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Whatever happened to ‘The Vision Thing’?

New Geography

As of August 2011, fourteen months away from what promises to be perhaps the most polarizing Presidential election in our Nation’s history, we are farther away than we have ever been from having a shared national vision for the future of our country.

Not only do we not have a shared vision, we have no leaders. Worse, our current role models are really anti-heros, whether they be gangster rap visions of get rich or die trying or banksters in boardrooms plundering a government. Both are thugs, both are parasites, they take much and give nothing.

I no longer harbor any quixotic notions, as I did two-and-a-half years ago, about the President stepping forward to articulate a bold vision for America’s future: But somebody sure needs to … and soon.

Oh, someone will. That’s why the left needs to wake up, get active, and put forth some visions.

  • This love of the nation as opposed to the love of people organising round what they want in co-operation and federation with all other groups, seems to me to be the problem. What is “the Nation” it is something that becomes more important than the people who make up that “Nation”. Let’s stop talking about “this Nation” and its people and start talking about the people of the planet. We are all in this together. “the Nation” has long since been usurped by the corporate world and used to its advantage.

    PATRIOTISM.

    No, I shall not die for the fluttering flag,
    if truth be known, ‘tis nothing but a multi-coloured rag
    held aloft by some foolish hand
    inciting worker and peasant to kill
    on some green and wooded hill,
    peasant and worker from some other land.
    Nor shall I shed blood for the fluttering rag
    that brings out fools to stand and brag
    of brutal deeds painted grand,
    deeds where rustic and craftsman lie so still
    killed by my brothers’ misguided hand.

    No allegiance have I for the Nation
    this man made autocratic creation
    that divides my brothers in a world so small,
    binds us to a country’s cause, right or wrong,
    bids us follow its drum, sing its song,
    then sheds our blood in some border brawl.
    No, I’ll be no slave to flag or nation,
    have no ear for power oration,
    though its iron heel is on my breast,
    my back feels its leather thong,
    at patriotism’s barracoon, I’ll be no guest.

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