The West's Russell Brand vs. Sinoland's Rushe Wang:
A Conversation in Commonalities and Key Contrasts
By: Jeff J. Brown, 44 Days Publishing, www.44days.net
The Princes of Power and Lords of the Loot
The Princes of Power are a prickly lot, be they Western or Eastern, Northern or Southern. They know they are a spark of popular outrage away from economic re-equilibrium, or if the 99% get really radical and revolutionarily randy, they can pay with their hubristic heads. Just ask the ghost of Robespierre. It says a lot about how rigged the roulette table of civilization actually is, when there is only one significant example of the former in recent times: Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal and its very ephemeral 50 years of a chance of a better life for the common people. That sure didn't last long. From the perspective of deep history, which consumes Baba Beijing (China's leadership), a half a century is a fleeting moment along the Arrow of Time's trajectory. The world's shadow fascists, who have been calling humanity's shots on Mother Earth since the glory days of Babylonian Big Boss Hammurabi 4,000 years ago, and surely long before that, don't take too kindly to sharing our Pale Blue Dot's natural resources -- not even a teensy-weensy bit -- 101% will do just fine, thank you. And while we 99% are at it, busy beavers all, we can work for free and be grateful for the time spent maintaining the glories of the official narrative, which for the last 500 years has been and continues to be Caucasian conquest, colonialism and cupidity. Post World War II, it's now fawningly called the Washington/London/Paris consensus. The US Marines' finest have the Few and the Proud. The 1% have their Meek and their Many. Sitting here in Buddha World Beijing, and with all due respect for Jesus Christ, I don't see us inheriting the Earth anytime soon. Maybe for another fleeting 50-year cycle, if we're lucky.
The Lord of Legal Loot also get very tetchy when someone is clever enough to gin up a simple message of outrage, a sound bite that resonates in the rapidly emptying pockets, stomachs and under the disappearing roofs over the heads of the masses. Short and sweet, pungent and powerful. Such was the case with the pithily named Occupy Wall Street ( OWS). Too clever by half, so it just had to go. Those kinds of quickly coined phrases are so easily remembered, can circulate like wildfire and thus must either be sucked into the upward vortex of Newspeak and bastardized, or with great and extended effort, sent in the opposite direction deep down Orwell's Memory Hole, just like the Palestinians' Al-Nakba, never to be acknowledged, mentioned, reported on or referenced again.1 The one percent's infanticide of OWS has been remarkably and ruthlessly efficient, like the gas chambers of Auschwitz or Stalin's generation of grinding genocide.
Would the 99% please just shut up?
But these silly and feckless nuisances just keep coming. Will they ever learn? In the last couple of weeks, the 1% have again been forced to budge just a little bit in their Pininfarina Aresline Xten designer chairs, because of a smarty pants by the name of Russell Brand.2 And smart he is: well spoken, a man of letters and possessing a rapier wit with words. Just ask BBC's hapless errand boy for the official narrative, Jeremy Paxman, who interviewed this wily whippersnapper during Newsnight 2013 on the 23rd of October. Our curly coiffed, nouveau rich British comic should know better than to turn on his new high class fan base, the uber-wealthy. Russell could make even many more millions on the neocon comedy circuit, - la Dennis Miller, the right wing's poster pundit in laugh land, while confirming with a condescending smirk what his financial brethren already smugly know: they own the world. And you know what the Russians say -- tough shitsky.