Remember New Labour? I had a poster of a spoof colour chart once - things like a washed-out yellow labelled "Urine Stain", a murky brown with the tag "Skidmark", and the obligatory "Token Black". It also included a bold red - "Labour" - and a bold royal blue - "New Labour". There is no left and right in the Houses of Parliament. There is only those who crave power and those who wield it. Or, as the late legendary Bill Hicks once said "It doesn't matter who you vote for, the Government always wins". So the question becomes not whose policies are more agreeable to the voter, but whose lies are more palatable.
That said, the current wave of Tory aggression against the less privileged betrays a strong sense of prejudice and disdain from our nation's illustrious fois gras fed elite. They tighten the noose around the neck of social housing families who have the unmitigated gall to have three bedrooms. They lobby to make it easier to fire people. They allow employers to offer zero-hour contracts, solely to boost employment figures with no guarantee of income for those who take them. They petition to control and prescribe the way you use the internet, restricting your freedom under the guise of protecting children - that reliable old chestnut that governments have used for generations to guilt the public into acquiescing to their demands.
And the elite? The top 3%? They idly bicker in Parliament before retiring to their chambers and quaffing fine wine and brandy with their corporate sponsors. They continue to award themselves fat bonuses for always doing a hard day's corruption. They decline culpability for the oft-touted "global economic crisis" in favour of making sure YOU, the man on the street, the average joe, realise why it's your fault. They punish you for speaking out of turn. They have you incarcerated simply for voicing an opinion that disapproves of their decisions. They obfuscate and distract. They create elaborate smokescreens to incite public outrage at a dead celebrity paedophile while they encroach ever further on your civil rights and liberties. They satiate their vast avaricious appetite on a whim, all the while squeezing the life out of the majority that afforded them their gilded lofty perch, and doing so with a scotch in their hand, a smile on their face, and a room full of guffawing power mongers nodding, winking and smiling along with them.
And so the powerful are assured of their place in the stars, certain of their greatness, of how THEY alone improved society, while the rest of us struggle forward, battling against the corporate hurricane in a futile attempt to make life mean more than simply birth-school-work-death.
Thus, the underbelly starts to grumble. People band together to build on an idea, an alternative to the long-sustained status quo. The disenfranchised become more vocal. Protests and marches are organised. Hundreds, even thousands of people gather to make their voices heard. And all in defiance of a powerful minority who simply don't listen. So the grumble becomes a rage, the proverbial fire burning inside. Protests become clashes. Marches become riots. The restless proletariat release their pent-up frustration, and violence ensues.
And then the pigs let loose their dogs. The hounds of justice circle the disgruntled flock, pen them in, then attack. They bite, they claw, they savage, they rend, they bark and snarl. They pick off the strays and take them back to the pound with them for a feeding frenzy. And thus are the masses put back in their place. Rebellion will not be tolerated. Return to your homes. Return to your televisions, your reality programmes and quiz shows. Return to your quiet complacency and your docile acceptance of the status quo. Your leaders are in control once again.
Blather, rinse, repeat.
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