social injustice - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
There comes a time when "pushing" one's ideas that could save our world becomes morally the right thing to do. And so, if you have the time, I urge you to read my book, "Nexus. A Treatise in Defence of Love as Mankind's Answer," so that we can rescue each other and our planet from the trouble of our current era. There is a link to a free version and a Kindle version from my bio (bio-link below).
From our trauma populations come the natural healers of society, our artists of words, sound, dance and image. For this is what happens when mental pain hits fever pitch, when the community needs to find love, togetherness and re-bond. It's how we come back to sustainability, to love of nature and one another.
A dysfunctional world is a torture to its children. Yet the solutions are simple. Millions, likely billions, would gladly spend their lives in joyful service, working toward making a healthy loving world if food, shelter, a modest living standard was provided. We have every resource we need to make Earth a wonderful place for everyone and the most important of them is each other.
When in life we hurt another, we hurt ourselves also. When we love another it is a healing for both, for how else do we know ourselves but through our own actions? When our actions reflect the truth of our souls, the love within, social justice will be demanded by all. We will know that all children need safety and love, that all children need healthy parents by their sides. We will know that happiness and laughter, time with those we love, are our birthright and vital to a healthy and just society.
When the eyes of a baby have the worry of the old they are in pain. No infant should know trauma or hunger. More than that, babies are sponges for the emotions around them, as are children. If the parents are stressed or in pain, the child will know instinctively and feel stressed also. Can it be justice to be born into such pain? Can it be justice to live in violence, in a constant hurricane of hurt that shatters the soul? How can we accept hollow eyes in children, wherever they are born? Every girl is our daughter, every boy is our son, no matter who their parents are. It is time we found a way for those people who only want to live a life for love and nurturing to help those in pain, to heal them with something real. Professional care isn't love and so its benefit is limited; only those strong in love can turn this world into the paradise it was always meant to be, a heaven on Earth.
I know you worked hard for that house and fine car; I'm happy for you that you have something so nice. But please understand that I work hard too. You say you worked harder in school, I'm sure you did, I spent my childhood hungry and disillusioned. I know there are those who succeed no matter what start they get and they are an inspiration it's true. Do you think if you'd had my start you'd be where I am or where they are? Honestly?
We know that if we give the same excellent start to children from poor backgrounds they do just as well as their better heeled peers. Of course everyone wants the best for their children, so do I. This scarcity of resources for the young is artificial, a bi-product of how we run the world with monetary systems. If we can't prioritize the care of all children where are we heading as a society? As a species?
But I digress. I work two jobs and sleep hardly at all. I'm lucky if I can make rent payments and food in any given month. I build the roads you drive on, the houses you live in, but I am nobody to anyone, human "garbage" it seems. Is that justice? Are my living conditions a punishment for my early years? I don't need a fancy home like yours or the finest foods, just something decent and the crippling stress that it could be taken away from me if I get an injury removed. I'm no communist, but shouldn't we care more? Do you really want to succeed at the expense of others or can we make it together?
Everyone is scared of having nothing. The rich hoard their money to preserve not only themselves but their descendants. The middle classes aspire to be rich, either hoarding or spending money they don't have in order to maintain the appearance of wealth. The poor go from pay-check to pay-check under the chronic stress of never having enough. Who wins? Why do we all fight so hard to preserve a system that is so broken? Are we so scared of change? People are happiest when they volunteer and when they know they have a nice home, enough food, health care and education. Are we so dumb we can only think of two systems that have both been proven damaging? Capitalism leads to gross environmental damage and wealth disparity, communism leads to oligarchs and more unchecked abuses of power. A species that can produce the iphone could do better if they tried. So why haven't we? Could it be that we are too obsessed with fixing broken systems to just think of something new? We don't have to have a world of social injustice, isn't it time to think differently?
Maya casts her tired eyes around the one room that is home to her entire family. Her husband works full time at Walmart, and her at McDonalds. Together, on full-time hours, they can only pay for this dingy motel. Every time they almost save enough for the first and last months deposit on a house another emergency comes: the car will break down, the kids grow out of their clothes, shoes wear out. It was only supposed to be temporary, this little room, but two years have gone by already. By night they haul up with the kids, too scared to let them play outside. This is a place of drug-dealers and pimps, child molesters and shady dealings. The nearby parks are hang-outs for addicts, the grass containing any number of used needles or shards of broken glass. Their sleep is frequently punctuated by screams, by drunken shouts, by gunshots. How can it be that two hardworking American sweethearts can provide no better for the children they love?
