Chapter 8 in the serialisation of the book 'Insurrection' 4th book in the 'Corpalism' series

8

Consumerism diverts us from thinking about women's rights, it stops us from thinking about Iraq, it stops us from thinking about what's going on in Africa - it stops us from thinking in general.
Pink

Barry took his seat in the auditorium. He'd taken a few liberties to sell tickets, talked about 'the preacher' as if he was already the cult figure he knew he would become, told them to forget the 10 quid he was asking, soon they'd be paying £100s just to stand at the back. It might not suit Blackmore, but if he could line his pockets a bit while fulfilling the brief, where's the harm?

The Preacher strolled onto the stage, placed his box and wandered over to the edge. He rubbed his hands together, then he was off, "I have tried to explain about the futility of our existence in this insane economic nightmare," he breathed in deeply, then spoke in a rush, "that we live under the heel of a fascist economic elite who live their lives in luxury whilst the masses work to service the fantastically insane concept of profit driven, corporate commercialism."

He paused, they weren't listening. "This nightmare pervades our century like a cancer. A darkness has descended upon the world. It is a darkness driven by the deadly sins which are paraded by our political elites as a virtue," he paused, "all of the sins that were seen as evil by our forebears are now lauded as desirable traits, possessed only by the best amongst us."

He raised both his arms in elaborate enquiry, "How is it that we lie and cheat, grub for black gold in the desert, sanction mass murder, turn a blind eye to the sufferings of others in the world? How has it become inconvenient to spare the time to consider the predicament of others?"

He looked around the hall, making butterfly eye contact with each of them, some of them looked uncomfortable even at so slight a challenge. "And how can we, the British people, be so easily seduced, when we condemned the Germans for the ease with which they accepted Nazi policies?"

There was a collective gasp as they registered the comparison and he rode over it, "Are we not complicit when our bombs fall on the weak and defenceless, when the poor go hungry, when the peasants in the third world are forced to work in sweat shops to provide us with cheap goods? Are we not the same as the Nazis?"

"You might be, I'm not!" shouted someone from the back.

"You think your detached position here in the west frees you from responsibility for what is done in your name," said the Preacher, "but it doesn't. You say it because, even here in the west, the majority of us aren't that well off. You feel able to rationalise the plight of those elsewhere with the argument that they come from a poor country so the wages they earn are worth more to them than we can ever imagine. Well, try harder. Imagine their reality, living off pennies, working in deadly and dangerous conditions, slaving in sexually abusive environments.
That is their reality."

He paused, "But what of us? In these times of austerity we have a hard time of it." He started to pace again.

"Where is our hope?" he cried out.

"Our ancestors had the misguided hope that they
would be saved because of their self-sacrifice. They believed they would be rewarded in the after-life, in the fictional utopia called Heaven. This gave them their strength, saved their souls, helped them through each nightmarish day. But what do we have? Where is our salvation now that we know there is no heaven, that hell is merely having no money to go shopping."

He waited for them to think but he still didn't have them, "We know there is only the here and now, so we might as well grab as much as we can. Everyone else is doing it, so why shouldn't we?"

He moved to his left a little, "The simple truth is, as far wiser people than me have already said, shopping is the new religion, consumerism is the new faith, the shopping mall is the new church. After all, isn't that where we now spend our Sundays, at the mall?"

Barry noted that a few were leaning forwards in their seats, not many but a few.

He paused, "Even those who still make the pretence of going to church, even those who can't quite stop themselves believing in God, even those who cross themselves daily, they all go shopping, they all try to out earn their neighbours, they all crave wealth, even you," he shouted, pointing into the audience, "even those amongst us today who would profess to being religious, even you walk past the beggar in the street, ignore the deprivations that occur in the world."

"We all give to charity," called someone from the back. "Red Nose Day," shouted someone else.

"How much do you give? Do you give everything you have? Do you give a month's salary?" he demanded to general disapproving shakes of the head.

Barry began to be a little concerned, this wasn't going as well as he'd hoped; he'd need to get some proper scripts made up.

"Of course not," stated the Preacher, "and why should you? You worked hard for that money. And that's the point, the life of the starving child in the third world is measured against how much money you will have to go shopping again next weekend.
And because we know that God doesn't exist then we also know that the preaching of Jesus is meaningless, we don't have to abide by what he said, we don't have to worry about going to hell, we don't have to do anything other than throw a few quid in the odd collection box every Red Nose day."

There were general murmurs of dissent and one or two got up to leave.

"And so they run away," shouted the Preacher pointing at two men sidling towards the door, "they have convinced themselves they are right to do so."

The two men froze in mid flight and shuffled back and sat down.

Barry was ecstatic; the Preacher was in control.

Cheers

Arun







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