Le Scarabée

«Marxist reloaded» en bulgare

ARNO* — 2006-04-14T16:00:00Z

Trouvé sur Indymedia Bulgarie, cette traduction de Marxist Reloaded.

“В субективно отношение, това се изразява от една страна в туй, че разпространението на продуктите и потребностите се превръща в изобретателния и хитър роб на нечовешки рафинирани апетити, противни на природата и въображаеми. Частната собственост не умее да превръща елементарната потребност в човешка потребност. Нейният идеализъм си е чиста фантазия, произвол и каприз; никой евенух не е ласкал с такова падение своя господар и не се е старал да възбуди разпенените му способности за доволство, за да спечели услуга с по-долни средства от тези, които използва индустриалния евнух, фабрикантът, за да си присвои няколко жълтици от джоба на своя съсед, така религиозно обичан. Всеки продукт е една стръв, с която се цели да се привлече съществото на другия, неговото състояние. Всяка действителна или въображаема потребност е слабост, която привлича мухата в лепилото: това е универсалната експлоатация на социалното естество на човека.”

Маркс, Ръкописи от 1844, 3-ти ръкопис, XIV

* * *

Октомври 1979. Слизам по Unter den Linden с жива крачка. Следвайки официалния жаргон, другарят метеролог от телевизията ни беше предвещал “разбуждащо” време; всеки беше разбрал, че ще си ги намръзнем. Вятърът нахлува под дрехите ми и ми хапе кожата. Зад мен, от висините на Бранденбергската врата квадригата на Йохан Готфрид Скадоу предизвиква Запада отвъд стената. Френският империалист Наполеон ни го беше откраднал, ние си го върнахме у нас. Днес, същите коне презират американския империалист и неговите съучастници, прикрили се в техния град-затвор.

Мисля « Der Himmel uber Berlin... », небето над Берлин... Небето над Берлин не му пука за границите. Днес идва от изток; опитвам се да дешифрирам във формата на облаците някаква поука, идваща от единствената истинска демокрация. Но студът ме задължава да забия нос в яката си.

* *

Двамата мъже ме чакаха пред вратата на бюрото ми. Носят големи сиви палта, сиви шапки, сиви панталони и черни обувки. Придружени са от двама Vopos (източно берлински граничнари). При пристигането ми единият от мъжете ми излага цветната си карта от полицейска служба, чието съществуване не ми е известно.

* *

Централно бюро на народната полиция, чакам, сам, затворен в малка стая.

* *

Мъжът със сивата шапка ми говори бавно, артикулирайки всяка дума, с пресилено учтив тон, от който сълзи презрение: “Здравейте господин Хандерсон, аз съм агент Шмид. Безполезно е да се защитавате, господин Хандерсон, вече знаем всичко за вас. Официално, вие работите в информатичната служба на Дома на Народа, където вашите служебни състояния се ценят. Но нелегално, вие сте опасен пират, познат под името “Мао”.”

Иска ми се да отрека всичко накуп: “Не е вярно, всичко е грешно. Винаги съм бил лоялен към...” Агент Шмид ме прекъсва с жест на ръката: “Как смеете да произнасяте тази дума, вие, който сте просто един обществопредател, агент, подкупен от империалистите, вие, който предадохте Народа. Нима твърдите, че Партията се е объркала? Да не сте и мръсен ревизионист, освен девиантните ви поведения?”

Опитвам се да отговоря, но си давам сметка, че вече нямам уста. Между брадата и носа ми има само кожа, гладка, без никакъв отвор за говорене. Започвам да се паникьосвам.

Агент Шмид ми подава лист и химикалка: “Това са признанията ви, господин Хандерсон. В тях описвате престъпленията си срещу Народа, както и престъпленията на вашите съучастници. Те вече подписаха.” Избутвам документа с ръка. Мъжът настоява, приемайки мазен глас: “Ако не го направите за себе си, направете го за Партията. Партията има нужда от вас, господин Хандерсон, тя има нужда от признанията ви. Процесът на вашата мрежа ще бъде за пример. Впрочем присъдите ви вече са решени на най-високо ниво. Тежки наказания, за пример, както вече ви казах; но имайте доверие, до няколко месеца ще бъдете реинтегриран и всичко това ще бъде забравено. И така Партията ще бъде укрепена. Пак ви казвам: направете го за Партията. Докажете вашата лоялност.”

“Оставям ви няколко минути, за да размислите.”

* *

Седя прав над празното пространство, на перваза на петия етаж на сградата. Питам се коя муха ме е ухапала, че да бягам през прозореца. Стори ми се да чувам глас, който ми заповяда да бягам.

Някакъв глас ми говори, устата ми изчезва, а сега вися на перваза на петия етаж; дали не започвам да губя чувство за реалността?

* *

Голям черен мъж, седнал в клубен фотьойл. Американец несъмнено. В Берлин единствените тъмножи са американци. Без съмнение ЦРУ. “Здравей Мао. Бягството ти от сградата на Volks Polizei много ме впечатли. Това допълнително ми потвърждава, че именно ти си Избаника...”

Типа го изненадва една кихавица. Вади от джоба си вискозна кърпичка и си избърсва един сосен сопол от носа: “Името ми е Морвеус (морв значи сопол, бел.). Ще бъда твоя гид извън този свят.” Питам го как смята да ме прекара през стената. “Няма стена, Мао, има просто илюзия за стената. Светът - такъв, какъвто го познаваш - не съществува. Това е измислица. Химера.”

Отбелязва пауза и изглежда неразбирането ми го забавлява. “Нима, никога не си се запитвал как суциалистическия ти свят можеше да бъде толкова съвършен? Защо вестниците, които четеш съобщават само добри новини и постоянно хвалят съвършенството на обществото, в което живееш? Защо партията никога не греши?” Реализирам отведнъж, че действително, аз живея в общество, където няма мизерия, няма безработица, където инжинерът е приятел с работника, където демокрацията е съвършена, където целите на плана винаги се изпълняват и надминават... Морвеус продължава: “Това съвършенство е просто илюзия, изобретение предназначено за контролиране на човешките същества.” Намесвам се: “А, да, експлоатацията на Човека от Човека.” Морвеус ме поправя: “Не, Мао: експлоатацията на Човека от машината.” И добавя, мистериозен: “Името на този фалшив свят е: “Марксицата”.” После: “Светът на Марксицата е прекалено перфектен, за да е реален.”

Все пак, изчанчвам: “Но сега сме едва 1979-а. Машините не са интелигентни. Не могат нито да контролират, нито да експлоатират човеците.” Морвеус ми възразява: “Още една илюзия: не сме в 1979, а в 5739.” Най-накрая разбирам: “А-а-а, значи вие не сте от ЦРУ. Вие сте от Моссад.”

