Authors, Not Characters

It’s become overwhelmingly apparent that we live in a country where being a free-thinking individual has largely become synonymous with forming part of the ‘criminal’ element. The extent to which the abstract intrusive father figure peers its head into our affairs with its judgmental and ultimately divisive intent disturbs me, but the relative willingness with which so many surrender their right for self-determination disturbs me even more. The stark similarity between our present reality and those dystopian landscapes of Orwell and Huxley is unnerving, and so much so that it appears likely the men at the reigns of our moment have adopted those soberingly nightmarish narratives as tacit templates by which to navigate.

The modern offensive waged against the individual comes not in forms recognizable to the minds of yesterday. It is not necessarily a war of bombs, nor is it a war of takeovers, at least not in the physical sense. Instead, our minds are reeled in, seduced by immediate, yet transient trinkets that help appease our attention and abort all will and ambition that seeks to lend influence to the contouring of our future. Collectively, our fears are intentionally and deliberately exploited by the American conjunct of plutocracy and propagandist journalism, and, as a result, our attention is steered away from matters of true, lasting consequence, and is instead diverted into maniacally paranoid frenzies of who may now be plotting, scheming, and coveting the very freedoms we’ve in fact been stripped of for some time now.

Our sense of security is continually and deliberately wounded with the planting of highly questionable paranoid delusions of persecution. Any unity amongst humanity is targeted and we are thus pinned one against the other, made to feel suspicious, immersed in a self-interest that only perpetuates division amongst us. While we’re polarized for the sake of our disempowerment, we’re still rallied around symbols—be they flags, ribbons, or slogans. We’re told we’re one as a nation, though it may well be a nation of suspicious, self-interested, and mindlessly obedient citizens. We’re made to feel proud of our commitment to security and to remaining vigilant of some exterior threat, yet never realizing we could be harboring a much more subtle and dangerous villain domestically, one that is drunk with power and that survives only when individuals are convinced into exchanging their freedom for a faulty sense of security. We effectively become both guards and prisoners in this self-imposed prison we’ve been encouraged to erect and are terrorized into maintaining.

It is a focused, malevolent entity that discredits our disquietude about the future, that calls our access to information and our right to protest ‘terrorism’, and that says it is unpatriotic and now even illegal to question our government. We are forcefully led to cheap superficial pleasures and to even cheaper ideals and values. Our true choices are limited in those affairs that matter and we’re more than drowned in choices for those things which mean absolutely nothing in the great scheme of things.

We’re at a point where the most banal and frivolous of people are becoming disgruntled and aware. We should allow history to be our most prized adviser, and we should avow a renewed commitment to the very liberty our nation was built on. No level of touted security is worth selling out one’s personal sovereignty. We need to build proactively on freedom, inspiration, and unity, rather than submissively disintegrating into slavery, hopelessness, and discord. The country is thirsty for more leaders, not for more followers. Any holder of power that disempowers its population and discourages the influence of decentralized leadership has become intoxicated in its self- appointed role of playing God. The individual has a part in this unwritten, ongoing narrative, which is not set in stone, as those at the reigns like us to believe. We must surrender the mindset of submission and of powerlessness and instead assume responsibility as authors of our destiny, not as scripted characters in a czar’s twisted delusions of grandeur.

J. González Solorio


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