Retour sur l'action Barabara Butch à Grenoble:
Ayant participé à cette action, je tiens à apporter plusieurs éléments qui manquent dans le récit médiatique petit thread🔽🔽🔽
⚖️ Le tribunal administratif de Paris a suspendu la décision du préfet de police d'interdire un concert de La France insoumise prévu sur la place de la République à l'occasion de la Fête de la musique.
Your "enemy" is a Hollywood scene.
Mine is what actually happened.
You built your moral universe around a Viet Cong caricature in The Deer Hunter.
A torture fantasy written by Americans, filmed by Americans, sold to Americans to make sure you never ask what your side did in real life.
Your mind clings to one screaming guard in a movie.
It edits out:
Villages burned.
Children running on fire.
Women gang-raped by patrols.
Bodies thrown from helicopters.
My Lai.
Phoenix Program.
Free fire zones.
Agent Orange on rice fields and wombs.
B-52s turning provinces into moonscapes.
None of that is fiction.
None of that needed a script.
When you say "we should've finished off the Marxist bastards," you are not talking about self-defense.
You are fantasizing about genocide and calling it unfinished business.
"Empathetic nation," you say.
Empathetic nations do not carpet-bomb peasants and call it peacekeeping.
They do not spray poison on farms, then decades later point at the deformed children and say, "Look how those people live."
Your own comment proves my point:
Your belief requires an enemy.
You picked one from a movie.
You learned to hate the people your government invaded.
You learned to cry over fictional POWs and feel nothing for real Vietnamese civilians.
And notice where your hatred lands.
Not on the men in suits who sent teenagers to die.
Not on the think tanks who sold the war.
Not on the corporations who made money from napalm, bombs, and chemicals.
Your rage goes downward.
At the "Marxist bastards."
At feminism.
At anyone too poor, too colonized, too left to fit inside your story.
You are exactly what I was talking about:
Someone who was taught to look down instead of up.
Hating the people under the boot so you never have to see the hand that wears it.