Морвеус ми обяснява, че в истинския свят, няма празници на първи август, нито на осми август. Възпротивявам се: “Как, празника на работниците и годишнината на победата над фашистките хорди не се празнуват в истинския свят?” Той ми обяснява, че в истинския свят, където човешките същества са наистина свободни, не би било рационално да се спира работата на предприятията, които произвеждат богатството и осигуряват щастието в обществото: “Впрочем, в истинския свят, месец февруари има всяка година 29 дена. Именно благодарение на тази ефишънси, свободните хора ще победят Максистата.”

Зад него, някой кашля. “А да, да ти представя Annonciation Conception Assomption dos Santos. За по-кратко я наричаме Трепани. Тя участва в нашата група.” Гледам момичето: едра, с кестенява коса, излята в един ултра излят кожен комбинезон. Обикновено кожите те правят по-подпухнал, обаче нашата, ма въобще.

Кестенявата СМ се приближава до мен: “Гледачката ми предсказа, че ще правя любов с Избраника. И така, когато срещна Избраника, зная, че ще правя любов с него. Дали не си ти... Избраника?” Не се колебая и за секунда: “Да, аз съм Избраника. Нали, Морвеус, че аз съм Избраника?”

И въпрос да покажа, че взимам много насериозно ролята на Избраник, се провиквам: “Да живее капитала!”

* *

Събуждам се на борда на кораба на Морвеус, Жеробоам, един вид купчина от джаджи и бжъчки с траби навсякъде и екрени от стари компютъри вързани с щипки-крокодилчета. Малко е като в Дас Буут, но в по-мръсен вариант.

* *

“Време е за теб да започнеш обучението си, Мао.” Намирам се с Морвеус в едно дожо, носим готини кимона. Морвеус има черен колан, а аз бял.

“Не се притеснявай, Мао, намираме се в Марксицата, но в една много по-различна част на Марксицата от тази, която познаваше. Една подсистема, която контролираме изцяло.” Опитвам се да разбера: “Вие сте титисти, така ли?”

И тогава Морвеус ми изпраща едно Аже емпи учи в зъбите. Изправям се и му джаскам едно Мае гери, което той блокира с Учи уке. Пробва едно Маяши гери, пък аз му правя един Джедан барай и отвръщам с един Манаши емпи учи. Коланът ми сменя цвета си по време на битка. Той става жълт, оранжев, зелен, син и после кафяв.

Правя му едно измитане на смъртта, която убива, но той предвижда и скача във въздуха, крещейки: “Поза на нефритения жерав на трите слънца!” Скачам също във въздуха и викам: “Със силата на петте свещени дракона на дванайстия император!” И тогава, започваме като един вид страшно дълга светкавица Кодак.

Оставаме си ей така - във въздуха - без да мърдаме, човек би казал, че дожото прави половин кръг около нас, но не наистина, защото с него се въртим и ние, т.е., че оставаме в същата позиция докато всичко се движи. На края, с две думи, най-накрая разпъвам крака си и му нанасям един Фумикоми в зъбите. Коланът ми става черен.

“Виждаш ли, Мао, в Марксицата, можеш да си даунлоуднеш всички видове човешки знания и способности. Да пилотораш хеликоптер, да крадеш моторетка, да говориш чеченски. Всичко, от което имаш нужда за това, идва от този малък мобилен телефон Нокия-ТМ, който работи с Джава.”

Взимам телефона и си пускам да ми се даунлоудва програмата Роко Сифреди.

* *

Чакам в хола на врачката. Едно хлапе ме се подиграва, извивайки една лъжичка единствено със силата на мисълта си. Показвам му, че аз пък мога да си движа очите независимо едно от друго като хамелеон.

“Врачката ще те приеме, Мао.”

Влизам в малка, доста мърлява кухня, където мирише на прегоряла мас. Една старица ми е обърнала гръб. Върху мушамата, окрасена с грамадни пъстри цветя, има малка чинийка с бисквити Тък с вкус на бекон. В момента, когато си взимам една Тък, старицата се обръща и ме поглежда вещо. Забелязвам: “Знаехте, че ще си взема една Тък, нали?” Тя се усмихва: “Разбира се. Иначе щях да съм малка врачка...” Не ме впечатлява чак толкова: “Да де, добре, когато има чиния с Тък, всеки си взима една Тък, дори не е нужно да си ясновид.”

Изплюсквам Тъка и си взимам втори от чинията. Овъртам: “Но вие знаехте, че ще си взема втори Тък.” Тя: “Разбира се”. Поглъщам и втория Тък и поплювам трохи: “Въпрошът е, ше е штрашно вкушно, тежи бишквитки. Жапошнеш ли веднъж, нема шпирка. Даже и аш, бих могъл да го предвидя.”

Но старицата, без нищо да съм поискал, поставя пред мен чаша вода, с един открито церемониален жест. Направо съм вцепенен: “О-о-о, жнаехте, ше ште ми прешъхне уштата!” После питам: “Моля ви, разкрийте ми бъдещето. Ако може да помогне, знайте, че съм овен с асцендент стрелец.”

Врачката остава дълго време в тишина и ме сразява: “Съжалявам, Мао, но ти не си Избраника. Морвеус се е объркал.”

* *

Трепани ме разпитва: “Е, всичко добре ли мина с гледачката? Знаеш, че тя никога не бърка, хм. Доказателството е, че ми беше предвидила, че ще спя с Избраника и сега ние сме заедно.”

Извъртам: “Би могло да се каже, че има една лоша новина. Но, ако нямаш нищо против, предпочитам да правим любов веднага, а после ще ти разкажа новината.”

* *

Агент Шмид ме настига на спирката на метрото Постдамер Плац. Праща ми около 240 разбий-нос за по-малко от три секунди, но аз му правя Аже емпи учи, после Мае гери, после една серия Йоко емпи учи, после една плетеница от Уширо гери хипер-гадни, после викам “Мощ на недосегаемия лотус от пролетта на принцесите” и го изпращам да се размаже на релсите на метрото. Странно, пак се получава моментен Кодак.

* *

Трепани ми хвърля една нишка от хеликоптера, но нещо се прецаква и в крайна сметка се озовавам хванат за хеликоптера със самата сила на ръцете ми.

* *

Пристигам най-накрая в големия подземен град на човешката съпротива, Вавилон; правя любов с Трепани, изведнъж Морвеус организира една голяма религиозна служба в моя чест.

Това се случва в една огромна пещера и присъстват няколко хиляди човешки същества облечени в животински кожи. Морвеус говори пред тълпата: “Аз имам вярата. Ние тук, фашистите, сме единствените истински анархисти.” Тълпата го аплодира. Чудя се дали не съм изпуснал някой епизод.

И тогава всички човеци започват да танцуват на племенната техно музика.

Както си скучая, опитвам да забия два лафа с един от феновете: “Значи така, и ти си изпил малкото червено хапче?” Типът ме поглежда с изгърмяните си очи: “Да бе, ман, тук всички гълтаме хапчета от всякакви цветове. Трепач е, ман.”

Но през това време, машините дълбаят земята, за да унищожат Вавилон.

