They say the rebellion is here. Depending on who you ask, it is either an act of desperation or an act of liberation. Me? I gamble with both. Those behind the rebellion are awake to all senses: like smelling manure disguised as inclusion – hearing trends disguised as chants of unity – or witnessing a week of solidarity disguised as work. We are tired of the illusion of change and, quite frankly, entirely offended by how little those on the other side cheapen our curiosity.
Questioning most of everything is not a refusal for peace but an opposition towards the recognition of mass inequality. For example, a vivacious cousin of mine once dated a wealthy woman who said that a sign of class and wealth was to never entertain the notion of excitement. When public displays of excitement are shamed, called tacky even, you begin to see shame for what it really is; a luxury. This so-called rebellion is indeed a desperate act to liberate ourselves from a luxury reserved for the wealthy.
This generation wants to free itself from closeted elation; this generation wants to moan at the first bite of freshly baked bread and not have to battle the heat we feel in our mouths. They say this generation is groomed in laziness with lightly combed strands of hypersensitivity. In other words, this new generation sits on its ass and cries for everything. Me? I refuse to allow the word ‘lazy’ to be at the forefront of who we are.
The truth is – and you can quote me – laziness is the new resistance against capitalism. Laziness is our way of slowing down – our way of gifting value back to time. The rebellion generally values the intangible; like the afore-mentioned value in time, in addition to the greater feelings of love and freedom; not the freedom that proud Americans seek, rather a true, sanctum attainable to only those with open hearts.
Our vulnerability exposes us to damage compelled by centuries of servitude, which in turn allows us to live curiously through truth and not society’s swollen version of the truth. The rebellion’s classification often comes from generations who long ago agreed to silence and called it freedom. These generations tend to live in a false reality, mostly due to the fact that their minds had never been challenged and their emotions went ignored, and dare I say, shamed.
The rebellion is constantly mislabeled as just wanting to be different – as if different was a word derived straight from the devil. Me? I see ‘different’ as a path to change; as a path to evolve and grow and understand. Yet, many lack uncommon sense and proceed to ask why: why are we so angry, violent, complex, skeptical, etc. Whereas we ask: what is expected of a group of people who have suppressed century’s worth of dehumanization? Better yet, we must both come together and ask how: how did we get here and how can we be better?
There are shackles to be broken, zip-ties to be cut, cages to be bent and tongues to be freed.
Our necks, stoned by knees in uniform of blue, look right to fix the wrongs contrived by a fear-bred imagination. We want another day to breathe for those whose lives have been taken; another day to force ourselves into spaces where no one looks like us; another day to create discomfort in the lives of the apathetic; another day closer to freedom. Ironically, the rebellion is a lifetime sentence towards what we deem as the true meaning of freedom.
Me? As long as I continue to caress the veins of curiosity, freedom will always be at my disposal. The work towards freedom will never stop – and neither will the rebellion.