Resistance to general dishonor

It is difficult to find a moment in which one can, in these circumstances and times, write something that goes beyond the framework of everyday grief and resignation over the insane assumptions of the world we know. There are so many topics that are disturbing, that demand a reaction, that call for us to take a stand, show our solidarity and express our opinion, that it seems almost impossible to remain untouched by the burdens of brutal existence in our weekly commentary, uncontaminated and stunned by them. Although there is no illusion that our statuses, texts and any other type of advertising can fundamentally change anything, the last island of humanity is to try, if nothing else, to raise our voice against the horrors we are witnessing. No matter how much that voice is drowned out in the general deafness of information neurasthenia and the noise of propaganda, if it is articulated with sensitivity, if it seeks to overcome the initial impossibility of communication, it is also a form of hope.

As long as we have the strength to speak and write, to bear witness to destruction and death, there remains a thin thread of meaning that all this will not be forgotten, that it will exist as a testimony or a warning to what deviations and demonic whirlpools man can turn into. Although we learn nothing from the history of misfortune and suffering, what is recorded, what remains in some way written, will show some future generations, who will look back on us and our time, that not everything was directed towards complete dehumanization, but that there were also those who, at least with words, offered some kind of resistance to the general dishonor of our time. And that word, no matter how powerless it may seem, is the last thread of light that breaks at least a little, at least for a moment, the omnipresent darkness with which we are overwhelmed. Because both one saved man and one enlightened being who can see something of the grayness of reality are a great thing. He remains as one who has broken free from blindness and silence within himself, from muteness before the horror of inaction.

Therefore, no matter how powerless the text as such is, we must persevere in the struggle to reach the opportunity to speak, to not remain trapped in the silence, without a voice released, the cry of the animal of my humanity, as Konstantinović said. In this way, we remain at least a part of ourselves as human beings, capable of compassion, of confronting, of reflecting and seeking a different solution and the possibility of living with those who are suffering at this moment. If a child suffers anywhere in the world, if explosions destroy homes and the substitution of being, then there can be no peace within us, nor anywhere around us. This does not mean that we should indulge in lamentation and a crude statement of the given, but rather strive to reflect on a multi-layered way of making the world we share with others more acceptable.

Regardless of the fact that wars are happening elsewhere now, it is our duty to think about them, to try to raise awareness among those in our environment who are cheering on the conflicts, to break the myth of warfare. There is no right side in war, every war is fundamentally wrong, unbearable, it destroys us even when we are not directly affected by it. The echoes of war are a universal human burden, they create and determine our achievements, they erase everything we have achieved generations ago, they return us to the point of destruction and animal cruelty. Of course, it is impossible in a time of global information contamination to stay focused and reach the truth. But it is necessary to find ways, to discover new channels of knowledge in order to know more, in order not to participate in the collective hysteria of the planet. Only a person who embarks on this type of search can achieve the necessary distance, reach those deeper understandings of historical circumstances and look for ways to resist them.

The vision of our world is apocalyptic at this moment, little has its own meaning and justification, perhaps it never did, but regardless, we must not turn into wooden objects that neither think, nor want, nor feel. Everything points us towards this sterilization, every day we are more robotic, trapped in front of our screens, almost incapable of coming up with something on our own, distinguishing black from white, joy from sadness, and as such we are the most desirable zombies that feed the manipulative machines of neoliberal capitalism and its greed. In order to wake up, to become aware of what drives us to resist, to change the paradigm and reject misconceptions, it is necessary to want to know more, to mold ourselves from the plastic envelope of chewed-up opinions and predetermined horizons of knowledge. Therefore, we need to search in books, dig through archives, listen within ourselves, find a perspective that is not blurred, in order to reach the real level of deception to which we are exposed, and so that we can try to build a habitat that will not replace intelligence with a bomb, a book with a grenade, and reduce human life to a pile of steel-ground meat.

(oslobodjene.ba)