Soundtrack link - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xTsShIUx1Q
As the assorted cast of characters that live upon the streets and stairwells of Trastevere have reminded me over recent weeks, we are a divided population, with clear lines drawn between the homeless and the homewith.
But just how is it so that in the modern civilized Western world there are still people who don’t possess that most basic of human requirements a home, I hear your bleeding liberal hearts wail. Hmm let’s see…
In order to inhabit a home one must first consent to a plethora of pre-requisites, the most obvious being that you must consent to work in order to fund the acquisition of said home. Take a little peep into the offices and factories of our society on any day of the working week, and you will bear witness to the vast majority of ‘workers’ labouring at tasks in which they find no fulfilment, which are no doubt causing them either physical or mental ailments, and have with certainty contributed to the deterioration of all loving relationships in their lives. How brave you are, my working brethren! What fortitude you show! Each day courageously grinding your teeth and clenching your muscles, groaning ‘Got…to…keep…a…roof…over…my…head’ as the merry whips of that relentless succubus, Mortgage, or her insatiable money gobbling sister, Landlord, lash your contorted torso to scarlet ribbons.
You must consent to contributing taxes to a government whose main priority is a systematic genocide of all peoples who do not share their sacred ‘democratic’ world view, commencing as we can see with those regions most rich in the natural resources required to choke our planet to death as efficiently as possible. But fear not, your tax monies will one day soon be used to kill innocent civilians on our own soil. Jean Charles de Menezes, whisper the trains as they pass through Stockwell station.
You must consent to your refuse being disposed of as your local civic leaders see fit. These leaders, I must add, are the calibre of Burton-suited blue-sky thinkers who pump out propaganda-verts on the propaganda-box, declaring the ingenious alchemy of turning aluminium drinks cans into aeroplanes, a system of recycling that one can immediately see makes great ecological sense. Ah, thank god we have these state-sponsored brains to show us the way to a ‘greener’ life. Personally, I could never have possessed the intricate knowledge of the problems of climate change and environmental pollution to know that the solution is more planes.
You must consent to paying for water, a clear liquid which is a necessity for all life on planet earth, and a natural resource which our very birth bestows us with access rights to. And what marvellous chemical-cocktail version of Adam’s ale your hard-earned currency will procure for you and your loved ones! A hazardous fluid that has been ‘purified’ with amongst other poisons, liquefied chlorine, aluminium sulphate and calcium hydroxide, because for expediencies sake we flush our bodily excreta into the aquatic reserves that also serve our taps. The water that arrives in your homes is imbued with arsenic and lead and pesticides, a liquid testament to the ongoing march of human progress that has put rusting pipes under the ground and cultivated the wondrous diversity of edible vegetation our land once offered into a hideous, labour-some monoculture. What’s more, your thirst is being quenched by water that is full of oestrogen and Prozac and cocaine, having been flushed through countless human bodies that can only survive existence by controlling their moods and natural functions with white powders.
You must consent to heating and lighting your home using fuels for which our common mother, Earth, is daily violated; for which wars are waged; for which communities are expelled from their homelands; for which our fellow human beings are abused and raped and murdered by corporate mercenaries. And if Nigeria, or even Rossport, are too far away for you to imagine such a fate could befall your home town as Shell waging all out war on any member of the local population that can not be bought off, then I hope for your sake that you are not sat atop a rich reserve of natural gas, so you ever remain in the bliss of ignorance.
You must consent to a system in which you are dispossessed of your natural right to space upon this planet from the moment you emerge from the womb. Indeed that warm fleshy cavern contained within your mother’s body is the only truly free space you are likely to inhabit in your lifetime, for to make a home anywhere else will always entail exchange of currency and parameters of ownership.
What, pray tell, is your prize for consenting to all of these infringements of natural order and peace and decency? A home? Perhaps, if you can call a bricks-and-mortar box created by hands other than your own such a name.
And let us not forget of course the magical piece of paper that declares your ownership of a portion of an entity that existed billions of years before your entire species and will no doubt outlive us all by billions more. Oh blessed deed indeed! Read it well fellow citizens of Britain and then read http://www.who-owns-britain.com/
But what on earth has all this to do with those poor shivering grubby street urchins that made my liberal heart bleed, I hear you ask.
It is an oft-repeated snippet of wisdom that many homeless people choose to be homeless, an estimation of the facts that I regard to be, if not incorrect, then at least incomplete. Many homeless people choose not to participate in the system of violence and intrusion that underpins homewithness. They choose non-consent to the conditions set out by the noxious mafia racket that is our hallowed British democracy and the outcome of such a choice is homelessness. Co-operation or exile.
And if you will forgive me for stating the obvious, many more homeless people have themselves been so violated and broken by this system of brutality that they are left, through addictions or illness, unable to consent or otherwise. Endurance or destitution.
Given the real choice every human being would exercise their right to make a home; to be homewith not homeless; to have a place to shelter and nest, a hearth to share with loved ones, a space to create whatever cause one has talent or liking for. Be they one who prefers the diversity of the open road or one who enjoys the stability of a fixed position, we all desire a place of our own to reside. Nomad or settler.
For what other animal on this earth does not at some point in its lifecycle require a home? The bird to raise young, the bear to hibernate, the beautiful bee to provide sanctuary for their magical community and a workshop to produce their miraculous honey harvest. Must they first visit a fat-necked greed ravaged banker to provide financial assistance in becoming a new home-owner? Are they required to grovel to brain-washed planning officers for the right to construct whatever meagre dwelling they desire? Should such a thing be suggested to them by a representative of our revered democracy, let us imagine for example Mr David Cameron, I would hope that the birds would pluck at his eyes, the bears maul at his limbs and the bees bombard him with stings until the poor wretch finally understands he is a part of nature, and has no authority over her realm.
And what, my lovely reader, can you do to convince these preposterous politicians to address the domiciliary divide? Leave that to the birds and the bears and the bees is my advice, and instead go forth into your world!
Claim back your natural inheritance and withdraw your consent from the system of violence that governs our shared home. The land is ours and we must act with the authority of nature to undertake again our role as her caretaker.
So until I see you out there, one and all, populating our shaded vales and windswept hills, crafting your own dwellings in joy and harmony, stoking home-fires with wood you have chopped and drinking the fresh water you have collected, well until then, dear friend, we are all homeless, each dispossessed, every one a vagabond.