* *

Каролингиецът ни пука тъпънчетата с историите за примитивно натрупване на капитал и социализация на средствата за производство: “Понеже, вие, човешките същества сте погълнати в пълна капиталистическа лудост, вас не ви бива да преминете от пролегомените към рационалността на научния социализъм, следствената връзка не ви интересува, вие дори не знаете защо наистина сте тук.” и да прибави: “Еба ти, бардака скапан на кучи син на ташаците ми!” Отвръщам му, че историческия материализъм, повлиян от хегелистичната диалектика, се крепи добре за пет минути, но сега трябва да спасяваме планетата.

* *

После караме малко мотор, вдигаме във въздуха една ядрена централа, излагайки я просто на слънце, целият Ню Йорк е потънал в блек-аут, разменям два лафа с един архитект, който ми хвали заслугите на Лъчистия град, спасявам Трепани, която пак си размазва муцуната в една стена, а машините разрушават все пак Вавилон.

И ми ти правя една отминала кома, при положение, че е навечерието на светлото бъдеще. Липса на късмет.

E-men, capital-risk and your mama

Eric Cotte — 2000-02-13T23:00:00Z

New economy: soon we'll all be wearing shorts

Before I start, here are a few basic reminders on the terminology of the new economy (for those of you living on another planet). The basis of this economy is the start-up: a firm with a high growth potential and whose activity is centered on new information and communication technologies. Let's call "e-man" the creator of a start-up. He's usually young and utterly incompetent, but often possesses a lot of nerve and thinks he's all that (e-man is thus rather befitting). The development of a start-up is financed using capital-risk: investment funds for which the model isn't stable growth of the firm, but speculation. For the investor incapital-risk, the goal is not to invest in 10 firms that will all manage to develop "normally", but to have, out of the 10, one for which the development will be huge (the other 9 simply disappearing).

The spectacle of life (and death) of start-ups is amazing. The deep idiocy of the "concepts" they propose, the incompetence of the founders, the amount of money spent on advertisement by those nascent (and often dwarfish) firms, and the incredible enthusiasm of the press for that kind of bullshit... But the most amazing is the investments of financial markets, via capital risk, in these firms whose sole existence could be discredited after thinking for 2 seconds. It's just all so unexplainable. To sum it all up: why does so much money, so much advertisement and enthusiasm for firms that do not show any inventiveness, or any competence of their own, or any physical infrastructure, and create neither wealth nor jobs, go into that?

The answer lies at the end of the chain: start-ups eventually enter the stock market. The whole new economy system is based on that final goal. It's at that precise moment that participants get their money back and justify the investments they made during the few previous years.

No start-up earns any money through its activity. They're just not meant to. Advertising costs are such that it's simply impossible for a start-up to be profitable through the services it delivers. Mediocre portals, online sale of products and displaying of ads are not enough to reach the goal: since only one start-up out of ten survives, this one must have its value multiplied by 10 within a few years (which is, as capitalist societies have demonstrated for centuries, rigorously impossible through productive work). It's a fact, start-ups spend more than they earn. The ones usually mentioned as examples (Yahoo, Amazon) had a negative balance sheet before they entered the stock market. Therefore, what can the investor count on? On the stock market itself! If he invests $200 millions on a firm that ends up being worth $2 billion on the stock market, he's done it, he's earned 10 times his input. The rupture with the usual capitalist model lies there: the capital-risk is not invested so that the firm brings him back some dividends (according to the traditional principle of the market - see article on the pyramidal scam), but so that he gets it all back on the first day on the stock market. The goal is not for the firm to be profitable, but for it to be "bought" by the market.

Same for the e-man. As we know, this young man is rarely rich, he works like a mule and gets paid with stock-options, that is, in virtual shares of his firm. These shares are worth nothing before the firm enters the stock market. Their value will be determined when entering the market. The final goal of the e-man isn't, as for a beginning entrepreneur, to create a stable activity with an acceptable growth, but to manage, within a few years, to sell his firm at the highest possible price.

The activity of a start-up, from the point of view of the e-man and the capital-risk investor, is totally directed toward the seduction of the financial markets: the goal isn't to create wealth or jobs, profitable production of goods or progress in competence (let's leave that to idealists!), but the intoxication of investors. The service provided by the firm (selling stuff, rerouting emails, hosting sites...) takes a backseat (it's not profitable anyway): it's just an alibi. It's not about being worth something, but about making the market believe you are worth something.

First step: creating the start-up. No really original idea or innovating technology is required. Hence the multiplication of nearly identical start-ups based on similar stupid concepts. Then, capital-risk must be found. Let's be clear: everyone knows that everybody is lying, and pure cynicism reigns. The e-man knows his concept is shit and the investor is fully aware of that. It's all a big lying game: while pretending to be discussing issues such as quality, innovation, production, everyone knows they're just helping to set up a scam. Here, the investor doesn't choose a "good concept", but selects e-men according to their level of cynicism, depending on whether or not they can have him understand, without saying it, that they're in the know... Initial capital input: $3 millions (i.e., nothing).

This input serves as a test. If the e-man spends $3 millions for formation and technological research, hires journalists to create quality content, pays real salaries, buys machines, that is if he shows a real activity, the adventure stops there. If, on the contrary, he spends $1.5 millions on a subway, bus and billboard ad campaign, puts up three interns in sumptuous buildings in a rich part of a city, invites journalists to press conferences during which the message is "drink Champagne and eat snacks, the new economy is paying for it", distributes expensive promotional gadgets, and if the press starts mentioning with enthusiasm this young and dynamic firm, then he moves on to the next phase.

The e-man has thus spent all his cash in a record time, created no job, developed no competence... and the capital-risk investor is proud of him! Let's move on to more serious business: hundreds of millions of dollars to come.

What comes next is, again and always, advertising campaigns that are huge compared to the size of the firm. Strangely enough, the target of those ads on billboard, on TV, and in the press is not the Internet user, but the market. Indeed, that spending won't ever be met by additional activity for the firm. The campaigns cost much more than the added activity they could foster, and this by quite a phenomenal factor. Once again, this is all a lying game: the public campaign serves only to make the market believe that "everyone" knows this firm. When entering the market, the prospective share buyer reacts in this manner: "oh, yes, "Idioticgadget.com", that's the financial event the whole press has been talking about!" He then goes on to ask his friends about it (because he doesn't understand a thing as far as Internet is concerned, and has no way of truly knowing that firm's activity) and his 14 year-old son explains to him "yep, "Idioticgadget.com", the web of astute Internet users, I've seen the ad on TV, really cool!" Since his son (who can't learn his lessons and get decent grades, but is better at using the computer than his dad...) knows about it, the buyer feels better and tells himself that it truly is the opportunity of the week, innovating, dynamic and all... Advertising doesn't sell the firm's services to the public, but (indirectly) sells the firm itself to the market.

The press is not going to help prospective share buyers wake up. Indeed, the press lives on the advertising budgets of start-ups and is a big investor in the new economy. Large newspapers create their own portals and multimedia branches. They're not going to shoot themselves in the arm. The usual alibi which runs something like "the newspaper's opinion is in no way influenced by sponsors/advertisers" doesn't hold anymore. In displaying in its columns ads whose sole interest is intoxicating the market, the press becomes an active accomplice to the lie.

