Click amount to donate direct to CounterPunch
  • $25
  • $50
  • $100
  • $500
  • $other
  • use PayPal
Please Support CounterPunch’s Annual Fund Drive
We don’t run corporate ads. We don’t shake our readers down for money every month or every quarter like some other sites out there. We only ask you once a year, but when we ask we mean it. So, please, help as much as you can. We provide our site for free to all, but the bandwidth we pay to do so doesn’t come cheap. All contributions are tax-deductible.
FacebookTwitterGoogle+RedditEmail

The Day After Genocide – Drunken Debauchery of Capitalism, Heil Trump, Heil Conquerors & Sycophants 

“In 1492, the natives discovered they were indians, discovered they lived in America, discovered they were naked, discovered that the Sin existed, discovered they owed allegiance to a King and Kingdom from another world and a God from another sky, and that this God had invented the guilty and the dress, and had sent to be burnt alive who worships the Sun the Moon the Earth and the Rain that wets it.”

―Eduardo Galeano, Los hijos de los días 

I’m rooted in social justice. Social worker for the homeless, downtown Portland, Oregon, a proving ground for some innovative programs for prison re-entry folk, chronically homeless, drug and alcohol addicted. It’s not enough for Portland, and the rest of the country is fucked because people from around this un-United Stolen Place come here because their hailing cities have shit for services for the lowest of the low. I’m galvanized to revolutionary radicalism, that which is outside the mainstream money-driven mush that is capitalism, with its all-degrading infantile entertainment, as drones bust up wedding parties, as those ghosts of Spain, England, France, Dutch, Portuguese float out of every bite of ground cultures taken by us today, in the United Snakes of America. Each scalp and head nailed to the side of the settler’s cabin is our children’s autism.

I am being lambasted on all sides, up and down, F-150 dually drivers, Prius freaks, the drone lovers, the IT huggers, those fracking-big oil honchos, big town, small, from California redneck to Seattle libertarian (sic) let the Jeff Bezos-Bill Gates-Paul Allens rule us all greenies!

I treat the throw-aways – out of prison, off the streets, barely, in recovery, all those fines-levies-garnishments-fees-invoices like a billion leaches on their souls. My people are the homeless, drugged, mody out of the constant toil of using, many back to using, some back on the streets, but my social work is pure, but up against the Trumpies and Hillaries, as if this psychopath replacing the other psychopaths is somehow a rattling of the cages (not).

Bottomline, I tell my brain-flogged recovery clients, if you love Trump, over the other Satan, Hillary, then you must be ready to take the rags of the empire, soaked in unleaded gasoline, and get to working, one their hands and knees Trump proclaims, cleaning the elite’s streets, making sure to slide toxic sponges in their Orange Stripped Jumpsuits Provided by Maricopa County Joe Arpaio.

This is the Sons of Anarchy society, dirty wars, Game of Thrones, the elites’ and chosen ones’ grab-bag of continuing rot of culture, white-washing of the arts, decay of education . . . .

I read the pages of so-called leftist rags, digitally preened by Zuckerberg ( how many leftists does it take to help the billionaires at Google, Dell, Microsoft, PayPal legitimize the decay of thinking?), and they rail against Clinton, semi-rail against Obama, but, man-oh-man, Trump means things are really getting mixed up . . . Game change! Disruptive shit the libertarian masters of the digital-robotics-algorithm age honor, homeless, jobless, dead-end employment workers, to hell with them, as long as there are those disruptive technologies, making those disruptive economies, stories of a million economic hit-men and hit-women crisscrossing the globe, oh, the flavor of the age is banking, real estate, the inside con-job, privatizing, hedge-funding, fake money, kings and queens in suits, K-Street, DC, NYC, Tokyo, Bonn, Brussels, Paris, the entire shooting match of the unworthy, whether Trump or Sorros, Warren Fucking Buffet or Carlos Slim, the Guggenheims or the holy monarchies of Rome-Westminster, all those winers and diners of the zero-zero-point-zero-zero-zero-point-one Percent Classless.  Trump and Walton, Koch and Bloomberg, Starbucks or Star Wars, they are the same human stain, the very stain that has percolated from the blood curdling rapes and blanket seeding and beheading clans, the money counters-changers, the masters of lock-up.

