People often ask you why you are obsessed with blogs. Why do you take up issues political and criticise as though you had a god given right to do so - and in a paternalistic tone to boot. What makes you tick and type? What makes you transform that indignation at that latest news item into a blog post of criticism or condemnation? What makes you reply to the myriad apologists that inevitably surface when you point your (feeble) barrels at an unheeding bureaucracy that seems to be capable to drive your nation into the mire? What forces of sadistic negativity push you to expose your nation's weakest ills in a public place?
I know. I know that I want to act. I know that this is not enough. I know that this miserable page read by a dedicated few will never break through to the barriers of ignorant decadence that seem to be the only construction work that has succeeded in the island I call home. But the urge to do and not stand there requires that I chronicle the bad and the misguided in the hope that somewhere somehow eyes begin to be opened. Otherwise I cannot point the accusing finger at the oppressive American in Guantanamo, the intolerant Muslim Extremist burners of all, the intransigence of the Vatican, the insensitivity of the West, the atrocities of the Eastern dictatorships, the disgraceful laxitudes in the Sub-Sahara or any other act where stupidity, ignorance and decadent civilisation raises its ugly head. I cannot call shame unto others when my head hangs low with the shameful face that I still cannot bear not to call home.
So this blog will continue to chronicle the ugly, the bad and the obnoxious. To hang the dirty linen and call for change. J'accuse will unfortunately have to report that which the main stream media seems unwilling to show, which the government seems all too willing to cover up and which the opposition can only vaguely splutter about without any concrete proposal of assertive action should it one day be in the driving seat.
Unfortunately, in times like this the will to continue to joke is lost. There are times when merriment makes way for sadness and anger. We must continue to chronicle and criticise. If only to show that it is not such a mad, mad (and surreal - thanks David) world.
Nevertheless, except you share
With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,
Whose world is but the trembling of a flare
And heaven but as the highway for a shell,
You shall not hear their mirth:
You shall not come to think them well content
By any jest of mine. These men are worth
Your tears. You are not worth their merriment.
Last lines of "Apologia Pro Poemate Meo" - Wilfred Owen