If others feel as I do, how do they manage to continue in their petty lives, concerned with trivia and stupid things, craving possessions and admiration, oblivious it seems to transience and the doom of death that awaits us all, no matter the glory that for some floods from their ‘success’ in dominating others and turning their exploited labour into one’s own private possessions with which to beat those already long oppressed? How can anyone ever be content with that? How can domination of others ever feel so good? Why embrace that domination with such a determination and commitment that political parties are brought to bear upon maintaining its continued success, no matter what suffering is heaped upon those who do all the work for the single purpose of satisfying the few who have that pernicious power to dominate?
The pieces of this puzzle will not fit together unless we add bully, persecutor, browbeater, sadist, tormentor, destroyer of lives. The nature of privilege is in the end nothing but the entitlement to abuse, to take from others and have for oneself, to own their labour and therefore own them as a master owns a slave. And, oh, this is a sickening thing. It is detestable beyond all words, words that could never capture its vastness and its vileness and its outrageous ugliness.
The rich, the powerful, our masters say that we are envious, and that really we want only what they want. They are so small-minded they actually say that. No. We would rather die than be like them or have what they have. All we want is to get out from under their dominion. We want our lives to have that character they would have if the overseers of our wretchedness had never existed. That is all revolution aspires to, to turn ourselves from this misery and face something less miserable.