“Liberalism stems from petty-bourgeois selfishness, it places personal interests first and the interests of the revolution second, and this gives rise to ideological, political, and organizational liberalism.”
~ Mao Tse-Tung
Living and dying within this capitalist dystopia, the word liberal conjures an image of a tolerant, easy going, open-minded and progressive person. Whenever it is called into question, many are the ones that rise up. Many are the voices and pens that charge you with extremism. They will try to remind you, “Don’t you see this is the middle ground, that this is the way to a peaceful and coexistent society?” The blueprint has long been drawn for the one who ought to rise up in defiance and rebellion. The liberal fist goes viral, the revolutionary fist gets cut off before it even reaches these polluted skies of our pathos. The neocolonized being is reminded to be thankful to western civilization that such a democratic model was developed and given to them.
“Don’t you see how long you have been shedding clothes in ultimate barbarism, don’t you see the monarchies that have long ruled you and yours? Haven’t you seen how they disappeared to give you rounds and rounds of voting, stockpiles of protests and angry activists? Be thankful and stop being extreme!”
Such is the pontification of liberalism and its prophets. When history was declared at an end, it was told to us in no uncertain terms that this liberalism, this wellspring of human governance, is post-history itself. Nothing better can come after this, don’t you see. We are now to celebrate our final becoming and bow before the sacred cows of Euro-American accomplishment and be forevermore in gratitude and reverence.
But as the cosmic clock never stops, the cracks start appearing. The well-fortified wall of liberalism started slowly showing weakness and shakiness. The earthquakes and tornadoes of peoples’ struggles for new worlds started rocking it in sometimes silent and sometimes loud ways. The wealth that proudly funded the system started getting more claimants. The little slave, told to stay in his little place, is at long last questioning the old religion. The promised human rights and the dividends of voting didn’t show up at the poor man’s house. Crisis deepened as the economic base of this civilizing ideology started receiving more assaults from those it rightfully belongs to. The prophets get to work, blaming one dictator after another, one communist after another – but there is a difference this time.
The faithful are becoming self-aware, asking the right questions and refusing to settle for easy answers. They have tried everything handed to them in this post-historical phase of their darkened, back-bent lives. They have voted, fought over policies, marched and protested for more rights. All this they have done dutifully as it befits the believer. Yet, they saw little to no gains; instead, the prophets and their financiers live evermore richer and luxurious. Life now is one long nightmare. For all their human rights and democracy, they’re still hungry, still shuffling and begging on their knees. Peaceful coexistence flies out the gate as they turn against each other in wanton, naked violence —impoverished humanity turning on itself.
This infighting is welcomed and encouraged as the masters find ways and means to keep this violence from becoming organized and spilling out of the bounds of the slums, ghettoes, townships and shanty towns. But the contradictions sharpen as they recognize the police, not as one of their own, but as the protector of another being. They start seeing how the NGOs get funnier with the charities and conversations around change in leadership. Things start changing qualitatively at such a fast pace the think tanks don’t have explanations and expositions for what is rapidly becoming an enlightened people. This must stop! they say. They know they can’t have this festering, righteous indignation within the dispossessed.
The system, though, never sleeps or lags for long. It might be sleep-deprived and slumber a little while, but soon it gets back up and carries on with its mission of manifest destiny. The slaves must be kept in their quarters. But how can that be done if you don’t employ their own kind? Then the reformists appear amongst the poor, brandishing old, servile slogans, sometimes newer ones. The reformists are studied from afar by the system that never sleeps, and it’s agreed that they can be groomed. They’re then given millions, speaking gigs, and spanking new spaces. They bask them with honorary degrees and are afforded the opportunity to sit and have forums with the old prophets.
The masses, forever looking forlornly whiles trusting their own, welcome them back with gusto, trusting that these new rebels who have risen from amongst them will be with them through this long struggle of theirs. They attempt to fool the people by showing off some little harsh truths at the conferences and forums they’re invited to; the people, ever trusting, cheer them on and bring them back on their shoulders.
Then they —these groomed, sold-out activists —soon start their real work and call for calm and dialogue with “the authorities”. The people, convinced they are one of their own, start that very process, trusting both their judgement and guidance. But the people soon learn that not all skinfolk is kinfolk.
Liberal democracy, as represented by white supremacy, has all but lost its legitimacy before the masses of oppressed people. They can now only go through back channels — an acknowledgment here that this is an old tactic they always ran to. Now, more than ever, they have rooted themselves amongst these so-called activists who call the people back to burning houses and broken bridges. They stir ancient fears amongst the people to keep them in check for their masters. Their historical accounts of change all revisionist, even as they attempt to co-opt revolutionaries of the past in their well-crafted narratives. Revolution and radical demands for abolition are treated very nicely and coyly before being dismissed. The reformation processes they spearhead in the communities are welcomed as George Soros, The National Endowment for Democracy, and all such insidious institutions clamor to give them more funds for capacity-building and strengthening the hidden hands of soft and hard imperialism. They make rousing speeches when the funds come, because soon after they will be in the billionaires’ yachts – as their little meek slaves of course – basking in the glow of their blood money. Call 911 for them soon, because the masses have all but found them out. Today’s uprisings bear testimony to the historical process of the great awakening that is grinding capital’s easy flow to a halt. In some places they have already been chased out with sticks and whips, and in some others they are being slowly recognized for what they truly are. Because they all parrot the same liberal-speak, it isn’t illogical that they are sent packing as soon as the people rise up against the system. The university gigs and fancy book deals aren’t covering for them any longer as they join the petite bourgeois handlers within the impoverished.
What is more interesting in their evolution is their falling out with each other. They have no loyalties except to the houses of power and the flags of oppression, so they rat each other out, snitching on all the righteous ones fighting the glorious but unannounced fight amongst the disinherited. Liberalism and its various tendencies are this and much more. Its adherents, even the sincere amongst them, aren’t here for radical change and the frenetic movement of the masses to freedom. They might be many and they might be well-funded, but they have brought about little to no gains for the people’s struggles. They don’t talk about a revolutionary takeover of the means of production, because whence then will they eat? They belong ultimately to the parasitic class of hustlers and pacifiers who must be brought to an end in the historical movement of the people’s revolution. In the final analysis of class struggle, they will be accorded the dustbin of history, forever to be trashed with their constitutions, memoirs, gigs, and well-funded neocolonial institutions. Their lies catching up with them, their little victories swept along with the cyclone of the righteous risings of the many billions, they will not be remembered, as it’s finally said by the masses: this far and no further.
Alieu Bah is writer with Mwamko