Trump, somehow, the entire perversion is legitimized because generals with books and saps with portfolios and politicos with speaking fees are now paraded by the seventh level of Dante’s Media Maggots, 24/7 Wolf and Walters, the very essence of the rendering tallow of soap makers.

As if the pigs in uniforms and their civil servants and the entire cast of Military-Prison-Big Oil-Pharma-Media-Med-Edu.com are just going to change their colors and find us, the radicals, the revolutionaries, as palatable? Republican or Democrat, all turncoats, all the same, broken white men and women, launching a billion bullets and bombs and Hell-fires for their game of Empire! Patriot Acts One, Two, Three, end of game, civil liberties.

It’s simple logic, fighting the rapists, the executioners, as each of our laws is propped up with the spines of millions splayed for the holy ghost of gold, cotton, wood, united fruit. I’m seeing today, all these bullshit homilies about Trump as so so much different, better, “for our anti-Neoliberal-Times,” how his buffoonery is some magical elixir against identity politics, against the PC crap of the world, how his insanity is better for the US of Israel than the braying propagandists of the Democratic Party.

I’m reading this shit from so-called leftists, the counter-veiling left, rationalizing how it’s a good day in the world because of Trump, that he is not some war-mongering son of a bitch patsy like Obama, or that he is so fucking different, his seeds of perversion openly accepted by his 25 percenters who voted for him, or the fucking liberals who eat up all the perversions of Edward  Bernays-induced propaganda. Fucking Putin-loving people, Saudi-hugging corporatists, all the fat Americans, left or right of the diabetic middle spare tire on-the-fencers, actually loving the rapists, the indigenous-killers, all those men with fucking tanks and drones, those Israeli-Swedish-European-American fortified military tools, whether from some shit-faced dictator in Russia or in the Pentagon, whether some syphilitic murderer from the Philippines.

Leftists who think those shit-for-humans thumbing their noses at Hillary or American genocidal economics and military expansionism are somehow the great rebuffers of the great modern slavers of the world!

Note the people killers – top militaries, oh, USA, China, India, Japan, South Korea, Russia, Israel, Turkey, UK, France, Germany . . . weapons purveyors . . . add to the list of USA, China, Russia,  France, UK, Israel, Germany – Italy, Ukraine, Sweden! Add Spain, Canada, Switzerland, Netherlands, South Korea to the list of largest exporters of guns, cluster bombs, biological toxin delivery systems, exploding weapons of capitalism-fascism-conquest. Now, those so wonderful importers of this devil’s military hardware, this indigenous peoples killing ordinance, this land-polluting equipment, this explosive shit of the warring clans shit that is responsible for the goods and services of the elite, the empires, the humanity eviscerating leaders, whether bundled in democratic capitalism or fascist socialism – Number One, Saudi Arabia; India, China, United Arab Emirates, Taiwan, Australia, South Korea, Indonesia, Turkey, Pakistan, UK, Algeria, Israel, Venezuela, Iraq.

These fucking conservatives, evangelicals, Zionists, exceptionalists, Americans a la Bubba or So Tragically Hipster DC-LA-NYC, the entire landscape of litter that is the militarists-resource plunderers-IT-Marketing gurus, all trained in the magic of MBA-Genetically Altering hocus pocus that kills-kills-kills, from the past, eliminating histories of great people, to the present with a scorched earth policy of the Transnationalists, to the futures of the unborn.