One thing though, is that investors are not all just morons obeying the siren song of the market. They want more traditional assurances. Start-ups can get that kind of credibility during the last show of strength that precedes entering the market: fusion-acquisition. Two start-ups with idiotic activities and laughable (and often unknown) results proudly make it known that they're merging (Champagne and snacks for the press, once more) to the press, which makes this its headline of the day. That's the ultimate assurance: a large firm buys the start-up(s) (Champagne and snacks...). If a behemoth invests in this firm that must mean it is interesting. The trick is that the capital-risk investors already belonged to those behemoths. The large firm is actually buying something it already possessed just to give it some credibility. The intoxication is over, the excitation of the market reaches a peak, and investors jump for joy as they grab some shares.

The e-man converts his stock-options into shares (real money, now) and the capital-risk investor gets the benefit of his investments. End of story. The market bought nothing but a big ad/communication campaign.

Yes, but... what about the fact that this firm has now entered the market? What will happen when the shareholders understand that they possess firms that have no worth, whose activity is not profitable, and that have developed no infrastructure or competence? What will happen when the truth gets out?

That, you'll know next time the market crashes.

The cataclysm of the millenium

Eric Cotte — 1999-10-19T22:00:00Z

There's been a lot of talk about a bug for the year 2000. It will be far worse than that...

Yes indeed, I'm a millenium freak! Not in the sense that I believe in the scientist bullshit that the media are feeding us ("what's going to change in our life"). Not in the way that cults start thinking about living on comets ("make reservations for your seat on the next rocket to Hale-Bopp"). Not in the sense of American TV series such as Millenium, that keep reminding us that there's still time to become Christians before judgement day.

No, no, my millenium craze is more serious than that: what will happen in the year 2000 will make John's Apocalypse seem like a weekend at the beach. The next thermonuclear war will look like a microwave oven breakdown. The time and space implosion of the whole Universe will pass for a goat's fart in the woods on a summer night. To stress the importance of that thing, I guess the only apt comparison possible would be with Andre Agassi busting his elbow before a game. Tough...

Also, unlike the victims and followers of the media craze about the Y2K bug, I've been a millenium freak for a long time now. As a good fan of Protestant determination, I've known it since I was born. As they say in (cheap) TV series: it's always been in me, and I've always known...

So, here it is: in the year 2000, I'll turn 30. And when I'm 30, I'll be old.

Don't you laugh! It's very grave! It's as bad as when a Jedi goes for the wrong side of the force, if you know what I mean. Because I can tell you that I won't like being old one bit. And the thought that I might be able to get used to it just puts me to shame.

A good number of my friends have already had their "year 2000" come before mine. With all the weddings and births, I can't even count anymore the number of male friends who became fathers, responsible and serious. And what about female friends becoming mothers, protective and jealous? So, all my friends go through their "personal millenium" letting the worst happen: normality gets to them. Stable couples only hang out with other stable couples (a true but still unexplainable trend). The last few bachelors among them enter the club of smokers sent out to the balcony, and as for me, people are starting to complain about my grim spirits. Uncle Arno has a bad influence on the kids ("Arno, what did you tell my son about priests who become werewolves and eat children?"). Couples find themselves a sudden passion for family cars. My friends became quite knowledgeable on the pros and cons of diesel gasoline. Those are obscure concepts that can only be expressed by saying, in a preoccupied tone, "yes, but when driving in the city, it's not for sure that consumption drops", and by concluding in a more upbeat tone with "yes, but you get more money back when you sell it". People become bourgeois: we used to roll cigarettes made with exotic herbs and share them ("wow, dude, pass it around!"). But now everyone has his own ready made cigar, rolled on the tanned thighs of a Cuban employee (anyway, the thought of passing around a cigar that's been chewed for quite some time seems pretty gross to me). Cigars make me sick, too.

But there's worse: I recently remarked that I didn't feel any attraction for 18 year-old girls anymore. Just too young. Their juvenile faces turn me off, and they call me "Sir", like I could be their father. That doesn't make me feel any younger.

So, I'm getting ready for that cataclysm. Already, when I try to dress in a hip way I look like an old fart disguised as a youth. When I try to speak like kids, it sounds as old as a silent movie. See, I've even started using the expression "back in my days"...

But next year will be even worse. I'll be officially old, 30 year-old plus. I'll start thinking about retiring, looking for a condo. I'll look at girls with the thought of "settling down" foremost in my mind. I'll have a cell phone and my only sense of revolt will be against taxes. I'll find happiness in the ugliest of conformities.

Some people are stocking up with food for the year 2000, pilling up tin cans. I guess I'll start thinking about moving to Florida and subscribing to "Houses and gardens".

Vae Victis

Eric Cotte — 1999-09-25T22:00:00Z

The plight of the losers as the only guarantee of the new World order.

"In a cemetery, as far as I know, people do not talk".
Milenko Karan, Serb intellectual, foreseeing the Kosovo "massacre".

In East-Timor, just like in ex-Yougoslavia or Rwanda before, the brave soldiers of the international community go count the corpses, watch over the mass graves, and bury the dead. Today, the image is explicit: a genocide is like an earthquake. Unpredictable, sudden, unexpected. The earth shakes during the night and all we can do is send specialists the next day to count victims and avoid epidemics.

It makes one wonder what humanities are for. What's the use of specialists in international relations, secret services, United Nations observers and our nice worldwide information system every time people get cut to pieces (the unit involved being the tens of thousands of victims), since we seem to be surprised every time something like that happens?

What if, in fact, the world order established a the end of WWII wasn't that of peace, of democracy, of human rights, but that of Order for the sake of Order? Did the world, more barbaric than ever (were there ever more killings than during the 20th century?), stop striving for human hope and progress and start caring only for stability?

Initially, the world order was forged not on the defeat of Germany and Japan, but on the exemplary punition for their people. The equilibrium of world powers comes from the massacres perpetrated after victory wasassured: Dresden bombed by the English in February 1945 (35,000 dead - read Kurt Vonnegut's "Slaughterhouse-Five"), the Russian response over Berlin and the American supremacy with Hiroshima (140,000 dead) and Nagasaki (70,000 dead) in August of 1945. We can try justifying those through the responsibility of Germany and Japan for the war, the horror of the concentration camps, the millions of dead... But is the massacre of civilians the best show of justice? Death to the losers. A proof of absolute military superiority as an assurance of stability.

Nowadays, the equilibrium brought about by nuclear terror being but a memory, stability rests on new principles, the first one being ethnic purity. The wars in the Balkans are largely due to the new geopolitical theories of the great powers, the German Ethnopolitik, the Shock of civilizations for Americans (as described by Samuel Hutington in "the Clash of Civilizations," Foreign Affairs, vol. 72, No. 73, 1993). Those theories would deserve long explanations, but, simplified to death, they rest on the spurious idea that races cannot live together (ethnic and religious origins defining the notion of race and not, as in the ideals from the French revolution, Reason and the social contract). They can only co-exist one next to the other, in a sort of worldwide Apartheid, with the ratio of power working as the guarantee of stability.

