From whatever angle you approach it, the present offers no way out. This is not the least of its virtues. From those who seek hope above all, it tears away every firm ground. Those who claim to have solutions are contradicted almost immediately.
Everyone agrees that things can only get worse. The sphere of political representation has come to a close. Those who still vote seem to have no other intention than to desecrate the ballot box by voting as a pure act of protest. In its very silence, the populace seems infinitely more mature than all these puppets bickering amongst themselves about how to govern it.
The ramblings of any Belleville chibani contain more wisdom than all the declarations of our so-called leaders. The lid on the social kettle is shut triple-tight, and the pressure inside continues to build. From out of Argentina, the specter of Que Se Vayan Todos is beginning to seriously haunt the ruling class. Those first joyous fires were the baptism of a decade full of promise. Fires were lit in the city centers, but this news was methodically suppressed. Whole streets in Barcelona burned in solidarity, but no one knew about it apart from the people living there.
Many different profiles can be found among the arrested, with little that unites them besides a hatred for existing society — not class, race, or even neighborhood. These assailants no longer listen to anybody, neither to their Big Brothers and Big Sisters, nor to the community organizations charged with overseeing the return to normal.
This whole series of nocturnal vandalisms and anonymous attacks, this wordless destruction, has widened the breach between politics and the political. Like lost children we trashed the prized trinkets of a society that deserves no more respect than the monuments of Paris at the end of the Bloody Week — and knows it.
