Re: RAT Iowa Conference

[NOMADMONAD@aol.com]

At 06:03 PM 11/25/99 -0800, Erik Ehn wrote:

>b) I for one don't believe war is properly used in a simile or metaphor, and
>I want to check my rhetoric constantly, to ensure I support a drama of fact
>and not of sentiment. I am in a war, yes, but I have never walked under a
>bomb or suffered fear of absolute disappearance. Still, there is much of
>immediate, concrete, tactical value I stand to learn from those who have
>endured mortal peril.

My belief is that the stealthiest of the stealth bombers have smart bombs so 
smart that they are able to target the spirit and destroy it, but leave the 
body intact.  The fact that we walk daily under such bombs without the 
suffered fear of absolute disappearance is proof perfect of their 
effectiveness. 

But what if the concern is of only mortal peril?  Then statistics tell us 
that on average every year 40 million people in the world die of starvation. 
Neglect and apathy is infinitely more violent and cruel than any war.  

Belfast and Belgrade are too venial to instruct in any of this.  Except as 
simile or metaphor. 

I once met a prophet on a battlefield.  I could tell by his tattoos that he 
was a veteran of many wars, so I asked for the truth about my survival, 
should I achieve it.  "War is hell, isn't it?"  I said hopefully.   The 
prophet answered precisely.  "No. War is a nightmare."

In my fevered nightmares I have been in the real war and met the true 
prophet.  I ask him for the truth about my death, should I achieve it.  "War 
is a nightmare, isn't it?"  I say half-knowingly.  The prophet's face changes 
into someone familiar as he begins to answer.  But before I recognize who he 
is or hear his answer completely, I jerk awake.  I am in the Lacandona 
Jungle.  Subcommander Marcos has given me the following missive to deliver 
out of Chiapas to the world.

*********************************************
Excerpt from:
Chiapas: The Southeast in Two Winds
A Storm and a Prophecy
by Subcommander Marcos, August 1992 

Antonio dreams of owning the land he works on, he dreams that his sweat is 
paid for with justice and truth, he dreams that there is a school to cure 
ignorance and medicine to scare away death, he dreams of having electricity 
in his home and that his table is full, he dreams that his country is free 
and that this is the result of its people governing themselves, and he dreams 
that he is at peace with himself and with the world. He dreams that he must 
fight to obtain this dream, he dreams that there must be death in order to 
gain life. Antonio dreams and then he awakens... Now he knows what to do and 
he sees his wife crouching by the fire, hears his son crying. He looks at the 
sun rising in the East, and, smiling, grabs his machete. 

The wind picks up, he rises and walks to meet others. Something has told him 
that his dream is that of many and he goes to find them. 

The viceroy dreams that his land is agitated by a terrible wind that rouses 
everything, he dreams that all he has stolen is taken from him, that his 
house is destroyed, and that his reign is brought down. He dreams and he 
doesn't sleep. The viceroy goes to the feudal lords and they tell him that 
they have been having the same dream. The viceroy cannot rest. So he goes to 
his doctor and  together they decide that it is some sort of Indian 
witchcraft and that they will only be freed from this dream with blood. The 
viceroy orders killings and kidnappings and he builds more jails and Army 
barracks. But the dream continues and keeps him tossing and turning and 
unable to sleep. 

Everyone is dreaming in this country. Now it is time to wake up... 

The storm is here. From the clash of these two winds the storm will be born, 
its time has arrived. Now the wind from above rules, but the wind from below 
is coming... 

The prophecy is here. When the storm calms, when rain and fire again leave 
the country in peace, the world will no longer be the world but something 
better.