Where to hit the nail with the freedom discourse

In a precedent article, I doubted that the rallying events against the governments tyrannical order would succeed. This remains to be seen but I have an advise about where to hit the nail with our liberty discourses. 

 To apply their mandates upon the masses, governments need the most an army of blind devotee forces, ie, police and military. 

The people who enlist in the governments forces mostly do this for two reasons. They don't know what to do with their lives, so following orders is a magnet for them, and they do truly believe that governments represent law and honor. 

 Convincing a majority of people is a necessity but reaching the folks believing that by enforcing the mandates of a government, they definitively stand on the right side of justice although they are not is a must ! 

 Meanwhile, there is a time limit to do so because sooner rather than later, governments will no more need manpower to coerce their citizens. 

 This is what I wrote in 2010: 

 "The Robotic Warfare Threat There is no doubt to any moral grounded spirit that our present and past civilizations have created the worse human damaging systems that could be. The basic of these dictatorial governments, even when they are hidden behind social or liberal fronts, is their coercive means for imposing their repressive will. 

This coercion power is based on arms. However, these arms don’t operate without human manpower, for now on and, this is where humanity must fear a point of no return. Science is moving fast and we are far from knowing the edge of the discoveries made in the secret vaults of the defence establishments of the USA, Russia, Europe, China, Japan ... 

Until now, a fighter jet has to be driven by a pilot, a rocket must be launched by pushing a button after having it locked up on its target. Robotic technology must be very advanced now. I don't have data and even the best informed people in the world might not know what is secretly happening in that field. 

We know that there are already unmanned drones operating, that a lot of civil robots exist in the automotive construction, the medical world and other parts of advanced technology domains. I am far from being an expert but, what I know is that there is a time when a handful of people will be able to manage a remote control robotic army with terrible lethal possibilities without any need of manpower in the field.

 This may come sooner than later, maybe some years away rather than some decades. When this will be, humanity is doomed forever at the hand of the few evil leaders who dream of being the world dominators, and we know too well that they exist."

To the addition of drones, we now have all the Darpa creatures and unmanned real helicos and war ships, armed satellites, infra sounds generators and probably much more thanks to artificial intelligence. 

That is why our speech ought to be directed at police and military personals as long as they are needed to manage the fight against The People. That is why the stand of the few examples that follow in pictures are of primary importance !!!

Short of that, you could well replace the skeletons with robots in the above Brueghel painting ...

related:

FORMER CANADIAN RCMPCORPORAL DANIEL BUFORD’S POWERFUL STANCE AGAINST AUTHORITARIANISM

To conclude, the idea I am exposing was that of Antoine de Saint-Exupery, the author of 'The little Prince' who really had been a prophet for our times when he wrote the day before his plane was lost a letter to 'General X' :

(Google translate - better read it in french !)

What must be to said to men ?

(Letter to General X, written the day before his death)

 

Just had a few flights on P.38. It's a nice machine. I would have been happy to have this present for my 20th birthday. I note with melancholy that today, at forty three years old, after some six thousand five hundred hours of flight under all the skies of the world, I can no longer find great pleasure in this game. It is no more than an instrument of displacement - here of war. If I submit to speed and altitude at my patriarchal age for this job, it is much more to refuse nothing of the hassles of my generation than in the hope of rediscovering the satisfactions of yesteryear.

This may be melancholic, but perhaps it is not. It was probably when I was twenty that I was wrong. In October 1940, returning from North Africa where the 2 - 33 group had emigrated, my car being stored bloodless in some dusty garage, I discovered the cart and the horse. By her the grass of the paths. Sheep and olive trees. These olive trees had another role than that of beating time behind the windows at 130 km per hour. They showed themselves in their true rhythm which is to slowly make olives. The sheep did not have the exclusive purpose of bringing down the average. They came alive again. They made real poop and made real wool. And the grass also had a meaning because they grazed it.

And I felt alive again in this only corner of the world where the dust is fragrant (I am unfair, it is in Greece as well as in Provence). And it seemed to me that all my life I had been a fool...

All this to explain to you that this gregarious existence in the heart of an American base, these meals sent standing up in ten minutes, this back and forth between 2600 horsepower single-seaters in an abstract building where we are crammed three to a room, this terrible human desert, in a word, has nothing that caresses my heart. That too, like the missions without profit or hope of return of June 1940, is a disease to pass. I am "sick" for an unknown time. But I do not recognize the right not to suffer from this disease. That is all. Today I am deeply sad. I am sad for my generation which is empty of all human substance. Who having only known bars, mathematics and Bugattis as a form of spiritual life, today finds himself immersed in a strictly gregarious action that no longer has any color.

We don't know how to notice it. Take the military phenomenon of a hundred years ago. Consider how much effort he incorporated to respond to the spiritual, poetic, or simply human life of man. Today we are more desiccated than bricks, we smile at this nonsense. The costumes, the flags, the songs, the music, the victories (there is no victory today, there are only phenomena of slow or rapid digestion) all lyricism sounds ridiculous and the men refuse to be awakened to some spiritual life. They honestly do some kind of assembly line work. As the American youth says, "we honestly accept this thankless job" and the propaganda, all over the world, fights its flanks in despair.

From Greek tragedy, humanity, in its decadence, has fallen to the theater of Mr. Louis Verneuil (we can hardly go further). Century of publicity, of the Beadeau system, of totalitarian regimes and armies without bugles or flags or masses for the dead. I hate my time with all my might. The man is dying of thirst.

