Society is sick. I don’t take no sickness from anybody. In Kingston, in London, they wiping our noses in the sickness. No way! Society in Harare is sick. And the disease is money. I ain’t goin’ take no sickness like that. It divides brother from brother, sister from sister, father from son, mother from daughter. Where you got all this mammon ain’t no room for loving kindness. See what I mean. No. Look at it this way. Babylon is a state of oppression. Babylon is wherever I am, whoever I am, however I am, whatever I am, whyever I be. It’s not just out there; it’s right in here in the house of my mind. Remember that The House of Hunger? No. Oh. Let’s look at it from the back. Right? Baboon is what rhymes with moon and looks like a human being. Right? Wee-ll. Your body’s got to eat. That’s food. Your mind’s got to eat. That’s what? Education and things, I guess. That’s where Babylon begins, don’t you see? But let’s go back a bit. Into history—history is Babylon, you know. Once upon a time millions of my folk were shackled to slavery. Many died in the spirit of this sickness. They are the ones around me today. But a few escaped into the hills and fought tooth and claw against the Babylon bombarding into their minds. Know what The Man says? He says, If you think the world is all wrong, just turn your mind back to front and everything will be alright. Now that’s the sickness, don’t you see? You know it’s no but you are taught to convince yourself that’s it’s yes. That’s the sickness; that’s Babylon. And, you know, when you know what I know about the sickness they teach everybody to convince themselves that you are the one who is sick. And everybody who died in the spirit long ago will hurl rocks of insults at what’s left of you. See? (Firmly) I don’t. I can see you’re a hard case. Has your head ever been X-rayed by Babylon? Look here— Keep your hair on. Anger is impure. Sick. And yet society teaches us all kinds of things, so when we get into situations we have to stand on our dignity. They teach you self-respect, but in their image, so that even what you think is your own personal anger is actually Babylon’s anger. Society transmitting itself through your highly strung nerves. Simple eh? I’m not nervous. I didn’t say you were. But you said- Okay, okay. But when you’re talking, do you know who is talking? Do you know what voices are in your voice? When you’re talking can you hear the first speaking-man trying to utter the very first grunt that became and reverberated throughout the world as the first syllable? And the immense revolution of that! Or when you talk do you just become the tincan transmitter of a sick society? Remember every true voice that vibrates through the Brightness of the Air is a recapitulation of the origins and phenomenal development of speech. I don’t understand. You could, if I could de-educate you. That’s nonsense. One was crucified for talking what was thought to be nonsense. Yet today all sorts of countries base their behaviour on His words. But what was it speaking through him when he was saying those words? And was it reaching out through him only to regulate the behaviour of a mere forked animal? (Sneering) I hear you Rastas think he was Haile Selassie. Oh, that shit. There’s a lunatic fringe to every way of life. And of course it’s the lunatic fringe that’s always used as evidence that Rasta are bullshit. For me Rastas are Resistance, no more and no less. Resistance to all that debases man. Resistance to all that seeks to diminish the common bond of humankind and his heritage. Resistance to poverty, oppression. Resistance to that within the soul which leads to rapacity, cruelty, indifference... That’s why earlier I said Babylon is not only out there; it is also within us... Let’s go back a bit. In Jamaica the slaves who escaped their slavery and took to the hills are the ancestors of all true Rastas. And in the hills they founded their own liberated areas and defended them with their lives and everything else they had. Today, the Rasta looks at society. He does not shake his head. He does not wring his hands. He acts. He acts through mental and physical revolt against everything in his sick society. He mounts up high in the sky and looks down at the City. Looks down with loving kindness. And his loving kindness, when Babylon looks up, seems like swarms and swarms of black wasps. That’s why there is dread in Harare. (Sighs) Dread against what? — loving kindness. (Laughs) You’re idealists. (Thoughtfully) Idealists? Then you have not understood even a little of what I have said... Idealists? Okay, have it your way, officer. You can take me to my cell now. About time too. Get up! —Dambudzo Marechera, The House of Hunger (2009 Edition), Dread in Harare, 23rd April 1985.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Jul 2014 10:07:05 +0000
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