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Until they become conscious they will never rebel. (or the truth about education, power and the 'feral underclass.' Please comment.

He remembered how once he had been walking down a crowded street when a tremendous shout of hundreds of voices women's voices -- had burst from a side-street a little way ahead. It was a great formidable cry of anger and despair, a deep, loud 'Oh-o-o-o-oh!' that went humming on like the reverberation of a bell.

His heart had leapt. It's started! he had thought. A riot! The proles are breaking loose at last!

When he had reached the spot it was to see a mob of two or three hundred women crowding round the stalls of a street market, with faces as tragic as though they had been the doomed passengers on a sinking ship. But at this moment the general despair broke down into a multitude of individual quarrels.

There was a fresh outburst of yells. Two bloated women, one of them with her hair coming down, had got hold of the same saucepan and were trying to tear it out of one another's hands. For a moment they were both tugging, and then the handle came off. Winston watched them disgustedly.

And yet, just for a moment, what almost frightening power had sounded in that cry from only a few hundred throats!

Why was it that they could never shout like that about anything that mattered?

He wrote:

Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and until after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious.

That, he reflected, might almost have been a transcription from one of the Party textbooks. The Party claimed, of course, to have liberated the proles from bondage.

 Before the Revolution they had been hideously oppressed by the capitalists, they had been starved and flogged, women had been forced to work in the coal mines (women still did work in the coal mines, as a matter of fact), children had been sold into the factories at the age of six. But simultaneously, true to the Principles of doublethink, the Party taught that the proles were natural inferiors who must be kept in subjection, like animals, by the application of a few simple rules.

In reality very little was known about the proles. It was not necessary to know much. So long as they continued to work and breed, their other activities were without importance. Left to themselves, like cattle turned loose upon the plains of Argentina, they had reverted to a style of life that appeared to be natural to them, a sort of ancestral pattern.

They were born, they grew up in the gutters, they went to work at twelve, they passed through a brief blossoming-period of beauty and sexual desire, they married at twenty, they were middle-aged at thirty, they died, for the most part, at sixty.

Heavy physical work, the care of home and children, petty quarrels with neighbours, films, football, beer, and above all, gambling, filled up the horizon of their minds.

To keep them in control was not difficult. A few agents of the Thought Police moved always among them, spreading false rumours and marking down and eliminating the few individuals who were judged capable of becoming dangerous; but no attempt was made to indoctrinate them with the ideology of the Party.

 It was not desirable that the proles should have strong political feelings. All that was required of them was a primitive patriotism which could be appealed to whenever it was necessary to make them accept longer working-hours or shorter rations.

And even when they became discontented, as they sometimes did, their discontent led nowhere, because being without general ideas, they could only focus it on petty specific grievances.

The larger evils invariably escaped their notice. 

 There was a vast amount of criminality in London, a whole world-within-a-world of thieves, bandits, prostitutes, drug-peddlers, and racketeers of every description; but since it all happened among the proles themselves, it was of no importance. In all questions of morals they were allowed to follow their ancestral code.

The sexual puritanism of the Party was not imposed upon them. Promiscuity went unpunished, divorce was permitted. For that matter, even religious worship would have been permitted if the proles had shown any sign of needing or wanting it. They were beneath suspicion. As the Party slogan put it: 'Proles and animals are free.'

The following words were an extract from '1984' by George Orwell  Part 1 Chapter 6 Publication 8th June 1948 - The Images are from various media and date from the present.

Edited and Presented by Zan Minsh..

Clips are by George Carlin and Bill Hicks who are no longer with us.

Orwell, Carlin, Hicks came to shine a light on the future and the dangers we all face at the hands of financial global institutions- it will be at our peril to not take heed and spread this love.

Stay free

love

Zan Minsh

PS. Please read, reread 1984 it is breathtakingly far-sighted novel. It was written for OUR emancipation and not as THEIR blueprint.  Fight the power.

Publication date	8 June 1949

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Where are they now? Tyrants and Despots.

They say a week is a long time in politics but if you are a dictator; a year is a life time. Here we see a picture taken a year ago of the smiling, confident and reigning despots but after the Arab spring life has taken on a whole new colour.

Mubarak lies on a hospital bed charged with crimes against the people of Egypt and cuts a pitiful character and instead of being waited on hand and foot he is slopping out with the rest of the inmates.

Gadaffi is in hiding, possibly in a basement in Libya and instead of a throne has to use a bucket in the corner like the rest of his halve starved compatriots.

Both these oil rich countries have suffered years of underinvestment and underachievement and the emphasis must be now on serving the people. Let the people benefit from the oil wealth but the truth seems that the only people that will benefit are, as ever, Anglo-American corporate oil interests that are faceless, nameless, antihuman organisations that seem more powerful than sovereign states.

Which other tyrants will fall next?

One can live in hope.

Peace. In the MiddleEast, as Tupac was fond of saying.