Therefore, genocide and massacre are the byways of the world order. Ethnic cleansing and displacement of populations answer, in a quite quick, simple, and definitive manner, the need for stability of the great powers. Human rights, peaceful co-existence of races and democracy, on the other hand, take a lot of time, are complex and... costly (and it's a never-ending process).

Moreover, World order is designed serve the goals of big businesses (fruits and vegetables companies in South America, oil companies in Africa, industries in Asia), multinationals that prefer stability to change, repression to human progress. To explain the fact that France backed the regime of Juvenal Habyarimana in Rwanda, Roland Dumas said that, although it may not be a model of virtue, thanks to him Rwanda was a stable country. There again, the international community turned a blind eye, and the massacres came only later (as if to cleanse the international community's conscience or to avoid the instability of the whole region?).

In Bosnia, what happened in Srebrenica showed the determination of the West not to protect ethnic mixes, and the war was resolved by cutting the country into ethnically pure territories, regardless of the human costs of massacres and displacements.

In spite of the so-called humanitarian discourse, the world order still rests on the plight of the losers. Intervening too late, in spite of what some hypocrites among the people in charge say, is not a fatality but a deliberate will to resolve durably (or definitively, in the case of total Pogroms) and at a low cost the problems that may arise between populations. A good big massacre is simply good enough to some people to bring back ethnic equilibrium (or ethnic purity), which is the base of the geopolitical theories of the greater powers. (Note that I voluntarily did not use brackets, as I think that the racist slant of the Ethnopolitik and of the "Clash of civilizations" theories is explicit enough...)

Tomorrow (if we're really going towards a humanist world), we shall have to write the Black Book of this barbaric world order that sacrifices people to its craving for stability. Stability at all cost, that is the definition of a reactionary system.

The Thierry Marceaux Internet Fan Page

Eric Cotte — 1999-07-18T22:00:00Z

An article dedicated to the Man of the Year 1998.

How sad! The man I venerate and consider as my new thought-father, Thierry Marceau, was sentenced to 150 hours of community service work. The punishment might seem like a small one, but it is a grave inequity. Thierry Marceau, instead of a sentence, deserved an award! Indeed, this young man actively worked towards denouncing the media's stupidity and towards promoting sense (which is, as everyone knows, the foundation of a republican democracy).

Whereas we give the "legion d'honneur" to some former nazis and the medal for Arts and Letters to some promoters of bad music, Thierry Marceau gets a sentence.

Here are the facts. In October 1998, some strange phenomenon took place in the church of a small French village called Delain. Candles would fly, and statues of Saints would move all by themselves. Quickly, and in addition to a few gawkers, fanatics and exorcists, the media came and started keeping the whole country informed on those strange stories involving possessed candles and more. Soon, after many newscasts from hillbilly-country, the question was asked: "miracle or curse?", "is the church of Delain possessed by the Lord or the Devil?" Interviews of local hicks telling about their supra-natural experiences followed. X-files style, except this was for real. All those reports showed a little doubt on the part of the media, but they also worked at maintaining the suspense by concluding that those phenomenon were still very "troubling" and mystically interesting.

So troubling that the police tackled the case. I really wonder if our taxes should go to a bunch of low-brow uniform-wearing would-be Mulder and Scully every time there is a case of flying candles in a church. Anyway, the investigation soon concluded that this was only a little prank played by the young mayor (32), Thierry Marceau. A little prank that, thanks to the media, got out of hand and reached national importance. Quote Thierry Marceau, talking about the media at that time:" So, when we call you to show that we're doing interesting things, you never come. But when we call about something as futile as that..."

Thierry Marceau has since been sentenced for theft, insult towards public authority (translation: he made fun of the police) and destruction of public goods.

Whereas France is not doing so good in the fight against cults and sects, and against various con artists who exploit a gullible public (fortune tellers and all sorts of gurus, the National Lottery, homeopaths and economic commentators...), we sentence a mayor for trying to denounce all this. Whereas god-crazy reactionaries still have an influence on politics and the media keep the market for paranormal alive, we scold someone who tried, through an example, to show the workings of those idiocies and ridiculed the media's craziness.

Every Sunday, priests exploit the naivete of their followers with stories about immaculate conception, burning bushes, walking on water and the multiplying of hedge funds. After those stories, the audience gets his purse and helps finance these people's idle life. None of those priests was ever sentenced for swindle or theft. TV investigates paranormal and "troubling" phenomenon, over-publicizes moronic fortune-tellers. Tabloids and female-oriented magazines capitalize on astrology ("Virgo: you'll get laid this summer"). None of them was ever condemned. Homeopaths sell the placebo effect for the price of caviar and explain that their little pills must not come in contact with the patient's hands, lest the effect be lost, which goes to show that their medication is as good as sucking one's thumb. But that is legal.

Thierry Marceau truly contributed to the awakening of the consciences of the masses, because his little manipulation was, indeed, "troubling". Let's hope that the people he fooled learnt something about their own credulity. He also showed the limits of the media's code of ethics and professionalism, as well as the way they keep lowering the level of the information they deal with. If we don't accept the impact he had on human progress, we must still admit that he helped local tourism. His reward: a sentence given by the French justice system (I'm still wondering what the French justice has to do in this sort of private problem).

To Thierry Marceau, from the thankful Republic.

I just learnt about the death of John John Kennedy (John John, what a stupid name!). Well, get this, it's not a plane accident. The media asserts that it's an effect of the "Kennedy clan malediction", of "a curse on the Kennedy", or of "malign fate". Well, it looks like the media serve us paranormal crap by the ton...

Where's the 8th corridor?

Eric Cotte — 1999-06-06T22:00:00Z

The eighth corridor goes through Skopje,
Macedonia, a few miles from Kosovo. Why
haven't we ever heard about it?

It's been repeated many times already: NATO's actions in Kosovo are not
legitimate as far as international law goes, but they seem to be OK because
of our status as democracies and our will to have "human rights" prevail
over international law. NATO acted outside of the UN's mandate to bypass
the fears of some members of the security council. In France, the
government shook the constitution (only the national assembly can declare
war), because this is no "classical" war. Our media were happy enough to
talk about a new, and more just, world order according to which human
rights matter more than law and where it is OK to take care of other
nations' business because we think ourselves wiser and legitimated by the
international tribunal.

All this is certainly worthy of admiration and surely represents a step
forward for humanity. Tyrants can no longer hide themselves behind
international law ("I can do what I bloody well please inside my borders")
to massacre. (The next step could be for multinationals to use proprietary
law and freedom of concurrence to massacre the whole planet)

Thus legitimacy in our intervening in Kosovo comes from our position as a
democracy fighting barbarian acts. That's what we keep hearing, and that's
the only thing that makes military actions outside the UN's mandate
legitimate.

