Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Excerpt from Anthony Daniel's Wilder Shores of Marx: A Potemkin Mall in North Korea

Anthony Daniels who usually writes in his nom de plume Theodore Dalrymple paid a visit to North Korea in the late 1980s as the usually discriminating North Koreans mistakenly assumed he was friendly to the regime as he had once with Julius Nyere of Tanzania who was a friend of the despot Kim Song.

He had made several remarkable observations. None more than what was a implicitly a tribute to capitalist society but it end up as an indavertent satire.

I went several times during the festival to Pyongyang Department Store Number 1. This is in the very centre of the city. Its shelves and counters were groaning with locally produced goods, piled into impressive pyramids or in fan-like displays, perfectly arranged, throughout the several floors of the building. On the ground floor was a wide variety of tinned foods, hardware and alcoholic drinks, including a strong Korean liqueur with a whole snake pickled or marinated in the bottle, presumably as an aphrodisiac. Everything glittered with perfection, the tidiness was remarkable.

It didn’t take long to discover that this was no ordinary department store. It was filled with thousands of people, going up and down the escalators, standing at the corners, going in and out of the front entrance in a constant stream both ways – yet nothing was being bought or sold. I checked this by standing at the entrance for half an hour. The people coming out were carrying no more than the people entering. Their shopping bags contained as much, or as little, when they left as when they entered. In some cases, I recognised people coming out as those who had gone in a few minutes before, only to see them re-entering the store almost immediately. And I watched a hardware counter for fifteen minutes. There were perhaps twenty people standing at it; there were two assistants behind the counter, but they paid no attention to the ‘customers’. The latter and the assistants stared past each other in a straight line, neither moving nor speaking.

Eventually, they grew uncomfortably aware that they were under my observation. They began to shuffle their feet and wriggle, as if my regard pinned them like live insects to a board. The assistants too became restless and began to wonder what to do in these unforeseen circumstances. They decided that there was nothing for it but to distribute something under the eyes of this inquisitive foreigner. And so, all of a sudden, they started to hand out plastic wash bowls to the twenty ‘customers’, who took them (without any pretence of payment). Was it their good luck, then? Had they received something for nothing? No, their problems had just begun. What were they to do with their plastic wash bowls? (All of them were brown incidentally, for the assistants did not have sufficient initiative to distribute a variety of goods to give verisimilitude to the performance, not even to the extent of giving out differently coloured bowls.)

They milled around the counter in a bewildered fashion, clutching their bowls in one hand as if they were hats they had just doffed in the presence of a master. Some took them to the counter opposite to hand them in; some just waited until I had gone away. I would have taken a photograph, but I remembered just in time that these people were not participating in this charade from choice, that they were victims, and that – despite their expressionless faces and lack of animation – they were men with chajusong, that is to say creativity and consciousness, and to have photographed them would only have added to their degradation. I left the hardware counter, but returned briefly a little later: the same people were standing at it, sans brown plastic bowls, which were neatly re-piled on the shelf.
I also followed a few people around at random, as discreetly as I could. Some were occupied in ceaselessly going up and down the escalators; others wandered from counter to counter, spending a few minutes at each before moving on. They did not inspect the merchandise; they moved as listlessly as illiterates might, condemned to spend the day among the shelves of a library. I did not know whether to laugh or explode with anger or weep. But I knew I was seeing one of the most extraordinary sights of the twentieth century.

I decided to buy something – a fountain pen. I went to the counter where pens were displayed like the fan of a peacock’s tail. They were no more for sale than the Eiffel Tower. As I handed over my money, a crowd gathered round, for once showing signs of animation. I knew, of course, that I could not be refused: if I were, the game would be given away completely. And so the crowd watched goggle-eyed and disbelieving as this astonishing transaction took place: I gave the assistant a piece of paper and she gave me a pen.
The pen, as it transpired, was of the very worst quality. Its rubber for the ink was so thin that it would have perished immediately on contact with ink. The metal plunger was already rusted; the plastic casing was so brittle that the slightest pressure cracked it. And the box in which it came was of absorbent cardboard, through whose fibres the ink of the printing ran like capillaries on the cheeks of a drunk.
At just before four o’clock, on two occasions, I witnessed the payment of the shoppers. An enormous queue formed at the cosmetics and toiletries counter and there everyone, man and woman, received the same little palette of rouge, despite the great variety of goods on display. Many of them walked away somewhat bemused, examining the rouge uncomprehendingly. At another counter I saw a similar queue receiving a pair of socks, all brown like the plastic bowls. The socks, however, were for keeps. After payment, a new shift of Potemkin shoppers arrived.