Stealing is such an old fashioned word; it's so tied up with notions of property and ownership. But who owns what? People who paid money? What's money? It used to be gold but what is it now? Digits! Digits that are created at the touch of a button! And what do we all do? We slave for them, ruin the most productive years of our lives chasing them, some kill from them, degrade their humanity for them. What do laws matter if some have the power to create money and others do not? How can the common man compete with the elite of Wall Street?
So I don't care what the dictionary says; I don't care what the cops say. Stealing is when people who are educated enough to know better abuse their superior education to maintain an unfair system - keeping themselves at the top and Walmart employees living in motel rooms with their kids. It's worse than feudal England, at least then they were honest about wielding the power. So I hack, I take, I siphon off those electronic numbers and fund my causes.
When I came to you with a toddler's open heart you only saw an annoyance, another mouth to feed, a bottom to wipe. But I saw you as my only hope to fill the void after loosing my mother. She fought to keep me and instead I got you, you who counted the slices of cheese and totted up your balance book. My crying was “manipulation” and my sadness was “put on for attention.” Every day you looked at the kid in front you and killed him a little more. Killed him with “professional care.” All I am is hatred, all I am is rage, and I won't give you the God damn satisfaction of seeing me at the bottom of a bottle. I'm going to ruin you, I'm gonna see that you pay. But before you look down on me with your university degree and your government stamp of approval, know that I'm working day and night to become someone with authority over you. And when I am I'm going to be just as “professional” as you were.
Gordon rested his hand on the aging concrete and studied it like the random hair-line cracks had meaning. His eyes flickered over it before he spoke, his voice gravely and low. "This was a mall back when I was a kid, back in the days when the goods came in from overseas and we never asked where they came from, who made them or what the real cost was. It was like Christmas everyday, and all you had to do to participate was give up the best years of your life to some job you didn't believe in." Behind him Jacob stuffed his hands into his pockets, not really sure he wanted to hear about the "old days" all over again. It was bad enough his Dad could only afford to have him trained as a road sweeper when all he dreamed of was painting flowers; but his Dad wasn't finished. "It was like a cathedral really, we all went to feed our souls and came out poorer in every way. I know your generation will condemn us for the mess we made; but life was so fast back then, all of us competing and fearful.
It's in our nature as a species to keep what we can for ourselves and our kin, like the squirrel in the fall gathering acorns. It's a bi-product of our evolution and we had to do these things to survive. We don't have to be like that anymore, we have higher brains that can override these base impulses. Sure we like competition, we like to be different, we like good homes and great food - but why are any of those things incompatible with a fairer world? I want what's good for me and my family, sure I do, but I also want what's best for you and yours. We aren't cavemen anymore, isn't it about time we grew into our evolutionary shoes?
I feel bad for the rich and powerful, I actually do. Power is so corrupting; what chance do they really have to keep their God given souls pure? Yet I feel worse for those that have nothing, living in the shadow of society rather than being fully invited to the bounty at the table. In the middle are all us folks striving to be rich, frightened of being poor. Aren't we all just people, don't we all have the same basic needs? I'd never want to live under dictatorship, for those systems always end up in abuse of power. I believe that we as a society are capable of demanding more fairness from our public servants and of carving a society that is healthy from birth onwards.
In that place all the land was given over to coffee and exported to far away lands - not for nutrition, but as a luxury. When production went up just a little, the price of the beans fell and starvation was everywhere. It was in those times of small and light bodies entering the soil, that the hell of their paradise felt like knives on their skin. Sometimes Sarah wondered why she couldn't see the cuts.
Yet it changed, and it kept getting better. At first it was looked at just like all the other "<span class="highlight-text">fair</span> trade" type labels - just another way to make the owners and the dealers more money. But it worked, and it was the start of something better. It was called, "Food Secure," and the plantation owners put aside a significant portion of the land to grow produce for the local population. They farmed it as a cooperative or as allotments and the produce was theirs to keep. Starvation was a thing of the past, a bad memory, told like ghost stories in the late evenings. After that, positive changes flowered. Better food meant more happiness, a resurgence of culture and relaxed family life.
They call it theft, I say it's ethical redistribution. I'm not going in noone's house, not beating on old ladies or pulling knives - I just do my thing, flow along, enjoy the day and stuff finds me. It's weird like that. But those ones in the suits they don't see it from where we are, that all these stores are their oasis, their bounty, but for us it's a mirage in the desert, cruel. We can see all that stuff we need, our kids too, but it might as well not be there at all. How would them suit people like to wake up and see only cheap unhealthy shit on the shelves and no decent clothes, cos that's our life. When does stealing become something else; I'd say when it's filling a real need. That's all I do, peaceful facilitating of providing for urgent needs. It's the fifth emergency service.