But for this to hold, we have to be democracies. That's where the real
question lies. Did NATO really act to answer to people's will and under
their control? Or have our armies exercised disinformation, manipulation,
and demagogy to escape our control? Even if that never appears clear to the
troops, it must be noted that democracies cannot fight dictatorships with
the same weapons (torture, reprisals on civilians, weapons prohibited by
international conventions, etc) without running the risk of loosing all
legitimacy. What good is fighting totalitarianism if, to do so, we use the
same tools? Lying, misinforming and manipulating public opinion are clearly
totalitarian means since, by distorting the information, we prevent the
people from exerting their free will.

After this long preamble, here's the question I'm interested in more
particularly: since we live in democracies and take the liberty to bomb
radios and televisions, kill journalists (who are guilty of spreading
propaganda, whereas what we spread is information), how is it that we've
never heard of corridors dubbed VIII, X, IV and "Dalmatian"? Why are those
projects, that are centerpieces to the policies of countries of the
Balkans, and that directly concern the economical development of Europe,
hidden from us? Why was this element, vital in the decision of going to war
or not, kept secret?

What are those corridors?

To clarify the situation, below is a map that helps locating the different
trails.

The corridor VIII links the Albanian port of Durres to Varna (Bulgaria) via
Tirana, Kaftan, Skopje, Deve Bair, Sofia, Plovdiv and Burgas.

The corridor IV links Desden (Germany) to Istanbul (Turkey) via Prague,
Bratislava, Gjor, Budapest, Arad, Krajova, Sofia and Plovdiv. Ways diverge
to provide links to Nuremberg, Vienna, Bucarest and Constanca.

Corridor X crosses Salzburg (Austria), Ljubljana, Zagreb, Belgrade, Nis,
Skopje, Veles and Thessalonica (Greece). The main part of the corridor is
also linked to Graz, Maribor, Sofia, Bitola, Florina and Igoumenitza.

These three pan-European transport corridors are part of a project set up
to help develop former members of the Soviet block, and ease their
integration into European economy. In its entirety, this project represents
11,000 miles of roads, 12,000 miles of railroads, 38 airports, 13 sea ports
and 49 river ports. The estimated budget until the year 2015 is 90 billion
euros (a euro is approximately equal to a dollar). The part that concerns
the Balkans itself is worth 10.5 billion euros. (Those are
under-estimations: the Eastern development projects are split, on the
European level, in many chapters, and it's hard to get a global view.
Furthermore, this pertains only to the part financed by the EU, not
counting the US, very implicated, Turkey and diverse private funds. These
figures are thus grossly under-evaluated). These figures speak for
themselves: those are huge works in progress. In political, social and
economical terms, this is one of the principal development projects in
Europe.

To this we must add the Greek project, the "Dalmatian" corridor linking the
Italian port of Trieste to the Greek city of Igoumenista, following the
coast via Albania, Yugoslavia, Bosnia and Croatia, a project proposed in
middle 1998 and estimated to 3 billion dollars.

To wrap it all up, we also must mention another project, similar to the
pan-European corridors, in Caucasus and central Asia: the TRACECA program,
another continent-scale project. The interest in this project lies, for
western economy, on the junction between this project and Europe ("It had
been recognized that one the weaknesses of the TRACECA route, in the
context of the EU Tacis program, was the lack of linkage between the
western end and the European market", was a remark formulated in Helsinky,
in 1997). This link therefore depends on corridors IV and VIII, via the
port of Varna.

Thus, development projects on the European continent scheduled for the next
20 years depend on the building of corridors crossing the Balkans. On this
map, you'll notice that the central tie between corridors VIII, X and IV is
a triangle formed by Nis, Skopje and Sofia, a large part of which lies in
Kosovo. If instability were to persist in Kosovo, Serbia and Albania as
well as Macedonia, this would be detrimental to one of the most important
human projects in the making.
Oh, and I forgot: the beginning of work is scheduled for... right now
(corridor VIII is nearly totally financed, European studies already
represent tens of thousands of euros, and many parts of those routes are
being worked on).

Then, why was the economic importance of this conflict kept a secret? Are
democracies so weak that they need purely human alibis. Did arguments based
on human development of a whole continent seem less legitimate? Is it
better to present the work in progress in Albania as a "reconstruction" and
a backing for "good and loyal services", whereas it's just the beginning of
the building of corridor VIII, something that's been planned and financed a
long time ago? Why say: "if Serbians want credits for reconstruction, they
need to get rid of Milosevic", while, in reality, "we need, for our own
development, to build infrastructures in Serbia and, to make it viable, we
need to get rid of Milosevic" is closer to the truth (that's the exact
inverse problem)?

I insist: why were we told that this region held no economic interest (we
were told there was no oil, as a proof that our intentions were cleaner
than in Irak)? Why was corridor VIII never mentioned (whereas the Albanian
press dubs it "the famous corridor VIII")? Why was this pan-European
transport project (that is at the center of all the regional governments'
economic decisions) kept a secret?

Are we being played for fools?

[Links and sources in the french version.]

[Kosovo] En route to Beograd

Eric Cotte — 1999-04-19T22:00:00Z

With "reversals in the conflict", "new steps", and "additional measures", NATO is paving the way for a buildup towards a good big war... probably to avoid a nasty small peace.

I must admit that, at first, I took NATO people for a bunch of incompetent idiots. It's logical: NATO is a military organization and, as such, not much can be expected from it besides launching missiles while making stupid comments.

Hence, sheepishly, when the strategy gurus of the Atlantic alliance explained that they hadn't foreseen the Serb resistance, the intensification of ethnic cleansing and the human catastrophe, I believed them: they're in the military, thus they're dumb and it's normal that they didn't see anything coming.

But, thinking a little, I decided that it was too easy a way out. Sorry if I'm repeating myself, but everyone knows that a war is long and tough, and that retaliating on civilians is the weapon of choice of tyrants. Everyone knows that wars are accompanied by humanitarian problems (civilians fleeing combat zones and supermarkets closing down). Everyone knows it... so NATO had to know.

Why, then, this lie and self-beating?

NATO is applying one of the oldest methods of military propaganda: the buildup. It stems from the fact that people hate to throw themselves in a war from one day to the next. If one wants a good big war, one has to convince democracies. And the most efficient method is to make baby steps, to multiply the provocations, the slips and insults. Making people face facts allows to harden the discourse and to lead public opinion by the nose.

Each step obeys a classic scheme.

1. A reminder of the "objectives of the war", and deployment of a set-up insufficient to meet them.

2. The enemy replies through verbal provocations, and an augmentation of military actions. At best, he captures and kills a few soldiers (or counselors, inspectors, or blue helmets) and takes a few civilians hostage.

3. Communication campaigns denouncing the enemy's propaganda, its military buildup, and the humanitarian problem taking place.

4. Hard facts: "it's tougher than we thought", apologizes the military. Since people hate losing a war, they themselves ask for additional efforts.

