We’re lucky these things can still happen – at least it means stuff we do still matters.
Words published, violence enacted, music sung, ideas engendered. The social orders which allow those in charge to organise and structure our lives are more fragile than they allow us to think.
Otherwise, why should they care about the above in the least?
No. I’m not saying I’m happy that those who have suffered – and are suffering – the consequences of speaking up should count themselves lucky that they are in the holes they find themselves in. But for the rest of us, patient – and perhaps couch-potato – observers that we are, the fact that words, lyrics and a £3.50 case of bottled water can come to represent such allegedly “wicked” challenges to an unjust society shows there is hope yet that we may be able to re-engineer life for the better.
Yes. What we do does matter. Even in our consumer-ridden vacuity of a society.
And I for one am glad that we can communicate with each other when people revolt thus.
A decaffeinated revolution maybe, you say? A revolution without a proper core? I’m not so sure.
Perhaps we can even now still believe in bloodless renewal. And just because it’s bloodless doesn’t make it any less real.
The sword being so much weaker than the pen – in a world, that is, of virtual interconnectednesses.