How tiring it is to read these arm-chair thinkers, writers, mealy-mouthing how the decks on the USS Aircraft Carrier USA-Zionist-EU-Anglo are now out of the hands of the neoliberals and now in the hands of the neo-cons, which these so-called radicals somehow have convinced themselves are not TWO sides of the same coin.

Article after article penned in Google-Microsoft-Mac infamy, each recrimination against the democrats, against the identity politics of youngsters, against all the politically correct liberals, against all the working class unionists, against the rurals-exurbs-urbans people from oily sea to radioactive sea. This spasm after spasm on why Hillary lost and why Trump won, and why that’s such a grand new 31 Flavors Day. Yes, we predicted Trump, predicted the grat sell-out by an old CPA-ish Sander, all the rotting Elizabeth Warrens, all those emails and Howard Dean thugs, all of them, conniving and colluding with our enemies, they the enemies, Democrats . . . . Republicans as trustworthy as the priest in boys’ rooms. Yet, somehow, there was a Zombie moment, maybe three or four decades of Zombie reach, this country on a spasm and buying addiction, this country touched by insanity with each download and PayPal transaction, each digital delusion, as the mounting pixels and flat-screens captured the last vestiges of humanity, rebellion. . . . Until you get the mixed message, monstrous Obama, the plague of evangelicals, the plague of Chicago Rahm and NYPD Guiliani, the First Black President, Bill-the-Stain Clinton, all those actors learning from the actors, Reagan to Kennedy, this Camelot of Chameleons, and the poor masses, the pricks to the armor, teachers like me, journalists like me, any man woman child like me, we go the way of the dodo . . . . There is only one lie, and that is United States of America. A day of thanks. Absolutely, for the materialists, the lovers of drudgery, the constant search for meaning in the shrink wrap of Holy Grail. This changing of the perverted guard, guaranteed to be nothing more than a PT Barnum show, fireworks and fast cars and drugged horses and botoxed babes and cheesecake guys, all wrapped in foamy spray on tan, hypodermic magical thinking, the cluster fuck nation this place has always been at the Plymouth Rock Mosh Pit of the Syphilitic Christians!

Celebrities and Castigators of Socialism, Those Grounded in their Trump is “okay” stupidity, even on the left, well, it belies a certain white-Anglo Saxon intellectualized dominating zeal to be a pundit on the two sides of the same coin American political corruption system.

Forget about the mainstream left media, or the so called liberal media, all the George Sorros types, all those sycophants of the deal, the inside job, the Cadillac level retirement-investment plans, these millionaires, almost-millionaires, the ones who know which fucking spoon to use for their escargot, which fair trade coffee to sip after their tequila-infused flan! These people are mother-rapists, child-killers, all the toys-tools-info moving systems set in place to prop up their black arts of selling and killing, but make no bones about it, no matter which little ballot ticks they make, the entire project of Capitalism is rotten to the core. Neruda, Pablo, “The Dictators:”

An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
petal that brings nausea.
Between the coconut palms the graves are full
of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles.
The delicate dictator is talking
with top hats, gold braid, and collars.
The tiny palace gleams like a watch
and the rapid laughs with gloves on
cross the corridors at times
and join the dead voices
and the blue mouths freshly buried.
The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant
whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,
whose large blind leaves grow even without light.
Hatred has grown scale on scale,
blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
with a snout full of ooze and silence

That ooze is the marketing that is one big fantasy of America, of this Thanks-Taking day, where families gather to mash their food and pray to their deities, to flow with the dollars, the debts and capital, the blockbuster movies for the holiday season, talk of Black Friday and Darker Sundays, the day of zombie politics-economics, the voodoo show that is 24/7 Walmart tankers crisscrossing the ocean, the unending stream of 18-wheelers moving from outpost to outpost, the United Fruit Company-Hudson Bay Beauty of dead souls pushed into every dirty dollar and electronic financial transaction.