5. As a reaction, the number of soldiers involved increases. Simultaneously, the "war objectives" are redefined (upped) in such manner that the military setup is still not sufficient.

It all works very well: it's thanks to this system that democracies got involved in wars lost in advance, following "sound" military advice. If the enemy happened to be too meek, provoking slips that we attribute to him, or propagating false news, could do the trick.

Back to the conflict in Yugoslavia. The first day saw only a few hours worth of night strikes, to force Milosevic to come back and negotiate in Rambouillet. Of course, it failed: raiding cities is a show of force that never lead anywhere. Serbian answer: propaganda based on archaic religious and ethnic arguments.

Hence, the air strikes intensify, and the objectives become: "defending our values" (European values in Europe, American values in the US). Defending values using stealth fighters doesn't work, no doubt... Serbian answer: intensification of the ethnic cleansing.

Re-intensification of the strikes, adding non-military targets located in the city center. New objectives: defending people from Kosovo. Another failure. Serbian answer: three American taken prisoner.

"Prisoners" implies "reversal in the conflict" (it doesn't take more for the military). Air strikes are intensified and attack helicopters are deployed (whose goal isn't strikes... what is it then?). New objective: preventing Milosevic, dubbed the new Hitler responsible for 300,000 deaths, from doing any more harm (we're now straying somewhat far from the initial objectives: evoking Rambouillet becomes anachronistic when facing the Balkan Hilter). Serbian answer: Kosovo's borders are mined and a few incursions into Albania are made (to be confirmed, but the fact is that we heard something about it).

Air strikes are now conducted 24 hours a day, "humanitarian" troupes (nice oxymoron, by the way) are deployed along the borders of Kosovo, and polls are conducted on the subject of ground intervention. Reserve soldiers are called...

What will be the next steps? We're moving towards permanent strikes aimed at more and more civilian targets, perhaps the bombing of Beograd ("Phase 3" of NATO's plan), and ground occupation of Kosovo. New Serbian provocations (real or imaginary) will be needed to justify new steps. Here are a few ideas: "Milosevic has some moles inside NATO", "Milosevic menaces to re-annex Montenegro", "Milosevic is trying to bring the whole Balkans into a war (then Russia and Greece, and we're going towards a third World War)", "Milosevic has nuclear weapons", "Milosevic gets head from an intern"... As many good reasons as we need to reinforce our setup and to "put them under pressure". We can already hear "until the end" and "by all means necessary".

Step by step, military propaganda is making up and controlling this buildup. It is aimed at making people ask, on their own, for more force, more deployments and ground interventions. At the same time, initial objectives are being redefined and becoming tougher and tougher, so that halting the hostilities would look like a "bad peace".

We're going towards war, progressively, each step becoming a no-turning-back point.

The end of lightness

Eric Cotte — 1999-03-22T23:00:00Z

The "celebrity" section of the Scarabee and its "light" images have definitively disappeared: it had become impossible to continue encouraging others to take such huge financial risks.

Well, that's it, frequent visitors of the Scarabee will see that I totally erased the "French celebrities" section. I had been thinking about it for quite some time, but the Estelle Halliday/Altern affair prompted me to do it today. That's definitive. Erase directory...

That section, for those of you who never saw it, was a directory of websites dedicated to actresses, female singers and other celebrities. I hadn't updated it for over a year, but I hated to have to get rid of it. But the thing is that I cannot encourage anybody to take risks worth 40000 francs ($7000!) over that kind of stuff. That's the price SilverSurfer's webmaster had to pay when the affair was taken in front to court.

Indeed, it's the end of innocence. The end of "our" Web.

I was never ashamed of that section. French celebrities are beautiful and they use that to their advantage, to get some renown, and there's no shame in appreciating these women's nice bodies (for some of them, that was their only talent).

That section was even one of the first of the Scarabee. At first, I'd make my own scans from my own magazines (the way SilverSurfer did, by the way). That was one of the amusing things the internet allowed us to do: sharing charming images, communicating good URLs, referencing the best photo galleries, being somewhat proud when you were able to make a good scan of a picture no one else had. A teenager's type of pleasure? Maybe, and why not?

There was a use to that section (in addition to my own pleasure) that I never kept hidden. It would give my site, made austere by the choice of texts, a light touch that could lift it out of the shade in which politically engaged sites such as mine often fall. That section provided a balance between futile and grave. That may sound stupid, but I used to get messages from visitors saying "I came for the photos and stayed for the articles". Those were among my favorite messages.

But the Altern affair revealed two attitudes that put an end to that nice epoch. The first, and obvious one, is the one that consists in seeing those images as a mass-media. Exchanging photos thus against some people's rights. According to the European Human Rights chart, it's at least plagiarism of author's rights, and it's punished as such. This is no more tolerated and the fee is rather hefty. The internet is not a children's playground anymore.

Another lousy attitude is the condemnation by web-surfers of light sites. There seems to be, in some people's mind, a distinction between a freedom of speech that's worth it, engaged, serious (boring too?), and one that deals with libido that is unworthy, insignificant, lousy. Just for that, I would have left my section up.

But providing links, like I did, was tantamount to encouraging others to run risks, whereas I would remain safe. Am I not a bit guilty? As far as I was concerned, I had long stopped putting up my own scans, judging that the atmosphere wasn't that great anymore. But when SilverSurfer contacted me so that I reference his site, I didn't refuse (it was a great site, in its category...).

As much as I like images of that type, I feel guilty. Therefore, there goes my images-section. Suppressed. We're not amongst friends anymore: out there, it's full of assholes who are just waiting for us to make a mistake to sue our pants off. Innocent pictures are not innocent anymore: it's business.

No more playing around.

Three penny Opera

Eric Cotte — 1999-01-01T23:00:00Z

"Wee aaaare the Wooorld, we aaaare the children"

That's it, it's over. Over, o-ver ! We're fine until next year now. We can put our good feelings, our compassion and our charity back in our pockets, because we won't be needing them for a good few months. I don't know why, but December is a disgusting month, with all the pity it carries. Is it the imminent approach of the birth of little baby Jesus, the culpability brought about by the excess of good food eaten during the holidays? It don't know, but the thing is that Christmas stinks of so-called well-meaning charity.

I won't talk again about the good conscience we try to buy ourselves by quickly shedding a tear before we push hobos away from our sunny beaches. Or before we refuse rights to domestic partners, or before kicking illegal aliens out of the country, or before comparing prices in Euros to see where child labor is the cheapest. By suspecting people of not being well-meaning, I'm being more cynical than those who give their pennies to the needy.

What strikes me is the professional (or planned) aspect that now accompanies good sentiments. Brecht's "King of the thieves" gave away a lot of the recipes, but I think that they've been applied on a large and industrial scale only recently.

When I was young, the charity that surrounded Christmas was charming in its naivete. During a great show full of popular music, animated by famous TV hosts and singers, a unique leitmotiv was stressed: "tonight, I'd like all the children of the world to hold hands." Having said that, they executed (in the sense of massacre, torture) a song, which totally annihilated the will to love your fellow citizens...