The Department Store Number 1 was so extraordinary that I had to talk to someone about it. But the young communist from Glasgow to whom I described it simply exclaimed: ‘So what! Plenty of people go to Harrods without buying anything, just to look.’ Nevertheless, I returned twice to Department Store Number 1 because, in my opinion, it had as many layers of meaning as a great novel, and every time one visited it one realised – as on re-reading Dickens or Tolstoy – that one had missed something from the time before.
Department Store Number 1 was a tacit admission of the desirability of an abundance of material goods, consumption of which was very much a proper goal of mankind. Such an admission of the obvious would not have been in any way remarkable were it not that socialists so frequently deny it, criticising liberal capitalist democracy because of its wastefulness and its inculcation of artificial desires in its citizens, thereby obscuring their ‘true’ interests. By stocking Department Store Number 1 with as many goods as they could find, in order to impress foreign visitors, the North Koreans admitted that material plenty was morally preferable to shortage, and that scarcity was not a sign of abstemious virtue; rather it was proof of economic inefficiency. Choice, even in small matters, gives meaning to life. However well fed, however comfortable modern man might be without it, he demands choice as a right, not because it is economically superior, but as an end in itself. By pretending to offer it, the North Koreans acknowledged as much; and in doing so, recognised that they were consciously committed to the denial of what everyone wants.

But the most sombre reflection occasioned by Department Store Number 1 is that concerning the nature of the power that can command thousands of citizens to take part in a huge and deceitful performance, not once but day after day, without any of the performers ever indicating by even the faintest sign that he is aware of its deceitfulness, though it is impossible that he should not be aware of it. One might almost ascribe a macabre and sadistic sense of humour to the power, insofar as the performance it commands bears the maximum dissimilarity to the real experience and conditions of life of the performers. It is as if the director of a leper colony commanded the enactment of a beauty contest – something one might expect to see in, say, a psychologically depraved surrealist film. But this is no joke, and the humiliation it visits upon the people who take part in it, far from being a drawback, is an essential benefit to the power; for slaves who must participate in their own enslavement by signalling to others the happiness of their condition are so humiliated that they are unlikely to rebel.

Monday, December 5, 2016

Hindu nationalist support for Trump simply exposes their impotence

(Note: I actually started this a few months ago but didnt get around to adding the finishing touches today. However it is even more relevant since Trump won)

From nearly deifying Hitler to applying a tilak on Che Guevara, dimwitted Hindus have now found a new way to show the world their intellectual bankruptcy and powerlessness.

Only Donald Trump can save humanity

"Save humanity". On what basis is this fantastic claim made? Because he said some unflattering things about Muslims? And what basis do you believe he will follow through by putting his words in action? Where is any record of him doing that?

Have you forgotten somewhat that one of your ideological kinsmen is in charge of a country which is the seventh largest in the world with a population of over a billion and the fourth largest army with a respected air force and a navy capable of considerable force projection? I didnt even mention nuclear weapons ,delivery systems and our very own satellites. India is quite capable of destroying ISIS or the Taliban(the latter in its backyard) if need be. Why doesnt it? Well gentleman , take a look in the mirror. You are the most incompentent, hollow and brain dead bunch of "patriots" out there. For all the talk of  the "white man's" atrocities, it really doesnt take much pressure for you to go grovelling back to him. And what exactly were you Hindutvadis doing when the white man was ruling your country? No doubt you were ardent revolutionaries, raised an army and allied with the Germans and Japanese at great personal risks to yourselves or joined the British Indian army in large numbers so that you would be better positioned to mutiny at the end of WWII.  Oh my bad, it was those blasted "secularists" who did all that! But you did do a great deal of calisthenics in khaki shorts , so that is just as good I suppose.

Just in the independence struggle ,particularly during the inter war years you were spoiled for choice in all manners of undermining British rule, similarly now Muslim militarism or indeed Muslim beliefs are a target rich environment. The latter particularly are unable to withstand the barrage of criticism from bloggers,tweeters and the like. Here yes, you do your part ...from the safety and anonymity of your homes.

Rather than fight them yourselves (no rioting against Muslim civilians doesnt count) you have pretty much thrown in the towel and ahem "outsourced" it to Americans.

Honestly I ask you-what is stopping you from donning fatigues or a suicide vest and unleashing terror in Karachi, Lahore or Islamabad? OK never mind , perhaps that is too "immoral" for you (though raping and incinerating Indian Muslim women apparently are not). How about travelling to Afghanistan ,Pakistan tribal areas or Northern Iraq to fight Taliban or ISIS? Honestly what is stopping you? Kurds and Christians would actually extend you a warm welcome. But you will not. You are cowards, You are idiots. You are vermin. Thoroughly contemptible and an utter disgrace to our religion. The good news however is you are not really Hindus at all. Your supremacy clause as I mentioned before is not Hinduism but India. If the Muslims suddenly become secularized ala Turkey and pay allegiance to Bharatmata as most non Romans did by prostrating themselves before the statues of the Caesar, Im sure  you will throw in the towel for them too.

Make no mistake, history is not too kind to those  who gained independence or was relieved of oppressors from foreign powers. There is simply no substitute for grit and self respect. Those who lack these will be consumed one way or another.