A day to take side, the Trump people sick shells of humanity, not believing the truth of his raping legacy, not believing anything from even the denizens of mainstream fabrication, they will believe in the slaughters of the day, the endless scalp hunting and beheadings. This day of Super Sales, Super Lies Infantile Americans, human ghosts walking from Big Gulp to Super Size, their SUV’s customized to fit their favorite Disney flick or mascots of the mighty NFL.

Thus, my African-American friends dare send me Happy Thanksgiving Day Hallmark cards, and, I then, remind them of that sort of thanks, that reality of who exactly is thanking whom for the diseased devils coming to this continent – Roxanne Dunbar Ortiz, hero of words, like those of Eduardo Galeano, Memory of Fire:

The US origin story of a covenant with God goes back to the Mayflower Compact, the first governing document of the Plymouth Colony. It is named for the ship that carried the hundred or so passengers, half of them religious dissidents, to what is now Cape Cod, Massachusetts, in November 1620. This compact marked the beginning of settler democracy, which from its inception sought the elimination of the Indigenous. Behind the black clothed and solemn “Pilgrims,” was a corporation of shareholders, the Virginia Company, accompanied by armed and seasoned mercenaries on a colonizing project ordered by the English King James. If any local Natives were present at a colonizers’ celebratory meal, they were surely there as servants, and the foods were confiscated, not offered as a gift.

“Thanksgiving” became a named holiday during the Civil War, but neither Pilgrims, nor Indians, nor food, nor the Mayflower—all essential to today’s celebration—were mentioned in Lincoln’s 1863 proclamation.

It was during the Great Depression that the Thanksgiving holiday was transformed into a nationalistic origin story to bind a chaotic society experiencing economic and social collapse. But this idea of the gift-giving Indian, helping to establish and enrich what would become the United States, is an insidious smoke screen meant to obscure the fact that the very existence of the country is a result of the looting of an entire continent and its resources.

In 1970, on the 350th anniversary of the English settlers—“Pilgrims”—occupying land of the Wampanoag Nation, the United American Indians of New England led a protest of the Thanksgiving holiday, which they called a “National Day of Mourning.” Every year since that time, the National Day of Mourning has taken place at Plymouth Rock. They rightly accuse the United States government of having invented a myth to cover the reality of colonialism and attempted genocide. By Thanksgiving 1970, Native Americans from many Indigenous nations had been occupying Alcatraz Island for a year. It was the height of renewed Native resistance to US colonial institutions and calls for sovereignty and self-determination, which have continued and seen many victories as well as new obstacles. In 2007, after three decades of Indigenous Peoples’ lobbying, the United Nations General Assembly passed the “Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.”

Thanksgiving needs another transformation, a day to mourn US colonization and attempted genocide and celebrate the survival of Native Nations through their resistance.

I remember the days in El Paso, tribes along the Paseo del Muerte, passing through the eye of the needle, germs, guns, steel, the cross, conquerors, waiting for a plague upon peoples, this Onate, cutting the feet of able men and teens, these gilded chalices and the boys tied up for the deacons, and Plymouth Rock, held 80 years before, on the banks of Rio Bravo-Grande, whose thanks, gracias,  a dios, mother and father, unleashed into the wilds, savages civilizations more attuned to life than all those basilicas and chains and pulleys. This silliness of which place had the first genocidal thanksgiving, wild turkey, bosque, or the arthritic Smith Colony, Pocahontas, the yards filled with skin stretchers, stilled with the Inquisition’s Precursor to Cheney-Rumsfeld-Barak-Clinton-Trump, the minefields littered with the rebellious, and now, minefields of the mall, the strip searchers, the black lives do not matter America, one billion flares polluting the night, gas men, gas women, protected by satellite-CCTV-SWAT angels of death, as the true people attempt to stop the left-right death of mother-father earth.