Everything changed at the end of the 80's, with that amazing thing: USA for Africa. That was something we had never heard of: the thirty wealthiest Americans singing a terrible tune to raise money for a continent that most Americans could not find on a map. Instead of showing little kids from some - unknown - country full of - how disgusting - black people and where - shame on them - they don't even try to find a job in a McDonald's, they showed glitter. First rule of the charity business: even a talent-less star conveys the message better than a kid with his belly swollen by starvation, and his eyes eaten by flies.

A few years later, it was the turn of the "Restaurants of the Heart". One human component was added to the usual stars and their annoying hit song: volunteers. Poor people and hobos are not cute: they stink of misery, small-mindedness, meanness, and alcohol. The poor don't convey the message too well on TV. Second rule: show a maximum of volunteers.

At the beginning of this decade was born the epitome of charity business: the "Telethon". A good cause (children in wheelchairs fighting illness and death), stars and volunteers. One new aspect: national momentum. There, it really became something! Associations of "public utility" were not good enough and were replaced by some dealing with "national issues". We all "mobilize", "everyone together against" illness. Everyone feels himself, the time of a "Telethon", invested with a sacred mission. Third rule: you ain't got nothing for a penny, but you can save the world with a buck.

At that point, I'm already disgusted. Blackmailing people with pain, being insulted by a dork trying to sell me giant paper-birds, that I refuse to buy, for a good. Industries bolstering their own image for the tenth of the cost of a commercial by giving a puny little sum, boy-scouts reciting their lessons. Idiotic feats of strength and the world record of the biggest regional useless challenge.... That's too much for me to bear. And what about politicians who arrive with their fake smiles: when you're unable to deal with inequalities, misery, exclusion (that is, when you're unable to do your job), you'd better hide from the spotlight!

Then there were "slips". The "ARC" (cancer research association who diverted its funds directly in the pocket of its founder) and the contaminated blood scandal. You give money to fight cancer, you make the most symbolic gift, that of your blood, and it all disappears in pork barrels and ends up propagating AIDS among people you were trying to cure from something else (hemophiliacs). That had the effect of a cold shower in the charity business. Since then, people had to start making the precision that "it all goes directly towards helping children", "it's managed with total transparency", "money is not thrown out the window"... Fourth rule: expect from those organizations what you can't ask of a firm or a Swiss bank, profit and transparency.

Finally, the slip of "ActionIDS" showed the limit of the genre: the manager of an association lets his anger show and insults the health department secretary. Therefore the show goes bust and the manager mentioned is accused of sabotage. This person had forgotten the last rule: a victim shuts up and opens his mouth only to say "thank you".

That's the hidden, ugly face of charity: dignity.

Like a mix of the resigned Christ and the untouchable, the victim must not revolt, the left-apart must not fight, the poor must wait for the dollar bill like a redemption. The manager of Act-Up airs his anger at seeing his friends die, that's human! Well, no, he's wrong: he should keep a dignified air and smile at the TV host.

Thus, a few causes do not gain any momentum because their victims are not dignified, presentable, humble... The poor of eastern countries are not presentable because the Romanians on the Champs Elysees are too active beggars. They're poor, but not dignified. Algerians are being slaughtered, but they're not innocent enough. Hey, they're Arab and Muslim, how could they be innocent?

The victim status we're coming up with is the basis of all revisionism: a victim has to be totally innocent (a white dove), and that's the first step towards the inversion of roles. Saying the many Jews were rich and capitalists (which we now hear when dealing with the disappearance of Jewish possessions during WWII), and therefore not totally innocent, is an extreme left-wing revisionism. Saying that AIDS victims pay for their "deviance" and "sexual wanderings" (the media come up with some expressions!), calling young people "youths from the bad parts of town" instead of hoodlums, tagging the poor as "willingly unemployed", belongs to the same intellectual perversion. Selecting victims according to standards of perfection, as in the charity business, implies that an non-innocent victim is not really a victim. "He asked for it...", goes popular common sense.

Let this be clear: I admire volunteers, associations, all those (professional or not) who help others. Faced with an emergency, I agree that all means are equally good (even the "telethon". What shocks me deeply, is this perverse effect of the charity business that wants victims to be innocent. By definition, misery is dirty, pain is unbearable, exclusion renders ugly. Christ bearing all the misery and sins of the world is utter bullshit. Human grandeur is not akin to accepting inequities without saying a word, on the contrary...

See, I was finishing this article when Jacques came to speak to me. Jacques is a beggar who goes to the bars as me. He settles down at a table that's kind of out-of-sight and orders a glass of wine that he refills with his own bad wine that's hidden in a plastic bag. "So, what you're writing, son?", he asks every time. And then he starts talking about his life, his plight. It's funny, Jacques is exactly what I've been trying to describe: he stinks, he's always drunk, his face is ravaged by red wine, he's racist, and sometimes violent. Clearly, this guy is everything except a white dove, and he doesn't draw charity when he pukes at the bottom of the counter. He's a bad 'victim' for the charity business, Jacques. He's not a poor guy full of merit. His story doesn't exactly draw pity. He's not young, he's not beautiful. He mutters against the system, he can't stand the bourgeois (but he wouldn't mind their wives), "all those assholes", "I don't need anyone, I'm my own master", and after a while it becomes impossible to comprehend what he says. The only moment when he's presentable, Jacques, is when he arrives with a puffed-up face from having been mugged. Then, he truly looks like a victim.

The fisherman and the rat race

Eric Cotte — 1998-12-05T23:00:00Z

The author of this little mexican story is unfortunately unknown.

An American investor is walking along the water in a little Mexican coastal village. A boat comes in the harbor, with a few tuna fish on the deck. The American compliments the fisherman on the quality of his fish and asks him how long it took him to catch them.

– "Not too long", answers the fisherman.

– "But then, why didn't you stay at sea longer to catch some more?", asks the banker.

The Mexican answers that those few fish will be enough to feed his family.

The American then asks: "But what do you do the rest of the time?"

– "I sleep late, I fish a little, I play with my kids, I take naps with my wife. In the evening, I go see my friends in the village. We drink wine and play the guitar. I'm busy all right."

The American interrupts him: "I have an MBA from Harvard University and I can help you. You should start by fishing for longer periods of time. With the benefits you'll get from selling the fish, you could buy a bigger boat. With the money you'd get thanks to this boat, you could buy a second boat and so on until you have a whole fleet. Instead of selling your fish to intermediaries, you could negotiate directly with a cannery, or open your own cannery. You could then leave your little village for Mexico City, L.A. and then maybe New York, where you'd direct the operations."

The Mexican then asks: "How long would that take?"

– 15 to 20 years, answers the banker.

– And then?

– Then it gets very interesting, answers the American, smiling. When the moment comes, you can put your society on the stock market and earn millions.

– Millions? But then what?

– Then you can retire, live in a small coastal village, sleep late, play with your kids, fish a little, take naps with your wife, and spend your evenings drinking and playing the guitar with your friends.