Ah! General, there is only one problem, only one in the world. To restore to men spiritual meaning, spiritual worries, rain down on them something like a Gregorian chant. You can't live on fridges, politics, balance sheets and crossword puzzles, you see! We can no longer live without poetry, color or love. Just hearing a village song from the 15th century, you can measure the slope down. Nothing remains but the voice of the propaganda robot (pardon me). Two billion people no longer hear anything but robots, understand only robots, become robots.

All the cracks of the last thirty years have only two sources: the impasses of the 19th century economic system and spiritual despair. Why did Mermoz follow his grand booby colonel if not out of thirst? Why Russia? Why Spain? Men have tried out Cartesian values: outside the natural sciences, they have hardly succeeded. There is only one problem, only one: to rediscover that there is a life of the spirit even higher than the life of intelligence, the only one that satisfies man. It goes beyond the problem of religious life, which is only one form of it (although perhaps the life of the spirit necessarily leads to the other). And the life of the spirit begins where a being is designed above the materials of which it is composed. The love of home - that unknowable love in the United States - is already of the life of the spirit.

And the village festival, and the cult of the dead (I quote this because two or three paratroopers have been killed since my arrival here, but they were evaded: they had finished their service). That is from the era, not from America: man no longer has any meaning.

You absolutely have to talk to men.

What will be the use of winning the war if we have a hundred years of revolutionary epileptic fits? When the German question is finally settled all the real problems will begin to arise. It is unlikely that speculation on American stocks will be enough to emerge from this war to distract, as in 1919, humanity from its real worries. For lack of a strong spiritual current, it will grow, like mushrooms, thirty-six sects which will divide one another. Marxism itself, too old, will break down into a multitude of contradictory neo-Marxisms. We have seen it in Spain. Unless a French Caesar installs us in a concentration camp for eternity.

Ah! what a strange evening, tonight, what a strange climate. I see from my room the windows of these faceless buildings light up. I hear the various radio stations blasting out their mirliton music to these idle crowds who have come from beyond the seas and who do not even know nostalgia.

This resigned acceptance can be confused with the spirit of sacrifice or moral greatness. That would be a big mistake. The bonds of love that tie today's man to beings as well as to things are so loose, so sparse, that man no longer feels absence as in the past. This is the terrible word of this Jewish story: "So you are going there? How far you will be" - Far from where? The "where" they left was little more than a vast bundle of habits.

In this age of divorce, one divorces things with the same facility. The fridges are interchangeable. And the house too if it is only an assembly. And the woman. And religion. And the party. One cannot even be unfaithful: what would one be unfaithful to? Far from where and unfaithful to what? Human desert.

How wise and peaceful are these men in groups. I think of the Breton sailors of yesteryear, who disembarked, unleashed on a city, of those complex knots of violent appetites and intolerable nostalgia that have always been formed by males who are a little too severely penned up. In order to hold them, it was always necessary to have strong policemen or strong principles or strong faiths. But none of those would disrespect a goose girl. The man of today is made to keep quiet, depending on the environment, with belote or bridge. We are surprisingly well neutered.

So we are finally free. Our arms and legs were cut off, then we were left free to walk. But I hate this time when man becomes, under a universal totalitarianism, gentle, polite and quiet cattle. We are made to take this for moral progress! What I hate in Marxism is the totalitarianism to which it leads. Man is defined there as producer and consumer, the essential problem being that of distribution. What I hate in Nazism is the totalitarianism to which it claims by its very essence. We parade the workers of the Ruhr in front of a Van Gogh, a Cézanne and a chromo. They naturally vote for the chromo. This is the truth of the people! The Cézanne candidates, the Van Gogh candidates, all the great non-conformists, are firmly locked up in a concentration camp, and the submissive cattle are fed with chromos. But where is the United States going and where are we going, too, in this era of universal civil servants? The robot man, the termite man, the oscillating man from work on the chain to the belote system. The man castrated with all his creative power, and who no longer even knows how, from the depths of his village, to create a dance or a song. The man who is fed in ready-made culture, in standard culture as one feeds oxen with hay.

This is the man of today.

And I think that, not three hundred years ago, one could write "The Princess of Cleves" or lock oneself up in a convent for life because of a lost love, love was so burning. Today, of course, people commit suicide, but the suffering of these is of the order of an intolerable toothache. It has nothing to do with love.

Certainly it is a first step. I cannot bear the idea of ​​pouring generations of French children into the belly of the German moloch. The substance itself is threatened, but when it is saved, then the fundamental problem of our time will arise. Which is that of the meaning of man and to which there is no answer offered, and I have the impression of walking towards the darkest times in the world.

I don't mind being killed in war. Of what I loved, what will remain? As much as human beings, I am talking about customs, irreplaceable intonations, a certain spiritual light. Lunch in the Provençal farm under the olive trees, but also Handel. Things. I don't care, who will remain. What is valid is a certain arrangement of things. Civilization is an invisible good since it bears not on things, but on the invisible bonds which tie them together, thus and not otherwise. We will have perfect musical instruments, mass-produced, but where will the musician be? If I'm killed in war, I don't care. Or if I suffer a fit of rage from these sorts of flying torpedoes which no longer have anything to do with flight and make the pilot among his buttons and dials a sort of chief accountant (flight is also a certain order of links).

But if I come back alive from this "necessary and thankless job", only one problem will arise for me: what can, what should be said to men?

July 30, 1944