She will fight with them all night, preventing them from unleashing their wrath out on the world.
In retrospect, my aunt says her own anger and bitterness towards those who grossly abused her is not so much in their abhorrent acts, but in that they did not kill her in the process. When you are dead and gone, you don’t hear, you don’t see, you don’t feel; when you are dead, you live above morons.
In a botched (White) farm robbery in the Free State in the 1970s, my aunt, then working as a domestic maid on the farm, was severely beaten up and successively raped by 6 men, 2 Whites, and 4 Blacks.
When it was understood that the police were on the way, the two Whites turned against their Black colleagues, and shot them dead on the spot. The former denied abusing my aunt, claiming that they had in fact come to defend the farm as they had earlier on received a tip-off about the impending robbery.
“How can decent, God fearing boerefolk have sex with a dirty kaffir woman? We beat her up a bit to teach her a lesson never to collaborate with other kaffir criminals who come to rob our farms. We had to execute these four criminals here because their original intention was to come and kill the people of the farm. Self-defence, you see?” they said to the police.
My aunt was arrested, and served 3 years in jail. It’s said that the two Whites went to war in Rhodesia, and never came back.
My aunt’s ordeal was too much to bear for her husband. One day, the man decided to hug a goods train moving towards him at high speed. Pieces of his body were picked up and placed in a plastic bag as if it was meat to be fed to crocodiles.
Despite the way-out traumas in her life, without any professional help forthcoming, my aunt went on to raise her three children to decent adulthood. She makes a living of some sorts selling umqumbothi, as well as some special traditional tobacco.
This true story will make most sense, and will be familiar, to those who have felt in their flesh and bones, Apartheid in the pre-1994 South Africa, as well as other forms of institutionalized forms of racism against Black people anywhere else in the world.
When Black/ African people yell, weep and cry, laugh, sing and dance demanding recognition and respect for their feelings, as well as their sense of integrity and honour, we are doing this in the face of real injustices that have been perpetrated on and against, and upon, us for generations.
It is basely moronic for some arrogant and apparently incompetently incompetent White intellectuals, academics, philosophers, and artists to want to define for us Black people how to respond to all forms of racism directed towards us, both as a global collective, and/ or as individuals wherever we may be in the world at any one time … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA BLOGS – As I See It”. Order Simon Chilembo books on Amazon)
June 08, 2014
GIRLS DRESSING TO BLAME, AFRICANS?
The Norwegian text picture above was posted on a friend’s Facebook timeline a few days ago. It reads:
- When Africans say that it’s the girls to blame for rape because they dress up too lightly/ revealingly, is it okay then to drive over a nigger because it is dark outside?
I commented, “Why should a nigger be punished for Africans’ opinions on things? By the way, what is a nigger, really?”
Her daughter responded, “Whether it’s an African or Asian has nothing to say, Simon… it’s the point which is important to grasp… not what nationality is being referred to!” … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA BLOGS – As I See It”. Order Simon Chilembo books on Amazon)
April 24, 2013