But the braying will go on and on, this Trump did that and that Trump said this, and oh-Bernie, “step up to your chosen few’s plate,” hold hands elected Philistines, bring the Roberts Rules back to the halls of insanity, both houses tainted with the seeds of DNA expressed in the robes and flak jackets of a nation under siege, under god, the hills wet from the tears of  five billion souls robbed of life!

More articles by:
October 18, 2018
Erik Molvar
The Ten Big Lies of Traditional Western Politics
Jeffrey St. Clair
Lockheed and Loaded: How the Maker of Junk Fighters Like the F-22 and F-35 Came to Have Full-Spectrum Dominance Over the Defense Industry
Lawrence Davidson
Israel’s “Psychological Obstacles to Peace”
Brian Platt – Brynn Roth
Black-Eyed Kids and Other Nightmares From the Suburbs
John W. Whitehead
You Want to Make America Great Again? Start by Making America Free Again
Zhivko Illeieff
Why Can’t the Democrats Reach the Millennials?
Steve Kelly
Quiet, Please! The Latest Threat to the Big Wild
Manuel García, Jr.
The Inner Dimensions of Socialist Revolution
Dave Lindorff
US ‘Outrage’ Over Slaying of US Residents Depends on the Nation Responsible
Adam Parsons
A Global People’s Bailout for the Coming Crash
Binoy Kampmark
The Tyranny of Fashion: Shredding Banksy
Dean Baker
How Big is Big? Trump, the NYT and Foreign Aid
Vern Loomis
The Boofing of America
October 17, 2018
Patrick Cockburn
When Saudi Arabia’s Credibility is Damaged, So is America’s
John Steppling
Before the Law
Frank Stricker
Wages Rising? 
James McEnteer
Larry Summers Trips Out
Muhammad Othman
What You Can Do About the Saudi Atrocities in Yemen
Binoy Kampmark
Agents of Chaos: Trump, the Federal Reserve and Andrew Jackson
David N. Smith
George Orwell’s Message in a Bottle
Karen J. Greenberg
Justice Derailed: From Gitmo to Kavanaugh
John Feffer
Why is the Radical Right Still Winning?
Dan Corjescu
Green Tsunami in Bavaria?
Rohullah Naderi
Why Afghan Girls Are Out of School?
George Ochenski
You Have to Give Respect to Get Any, Mr. Trump
Cesar Chelala
Is China Winning the War for Africa?
Mel Gurtov
Getting Away with Murder
W. T. Whitney
Colombian Lawyer Diego Martinez Needs Solidarity Now
Dean Baker
Nothing to Brag About: Scott Walker’s Economic Record in Wisconsin:
October 16, 2018
Gregory Elich
Diplomatic Deadlock: Can U.S.-North Korea Diplomacy Survive Maximum Pressure?
Rob Seimetz
Talking About Death While In Decadence
Kent Paterson
Fifty Years of Mexican October
Robert Fantina
Trump, Iran and Sanctions
Greg Macdougall
Indigenous Suicide in Canada
Kenneth Surin
On Reading the Diaries of Tony Benn, Britain’s Greatest Labour Politician
Andrew Bacevich
Unsolicited Advice for an Undeclared Presidential Candidate: a Letter to Elizabeth Warren
Thomas Knapp
Facebook Meddles in the 2018 Midterm Elections
Muhammad Othman
Khashoggi and Demetracopoulos
Gerry Brown
Lies, Damn Lies & Statistics: How the US Weaponizes Them to Accuse  China of Debt Trap Diplomacy
Christian Ingo Lenz Dunker – Peter Lehman
The Brazilian Presidential Elections and “The Rules of The Game”
Robert Fisk
What a Forgotten Shipwreck in the Irish Sea Can Tell Us About Brexit
Martin Billheimer
Here Cochise Everywhere
David Swanson
Humanitarian Bombs
Dean Baker
The Federal Reserve is Not a Church
October 15, 2018
Rob Urie
Climate Crisis is Upon Us
FacebookTwitterGoogle+RedditEmail