Homelessness To Combat Zionism
UC Berkeley Students rally in protest
I have to say, as an Armenian, my relatives have been pushed out of our “country of origin” for several generations now. My immediate family immigrated three times as far as I am aware, to make it to Amerikkka. The quality of life here is… dissociating. Perhaps that may be the right word for it, there are no bombs, but we step over and around homeless individuals everyday in the Bay Area, Los Angeles, and all over this great nation.
I am not exaggerating when I say we have a legalized system of slavery in this country. It is out of sight, out of mind, but our most steadfast unhoused neighbors are constant reminders of it. Every institution of this country is designed to create a pipeline to create and retain slaves, starting from youth in red-lined, underfunded public education camps, which is a polite way to say brainwashing truthfully. Yes, yes, I am aware that this sort of fear mongering is passe, but are we aware that private investment, and therefore private interests, infiltrate our education systems to obfuscate the truth?
Ah, truth, a temperamental thing this idea of what is real and what is not.
Israel you say!
No! Jesus, relax. They are a copy of our blueprint, a shoddy and preterm birth of a nation. Criminals and outcasts enter land that is occupied happily with indigenous folk, remove them, and then begin to live atop the corpses of the fallen comrades and “savages” -as written in our lovely declaration of independence- as if nothing had happened.
Let me speak to you, the holy ghost guide my hand, the survivors. We have been generations of survivors. The American Indians, Africans, Armenians, Palestinians, the Jewish, the Taíno. Will we outlast our masters? Which slave revolt will be our last? All over the world, men holding on to power have killed incalculable people to remain in power, but time has killed them all.
Time has killed all of these weak, pitiful men. Now, we look back and spit on the names of the perpetrators, we remember the dead though the pains of their passing reverberates in our bones I know it does I can feel it. Every day my body creaks like an old ship in choppy waters heading towards the storm but I know inside with time and weathered tides the storm will end. I know it will come to pass and there is nothing to do but ride the waves and pray and
pray that if it is our time to die it is swift and painless, pray that if we survive we survive together and
pray that when we look back at the strife we have some place someone to call home or to call family or to call yours because they take everything from us
they take everything and laugh and enjoy our misery our tears give them joy we are like squealing pigs to them but they don’t know the evil they are committing they don’t know the hell on Earth they are creating for us all
and those that survive will live to tell our story, and we will desecrate the memories of our colonizers and our oppressors.
Look at the hearty survivors in America, taking shelter under every highway bridge, committing petty crime for shelter in the winter, and begging for food and kindness all day rather than contributing their labor to the death of our kin. Who are we to say who is insane, us who are housed, us who are not bombed, us who have an illusion of a functional government without a country run by violent gangs. Everyone will pay for what is happening in Palestine, in Haiti, in America, Artsakh and Africa and Ukraine and — and — and — — and — — and — -
We share this measly home for better and for worse, and it will get much worse before it gets better.
To all the survivors
